#but I have no favourite they’re all gold

[laurasimonsdaughter]

“The first thing you need to know,” the stable master announced loudly to the gaggle of school children trailing behind her, “is that these are not unicorns.”

Eleven-year-olds tended to be loud. Their silent scepticism was deafening.

“You cannot keep unicorns in captivity,” she continued. “These are all crossbreeds, mostly with specific breeds of horses.”

There was a small murmur of curiosity and a gangly arm shot up into the air.

“Yes?”

“Only mostly horses?”

It was always fun when some of them paid close attention. “Only mostly horses. I only deal with European breeds, and they tend to cross well with horses. See this here is a cross between a grey Thoroughbred and an English Unicorn. They’re large, and reasonably docile.” They also had that champagne sheen most showy folk preferred. “For people who come here looking for a steed, this is their best bet. Although I've only ever seen it done by people who personally broke them as yearlings.”

By now she definitely had the whole class’s full attention.

“But this French Licorne cross is actually half fallow deer.” She gestured to the pasture beyond the fence. “Look at them. Slight build, slender legs, built for speed and agility. They need a lot of space but they are beautiful to look at, and they’re relatively easy to tame for the pure of heart.” There was still something distinctly deer-like about them and they were all so beautifully cream coloured that they almost took on a silver hue.

“What’s those hairy ones?” a voice piped up.

“That’s a Unicorno/Shetland mix, from central Italy. Traditionally they tend to be crossed with Monterufolino, but they are hard to come by and make their coats even darker.” Unicorni were naturally built more like ponies, some with considerably shorter horns, and their coats were often a much darker gold, or even brown. They were less flighty than the French breeds though, even if they showed blatant favouritism towards certain caretakers. They would even pull a carriage if properly motivated.

“Do you have any bigger ones?”

The stable master turned around. “What was that?”

One of the boys was standing behind her with a determined look on his face. “Do you have any like that but bigger. With the beards and the furry hooves.”

“Feathering,” she corrected automatically and the boy nodded eagerly. She frowned. “What exactly do you mean?”

“There’s really big unicorns,” he pressed. “With wild manes and tails and split hooves like the French ones but hair like those ones!”

“Buddy,” she laughed, “what you’re describing there is a Scottish unicorn and let me tell you, they cannot even be crossbred into domestication.”

The little face fell.

“Any offspring of an Aon-adharcach will be as wild as they are no one can capture them with their horn still intact, not on your life. You go near one of them with a halter and it will skewer you.”

She smiled at the boy, who still looked rather taken aback, despite this proof of his favourites superiority.

“Tell you what. If you want to see something unhinged and imposing, I’ll take you to see the Eenhoorn/Friesian cross we’ve just got in from the Netherlands.”

[valentinetypewriter]

Ivy trio x Y/n incorrect quotes

thought I'd try branching out from only Marauders content so I hope you all like this

Masterlist

Newt: Y/n! What did I tell you about lying?

Y/n, looking down: ...That it only works on Thomas

—

Newt: How are we supposed to put a tracker the size of a penny on Minho without him noticing?

Y/n: Hey, Minho, I bet you 5 bucks that you can't swallow this penny

Minho: *takes and swallows tracker* Pay up, loser

Newt: …

—

Y/n: Made you all playlists!

Y/n: Thomas, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul

Y/n: Newt, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression

Y/n: And Minho has the ABBA Gold album

—

Newt: Christmas is cancelled

Thomas: You can't cancel a holiday

Newt: Keep it up, Tommy, and you'll lose New Year's too

Thomas: What does that mean?

Newt: Y/n, take New Year's away from Thomas

—

Minho: Newt, you'll be working with Thomas and Y/n

Newt: Alright! My fantasy threesome!

Everyone else: *blank stares*

Newt: ...Of people on a team

—

Newt: I’m so happy two of my favourite people are getting along now

Minho: Uh, Y/n and Thomas are not getting along

Newt: They’re not trying to kill each other

Minho: You may have a point

—

Thomas: ARE YOU-

Y/n: Fucking

Thomas: KIDDING ME?! YOU-

Y/n Fucking

Thomas: IDIOT!

Minho: …What was that?

Y/n: Newt banned Thomas from swearing, so I’m helping him out

—

Minho: I think we're missing something

Newt: Teamwork?

Y/n: Cohesion?

Thomas: A general sense of what we’re doing?

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[shalomniscient]

arlecchino has recieved many nicknames from you over the years. love and dearest are her favourites, though she does sometimes field darling as well. when you’re feeling mischievous, arlie takes the stage. and when you’re feeling especially tender, under the sheets with the warm hearth crackling away opposite the bed, perrie graces her ears as gentle as your embrace.

she thought, perhaps naively, that you’d run out of clever little ideas for yet more nicknames for her. but tonight, as you pick out your necklace from your vanity, you surprise her yet again.

“angel, can you help me with this?”

and arlecchino, fourth of the fatui harbingers, father of the house of the hearth, goes completely and utterly still. her hands, which were busy fixing her cufflinks, pause midair as she looks at you in the mirror with a thoroughly perplexed expression. when she finally finds her voice again, it’s uncharacteristically tentative.

“angel?”

you return her look in the mirror, head tilted at a questioning 45 degrees. “my necklace, i can’t clasp it on my own.”

“no, i—“ she huffs, mildly exasperated, but steps over to help you with the necklace. it’s a delicate gold chain, with an iridescent rainbow rose charm hanging from it. a gift she’d gotten you for your birthday. “what do you mean, ‘angel’?”

“what about it?” you ask with a smile, leaning back into the delicate touch of her warm hands against your nape. “it’s quite cute, no? unless you dislike it?”

“i don’t dislike it,” she corrects, her eyes in the mirror fixed on the way the charm rests delicately above your sternum. “i merely find it… unexpected. i’m afraid i do not see how it fits.”

you hum at that, turning in your seat to face her. you take one of her dark hands, then work on fixing her cufflinks which had previously been forgotten. they’re cast in silver, and encrusted with a single, shining gem. it gleams the same colour as your eyes.

“after you gave the children that… lesson—“ Arlecchino’s expression pinches ever so slightly in something close to guilt at the small bite in your words, “—they’ve all been telling me about those wings of yours that you keep hidden. Angel happened to be one of the many descriptors used.”

You conveniently leave out the part where the children added ‘of death’ behind it. To your uses, it is blissfully unnecessary, despite how accurate it may be.

“I… see.”

You pat her hands once you’ve fixed both cufflinks, intertwining your fingers with hers as you stand from your vanity stool. Arlecchino’s expression is caught between bewilderment, surprise and the barest hint of mirth. You press a gentle kiss to her cheek, then squeeze her hand.

“Well? Shall we go, angel? Our reservation is in twenty minutes.”

Arlecchino clears her throat, then nods. Turns her gaze slightly to the side so she doesn’t have to see what she knows is an abjectly self-satisfied grin on your face at the delicate flush on her pale cheeks, her body betraying her at just how she really feels at this new nickname.

“Yes, of course. Let’s go, dearest.”

And as she walks hand in hand with you on the way to the restaurant, trailing but a few inches behind you with her eyes resting on the way your profile glows in the setting sun, she can’t help but think—if she really is an angel, then her only god would be you.

[bitchface24-7]

Jayce seeing his partner in tighter clothing for the first time, some clothes that accentuate the waist and butt, and curves of his beloved.

They’re going to a gala for Piltover and Jayce walks out of the restroom after shaving to see his partner in said outfit, an all black outfit gilded in gold accents (imagine Jayce’s red and black outfit from s2), stops and GAWKS, like a holy shit type stare

And when they get to the party, some people decide to flirt with Jayce’s partner and attempt to seduce them, and because Jayce is over protective, he steps in for the reader

Plz make the two have a dynamic of black cat and golden retriever, Jayce being the retriever and his partner being the black cat

I AM YOURS (YOU ARE MINE) - JAYCE X READER

synopsis: being the partner of Jayce Talis is very rewarding. He's a dutiful lover, takes care of you, spoils you, and treats you like royalty. So when a mandatory party invite is sent your two’s way, you (obviously) go. Now when would the other citizens of Piltover realize you'll never leave Jayce, and certainly not for them?

warnings: unwanted advances/flirting, protective Jayce, possessive Jayce, smug reader, suggestiveness, black cat reader w/ golden retriever Jayce, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. As a black cat person myself, this was a joy to write. I love when you guys give a bit more detail in your requests. You're giving me the meat and potatoes, and I tie it all together with bomb-ass sides LMAO

The amount of parties Piltover throws is ridiculous. The money wasted on these events could be used for so much better, like I don't know, helping the Undercity maybe?

You grumble as you get ready, not in the mood to fake a smile all night. You wanted a calm night with your partner, eat some good food, watch a movie. Anything but this.

You pull out a black silk shirt, tight black slacks, and simple black boots. Golden detailing scattered throughout the clothing. Making it chic but simple. You put everything on and tighten the silk shirt around your waist, enhancing the look of it, You then add some simple gold jewelry. A simple gold chain, some rings. It look at your silver jewelry and sigh. Piltover is all about gold, you do wear gold, but people look at you funny when you wear silver.

Apparently you can't appreciate the moon as much as you appreciate the sun.

