#GATHERING MY HANDFUL OF HORROR FANS

[xhanisai]

horror fans in this fandom pls read my ongoing horror fic especially if you like your good ol' generic ghosts and shit like that

(AO3)

[purple-plum-petals]

Homicipher request for the Homicipher starved fans pls? 🥺 Is it okay to ask for the reactions of Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped(as he gets wheeled past us on a cart after being kidnapped, again), Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, and Mr. Scarletella with a reader who winks and blows a kiss as they pass by them? Like for some reason reader seems to be in a really good mood and they're skipping around with their trusty crowbar in hand then they see one of the boys then mwa~💋. I can imagine that they'd be confused at the unfamiliar gesture but I'd like to get your thoughts on it. 😂

⊱ Homicipher Characters’ Reactions to MC Winking at Them and Blowing Them a Kiss ⊰ || Multiple Character Headcanons

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Character(s): Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, and Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (MC’s Lore), Brief Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (Mr. Machete’s Part), Canon-typical Horror Elements (Mr. Gap and Mr. Scarletella's Parts), Cultural Barriers (None of Them Understand the Gesture). Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Platonic or Romantic Relationship Word Count: ~1,880 Request: “Homicipher request for the Homicipher starved fans pls? 🥺 Is it okay to ask for the reactions of Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped(as he gets wheeled past us on a cart after being kidnapped, again), Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, and Mr. Scarletella with a reader who winks and blows a kiss as they pass by them? Like for some reason reader seems to be in a really good mood and they're skipping around with their trusty crowbar in hand then they see one of the boys then mwa~💋. I can imagine that they'd be confused at the unfamiliar gesture but I'd like to get your thoughts on it. 😂” Author’s Note: They all would definitely be confused by the unfamiliar gesture, so I kind of did headcanons about how each of them would react to you blowing them a kiss/how they would go about trying to understand what the gesture meant by using context clues (or just straight-up asking you about it haha). Sorry if they’re not great! I’m still trying to figure out how I want to balance the characters’ personalities as they are in canon while adding some more fun/whimsical aspects of your ask.

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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💉: He smiles softly at your cheerful demeanor, yet it falters slightly when you press the tips of your fingers to your lips and squeeze one of your eyes shut in response to him looking in your direction. You remove your fingers from your pursed lips and blow out a puff of air before continuing in the direction you had been walking towards. While he could infer you were in a good mood by your body language, he was curious to know what exactly the gesture meant. 

💉: Instead of lightly treading the question or observing you for any longer to see if he could figure out what the gesture meant by using context clues, Mr. Silvair instead just asks you directly to get an answer as soon as possible the next time he sees you. He deeply enjoyed research and observation, yes, but there was no need to wait to gather information when you were a perfect source of it. 

💉: Of course, it wasn’t easy to explain what “blowing a kiss” was, especially since they didn’t even have equivalent words in their language for “blow” or “kiss,” but you tried your best with what you had to work with. It’s almost funny how earnestly Mr. Silvair is hanging onto every word you speak. He chuckles after you finish explaining, amused by the gesture and its meaning – how quaint, he thinks to himself. 

💉: He found humans to be fascinating and their diverse cultures even more so, so he was of course interested in learning whatever you were able to recall from your previous life in your old realm before you ended up in this one. He treats everything you tell him with an air of respect, and he even documents what you share with him so he (and you) never forget that part of yourself. 

💉: Mr. Silvair finds the gesture to be an entertaining one, but deducts that it’s not usually one humans do with strangers or those they are not comfortable with from your explanation. Does that mean you are comfortable enough around him to express yourself in that manner? How fascinating... Do you care to tell him why you feel the way you do toward him? He’s very much interested in learning the reasoning behind your thought processes. 

🗣️: Mr. Chopped smiles so widely when he sees you in such a chipper mood, making your way down the hall with a noticeable spring in your step. He likes seeing you happy, so it makes him feel good, too, watching you skip by with such a bright expression on your face! Then, you press your hand to your lips and wink, blowing something he couldn’t see in his direction, and suddenly he’s confused. 

🗣️: Huh… well, that was strange. For some reason, though, the playful gesture seemed almost familiar, yet he couldn’t remember why. He can’t exactly chase after you and ask what that meant, so he’d have to wait until the next time he saw you (which he hoped wouldn't be a long wait – he liked spending time with you). 

🗣️: The next time he saw you, he asked if you could explain what the gesture meant. You did the best you could, but you’re pretty sure he comprehended what you were telling him if the giddy expression on his face was anything to go by. His excitement was quite adorable. However, his expression suddenly falls, and you watch him begin to sulk. How was he supposed to blow you a kiss in return? He didn’t have a body!! The poor man is so distraught. 

🗣️: He gets either Mr. Silvair to help him out or Mr. Hand to, well… give him a hand to enact his plan. The next time you see him, he calls out to you with such a delighted look on his face. So, you make your way over to him and kneel down to his level, watching as the sentient hand comes up to Mr. Chopped’s lips, making the same gesture you did, before he blows you a kiss and winks. He did it! He blew you a kiss!! 

🗣️: Mr. Chopped is very proud of himself and the pleased expression on his face is far too charming for you. He feels a warmth in his metaphorical chest knowing that you felt comfortable enough with him to blow him a kiss, especially since it seems like something humans do with those they are most comfortable with. 

🕳️: He’s honestly somewhat impressed you knew he was there, observing you through the small hole in the wall while you walk around like you’re on top of the world. He can’t help but wonder what happened that has you so chipper, but his thoughts are derailed a bit when you press your hand to your mouth and blow something at him, closing one of your eyes as you do so… What the hell was that?? 