Some finishing touches are done, and you hear Jayce leaving the bathroom, having just finished styling his hair.

"Hey babe, you almost rea--" His question halted in shock. He stops dead in his tracks. You look... so hot. You're always hot, beautiful, gorgeous, any positive adjective Jayce can think of. But you much prefer comfort over the outlandish style of Piltover, Jayce completely understands.

But your outfit now is form-fitting. Almost like a second skin. Jayce his hypnotized, maybe this party isn't as important as Jayce thought.

He comes up behind you and kisses your neck, looking at you through the mirror, his hands firm on your waist. You chuckle as you adjust your necklace, "What's all this for?" You breathe deeply, Jayce is wearing your favourite cologne. God he's so gorgeous.

"Just appreciating. That's all."

"You're meant to appreciate with your eyes, not your hands."

Jayce's voice lowers, "You sure I can't do both?"

You roll your eyes and lightly bit your lip in mock annoyance, "Unfortunately not. We got in trouble with the council last time we skipped on of these stupid parties."

Jayce groans and plops his head onto your shoulder, his beard now shaven, his smooth skin feeling silky against yours. You run a hand in his shaggy hair and laugh, "C'mon lover boy, we're gonna be late."

"This is going to be torturous. You look delectable and I'll need to talk to people who make me want to rip my hair out."

You hum affectionately turning your head and kiss his temple, "Think about it this way, if you're good... you get to take it off of me when we get back home."

Jayce groans even louder and you cackle at his pain.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The party isn't… terrible. It's not fun but at least it's not a complete snooze fest. You'd still rather be at home.

Especially since this one man won't leave you alone.

You don't know his name, didn't care enough to remember it when he introduced himself to you. He's a blabbermouth, you swear he's hasn't stopped yet to breathe and its been five minutes.

And he follows you, to the refreshment table, the snack table. You're getting more and more irritated at his lack of tact. Its quite obvious you're not interested, but it seems to you that he's ignoring that.

Its when he puts a hand on your shoulder that you get a problem, “You’re so beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I have.”

In the harshest tone you've ever heard, Jayce sneers at the man, glowering down at him. The man whips around and blanched at the sight of a furious Jayce Talis.

“My partner is quite obviously not interested, so can you for once take a hint, and leave?”

The man sputters, his face indignant. Jayce's glare intensifies and the man cowers, speed walking away with his tail between his legs.

You sigh dreamily as Jayce hands you a glass of sweet white wine; Moscato your favourite. You take a big sip before kissing Jayce, the sweetness of the wine intermingling between you two. Jayce gasps lightly and you caress his tongue with your own before pulling away. His eyes are wide and his cheeks have a light dusting of pink on them, his scary persona completely gone.

“I was handling it… but you did good. My hero.” You croon, your voice melodic and teasing as you tap your wine glass with your finger, taking another sip.

Jayce’s chest puffs out in pride as you smile against your wine glass, “Since you saved me, you get to be as handsy as you want with me for the rest of the party. Looks like the residents of Piltover don't realize I'm yours. Let's rectify that shall we?”

A big grin spreads across Jayce's lips as he slithers an arm to wrap around your waist. He's beaming the rest of the night you're there, showing you off to everyone at the party.

This is my partner. Don't forget that.

It isn't until you lean in and whisper an idea into Jayce's ear that gets him not only excited to go home, but to come back to one of these stupid things.

“Maybe next time you should mark me up a little? A hickey here, a hickey there. That way no one can deny that I’m yours, and you're mine.”

Jayce whispers back, “You’re gonna mark me up too?”

You huff, a dark look on your face, “You think I don't see how people look at you too? I'm gonna ensure people know you're mine, and if that means hickeys and bite marks you can't hide, I'll do it.”

“Promise?” he says, his eyes big and wide like a begging puppy.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

And Jayce just smiles. Maybe this party was worth it in the end. He gets to have sex with you when you get home tonight, and he’ll get to have sex with you before the next party.

Maybe he should give the council a gift basket to thank them?

This one is on the shorter side but I hope you all still enjoyed it! Its a bit funny that so many of my fics center around a party, since I'm a total homebody and only go out to party on Halloween LOL, also I made y'all drink my favourite type of wine, thought you guys drinking champagne would be boring. Love ya ❤️

[elaratyrell]

Jacaerys Velaryon NSFW Alphabet

*Divider from saradika-graphics*

Warnings: AFAB! Reader, smut under the cut {duh}, language, mentions of pregnancy, Jace's monster dick, breeding kink

A/N: Look at him. Look at how beautiful he is! Prince of Dragonstone ❤️

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

The king of aftercare, Jace will always prioritise your needs first in the bedroom, and that still applies to afterwards. You're feeling slightly sore? He'll immediately run you a warm bath himself with your favourite bath oils and massage your aching body. You're hungry or thirsty? He's already dressed and gone to the kitchens to fetch you a snack and a bottle of the finest Dornish red or Arbor gold. You just want to be held? He'll happily oblige. He'll hold you securely in his warm embrace, peppering kisses across your bare skin and softly singing to you in High Valyrian as you slowly fall asleep.

Modern! Jace will be pretty similar to his canon counterpart. He'll get you something to clean up with, run you a bath or shower and make sure you have everything you need to be comfortable.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jace is pretty much happy with everything about himself physically, but doesn't really think about himself like that. He would probably say his favourite body part is whatever his partner loves. Whether that be his hands, his mouth, his cock, whatever they love the most, he'll appreciate about himself the most.

As for his partner, he adores everything about you. If you asked him, he couldn't be able to name one thing. Your hips, your stomach, your thighs, your breasts, your cunt, your ass... he loves all of them. But he does adore your eyes. He loves gazing into them, how they well with emotion, how they cloud and glaze over in pleasure as he brings you to the edge again and again. Even outside of being intimate with you, he'll always be gazing into them, admiring how the light reflects in them, how your pupils dilate when you meet his gaze, how they flash with emotion. They're the physical part of you that shows who you are the most, and he loves that.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I stand by my opinion that Jace has a bit of a breeding kink, and would love to cum inside of you. It's more intimate and the though of you two having a child drives him wild. But if you have a preference for where you'd rather him release, he'd be happy to comply.

Modern! Jace will always use protection if you're having penetrative sex unless you're actively trying for a baby or feel comfortable enough for him to release inside of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone. He has definitely fantasized about fucking you on that throne, the pretty crowns adorning both of your heads sealing your rightful place as King and Queen of Westeros.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Hmmm... canon Jace would pretty much have zero experience, especially if you were betrothed when young (unless you count Aegon allegedly taking he and Aemond to a brothel when they were younger).

Modern! Jace will probably have some experience here and there if he dates you during college or afterwards, whether that be from hook-ups or a past relationship, but he hasn't slept around as much as Aegon has.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary and he doesn't care if it's considered "vanilla", it's intimate, and he can have his gaze locked with yours all the while. He loves the way your bodies are pressed together, your legs hooked around his hips or even over his shoulders, lips connecting every few seconds as he thrusts into you. He also doesn't mind you sat in his lap, hips rolling against his. Any position where he can see your face. It's closer, more intimate and romantic where he can see you, kiss you, hold you closer.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think Jace lies somewhere in the middle. He won't go out of his way to be funny or humorous when having sex, but he also wants you to be comfortable, and will happily smile and laugh and make a joke to make you seem at ease. He won't take it completely seriously though, he isn't like that.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Dark curls up there, dark curls down there. But he keeps everything relatively neat and trimmed. He wants to look his best for you, of course, and does take pride in his appearance due to his status.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jace is a romantic. He will see it as an intimate act, even in the more casual and light hearted times you've had sex. It’s an expression of his love, especially if in a serious relationship or betrothal with you. He's not the type to just sleep around with people unless he truly feels some kind of connection with them, and the deeper the connection, the more intimate he considers it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As a last resort. If you're apart for a long period of time then he might need to blow of some steam, but he tries to wait it out for as long as possible until he can see you, since he knows that you can help him out better than his own hand ever could.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I feel like Jace wouldn't have as many kinks as other men in the hotd universe, but here are the ones that I feel he could potentially have:

Praise Kink: Nothing gets him going like you moaning about how good he's making you feel. He also loves singing your praises and feeling you hold him that little bit tighter. To be in this vulnerable intimate moment and hear you breathe out those three words makes his heart soar. Knowing he's making you feel this good makes him feel good, and makes that moment all the more special.

Hair Pulling: If you want this man to moan pull his hair. Feeling your fingers tangle in his curls, nails scraping across his scalp as you tug hard at his roots will drive him crazy. He fucking loves it.

Breeding Kink: The thought of you having a child together, having an heir to continue your family lines will definitely bring something out within him. Maybe not in the way someone like Aemond would. It's not the thought of continuing the Targaryen dynasty on, it's the thought of continuing your shared line, binding him to you and you to him forever. The idea of you wanting to have a child with him, regardless of... ahem, rumours, but because you love him, because you want him... draws out that possessive side of him.

Size Difference: I'm not talking about a physical height different here. I'm talking about the size of other things. I'm talking about when he's inside of you, and he sees the outline of his cock bulging your stomach. I'm talking about when he gently presses down on it and elicits a moan of his name from you. I'm talking about that.