🕳️: He feels somewhat offended, honestly, and gets that semi-disgusted look on his face before disappearing into the darkness. Mr. Gap understands it’s some kind of weird human gesture, but he can’t really put two-and-two together about what it means. Though, he finds himself continuing to watch you from any nook-and-cranny he could find, observing you to see if you would do the gesture again – you don’t.

🕳️: Mr. Gap ends up startling you while you’re walking down a long, grimy hallway, his hand darting out from a vent to grab your ankle. His grip isn’t tight, but it most certainly scares the life out of you and effectively catches your attention. He finds your scare amusing but ends up cutting straight to the point and asks you why you blew something at him. 

🕳️: Even after explaining what the gesture meant, Mr. Gap still doesn’t fully understand why you did it, so you just tell him it was supposed to be a nice gesture that showed you enjoyed him – playful. That is something he does understand, and it’s almost amusing how the smirk on his face grew. He must be special, he thinks, and his smugness is radiating from his face peeking out of the darkness. 

🕳️: Mr. Gap doesn’t do the gesture back, but he strangely enough finds himself hoping you don’t blow anyone else your kisses. He doesn’t know why the thought of you sharing the gesture with another annoys him a little bit – after all, it wouldn’t make it special anymore if you did it with everyone. He even begins bringing you things, like more crowbars or even pieces of candy he finds lying around. It’s almost like he’s trying to bribe you…

🔪: He sees you happily skipping around and finds himself having to do a double-take at the strange sight. It wasn’t a bad sight, not at all, it was just weird seeing you so bright and lively. However, his mind buffers a bit when you look at him, pursing your lips and giving him a wink before your fingertips press to your mouth and then flick towards him. 

🔪: Mr. Machete is immediately annoyed, not knowing what the gesture meant, and he assumes you were trying to pick a fight with him. So, he takes his large sword and reels it back, throwing it at you with a strength that still had your eyes boggling. You duck with a yelp as the sword implants itself into the wall behind you. 

🔪: He makes his way over to you with incredible speed, blocking your body between his and the wall as he looks down at you, his head tilted to the side as he asks you if you wanted to fight him. Mr. Machete finds your frustrated expression endearing as you tell him the gesture was meant to be playful and fun. He’s low-key kind of disappointed you didn’t want to fight, but he steps away from you after your explanation without another word. 

🔪: However, while looking down at your angry expression, Mr. Machete suddenly has the urge to squeeze you (I imagine he experiences cuteness aggression regarding you). So, he reaches down and squeezes your cheeks between his large and calloused hand, causing your lips to purse. Even though you hadn’t been in the mood to fight him, now you were. He smirks widely as you two begin to spar all because he misconstrued what your gesture meant. 

🔪: Mr. Machete doesn’t see the point of blowing kisses, and he doesn’t feel any particular way about the gesture. It’s kind of whatever for him, even though he does notice that you don’t seem to do it with anyone else. After the first time (that ended up leading to a spar), though, he notices you hadn’t blown him another kiss since… He ends up coming up to tell you in his gruff, almost rude way, that he wouldn’t mind if you did it again. 

🩸: He tilts his head to the side at the gesture, his shaggy red hair swaying with the movement. Well… that was new, he thinks. He liked you quite a bit (far more than just a bit, really… my man is kind of obsessed with you), and he had been following you throughout your entire journey in this realm, yet he had never once seen that expression or gesture from you before. Now, he was curious to know what it meant, and he was going to try and figure it out one way or another.  

🩸: He continues to keep his eye on you, following you as you go about your day. Mr. Scarletella likes seeing you so chipper and full of life, especially considering you were someone who tended to take life from others. The dichotomy between your behavior and actions had his heart racing. However, despite what he expected, you never did the gesture again. So, he couldn’t gather information by observing you – he would need to simply ask you directly, then. 

🩸: Mr. Scarletella effectively manages to corner you after some time, catching you completely off-guard. While you two had certainly started off on the wrong foot, you had gotten to the point where you were relatively calm and comfortable around the strange man who was so incredibly down bad for you. He gazes down at you with his lifeless eyes, inquiring about the gesture you made earlier. 

🩸: You explain to him what the gesture meant for you, that you were simply in a good mood and felt a little bit playful at the moment when you blew him a kiss. Mr. Scarletella smiles at your words, feeling very pleased with the information. So, it meant you liked him, correct? It meant you felt comfortable enough to express your happiness towards him in such a way, right?

🩸: Well, you inadvertently ended up making him even more obsessed with you, and now his feelings become even stronger every time you blow him a kiss. Mr. Scarletella finds the act an interesting way to express your interest and enjoyment of another being, so he begins to blow you his own kisses in return. He is one of the characters I feel would want to learn more about human customs to deepen his relationship with you even if he doesn’t fully grasp why some gestures mean certain things. 

[suuuupernovaaa]

Treat | Hobie Brown x f!Reader

Your innocent image is shattered when Hobie finds your hidden piercing.

Art credit.

Requested by @friedturtlewhispers. Essentially this, with a different piercing.

Mature. Smut. 18+.

The show hasn't been over for two minutes yet when I feel two strong hands on my waist, gripping tight and pulling me backwards. I nearly spill my drink on the already sticky floor of this underground bar as Hobie spins me around, and brings his lips crashing down on to mine.

"Oh!" I let out a muffled gasp of surprise, and feel Hobie's lips turn up into a smile as they still rest against mine. He pulls away, and takes my drink out of my hand. He brings it to his nose, and takes a sniff. "Gin?" He wrinkles his nose, and I open my mouth to defend my choice, but he's already downed it in one gulp.