Marking: It's that possessive side of him. It shows people you belong to him. Shows his uncles that you chose him, that you want to be with him, that he's the one who makes you feel good. I'm talking hickies, bruises and bites littering your neck, your chest, your thighs. Red nail lines raked down his back. And he'll happily let you leave one or two on him as well. It goes both ways.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

He'll mostly appreciate the privacy of your bed chambers or personal rooms where nobody can interrupt you, but if you rile him up enough, he may be tempted to sneak off somewhere discreet.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Tease him. He'll snap. His cheeks will flush, his jaw will clench, hands pinned by his sides and balled into fists. You will have such a hold over him, the effect you have, it drives him wild. And you might not even realise that you're doing it. An accidental brush of the hand will cause his whole body to stiffen until he realises it wasn't intended. A firm kiss to his neck will make his head tilt back and his hold on you to tighten.

Jealousy will also be a big motivation for him, on both sides. If you're feeling insecure, he'll show you that you have nothing to worry about, that he loves you and only you. If he's the one suffering a case of the green eyed monster, his more dominant, possessive side will come out. You're with him, not anyone else.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will not hurt you, he will not degrade you, and he will not want anyone else to watch. Sex is a private thing between the two of you, and no one else.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He's a giving king. A selfless lover unless truly provoked, he'll happily spend hours between your legs just to hear your sweet moans and taste you as you come undone beneath him (or above him, he'd let you sit on his face).

Of course, he won't object to you wanting to give him pleasure, but if he had to chose, he'd chose you over him any day.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends. Eight or nine times out of ten, it'll be passionate. He'll take his time in making you feel pleasure, preparing you for him and making sure the experience is completely satisfying for the both of you. But if he's riled up, whether that be from jealousy, a fight of just general frustrations, then he may be more rough.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers to take his time with you, but if he or you needs it that badly, or his duties are time consuming and have led to the two of you not spending time with each other as often, he will of course be down for a quickie.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes. If you want to try something new, he will give it a try unless he's genuinely uncomfortable with it, like if you wanted him to hurt you, he'd be very hesitant.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last a few rounds for sure. Maybe even all night. For as long as you need him to keep going, he will. And if his cock can’t take any more, he has his hands and mouth to satiate your desires.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't think Jace would ever own toys, but would use them if you had any you wanted to use. However, they wouldn't be his first port of call. I don't think he'd feel the need for them, since he can give you such pleasure with only his body. He wouldn't be opposed to toys, but wouldn't see them as a compulsory need either.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jace will only tease to a certain extent to prolong any intimate moment you have. He likes the reactions he can get out of you, and how it makes your release that much more intense.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I feel like he'd moan, groan and grunt a lot. It wouldn't be overly loud, most of the time muffled in some way, but not quiet either. And he wouldn't hold any noise back either. Why shouldn't he let you know how good you're making him feel? He'll moan your name a lot, breathe out praises on how good you're making him feel. You may even be able to draw out a groan if he's got that much pent up frustration.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I want to talk about Jace's dominance for a second. This man has a POSSESSIVE streak.

Yes, Jace is kind. He is selfless and loving and protective of those he loves. But he does have a temper. And he does feel possessive over you. It's not because he doesn't trust you, because he does, with his entire being, but his protective nature just goes to the next level with you. And when he gets jealous and that possessive side comes out, his rougher, more dominant side will emerge as well. The side that will pin you against the nearest wall, that will have your eyes rolling back into your head, his name being the only word you can speak, you can think of as he rips release after release from you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Do we really need to go over this? We know he's got a monster cock. It's long, it's girthy, it's huge.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high. He's pretty much always down if you are. It's not necessarily sex he's always after that makes his drive so high, it's you. You make him crazy. He could never get enough of you, hence why his drive sky rocketed after he started dating you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not that quickly. He'll make sure you're okay first, make sure you have everything you need. He'll probably wait for you to fall asleep if you're both wanting to rest, just to ensure you don't need anything before allowing himself to succumb to his tiredness. If you need to be up, to attend to duties or events of the day, he'll probably go and shower or bathe (with you preferably) after making sure you're okay.

Tag List:

@watercolorskyy @jacesvelaryons @bucknastysbabe @snowprincesa1 @your-favorite-god @howyouloveyourdragon

If you wanted to be added to the general HOTD taglist or taglists for specific character/s, just let me know

Masterlist

[mead-iocre]

looking at ogla’a tiktok and she’s such a yapper😭 I imagine brat!reader being somewhat similar and having so many things to YAP about while alexia is just 🙂 mhm 🙂 yes 🙂 I agree amor 🙂

the olga and brat!reader lore is getting stronger day by day.

the both of them are definitely yappers and WILL talk anyone's ear off.

alexia and brat!reader filming a fit check video:

"Okay, pause—fit check time. First off—this vintage Chanel blazer? Are you kidding me? Look at these gold buttons. Like, they’re practically glowing. It’s from, like, the 80s or something. But like, it’s giving... 'I just stepped out of a luxury magazine,' right? Yesss.

And don’t even get me started on this bag. Chanel-- of course. You see the quilted design? The chain straps? This isn’t just a purse, it’s a statement. When I walk into a room with this, everyone knows—oh, she’s that girl. Periodt. Now, these shorts. These aren’t just any denim shorts, okay? I’m talking high-waisted, perfectly frayed edges, a little bit of that ‘I didn’t try too hard’ vibe. But like, don’t get it twisted—there was thought that went into this.

"And don’t forget about these shoes, okay? These are vintage too—strappy sandals that make my legs look, like, a million miles long. It’s crazy how they make me look, like, six feet tall when I’m really just—well, you know, cute but short.

"And let me tell you something—when you pull all of this together, it’s like... magic. I’m giving you Chanel, I’m giving you vintage, I’m giving you luxury, but still with that modern 'It girl'. Alright, y’all, I’m done. Now you, Alexia!

"okay um... I'm wearing a shirt from Louis Vuitton-- it's nice. These jeans are from Levi. Nike white sneakers-- my favourite sneakers. And this watch that my girlfriend got me-- a Rolex. Vintage she said. That’s it.

basically them.

[creaseevans]

Jujutsu Kaisen Headcanons - Toji Fushiguro

Toji's the kind of guy...

SFW:

Toji’s the type of guy to take his time to ask you out. He’s not in a hurry and he’s exactly confident enough to know that he’s caught your eye, and that you won’t be looking away anytime soon.

You should know that if there’s a first date, there’s about to be many more. He doesn’t do this a lot. “Dating” is too much fucking time and energy—but you? You’re quite the hidden gem, found by him and worth your weight in gold and diamonds. He’s willing to try it a little while.

Toji’s the kind of guy to eat his burger in two to three bites, max. He’s got a large (and perfect) bite, like the human edition of a shark. He can fit an entire slice of large pizza in his mouth at once. Killer jawline, too. He knows how good he looks when he eats, even if it’s messy and unmannered. 

Toji’s not a jealous guy, because he’s way too secure with himself. But he is human, so it does happen from time to time. Shockingly, though, his jealousy isn’t sparked by obvious things like if someone touches you or catcalls you; he finds these hilarious, because he can just pull you into his side possessively and push the perpetrator (a bit too rough, at times) and snark something like “In your dreams, bud” or “Keep on wishing.” What does get him are simple, little things, like if a guy says something and you laugh too hard at it, or you listen too carefully to what they have to say. “So, what was so funny about what he said?” he’ll ask you, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “You know he’s a fuckin’ dork, right? He’s a loser.” Your co-worker once complimented your hairstyle in front of him (you’d clipped it up into an elegant twist) and Toji noticed you wore the style a few more times, taking a moment to admire it in the mirror. He wouldn’t let you put it up like that anymore. He got rid of the claw clip you needed for it while you weren’t home.

Toji’s the kind of guy to pretend not to know what something is just so he doesn’t have to buy it. You once spent an hour explaining to him and showing him what contact lenses are, and he kept playing stupid. “I just don’t understand what you’re talking about. There’s no such thing. I’m just gonna stick to these.”

“These” are reading glasses (he’s in his forties), but he doesn’t like to wear them around you because he hates how nerdy they look. You think they’re incredibly sexy and give him that sophisticated edge he usually skips out on.

Toji’s the kind of guy that hasn’t had a real haircut in ages. Anytime his hair is getting in his eyes he just takes a straight razor and shaves it down so long as it’s not touching his eyes anymore. When you first met him, he nearly had a mullet because the back was so neglected. You take him for haircuts now.

He’s the kind of guy that HATES tipping. You once tipped at a restaurant and he looked at you accusingly. “Why would you tip them $10? You could’ve given me that money for coffee on my way to work.”

Toji doesn’t buy you flowers (he won’t spend the money on a $28 bouquet). But if you both pass by somewhere that has flowers growing, he will rip them out to give to you. Especially if it’s off someone’s lawn. He likes to do it out of spite.

Toji doesn’t remember your birth date or anniversaries, but he does remember things like your food allergies and aversions, your favourite treats, what kind of music and movies you like, and your pet peeves. He stopped using certain slurs when he learned you didn’t approve of it. Taught his friends to stop using them, too.

Toji doesn’t have a wallet. He just stuffs everything free-reign into his pockets. You get him one for his birthday. He leaves it at home all the time. “This is why I just put everything in my pockets.”

Yeah, you moved in together pretty fast. He didn’t ask and neither did you. It just sort of happened. You guys went into a random building to “look around” (fuck in the elevators) and stumbled into an open house for one of the apartments. You live in it together now, and Toji pays 65% of the rent, which is a huge surprise because…(see next).

Toji cannot stay at one job long enough to save his life. He’s never made it past probation; the longest he stuck it out was 11 days. His resume looks like a shopping receipt, but he just can’t stand the whole bit: the office environment, the cubicles, the staff that never shut the fuck up, the constant meetings and team building exercises, signing a new birthday card every week AND tucking a bill of money into the envelope?? FUCK! He always quits before the week is up. He’ll come home and make up some excuse about being fired (he’s never been fired) and ask you to find some more job adverts for him. “This is gonna be the one, babe. I promise,” he says every time he starts somewhere new. You know it won’t be.

For the horrifying inventory of knives, blades, axes, hatchets, clubs, stars and a fucking firearm you discovered in one of the unopened boxes hidden deep into a closet (he shrugged that they were from a “past job”), Toji’s the sort of guy who’s scared of needles. Don’t talk to him about tattoos or nothing. Don’t you dare bring up vaccinations. He’ll pass out on the way to the clinic.

He doesn’t like his spine to be touched directly. It’s overstimulating and he’s quick to catch your hands when you try. Sometimes he can squeeze a bit too hard when he’s caught off guard.

Toji claims to not need deodorant. (He does need it.)

Toji doesn’t do his own laundry. One day, in the thick of a Bad Bitch episode, you put your foot down about it and told him to clean his own clothes. You then came home to him washing t-shirts and pants in the bathtub with your expensive skincare products. He used up about $300s’ worth of cleansers and scrubs in less than an hour. “I told you I’m not good at this shit!” he whined, having the audacity to play innocent. 

Toji teases you all the time about how he’s going to break your heart. Deep down, he believes that upon growing sick of his antics, you’ll actually be the one to break his; something he didn’t think he was capable of experiencing anymore. You don’t get sick of him, nor do you break his heart.

NSFW:

He takes his time to eye-fuck you, shamelessly and offensively, makes it obvious what he’s doing and leers wide when you scowl at him. He loves to show off his big, perfect teeth and wicked smile.

He’s the type of guy where when he finally does ask you out, he tells you exactly what to wear (“your littlest dress and heels”) and picks you up a few minutes late (he loves how pouty you get after waiting and almost thinking he’s about to blow you off). 

Toji’s the kind of guy to not care about being caught in public. He’ll start touching you anywhere, and he doesn’t care if it’s the first date. His fingers were already dancing on your knee and making the journey up your thigh during the car ride over. More than once, you pried his warm hand away with both of your own to hold it affectionately in your lap, your shiny eyes smiling so hard that he let you get away with being prudish about it. You missed the heat of his touch on your body right away.

He takes you to the club, buys you a couple of drinks, just enough to get you hazy and charmed. Then he takes you to the middle of the floor, and surrounded by dozens of bodies, he slinks up against you from behind to start muttering in your ear about “Why did you wear this dress? Tell me why you wore this,” while his gigantic, wandering hands grope your hips and crush them to the bone, grinding your ass back against his bricked up crotch. “Did you want me to touch you? You wanted me to do this to you, didn’t you?” As if you decided any of this.

Toji loves foreplay, for you especially. He likes to play with your tits when he knows people are looking, but the room is just dark enough and just clouded enough with smoke and machine-generated fog that nobody will actually see him rolling your nipples between the roughened pads of his fingers, your front against the wall and his front against your back. He cages you in on every side, protecting you from the world with his blanket of a body while also putting you on display every chance he gets. Your little sighs and protests of “No, Toji, stop! Someone’s gonna see,” are so precious to him. He knows someone is going to see, because someone is always looking at you. That’s the point: everyone is looking at you, but you’re only looking at and thinking of him.

He’s a narrator, surprisingly enough: everything he does to you, he describes it in your ear to the greatest extent possible. “Look how hard your nipples are getting when I tease them like this…Jesus, they’re getting so big. You never told me your tits were so soft and pretty. What if I suck on them right now? What if I sucked so hard that milk came out of them, baby? Would you let me do that?”

His favourite part of your body is your tits (see above) but your ass is a very close second. He grabs it, squeezes it, holds it, and smacks it every time you’re within reach. He wants to leave the outline of his hand on your cheek like a stencil so he can target the exact same perfect spot each time.

Toji’s the kind of guy to finger you just for fun. Whether he gets to come or not is out of the question, because watching you shake and tremble while you fuck yourself on his long, thick, knuckly digits is always a blockbuster delight. Feeling you clench up around them, periodically tighter and more delicious, is a gloat to his ego and fascination. Your delicate moans and whimpers while you spill over his palm and down his wrist is like a porno on repeat in the back of his mind, every minute of every day. And he shames you with his descriptions of it every time, because—again—he loves to narrate. “Aw, your lips are swallowing my fingers, sweetheart. Look at your pretty little pussy fluttering and pulsating while I finger you—you’re so fucking wet, princess. Why’re you so wet, hmm? You’re such a cocktease, you know that? Clenching like that, gripping me in so fucking hard—you gonna suck my cock in like that? Your pussy better sing and clench for my cock just like this, baby, just like how it is for my fingers, or I’m gonna be so upset…you don’t know what happens when my dick gets angry, do you?”

(Toji’s the kind of guy to hate condoms. He won’t wear them. Doesn’t matter what you say; don’t bother. He’ll get tested and show you that he’s clean, and he’ll (find a way to) pay for your contraceptives or Plan Bs. But he won’t wear a condom.)

He quite literally has the biggest dick you’ve ever seen. Not just in person, and not just from the fair amount of porn you’ve watched—he has the biggest dick you have ever seen. There are no arguments there. It’s a menacing thing, nearly the length of your forearm and the girth as thick as (if not more than) your wrist. He’s cut (he’s older; their generation is mostly circumcised) and clean, pubes trimmed to a stubble around the base. The length and balls are free of hair altogether. It’s a tanned colour, like the rest of his skin, but his tip is more warm toned and full of blood flow while the sac underneath is a touch darker with discolouration. His precum is translucent, almost clear (see below) and his boner looks sore to the touch.

Toji fucks. He fuuuuucks. He fucks you in positions you’ve never heard of, at angles and depths you didn’t know were possible. He actually rearranges your guts, moving everything aside to make room for himself, letting you know how deep he is when he places a hand against your navel and pushes in against the poke of his head. He loves the raspy gasp you let out when he does that. “How’s a little thing like you taking me in so deep, huh? I bet I’m hurting my little girl. I bet you never want me to stop.” You don’t, even though you always experience aftershocks and cramps when you’re done being ravaged. You don’t tell him this because the experience itself is too mesmerizing while it’s happening in real time. You also don’t tell him because deep down, you suspect that he doesn’t actually care about you enough to empathize with your pain or struggles.

He’s the kind of guy to always come inside you, no matter what. Whether it’s in your mouth or in the warm, slick confines of your lower chambers, he always finishes inside you. He doesn’t ask you if he can—and it’s not like he wouldn’t if you told him not to. He’s gonna do it anyways. His seed belongs inside of you, and there’s nothing that makes his head spin the way it does when he delivers every last drop of his offering deep into you, hoping it becomes part of you forever. He also loves watching it ooze out of you, though, and knowing he gave you more than enough to get the job done.

Oh, yeah, he wants to impregnate you. Big time. He relics the idea of his perfect genetic sequence being passed on to as many as possible. There should be miniature multiples of him running around all over the place. He used to donate sperm for cash flow All The Time in the past. He hopes to run into any potential kids he may have had/made one day, though he hopes it’s just a casual meet and greet and not, like, “Hey, I need to depend on you.” Cause he’s donated, like, A LOT of sperm, and he does not have the kind of riches it would take to sponsor almost a hundred kids.

Something about Toji screams that he wouldn’t mind sharing you with someone he trusts. He just gives off a threesome vibe, and you felt it since day one. It echoed every time he put you in a vulnerable position in public, in the way he smirked and laughed whenever men would hit on you or check you out. He “joked” with you about it a couple of times, too. “I wonder how pretty you’d look with two cocks inside of you.” “You can tell me if you want more, y’know. I don’t get offended. I know you love me too much.” He quickly laughed it off when you frowned and swatted him away. But then you met his friend—his best friend—Shiu Kong, and you knew Toji was up to something from the first moment he left you alone with him. You did end up having a threesome. You ended up having many more, in fact. And he was right: you did love him too much to think about anyone else once it was all done.

[sillyboycam]

“I would bring you rings of gold, I’d even sing you poetry!”

“Oh would ya’?~”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I told you they’ve been on my mind.

Oh yeah, I also watched one of my favourite movies httyd2 and y’know… got a little into it as usual..

I’ve had this idea in my mind for a while, definitely before I watched httyd2 but AFTER watching season 2 of Arcane I decided “Man, this would make a GREAT drawing” .

And here we are!