"Let's get out of here," he says, grabbing my hand and pulling.

"Oh, okay - bye!" I say over my shoulder to the guy I was talking to at the bar - a big fan of the band, who stands with his jaw agape. I find it awkward to mention that I'm sort of, semi, casually but not really casually, dating a band member. It feels like bragging, probably because I'm so proud of it.

We're outside in the cool night air before I know it, and there's a ringing in my ears from the show.

"Did you like it?" Hobie asks as we turn right, heading towards my apartment.

"I always like it," I reply, squeezing his hand. "Why did we leave so fast?"

He leans over, smirking down at me. "I want to be alone with you."

--

As I flop back onto the couch, I hand Hobie the beer he requested. He takes it, and immediately leans forward, setting it on the coffee table. before even taking a drink.

Unable to help myself, I pick it up and place it on the coaster that was only inches away.

Hobie rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "You can't spend your whole life cleaning up after me."

I shrug. "Sure I can."

He bumps his shoulder into mine, and I lean back into him. Even though I enjoy spending the weekends out with Hobie, lingering in the bars after his shows until the wee hours, it feels so much more my speed to be back home before midnight, relaxed on the couch, just the two of us.

"This is nice," I say with a contented sigh. Hobie's feet are up on the coffee table, and my legs are crossed, one of my knees resting in his lap. He runs his fingers over my bare leg, starting on my shin and up over my knee. The lights are off, and the dull light of a horror film is the only thing lighting the room. I don't really like scary movies, but Hobie enjoys them as background noise.

I lay my head on his shoulder as his hand moves further up, brushing against the fabric of my skirt, and pausing for a moment as if to ask for permission.

We've been seeing each other for a while, enjoying each other's company and getting to know each other, but physically, it hasn't gone all that far. It almost has, a few times, but Hobie's always had some emergency to attend to.

I feel a little foolish... but I'd almost like to be able to call him my boyfriend before we go any further. I know we're adults, but the label means something to me, anyway.

When I don't protest, his fingers snake up under my skirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake. My breathing is coming more rapidly now, my heart pounding, and his fingers are almost at my panties now. I'm stiff as a board, tense, waiting for his next move.

"Before we... can I ask you something?" I say.

"Anything, love," he replies, but doesn't move his hand. He's tracing soft circles on my inner thigh, and it's hard to gather my thoughts. I remove my head from his shoulder so I can look at him.

His eyes are dark, his lips parted just slightly, and when I glance down, I see the bulge in his pants. I feel an ache in my lower stomach, and wetness between my thighs.

"Are you, or like, am I your..." The words are going as fast as they're coming, and my mouth is dry.

"You're my girl. My only girl. I'm yours." His words are assertive, sure, and his gaze is locked steadily on mine.

I grab his shirt, pulling him to me for a desperate kiss, so elated with his words and so beyond ready for him to do absolutely anything he wants to me.

Leaning back to lay on the couch, I pull him so that he's on top of me, he settles between my legs while his tongue explores my mouth.

His hand finds its way up my thigh again, and runs underneath the waistband of my underwear. His thumb dips down and brushes softly over my clit, and I gasp.

So does he.

"What's that?" he asks, and a blush settles over my cheeks. He sits up just a little, so he can look me in the eyes. "Is that a... piercing?"

I purse my lips a little and nod. "Yes."

"Fuck me, Y/N." He brings his mouth back to mine with twice the fervor of before, and pulls my panties to the side as he does, running two warm fingers over my clit, down to my entrance, and back. "I can't believe... you have that pierced. Oh, fuck, I'm so hard," he moans into my mouth, and I arch my back off the couch as he uses his fingers to trace circles around my piercing.

"Oh, Hobie," I moan, grasping his back. He sits up suddenly, removing his hand from me, and I collapse back onto the couch in a huff.

He takes his vest and shirt off, and then pulls my panties and skirt down over my legs. There isn't a moment to breath before his face is between my legs, and he takes my clit into his mouth, sucking and biting gently, then dragging his tongue down to my entrance to gather the wetness that is quickly forming there.

"Hobie!" I gasp, holding his shoulders tightly. He doesn't let up. He brings up two fingers, teasing at my entrance as he takes my clit back into his mouth, and pushes them gently inside me. "Oh, God," I moan, pressing down onto his fingers as they fuck me.

He's making the most delicious noises, humming and grunting and moaning as he works, showing me no mercy. I feel absolutely desperate with need, and every time he thrusts his fingers in, I grind down on them.

"Oh, god, oh, shit," I gasp as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. He rolls the piercing around his mouth with expert precision, working delicately and then biting down, keeping me always guessing, driving me to ecstasy.

He pulls away just for a moment to look up at me. "Cum for me," he demands, and when he brings his lips back to my swollen mound, I explode. I scream his name as I do, unashamedly loud in my orgasm, and he continues his assault, giving me wave after wave of pleasure, until I am absolutely exhausted.

He brings his head up to mine, and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" he says with a teasing smile, and kisses me firmly. "That's a hell of a surprise."

I grin shyly back at him. "That's the point."

"You're so... innocent. Your ears aren't even pierced! You almost never swear. You go to church, for christ sake!"

I roll my eyes. "Only on holidays with my parents."

"Still," he replies with a laugh. "What a fuckin' treat."

[zarnzarn]

The doors to Olympus are sturdy and strong, given everyone's preferences for drama and slamming said doors open and sending them cracking into the wall whenever the opportunity arises. Which is why it's a surprise when they creak open during the once-a-decade pantheon meeting; less so because no entity worth their salt would take so long to open the doors, and more so because everyone who is anyone is already there.

But if everyone is being honest with themselves- which no one is, usually- these gatherings are boring enough that the bland conversation is dropped immediately in favour of craning their necks to catch a glimpse of whatever is coming to relieve them of their boredom.

When the doors finally open however, several of the pantheon murmur in surprise.

"Odysseus," Athena whispers, wide-eyed as she pushes herself off her throne to her feet. It is him- in the king's garb he was buried in but the face he has when he reached home, hair till the shoulders and speckled with grey, face oddly blank. His feet are transparent.

"What are you doing here, sceptre?" Poseidon booms, hair the color of a stormy sea. Zeus, beside him, looks reserved, observing the ghost with something approaching curiosity- eyes flicking to the lightning scars on his daughter's face and back. "Your time has long passed, and Hades-"

"It is a temporary agreement," Odysseus says curtly, barely sparing him a glance as he approaches his patron. "Athena."

Her armour clinks as she steps forward and the gods all twitch, trading glances. Owls are silent creatures- to have her aspect so affected to make noise was... uneasy to say the least. She even holds herself different than usual, something like confused delight shining in her eyes. "How did you-"

"Did you sleep with my wife?"

The throne room is silent. Several jaws drop.

Athena straightens back up, blinking in surprise. She looks a bit shifty, some of the nymphs closest whisper to each other, which- well, almost every single god present owed some part of their existence to the mere story of Odysseus loving his wife.

Would he fight his own patron goddess over it in front of Mount Olympus, though? He certainly was unbalanced enough; Athena herself looked rather uncertain of her odds, even though-

"Are you addled in death, King of Ithaka?" Artemis drawls, looking amused. "Did you forget that your own patron is celibate? Whatever rumor you-"

"No, I-" Athena says suddenly, shifting her spear to her other hand. "I did."

Artemis chokes on her breath and several assorted divine beings gasp in shock and the rest shouting for explanations, although everyone is nearly drowned out by Aphrodite's loud, "WHAT?"

Odysseus inhales sharply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I cannot believe you."

"She asked-" Athena starts, only to be drowned out by the din of various beings screeching and shouting about the scandal.

"ATHENA!" Hera hisses, peacock tail fanning behind her sharply as she pushes herself up. "Explain yourself!"

Athena half-turns to face her, face creased in a frown. "Mother, I-"

"LET ME REPHRASE!" Odysseus cuts in loudly, and the shouting settles down into silence. He walks to his patron, eyes blazing. "I cannot believe," he throws his clenched fists wide as he growls the last word, "-you took Penelope to bed-" Athena surprisingly stays still as he reaches her, mouth falling open as he grabs her by the chiton to yank her down, uncaring of the gasps of horror from all around as he snarls, "-before you ever kissed me."

And then Odysseus grabs Athena by the face roughly and kisses her.

This time Aphrodite's shriek cannot be escaped by anyone.

"Aphrodite, please," Zeus says a few moments later, wincing as his throne reforms around him, stained oddly pink. Quite a few minor entities have discorporated, and the ones nearest to her are still trying to regenerate their hearing. "Control yourself."

Their eyes land back on where Athena has dropped her spear- dropped her spear, Ares in the corner seems to be having some minor hysteria over this, well warranted- and is also on the floor, still being thoroughly kissed by that insufferable, mannerless hero of hers, perched on her stomach to reach. Zeus inhales in fury, Poseidon close behind him as the shock wears off, lightning crackling around his fingers as he opens his mouth to shout- of all the indignities-

"If you two ruin this for me," Aphrodite thunders, warping in front of them and glaring. "I will make you both regret it."

Both gods visibly blanch at the threat, taken aback for one brief moment. Threats from Aphrodite are far worse than any of her more violent siblings, at the end of the day.

Zeus visibly gathers himself just as Athena's helmet clatters to the floor, and he gains a second wind immediately, eye twitching as he spreads a hand to the spectacle in the middle of the hall. "WHAT MANNER OF DISRESPECT IS THIS? TO BARGE INTO OUR MEETING AND THROW ONE OF THE OLDEST GODDESSES TO THE FLOOR LIKE A COMMON WENCH-"

"Zeus," Hera says quietly. Everyone falls silent, although it's not quite enough to stop the two tangled together on the ground. She clears her throat, which finally seems to get through to Athena, who had finally seemed to have gotten over her shock enough to reach out, hands hovering over Odysseus hesitantly. Still, at the noise she seems to remember herself, pushing herself up on an elbow and dislodging him enough to break their necking. He pouts at her, but Athena's eyes are too glazed over to notice, heaving for breath.

Hera opens her mouth to speak, crown manifesting on her brow as she steps in front of the throne, but closes it as the door rattles again.

This time, the spectre shimmers with a faint hint of scales that comes with a freshwater nymph's heritage and excited whispers starved for drama explode across the room as the Queen of Ithaka steps into the room, skirts hitched in her hand and panting as if she'd been running.

"Your Graces," She bows respectfully before entering, Spartan princess through and through, until she catches sight of her husband and Athena, the former of whom seems to have taken the opportunity to start kissing the wisdom goddess again, fingers in her curls.

"What are you doing?" She snaps, rushing over. The entire courtroom holds its breath. She slaps her husband upside the head, making him yelp and move back to shoot her a betrayed look. Athena looks even further dazed than before, cheeks red. "Argos has more manners than you! No wonder Lady Athena wanted nothing to do with you- ah, hello, darling, by the way."