Anyways this is a sort of “Au” I’ve made, Viktor as Valka, leaving and everyone thinking he’s “dead”.

While I put Jayce as Stoic, because, in retrospect they’re both people of power. Leaders that have a pretty tough life, along with losing their loved one(s). Also, Jayce finally got a beard and you know what Stoic looks like.

Since Valka and Stoic obviously had Hiccup, in my mind I think Jayce and Viktor both adopted a kid to be theirs. (Also to be the next chieftain, since they’re both men of course.) His name is Jekkel, and he’s similar to each of them in terms of appearance. His personality leaning a little towards Viktor’s rather than Jayce’s.

They’d also adopt a little girl named Viyati. (They were especially happy with the name since they picked it themselves) Viyati is the youngest dragon rider of her tribe so far. Her personality is definitely more like Jayce’s as she’s always putting herself and her brother out there. With, of course, boundaries kept in place as Jekkel isn’t usually one to actually want to be out there.

So Viyati always respects him and his needs.

>>>>>>

Viktor’s dragon would be a LightFury,

Jayce’s would be a TimberJack,

Jekkel’s would be a DeathSong,

And (ironically) I think I’d give Viyati a Screaming Death. (ie, smallest little dragon rider gets a big ass scary looking dragon, and it loves her)

>>>>>>

In this Au neither Jayce nor Viktor would die, but, would come super duper close to it many, many times.

>>>>>>

Viktor’s clothes consist of a big white hood rimmed with white tipped red fur, and lots of designs traced onto the hood itself in an off-white.

A black Viking tunic with purple embroidery along the edges and the neckline adorns him, with armour on his chest. Black and scaled.

His arms would be wrapped in white leather from the forearm down, tied in neat bows.

Giant white fur boots with black pants is what he wears on the daily. A spiky belt adorns his sleek waist.

Last thing, he has black scaled arm warmers! In which the white leather wraps around. In a cute bow of course.

>>>>>>

Jayce’s outfit would be a bit more complex, as well as the kids, so if you’d like me to go more in depth I’d be happy too! (Just not in this post, I’m not one to make long descriptions lol)

>>>>>>

Viktor is actually married to Jayce in this one! Their wedding was beautifully done (weeps…) and their rings were gorgeous. This means, the whole family is a Talis!

So that’s; Jayce Talis, Viktor Talis, Jekkel Talis, and Viyati Talis. Also Jayce’s mother, Ximena Talis. She’s a very important figure in the village, a wizard with talents for medicine.

>>>>>>

I have tons of more ideas and I’d love to tell you them all. If you’re interested, let me know!

Anyways this might’ve already been done… but I’m not sure. If it has do let me know! I’d love to chat with that person ;]

Okay,

I hope you enjoy this one!

Love you all

as always art is by me —————> @sillyboycam

[always-just-red]

15 for sylus if it inspires you at all👀 i love your work, it is always so playful and in character and the writing itself is lovely

Hiiiii! Thank you, and thanks so much for this prompt-- I laughed so much as soon as I read the words ‘heavenly harmonies’ with Sylus in mind ahaha 💀 Hope you enjoy!

Christmas Carolling

Sylus x Reader 🩸🎄☃️❄️

Prompt #015: out on the streets doing christmas carolling, blessing the streets with the sweet voices of heavenly harmonies.

| Word count: 800 | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“You know, I think this is gonna be some kind of record.”

You give your collection basket a shake, enamoured by the hoard within: a sea of coins that clink, clink, clink as you jostle them, strewn with countless loose notes. There’s a watch in there, too.

“I told you, sweetie…” Sylus is using his phone as a mirror, adjusting the ‘scarf’ you fashioned him from a rope of ruby tinsel. “Your taste in music has room for improvement.” 

You’re not sure what tickles you more: the ironically tone-deaf comment, or the way his antlers jingle when he speaks. Of all the things you fished out from the back of your cupboard to dress-up your last-minute carolling partner, those must be your favourite. They’re red, soft— covered in tiny, gold bells. They’ve slipped slightly on his head, and you chew your lip as he reaches to steady them, making them jingle again. 

“Stop staring,” he tuts with a knowing smile, though his eyes never leave his reflection. 

“Stop preening,” you giggle back. “Who are you— Mephisto?” 

There’s a gentle snort as Sylus tucks his phone into his pocket. He crosses his arms, gazing up at the building you’re standing outside of. “We’re hitting this place next, hmm?” 

“Yep!” You rap a gloved hand against the door. “But don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like a mobster from a black and white movie. Capiche?”

You give him a side-eye. He trades you a smirk.

Warm tones of light leak from the house’s windows, and you feel cosy, despite the persistent bite of the snow and the cold. You knock on the door again; someone is clearly home, and this is the one time of year you get to be annoying without consequence. Twelve months of forced smiles and unrelenting politeness. You are the face of the Association, remember? 

But tonight— and just for tonight— that face can be whatever you want it to be. It’s for charity! 

You knock again. And then again. The house’s lights go out, but your face goes darker. You’re not leaving without something, not when Tara’s out on her winter fun-run, and Xavier’s risking civilian lives with a bake sale. You’re going to beat them. You have to beat them. 

… And raise money for the protection of harmless, small Wanderers, of course. 

Time for your secret weapon. You lift a finger from your basket— a conductor, preparing an orchestra for incoming instruction. Sylus knows the drill. You count him in with a: “one, two, three, four…” 

“Dashing through the snow,” he starts. 

“In a one-horse open sleigh!” 

“O’er the fields we go, laughing all the way!” 

Ha ha ha.

“Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright!”

Together: “What fun it is to ride and sing a sleighing song tonight, OH—!” 

The door is flung open, stopping both of you in your loud, tuneless tracks. “Here!” exclaims a flustered young man, “here— this is what you want, right? Take it!” 

He fumbles with his wallet for all of a second before emptying it into your basket. He shakes it to dislodge a few, stubborn coins.

“That’s really kind of you, sir. The Association appreciates your—” 

The door slams shut, but you couldn’t care less. You smile down at your little pile of treasure and almost squeal in delight.

“Happy?” Sylus asks. 

“More than happy!” You set the basket down then go up on your tiptoes, clasping his face with both hands. His antlers jingle. “You’re amazing, Sylus.” 

Soft as it is, it’s still an ambush. His eyes are wide, and he… doesn’t know what to say. 

Cold is seeping through your gloves. “Oh, are you warm enough?” you fret. Your hands fall from his cheeks so you can pull on the collar of his coat, drawing it closer around his neck. 

“I’m… fine.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.”

It’s not an argument you can win. You think if Sylus were frozen from the depths of his heart to the tips of his toes, he would still be out carolling with you. 

Selfless idiot. You laugh as you step back from him and stoop to collect your basket. “That’s a shame,” you tease. There’s a bounce in your step as you leave him. “I was gonna say we should go for hot chocolate. Or huddle for warmth, like penguins. Did you know that they—”

Sylus’s arms are around you suddenly, hugging you from behind so you can’t slip away again. His chin meets your shoulder, his face: the crook of your neck. You can feel his breath, warm on your skin where the night air won’t find it. It’s always been yours.

“I am a little cold,” he confesses, weak only with you. For you.

“Home and hot chocolate?” you chuckle. 

He sighs blissfully: “Please.”

[beenbaanbuun]

glasses w/ jongho

“you’re cute with your glasses on,” jongho mutters from where he lays on your stomach. his chin digs into the back of his hands which just so happen to have found their favourite resting place atop your tummy. his thumbs rub circles into the soft flesh through the t-shirt you’d stolen from him, “you should wear them more often.”

you roll your eyes, choosing to ignore him in favour of studying the words that fill your laptop screen. the machine rests atop his back, his torso squished firmly between your thighs. you complained when he first pushed your laptop away to make room for himself, but it turns out his back is actually a pretty solid desk.

“they make your eyes look really big,” he giggles, tilting his head like a teenage girl staring at a poster of her favourite pop star. you shake your head, once again trying to ignore him as he attempts to catch your attention for himself, “they’re so huge.”

“telling your girlfriend she has huge eyes under her glasses isn’t exactly a compliment, jongho,” you mutter as you increase the size of the text on the screen a little. it looks wrong so you change it back, “no girl wants bug-eyes…”

he laughs a little at your declaration.

“never said you had bug-eyes, honey,” he lifts his head up just enough to slip one hand out from beneath his chin. you hadnt even realised your glasses are starting to slip down your nose until jongho pushes them back up with his finger, “i said they were big.”

he resumes his previous position, well almost. whereas before both hands were above your, well his, tshirt, this time he slips his hands underneath to rest against your bare skin. his fingers dig in a little as he holds the flesh firm in the palms of his hands. you should’ve known, you scoff to yourself as he lays his head back down with a content smirk on his face.

“you said huge, actually,” you correct, “and it’s still not a compliment, jjongie.”

“why not?” he replies instantly, “i happen to like it when your eyes look like i’m staring at them through a magnifying glass,” he ducks his head just in time to miss the scolding tap you try and give him. he giggles more, and you can’t ignore the way his socked feet kick against the quilt. it made you wonder how he had the audacity to argue whenever you call him cute.

you tut at him as he hides his smile against your tummy, quickly bringing a hand up to ruffle his fluffy hair. he leans into your touch, just like always.