"Penelope," Athena murmurs hoarsely, and the Queen of Ithaka leans down to kiss her as well.

Odysseus chuckles, then jumps with everyone else as Hera slams a hand down on the throne elegantly, cracking it to the base.

"Ah, goddess-" He says, clambering off Athena to bow.

"Silence," Hera interrupts, holding up a hand, eyes cold. "You will not say anything to me apart from an explanation. My agreement for your release from Ogygia was due to the assurance that your marriage was one of the truest I have ever witnessed, conveyed by Athena herself when bartered with all of us to let you go. Tell me, was it a ploy? Because from the disgraceful looks of it, this seems to not be the case in the slightest."

Odysseus frowns, face twisting in confusion. "Athena bartered with...?" He turns to look at his patron, who stares back, unspeaking. His eyes flicker to the lightning scar over her right eye as Penelope traces it with horrified eyes and a gentle thumb, and understanding seems to dawn.

For a moment, rage seems to fill him, glaring with a hatred towards Zeus that everyone whispered later wasn't met by the god king with anger, but a flicker of remorse- before he visibly throws it away behind Athena's old smile and bows.

"God-queen," He says formally, gracefully. Hera twitches a bit, and they'll all talk later about how odd it was to so clearly see Athena's younger mannerisms in the man, down to the curl of the letters. "My marriage to Penelope has never been false, never been broken, this I promise you." He takes Penelope's hand and squeezes it for emphasis, and she raises them as acknowledgement. "But... can you not argue that Athena has been part of our marriage all this time? From its start, where she advised me on courting and her on what to look for, to the twenty years she spent with both of us- me on the battlefield and Penelope in the court; to say nothing of how she helped raise our son and lived in our palace in the days after. And is she not so unbearably beautiful that even my Penelope couldn't wait-" He shoots a glare at her, which Penelope returns with a smile. "-when the chance was presented? How can you fault us for disgrace, after being so long apart from our wife?"

Hera raises both eyebrows at the impudence, the kind of disbelieving expression that hides a warning to tread carefully. "So you claim to be both married to Pallas Athena?"

"In every way that matters except legality," Odysseus says, fearlessly. He is dead, after all, what much can you do to a shade that they didn't already put him through when alive. He is sort of worried about Athena, though, as they both help her back to her feet, Penelope busy whispering compliments and updates and endearments in turn- she's not usually one to be quiet in face of a problem.

Hera tilts her head. "Ah, but you see. I need the legality, if I am to finally-" A helpless, excited smile pulls at her lips once, twice, before unfolding into a bright grin, peacock tails unfolding to their full wingspan. "-finally arrange for a marriage for my eldest daughter who has not once- oh finally, I can hardly believe this day has come-"

"I do not like the way you grabbed her, Sacker of Troy," Ares steps forward as Hera starts ranting half to herself, half to an equally loud assemblage of joyful entities about wedding arrangements, eyes narrowed.

Odysseus barks an incredulous, loud laugh, gesturing to Athena with a slightly crazed look in his eyes. "This lady has broken- and I do not exaggerate- every single bone in my body before I saw my sixteenth year. I have punched her a hundred times in the face when she taught me how to fight. We'll survive, thanks."

"That is fair," Ares steps back, hands raised.

"What duties will you provide as spouses, Ithakan Queen?" Hestia questions, stepping forward.

"Oh, the same we did when we were living," Penelope huffs a laugh. "Keep her busy, make her laugh, be of mild frustration to her, love her well, worship her-"

"I do not. Need to know," Hestia closes her eyes and raises a hand to cut her off, stepping back. Around them, the din catches speed and volume as no further objections arise, excitement spilling into the air.

"What is happening?" Athena says faintly, looking around as if she was just waking up.

"-oh, and we can get out the decor once more! Hebe, Aphrodite, loves, do you remember where we kept the fountains-"

"-finally, a reason to celebrate! Call them all out of hiding-"

"-can't believe this is finally happening, oh sister, what songs should we-

"Why am I getting married," Athena says with much more alarm and horror. She turns to Odysseus and shakes him by the shoulder, eyes wild. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"How is this nothing? Do you have any idea the headache-"

"Athena, sweetheart, will you consider changing into that beautiful piece you made for the ceremony?"

Creakily, she turns her head to Hera, disbelief pasted across her face. "Mother," She says slowly. "They are both dead."

"Oh, I'll make a deal with Hades or something, you hush!" Aphrodite leans forward and snaps, before her irritation melts back into a manic joy. "Oh, what paint shall we do?"

Paint, Athena mouths, looking afraid for possibly the first time since her conception.

Penelope laughs and tugs on Athena's hand to make her turn, tucking dishevelled curls behind her ear. She wonders if the goddess knows how beautiful she is when she's flustered. "Take us away," She whispers. On Athena's other side, Odysseus leans against their patron with a besotted, helpless smile as he stares up at her, her helmet and spear in hand. She'd missed Athena like a limb, missed her deep laugh at night when they'd discussed the day's court, the dry jokes, the hands over hers as she weaved- but Odysseus wasn't himself without her, happy though they were in Hades' lands together, all of them.

"I'm-" Athena wavers, then looks around once more at all the excited screaming, something unreadable flashing in her eyes. Almost against her will, her eyes fall to Zeus, who is sitting silently and staring back at her. Poseidon looks like he still wants to start a fight, but clearly by his wary looks below can tell he will be heavily outnumbered by the overexcited crowd to not try, but Zeus just stares back at her, face blank of any emotion.

"We ask you formally this time," King Odysseus says, walking in front of her to take her attention away, holding onto her hand. His voice has strength in it, drawing the eyes of the murmuring crowd, but he's deaf to it as he stares up at her.

"Will you be our wife?" Queen Penelope asks, joining him, watching their beautiful patron shudder for breath she does not need as her eyes flick to one of them and then the other.

"Yes," She whispers and cheers erupt all across Mount Olympus.

"Finally!" Odysseus complains, and then pulls her down once more to kiss her, all three of them fading at the edges as one of the generous gods present there- who seems to realize that they're not very inclined to stop anytime soon- thankfully teleports them away into a nice room with a large bed.

"Finally," He whispers as he breaks apart to lay her down, cupping her face, voice heavy with the longing of a full lifetime and more. Penelope circles to the head of the bed and starts undoing Athena's braid, staring at them both lovingly.

Later the ones closest will murmur, as the silhouettes faded away, that tears had slipped from proud Pallas Athena's eyes as she placed one hand against Odysseus' cheek, trembling.

"I missed you," She will whisper back, and all three of them fade away to their own story, yet to be made.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Hey! So I had this Hurt comfort fic idea with Charles where she is engaged to him. Have you seen the video about the crowd in Montreal surrounding him? So something like them arriving and he's signing and clicking pics through the crowd holding her hand and the crowd and paps goes a bit haywire and she is separated and then visibly very hurt and injured because of that. And Charles is angry and protective, with the "Idc about myself but if anyone touches/hurts you I lose it" or something similar. Add drama and spice as you feel

Thank you Babe ❤��

A Step Too Far || CL16

Warnings: fluff, angst, implied smut WC: 1.9k

Charles could remember the first time he met your father. Obviously it wasn’t the first first time but it was the first time as your boyfriend, and that made it more important than any of the times they met in the paddock. Toto had gripped his hand tightly as they shook, pulling the younger driver closer to whisper in his ear.

“That’s my daughter, Charles, you put her above all else. It’s my job to protect her, and I’m trusting you here.”

“I understand, sir. I’ll keep her safe.”

“What did he say?” you asked as you left for your date.

“Nothing, ma chérie,” Charles assured you with a smile and a kiss to your cheek.

For three years he had kept that secret promise religiously, even as his popularity grew beyond his wildest expectations. He couldn’t walk down the street without being recognised, crowds gathering and people asking for photos or signatures. It wasn’t exactly new for you having grown up the way you did, but Charles’ fans were far more excitable and passionate than the ones who met your father.

Monza 2023

Everywhere you looked it was a sea of red supporters, the tifosi out in force to celebrate the third and fourth places Ferrari had taken in the race. You could see the equal parts of pride and disappointment on Charles’ face as he watched Carlos take the third step on the podium.

After heading back to his driver room, he collapsed into a chair with a groan and hung his head in his hands. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head, wrinkling your nose at the sweat that dampened his dark hair. “That was a hell of a fight, baby.”

His grunt told you he thought otherwise but he placed his hand over yours and gave it a soft squeeze. “I almost had it, amour.”

“I know.” You nuzzled into his neck until his shoulders bunched up and he wriggled with a laugh at his ticklish spot.

“Okay, okay, no more moping,” he said as he stood up and turned to face you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You held up your hand that had a sparkly new ring resting upon it. “Or I wouldn’t have said yes.”

“I’m very glad you did.” He smiled as he took your hand and kissed the engagement ring. “I need to shower. There’s room for one more…”

Charles kept you tucked close to his side as he made his way through the lines of fans to where his car was pulling up. You were running late once again, after being distracted while you were meant to be getting dressed to go out for dinner. He left your side for only a moment to open your door but that moment was all it took as the metal barriers separating the crowd came crashing down and they surged forward.

The sight and the sound gave you a fright and you stepped back instinctively. “Charles!” He turned at your panicked tone and watched with horror as your heeled foot missed the curb, twisting painfully as you fell. For a second he lost sight of you in the sea of red and he was spurred into action.

“Back up! Get out of my way!” he shouted to the crowd as he pushed his way to you. Rage filled him as he found you crumpled beside his car, arms wrapped protectively around your head while the bodies finally started to give you room. Tears blurred your vision as pain radiated from your ankle and suddenly you were weightless as a familiar pair of arms picked you up. “Amour, are you hurt?”

You could hardly hear him as the crowd demanded his attention, screaming as they waved hats and posters in his direction. The look he sent them should have been warning enough but they were too high on his presence to notice.

“Amour?”

“My ankle,” you admitted with a wince as it was jostled.

He released a torrent of expletives under his breath as he carried you to the driver’s seat and climbed in with you on his lap, your legs hanging over onto the passenger seat. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he apologised as he kissed your temple and pulled out of the hotel.

“It’s not your fault, Charles, I should have been paying more attention.”

“You got hurt because of me, that’s the only reason they were there. Shit.” His eyes darted to the centre screen as it announced an incoming call from Toto and he hit the accept button on the steering wheel.

“You haven’t lost your watch again, have you?” Toto greeted, his voice thick with amusement.

“We are almost there,” he replied as he turned onto the street where the restaurant reservation was booked. “We just ran into some trouble with some fans.”

The silence was deafening until it was broken by the scratch of a chair being pushed back on a wooden floor followed by the click of your father’s footsteps. “Trouble?”

You watched the door to the restaurant open and your father ignored the concierge as he stepped to the curb Charles was pulling up to. “This should be fun.” Charles grimaced at your words and ended the call as Toto tucked his phone away and opened the passenger door.