“if you carry on, i’ll stop wearing them completely,” you grumble. he knows you’re not being serious, but the glare he gives you in return is still scolding enough to make you regret even joking about it.

“shut up,” he pouts, “you know i think you’re pretty when you wear them.”

you do. he tells you every time you wear them.

“you told me they make my eyes look huge,” is all you have to say in response.

he looks at you incredulously for a second before starting to move. he pulls his hands from beneath the tshirt, placing them either side of your waist so he can manoeuvre himself further up your body. you have mere seconds to catch your laptop before it clatters to the floor and smashes. you place it to the side and open your mouth to scold jongho, but before you can he catches you in a quick kiss.

it’s only moments before he’s pulling off of you again, but it’s long enough for you to get the message - shut up and listen to your boyfriend. you’re more than happy to oblige. especially when he’s wearing that adorable pout.

“you know why i like it when you year your glasses so much?” you shake your head. he hums as a smile stretches over his face, “it’s because they make your eyes look so big. it means i can see all the pretty little details,” he leans down to kiss your nose. you scrunch it up, causing him to laugh as he pulls away. not by much, just a few inches, “like, did you know that in your right eye, on the left side of your pupil, there’s a tiny little fleck of gold? it’s so tiny that you probably can’t see it without them. and your right pupil is always a little bigger than your left, too!”

you didn’t know that. it’s interesting, you guess.

“so you like them because you can study my eyes?”

he shrugs, “i guess,” he says, “but i also just think your eyes are insanely pretty, and having them magnified this much?” your eyes narrow as he teases you, but he pays no mind, “it’s like i’m looking at them through a telescope!”

“you’re annoying,” you grumble.

“so are you,” he refutes.

you pull a face, “if you tell me im ‘annoyingly pretty’ or something cheesy like that, i might puke.”

he shakes his head.

“no,” he smiles and places a tiny peck against your lips, “i’m just letting you know you’re annoying.”

[spacerockfloater]

“I mean, Meleys is a beloved dragon.” — Ryan Condal, House of the Dragon, S2 E4 “The Red Dragon and the Gold” Director on Meleys’s head being paraded around King’s Landing

Why? Why would she be beloved? What has the dragon done to be loved? How do the common folk even know who she is? Do they make fancards of their favourite dragons? Do they have an official dragon website containing all the info that they check on a regular basis? Does it automatically update every Friday? Is Meleys like a mascot to them? Did she help them grow their crops? Literally, what?

“They’re the symbol of House Targaryen!” okay and why the fuck would they care about their colonisers’ sigil? What the fuck is this forced love for the Targs? Aegon’s Conquest happened 120 years ago. There’s no way these folks have forgotten that, as Cregan’s snide remark to Jace about his ancestor threatening his proves. The insinuation that the people of Westeros loved their oppressors is insane because imagine going out of your way to say shit like “No actually, the peoples of African loved the English and the French, they helped them evolve and stuff!”. He would have been rightfully stoned. The small folk canonically hate these fucking nuclear lizards, that’s why they kill them later on.

Did we all forget the mass murder Meleys committed during her escape, or does Condal simply not consider the episodes he did not write himself to be canon, lol? Is his beef with Sara so great that he’ll just ignore everything she added? And for those saying that the smallfolk wouldn’t be aware of this act because only a few hundreds died and news can’t spread fast there because they have no BBC: are you actually telling me the people might be unaware of a literal terrorist attack, but the execution of the rat catchers was what shocked them to their core? What?

I’m getting so tired of this series.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

HCs about Aragorn and Arwen’s kids!

Eldarion is tired oldest brother to five or six younger sisters and gives the blandest look when people say he’s ‘lucky it’s not boys.’ I mean. Have you met their parents? The girls are total terrors when they want to be.

Identical twin daughters. Need I say more?

One of their daughters has silver hair courtesy of Celebrian, and the other a beautiful gold from Gilraen. Their hair *gleams* in lamplight to something definitely not human.

Eldarion is Responsible Older Brother TM but leave him with Elboron and Elfwine and all hell breaks loose. Best friend chaos trio since they were born.

One of the girls takes a liking to Rohan and spends several years there with Éomer and Lothíriel

Elrond’s foresight allowed him to see all of Estel and Arwen’s children and he wrote several letters to each of them before he left so they know their grandfather loves them.

All of them learn healing fighting and battle strategy. Plants are easier for tiny kids to handle than wooden swords. And it’s important to emphasise that yes their job is to keep the kingdoms safe, but more importantly to help heal their people.

Éowyn is the only one who can wrangle all of them other than their parents. Faramir tries but collapses under ‘pleeeaaaase Uncle Faramir!’ *insert puppy dog eyes*

All the parents look after all the kids. Éomer, Lothíriel, Éowyn, Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen. They’ll close with all the children and collectively parent them

Legolas is a common visitor. Gimli comes as much as he can. They’re both enablers for chaos and subsequently favourites.

Elladan and Elrohir can’t visit as often as they like, now managing Rivendell’s final affairs. But the kids do visit Imladris a couple of times and whilst it’s a little emptier than in Aragorn’s youth, it still holds the warmth of the Last Homely House. Eldarion is particularly taken with it.

Glorfindel and Erestor are vindicated Elrond’s children have to deal with their own chaotic kids. They are also enablers. Glorfindel trains them while they’re there and follows them back to Gondor for some time until he’s happy with their progress. He comes again when they’re older and heading out.

Eldarion’s a history nerd. I take no argument.

Yes his sisters make fun of him for it. But Eru help anyone else who dared do the same

Elboron and Elfwine, and their siblings are the exceptions

Agree? Disagree? Got any of your own? Add them on! I’ll probably make a pt2 at some point.

[rubiehart]

How do you think each of the guys would react to you secretly doing a boudoir photo shoot then making a photo book of it and then showing him

i’m gonna assume u mean jj, john b and pope cuz they’re the boys i mostly write for but lmk if this isn’t what you’re looking forrr

with jj you’d be snuggled up on the couch with his arm around your shoulder before you finally pulled away claiming you had a little surprise for him, coming back to with the black leather book in your hands, your cheeks flushing pink and handing him the book all nervous, him raising his eyebrows and running his tongue over his lip as he sees the gold cursive saying ‘for jj’, the look on his face making you clench your thighs together. he stays quiet as he opens the book to the first page being met with a half naked you, tits spilling out of the top of your dainty lingerie, matching lace thong clad on your hips, making his dick jolt to life, “jesus fuckin’ christ.” he’d mumble, turning to the next page and seeing your perfect body spread out on a fancy couch, tits our for his viewing. “you’re so fuckin’ sexy, c’mere.” he mutters as you straddle his lap, feeling his prominent hard on through his sweatpants, groping your tits automatically though your thin crop top. “you’re just so pretty huh? can’t believe i got you all t’ myself.” he mutters, drunk off just your body.

for john b, i feel like he’d just be frozen while he flips though the pages slowly, completely hypnotised by you, the way the fabrics cling to your body and just so out of his mind horny that he’s just not even able to respond coherently, just muttering “fuck.” and “jesus christ, that’s the best one.” every time he turns the page cuz this shit’s just getting better and better!! the gift that keeps on giving!! after he’s done he’s just in shock, turning to you, you’re all nervous about how he feels, but him not even giving you a chance to have anymore negative thoughts before going in for a kiss and muttering against your lips as he strips you down to nothing. “d’ya know how fuckin’ beautiful you are? huh? cuz i’m about to show you.”

pope would just be so sweet about it, every page complimenting you excessively, feeling so happy that you trust him enough to give him something like this. not even thinking about himself as he sits there hard as a fuckin’ rock while he looks at pictures of you all pretty for him in his favourite colours:(( “y’a like the blue one pope? i know it’s your favourite.” you’d mumble, as he nods frantically with dilated pupils, tent in his pants obvious as you just giggle, him reaching up to connect your lips and then having soft sex when he tells you how beautiful you are and that you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, finishing with sweet aftercare (pope is king of aftercare!!) and a lil’ long bubble bath where he’s just washing your hair so gently making sure he does it how you like even though you’re just fucked out in total bliss laying against his chest as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

[annafayeink]

Canvas of Lies

summary: Cate’s life is a careful balance of paint-splattered sweaters, rejection emails, and dreams too big to fit in her tiny apartment. Lu’s life is all charm, designer sneakers, and family obligations that come with impossible expectations. They’re best friends, polar opposites—and suddenly fake dating to help Lu survive a high-stakes family dinner. What starts as an improvised act becomes a whirlwind of tangled stories, unspoken truths, and moments that blur the line between pretend and reality. In the chaos of lies they craft together, Cate and Lu might just uncover the truths they’ve been avoiding all along.

warnings & tags: best friends to lovers; fake dating; mutual pining; slow burn; emotional hurt/comfort; fluff, angst & humor; eventual romance & smut;

Chapter One

The rejection email sat in my inbox like a tiny grenade, waiting to explode.  

“Thank you for your submission, but we are unable to include your work at this time…” 

I didn’t need to read the rest. They were all the same—polite, distant, and devastating. I hovered the mouse over the delete button, as if making it go away would somehow turn back time. 