Toto stared at the empty seat before dragging his eyes across the space to find you on your fiancé’s lap. “Hi papa.”

“Don’t hi me,” he tutted as he walked around and moved the valet along with a wave of his hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you assured him as you accepted his hand out of the sports car. “You two are as dramatic as each other.”

The flare of pain was sudden and impossible to hide when your shoe touched the pavement, the joint weakly giving underneath you. If not for Charles behind you it would have been much worse but he took your weight and kept you upright.

“What the fuck have you done to my daughter, Leclerc?” You found yourself in a tug of war, but you were the rope. Your father tried to pull you out of his arms but your yelp of pain froze the very air. He relinquished his fight and raised his hands before pointing a damning finger at Charles. “Hospital, now.”

“But I’m hungry,” you whined as he instantly moved to follow the order, stepping back towards the Ferrari. “Can’t we go after dinner, please?”

You turned your pleading eyes to your father and watched his resolve weaken.

“No,” Charles interrupted before Toto could agree and you turned to him with a look of betrayal. “Don’t look at me like that, amour. I can’t bear to see you in pain, especially when it’s my fault.”

“At least you take ownership,” Toto muttered. “Susie and I will bring you dinner. Go.”

There was no room to argue, not that Charles would. He respected your father too much for that.

“You need to make a statement,” Toto said tiredly as he sat in the hospital chair opposite Charles. You were on the bed separating them, enjoying the lack of pain while the drugs did their job and waiting for the moonboot to be fitted. “Something like this cannot be allowed to happen again.”

“He didn’t exactly give them permission, papa.”

Charles cut you a look out the corner of his eye before nodding to Toto. “I’ll make sure of it, sir. It might be time to hire some security.”

Your father barely hid his scoff as he muttered, “Better late than never.” Toto sat up straighter and rubbed his tired eyes. “These are things you will need to think about even more in the future, especially when you have children of your own - you’ll realise you can’t wait until something bad happens before making changes. You need to start thinking about the future now, son.”

Charles’ stare turned out the window as he took the advice seriously. You could see the contemplation set in hard lines across his face. The look turned sad when the nurse arrived with the moonboot you would need to wear for at least two weeks and he started to withdraw into himself as he pulled his phone out. Only a few moments later you saw your phone light up with a notification that he had posted to his Instagram.

“Good man,” Toto said as he read the statement that in no uncertain terms warned his fans there would be consequences if they couldn’t respect the boundaries set.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” they both answered adamantly.

“You are all set to go, darling,” the nurse said with a soft smile. “Rest up, and if there are any concerns just come right back.”

After thanking her you hobbled along, sandwiched between your father and fiancé, to the underground car park where the car was waiting.

“I’ll come back to your hotel, make sure you get inside safely,” your father said as he opened your door and kissed your cheek.

“His fans have probably all run away by now.”

“I think you’re underestimating the tifosi. I’d rather not take the risk.”

Toto was right, because if anything there were even more fans lining the entrance to the hotel than before. Only this time there was also more security.

You were quickly ushered through to the quieter reception area where Toto shared a look that said ‘I told you so’ before bidding a goodnight and heading his own way back. The elevator ride to the penthouse suite was silent and it wasn’t the comfortable silence you were used to. It grew heavier with each level and you were itching to get out of the confined space by the time the doors opened.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered as Charles pulled his shirt off and sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“I broke my promise,” he said as his shoulders sagged further, like he was moments from imploding on himself. “I swore to your father I would protect you.”

“Charles, I love you, but you can’t protect me from the world - no matter what my father thinks.” You crawled over the duvet and onto his lap so you could cup his face. “I don’t blame you and it is me who is going to be marrying you, not him.”

His brows pinched together. “I hadn’t even thought about children.”

“What?”

“After the wedding, having children - what that would be like in this environment. I hadn’t thought about it. I obviously knew it’s what I wanted for us down the line but now…it’s a little scary to think what might happen to them.”

“Char, there’s no rush. We don’t know what our future will look like in five years, or ten.” You stroked his cheeks and dipped your head forward to kiss his pouting lips. “Just focus on the here and now, baby. Forget what happened out there. In here, it’s just you and me, and a king sized bed that’s far too neatly made.”

“It is pretty neat.”

“So why don’t we mess it up?”

His eyes flicked to your legs draped over his, lingering on the bulky boot. “Amour?”

Your fingers were already running down his chest, reaching for the waistband of his trousers he had worn to dinner. “You won’t hurt me. You could never hurt me. I trust you.”

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:24」 — l.jihoon

» seventeen menu | woozi menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ yuki-otoko!Jihoon × fem!Reader wc: 3.4k summary: As a snow demon, Jihoon can’t stand the heat and takes to staying in his apartment he shares with his roommate, Y/N. When the AC breaks down, Jihoon asks Y/N for help in keeping him cool. genres/themes/au: smut; supernatural, horror, thriller, roommates to lovers; non idol au, roommate au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, roommates; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this was a LOT of fun to write. I enjoyed the ice aspect of it. It’s not heavy on the spitting but it is there lol it’s more heavy on the temperature play and now I wanna tie Jihoon down to my bed and tease him with ice cubes. Hehe anyway, thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging and supporting my ko-fi, linked on my pinned post! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), temperature play (m receiving), spitting (m receiving. Yeah, I know. That’s different haha), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do dis), use of pet names (hers: baby, sweetheart, angel, etc. his: babe, baby, Hoonie, etc.), that should be everything but I might have missed some. Let me know if I did! kinks: Temperature play + spitting dialogue prompt: ❛❛ What? Does that feel good? ❜❜

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Jihoon let out a grumbled curse as he hit the hard plastic casing of the AC unit once more, as if that would magically make the blasted thing function. It rumbled for a moment before sputtering and dying, all the cool air blowing from the vent ceasing in an instant. He let out a groan of frustration as he stepped down from the step ladder.