I slammed my laptop shut instead. The motion sent a jar of brushes teetering off the edge of my desk. It hit the floor with a sharp clatter, paint-streaked handles rolling and scattering across the floor.

I let out a frustrated breath, eyes flickering towards the half-finished painting on the easel. The colors were bold—too bold. The swirls of blue and gold clashed in a chaotic explosion of pigment that seemed to scream without words. It felt just like my emotions. It felt like me: all over the place and out of control. Somehow too much and not enough at the same time. 

I groaned and crouched to gather them, but my knee bumped against the easel and it was all I could do not to let it go flying to the floor as well. A smear of blue paint ended up on the cuff of my sweater, but I couldn't bring myself to care. It was just another thing in my surroundings to remind me of what a mess I am.

The knock on my apartment door broke the suffocating silence to snap me out of my self-pity spiral.  

“Open up, starving artist. I brought sustenance.”  

I straightened, brushing stray hairs out of my face, and shuffled to the door. I didn't bother checking the peephole — who else would show up unannounced with that much swagger?

His voice was unmistakable: smooth, teasing, and just a little too confident.   

I couldn't help but smile as soon as I opened the door. There he stood, Luigi Mangione, my best friend and occasional pain in the ass. His Adidas jacket was slung over one arm, and his dark hair was artfully disheveled in a way that probably took no effort at all. In his free hand, he held a bag from my favourite bakery.

“You look…” He tilted his head, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “Unhinged. Have you slept?”  

“Hello to you too,” I muttered, stepping aside to let him in.  

With the scent of sugar and butter trailing behind him, he waltzed into my apartment with the kind of casual confidence I'd never quite mastered. As he passed, his hand brushed my shoulder, warm and grounding. Then he placed the bag on my tiny kitchen counter and tossed his jacket over the back of my desk chair carelessly. 

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice tinged with mock concern. His fingers reached out to pick at a paint stain near the elbow of my hoodie. “You look like you’ve been on a three-day bender. Did you finally lose it and paint with wine?”  

“No. Wine is expensive.”  

“Fair point.” He handed me a croissant and perched himself on the arm of my threadbare couch, kicking off his sneakers like it was his second home. 

I took a bite, grateful for the distraction, but his eyes stayed on me, too sharp and perceptive for my comfort.

“What happened this time?” he asked, leaning forward. His tone had softened, but his gaze was steady—like he could see right through me even when I didn't want him to.

I hesitated. Lu was my best friend, but his world was light-years away from mine. It wasn't just the money, or the confidence, or the way he moved through the world like he belonged everywhere. It was the ease with which everything seemed to fall into place for him. Like he'd been handed a map at birth, while I was still wandering in circles, looking for the starting line.

He had more charisma than anyone should be allowed, the right connections, and an aura I couldn't replicate. Meanwhile, I was stuck in this tiny apartment, surrounded by unfinished projects and an inbox full of rejection emails. It felt like trying to explain a snowstorm to someone who lived in a desert. I wasn’t sure he’d understand. Still, I gestured vaguely towards my closed laptop.  

“They rejected me again,” I said, forcing the words out. “Apparently, I’m too ‘experimental’ for the gallery scene. Whatever that means.”  

Lu's brows knit together, an expression so out of character it almost made me laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Your work is incredible.” He held my hand and pulled me towards him, making me plop down heavily on the couch. “Those idiots wouldn’t know talent if it slapped them in the face.”  

I snorted, and a bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Thanks, but I don’t think slapping people is part of the artistic process.”  

“Maybe it should be.” He grinned, but there was a softness in his eyes and a hint of admiration that made my chest ache. He tapped my knee gently in that reassuring manner of his. “You’re going to make it, you know. One of these days, they’re all going to be begging for your work.”

His words landed with more weight than I expected. I felt them sink in, but I didn't know how to respond. The sincerity in his expression caught me off-guard.

His hand rested on my knee, tender, and solid. It made me want to believe him—to think that one day my paintings might be hanging in galleries, admired by the same people who rejected me now.

“I mean it,” he said, quieter. His thumb brushed against the seam of my jeans, an absentminded motion that somehow steadied me. “I'm serious, Catherine. You've got something special, and one of these days it's all going to click for them. You'll show them.”

I turned back to the easel so I could blink away the wetness in my eyes, brought on by the flutter of hope. But when my gaze drifted back to the blue and gold monstrosity laughing at me from its perch, suddenly the lump in my throat grew to the size of a football. How could I show them how good I could be when I didn't even know how to make it right?

I got up, avoiding his gaze, and busied myself collecting the brushes I'd dropped before. “It's just… it doesn't feel enough. I feel like I'm always halfway there, but can never get it right.”

“Maybe it's not about getting it perfect. Maybe it's about… Getting out of your own head and letting go.” I heard Lu getting back up and crossing the room in a few steps. He crouched beside me to take a hold of my chin and make me look at him. “Remember that mural you did in college? The next day you freaked out because you hated it, but it’s still all over social media! People love your work because it's you. That's what they’re going to see eventually, I promise.”

His smile was gentle, without a trace of teasing. I buried my face in his neck and his arms surrounded me.

The pang of envy hit me unexpectedly, sharp and unwelcome. Everything came so easily to Lu, from charming strangers to walking into a room like he owned it. Even now, standing in my cluttered apartment wearing a five-year-old sweater and looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, he came across as someone who could be in a penthouse somewhere, sipping champagne and making business deals with powerful people. Meanwhile, here I was, hoping the stupid croissant wasn’t my last meal before rent came due.

I knew he was being sincere, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't quite understand what it was like to fight for every inch of progress. To be told you weren't enough over and over again until you started to believe it. But I didn't say that. I didn't want to ruin the moment.

“I'm gonna need you to repeat those words every now and then, okay?” I said, breathing deeply to shove my internal pity party away. “You know, to balance out all the rejections…"

When I pulled away from his embrace, he kissed my forehead lightly. “I will, anytime you need to be reminded of it.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I said lightly, forcing a smile. “I’ll be sure to let the art snobs know you’re on my side.”

“Damn right I am,” he said, flashing me another familiar grin. “Somebody has to keep you from becoming a tragic artist cliché.”

I rolled my eyes, but the tension in my chest eased just a little.

Then his phone buzzed, and everything shifted. He glanced at the screen and groaned.  

“Oh, come on, not again…” He answered the call, putting it on speaker.  

“Luigi!” his mother’s crisp, aristocratic voice filled the room. “Have you given any thought to who you’ll bring to the anniversary dinner? It’s next weekend, and you cannot show up alone. You know how that looks.”

Lu rolled his eyes at me. The corners of his mouth were pressed into a thin line when he got up with stiffening shoulders to pace the room. “I was actually planning to—”  

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on being so difficult. We’ve been nothing but patient with you, and this is how you repay us? By embarrassing us in front of the entire family and our partners? Do you have any idea what people will say? I mean, for God's sake, Luigi—”

As his mother droned on, Lu ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. The usual easy smile was gone, replaced by a tension that rarely showed on his face.

I raised an eyebrow at him. He usually brushed off family drama with a joke, but this seemed to cut deeper.

He hit the mute button, letting out a long sigh. “See what I have to deal with?” he said to me, exasperated. 

“Getting a date sounds like a you problem,” I smirked. “Good luck with that…”  

My words were casual, trying to lighten the mood, but my gaze lingered on him. The frustration in his eyes wasn't just annoyance—it was heavier, like he was carrying the weight of years of this.

He let out a dry laugh. “Thanks for the support.”

I shrugged. “You could always just tell her to back off, you know.”

He didn't answer, but the flicker of something in his expression—regret? Resignation? — made me feel like maybe I'd crossed a line.

Before I could say more, he unmuted the microphone. “Fine, Mother. I’ll find someone you’ll approve of.”  

“You’d better. And make sure she’s… respectable. Someone worthy of the family name. Honestly, Luigi, do try to act like a Mangione for once. We've given you everything, every advantage, and all we ask is for you to do your part and stop being troublesome.”

The call ended with a sharp click, leaving a silence that felt too loud. 

Lu stared at the phone for a moment before setting it down on the counter with more force than necessary. His fingers drummed against the countertop, his usual ease replaced by a restless energy. 

“Wow,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “That was… intense."

“That's just how she is,” he replied with a shrug, as if It wasn't that big of a deal. He flopped back onto the couch, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. “She wants ‘respectable.’ What does that even mean? Respectable by whose standards? Am I supposed to find someone who quotes Shakespeare while doing charity work in pearls?”  

“Or,” I suggested, nudging his leg with my foot, “you could skip dinner altogether.”  

“Tempting,” he said, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “But no. If I don’t show, she’ll send an army of matchmakers after me. Last time, it was someone who thought a ‘fun date’ was discussing the stock market.”  

I giggled, imagining him squirming through that nightmare. “Lu, you don't have to jump just because she snaps her fingers. You're a grown man.”

He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. “It's more complicated than that.”

“It is?” I asked before I could stop myself, curiosity piqued.

He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. 

I wanted to push further, ask what he meant by that. But there was something in the sudden darkness of his demeanor that stopped me. There was something he wasn't telling me, but I didn't know how to ask without possibly making things worse.

With a resigned huff, he shifted, laying his head on my lap. It was a familiar gesture, one he'd done countless times before whenever he sought comfort but refused to admit it.

Instinctively, I began to play with his curls, twirling the soft strands around my fingers. The rhythmic motion seemed to soothe him, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxed.

“You're too good to me, Cate,” he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” I teased, gently tugging on a particularly stubborn curl.

He chuckled softly. The weight of his frustration seemed to lift, replaced by the comfortable silence that often settled between us.

After a while, I broke the quiet. “So, about this anniversary dinner… Any ideas on who the lucky ‘respectable’ date might be?”

He let out a humourless laugh. “If I had someone, don't you think I'd have mentioned it by now?”

“Okay, fair.” I paused, a mischievous thought creeping in. “You know, if you're desperate, I could always dust off one of my old dresses and pretend to be your doting girlfriend for the night.”

His eyes snapped open, and he tilted his head to look up at me. “That’s… insane.”  

“It’s genius,” I corrected.  

“It’s insane,” he repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You’d really do that?

“Of course,” I said, giving his hair a gentle ruffle. “It sounds fun. Plus, I owe for all the croissants.”

The tension in his shoulders eased visibly. “You, in a fancy dress, pretending to be my girlfriend? Now that's something I'd pay to see.”

“Hey, I clean up nicely,” I shot back, feigning offense.

Lu's eyes softened. “Do you, now?”

Before I could respond, he reached out to cup my face with his hand. His thumb brushed gently against my cheek, moving in a slow arc, tracing a line that left warmth in its wake. 

The sudden unexpected touch sent a shiver down my spine. I froze, not sure what he was up to, until he pulled his hand back with a smug grin. 

“You're wearing your art again,” he said, holding up his thumb to reveal a faint cobalt smear.

I blinked, then let out a nervous laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

His hand dropped back to his chest. His smile came a second too late, gaze lingering on me like he wasn't entirely sure whether to laugh or say something else entirely. But then I saw the familiar playful glint return to his eyes. 

“I guess that means I'll have to keep an eye on you during dinner. Make sure you don't end up wearing the hors d'oeuvres too,” he laughed. 

“Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“That would really make you look experimental.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Hey, as long as you promise not to spill your hundred dollar wine on my fancy dress...”

“Fine,” he said with a cheeky laugh. “Just don’t fall in love with me. That’s not part of the deal.”

“Pfft. As if.” I swatted at his arm, grateful for the tension finally breaking into our usual banter.

As we laughed, we stayed like that on the couch—close, steady, familiar. Just like always.

___

For the tag list, click here ✨

[pitchsidestories]

my favourite barista II Sara Doorsoun x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1320

a/n: that oneshot was solely inspired by Saras instagram story. As always this is just fiction !

“Your favourite customer is back.”, your colleague Nadine noted winking. Today’s been quite a busy day for her and you at the coffee shop you worked at. It was a very rainy summer, but today the sun decided to come out and with that the people returned. Looking happy with the coffees in their hands as they sat outside to enjoy the warmth of the sunshine.

“What?”, you looked up surprised, searching for the woman you hoped she meant.  “Sara, hi.”, you greeted the short-haired woman excitedly. Oh, how you missed that smile, you were sure this could light up the whole town.

“Hi.”, Sara beamed at you. The defender reminiscent about how much she yearned to see you again while she was away with the national team.

“The usual order? You should try those sweet treats they’re delicious.”, you recommended with a smile on your lips.

“Uhm..yeah, you know what? Give me one of those, I got something to celebrate.”, Sara decided.

“You do? Tell me about it.”, you replied as you started making her a flat white. To yourself you thought, I worried you might never return to our coffeeshop because you haven’t been here for a while.

“Oh, I was in France.”, she explained grinning.

“At the Olympics?”, Nadine asked interested.

“Yes, but I really missed my favourite coffee.”, the defender confessed, her brown eyes kept glancing at you instead of the hot drink you were preparing.

“That’s so sweet.”, you commented.

Meanwhile your colleague had different questions for the athlete. “Did you win a medal?”

“We did. Bronze, you want to see it?”

“Yes.”, Nadine replied eagerly.

“Wow, it’s beautiful.”, you said admiringly, as Sara placed the medal carefully in your hands.

“That’s heavy.”, your colleague yelled impressed.

“Yeah, it’s but not as pretty as..”, the defender begun flustered.

“As the coffee.”, you ended the sentence for her smirking amused and handing her the coffee order.

She shook her head nervously before finding the courage to continue. “As the person making my coffee.”

“I’ll take on the other customers so you can continue the very interesting conversation.”, Nadine announced with a knowing grin.

“Please ignore her, Sara.”, you asked laughing.

“I’ll.”, the football player agreed gladly. With a sigh the two of you took a seat outside in the back garden. The scent of the roses filled the air and you both took a deep breath to take it all in.

“So, you said that I’m pretty? What if I think you’re beautiful.”, you picked up the flirty talk from earlier. Feeling more comfortable and much freer now that it was just between her and you without the noisy ears of anyone else.

Sara raised an eyebrow with amusement: “Then I will have to say that you’re gorgeous.“

“Is this a competition? You already won a bronze medal.“, you laughed, your cheeks flushing red.

Shrugging, Sara leaned over to you and rested her medal on the counter: “I thought an olympic medal might convince you to go on a date with me. Or do you only go out with gold medalists?“

You stared at her, dumbfounded and shook your head. “Me? I wanted to ask you out before you went off to Paris but I never found the courage.“

Now it was Saras face that displayed a mixture of surprise and confusion: “Wait, you did?“

You nodded gingerly: “Yes.“

“Wow.“, Sara said before she burst into laughter. “We’re horrible at this.“

You grinned at her: “Like absolute beginners.“

“At least we agree that we both want a date.“, the defender pointed out, brushing through her short hair.

You nodded towards the cup in front of her. It had already stopped steaming.

“Right but you should really drink your coffee before it gets cold.“

“Fine. Can I pick you up after your shift?“, she asked before taking a long sip of her coffee.

You pretended to think about it for a moment and then nodded: “Sure. You can bring Peanut with you and we could walk along the river? I’m sure we won’t run out of stories to share and I want to hear everything about your Olympics experience.“

Sara beamed at you, seemingly happy that you remembered her dog that she sometimes takes on walks to your coffee shop. “I like that.“

“Perfect. See you later.“

Sara placed her empty coffee cup down and waved you goodbye while Nadine appeared back at your side.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust: “That was absolutely gross to watch.“

“Excuse me?“ You playfully elbowed her in the side.

“That’s been going on forever.“, she laughed.

Biting your lip, you explained: “I couldn’t ask her when she was heartbroken… Sara needed time to heal.“

Nadine just gave you an unimpressed look: “The fact that you know that her ex broke up with her makes this all even more obvious.“

“Obvious?“, you echoed. “What do you mean?“

“Oh please.“

You started to get increasingly frustrated with her. You just wanted this conversation to end. Looking at the clock, you started to clean some dirty dishes. “Forget it.“

Nadine sighed: “You don’t always have to act that oblivious. You know what I mean and you know that she came here for you all the time. Our coffee isn’t that great.“

There was slight hint of a laugh in her tone when she said the last part.

You turned back to her: “That’s a lie, our coffee is… Maybe you’re right.“

“Of course I’m right. Now go and get ready. I can finish the shift alone.“, she said, gesturing towards the mostly empty seating area.

“Thank you.“, you said happily and hugged her quickly. She reluctantly let it happen and watched you leave with a shake of her head.

The dog saw you before Sara and greeted you enthusiastically with wet kisses which didn’t get unnoticed by her owner who smiled at that. Afterwards you started to walk along the river, the late afternoon sun tinted everything in a warm glow.

“You should write everything down, Sara your stories about Paris are too good to be forgotten.”, you remarked excitedly after she retold another hilarious moment of the tournament.

“No, I’m not the kind of person for that. I like to keep my stories for myself and the people I love.”, the defender shook her head slowly.

“The people you love, huh?”, you smiled teasingly before coming to a halt when you realized.

“We really were idiots but maybe that’s a future story too.” There was a hopefulness swinging in your words.

“I think that makes a great story to tell.”, Sara agreed, taking your hand in hers as you continued to walk.

“It might become my new favourite.”, you admitted. This marked only the beginning of your love story.

After a Germany match, Feli was curious to meet her best friend’s girlfriend. “So that’s the infamous y/n? You were right she smells delicious.”

“That’s such a weird thing to say but hi.”, you giggled at her remark.

“I promise Feli isn’t as weird as she sounded but she’s right you do smell delicious.”, Sara defended the other defender. Your scent was her favourite as you always smelled of coffee beans and a hint of vanilla.

“Stop it you just want a kiss even though you’re very sweaty.”, you pretended to be disgusted by her sweet compliment.

“No Olympic medals without getting sweaty .. or without coffee.”, she declared.

“This was just a test game.”, Feli reminded the older woman. The North Carolina Courage player wrinkled her nose in disgust once she noticed you and your girlfriend were exchanging kisses.

“Ew, stop making one feel single!”

“Maybe ask your local barista to help you out.”, you winked at her.

“It worked for me at least.”, Sara added.

For you two it all started with the bronze medal or even earlier, but you were worth more to her than any prize that could be out there.