“Stupid, fucking, thing,” he mumbled as he picked up the ladder, folded it, and put it away.

It was October and while most of the time, the world around him was starting to cool, summer was holding on, its claws embedded as he tried to stick out for as long as possible. Jihoon hated the summer. The unbearable heat, the unrelenting sun beating down on the world, scorching everything in its path. He hated all of it.

Which is why he was thankful for the fact he worked from home and hardly ever had to leave the apartment. He was even able to order the groceries online when you, his roommate, weren’t able to pick them up after work.

Jihoon walked into his room, grabbing one of the small hand held fans he kept in case of emergencies and turning it on, sighing as the fan whirred to life, blasting him with a small breeze. He started a search through the apartment, gathering every single fan he could find. He was on a mission.

Summer had been unbearably hot this year, the heat rising up near the hundreds almost daily. The humidity was no help, sitting comfortably in the eighty to ninety percent range, making it not only scorchingly hot but sweltering. And if you were dying, you could only image how the heat was affecting your roommate.

Jihoon was not accustomed to such high temperatures, having come from a very cold climate and built to withstand sub zero extremes. He always had a hard time with the summer but this season had been particularly hard on him and he had spent most, if not all, of his time in the apartment, unable to leave because of the extreme heat.

And you knew it was about to get worse. 

When you had woken up that morning, it was in a pool of your own sweat. The AC had stopped working and you only had your fan to cool you off which was not nearly enough. You tried to fix it yourself but you only had so much time to devote to your attempts before you had to get ready for work. Upon leaving, you left a note for Jihoon explaining that the AC was out and that you couldn’t fix it.

Upon arriving at work and after your morning meeting, you called the apartment complex manager, got transferred to maintenance and called in a work order. The woman answering the phone promised to put in the order and expedite it due to the climbing temperatures the coming weekend. You had sent a text to Jihoon, informing him of this and all you had received back was a sad frowning face.

As you finished up your work for the day, you checked your phone to find a few texts from your roommate. You checked them as you got onto the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby.

Hoon: i tried to fix it

Hoon: no luck )):

Hoon: it’s so hot ;^;

Hoon: i’m going to die

Hoon: help

You chuckled as you typed a response, letting him know you were on your way home and you would stop to get some ice cream on the way. You jokingly told him to stick his head in the freezer before slipping your phone into your purse as the elevator arrived at the lobby and you headed out the door onto the busy sidewalk.

The bus ride to the train station was uneventful and you were thankful to be out of the heat of the setting sun, underground where it was much cooler. The AC of the train didn’t even help with all the bodies crammed into the metal tube, heat radiating from one person to another. Upon arriving home, you were thankful for the AC in the lobby and elevator. Even the cool air of the hallway felt nice but entering your apartment, it felt awful.

You shut the door, turning to set your keys on the small table next to the door as you pulled your shoes off. Walking further into the room, you noticed the fans first and stared curiously at them. At least five fans were sitting in front of the couch. The three smaller desk ones sitting on the coffee table while two tower fans stood on either side, pointing directly at your roommate.

Jihoon looked like he was melting into the furniture, a small handheld fan in his hands pointed directly at his face. His brows furrowed, face twisted in what you could only assume to be agony. A thin layer of sweat coated his pale skin. He’d taken off most of his clothes, wearing only a white tank and a pair of gym shorts. “You look awful,” you scoffed as you leaned over, resting against the back of the couch.

His eyes fluttered open, head tilting back to look up at you. “I’m dying,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. You sighed, reaching down to feel his clammy skin. “You’re a little warm,” you said softly. “You want me to put a wet towel on your forehead?” you asked. He nodded weakly and you stood up straight, walking down the hall to the linen closet, grabbing a washcloth and walking back to the kitchen, turning on the cold water tap.

Once coating the cloth and wringing out most of the liquid, you returned to the couch, folding the cloth in half before setting it on Jihoon’s forehead. He let out a sigh of relief, eyes shut as he basked in the cool feeling of the wet cloth against his skin. “Have you tried taking a cold shower?” you asked, leaning against the couch again. Jihoon nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Twice!”

You clicked your tongue, reaching down to brush his dark hair back. “I need an ice bath,” he murmured as you stroked his hair. “If you had said something, I would have gotten a bag of ice from the convenience store on the corner.” You perked up, standing suddenly. “Speaking of…”

You walked over to the black plastic bag and pulled out two boxes of Melona, moving to the freezer to put both boxes away. You tore open one, grabbing a popsicle and shut the door before returning to the couch. “Here,” you said, holding the frozen treat out for Jihoon. His eyes opened halfway and he reached out for the popsicle. “You’re an angel,” he murmured as he gave you a weak smile.

“Have I ever told you that?” he asked. You shook your head, resisting the urge to smirk. “Well,” he said, tearing open the wrapper. “You are.” He opened his mouth, placing the frozen melon treat on his tongue, humming contentedly. “I’m gonna go shower,” you announced. “Did you take my fan, too?” you asked, glancing at the fans in front of him. He shook his head.

“No,” he replied, removing the popsicle from his mouth, licking his lips. “I left yours alone.” You patted his head before heading down the hall to your room, pushing open the door to find like he said, your fan was sitting in its usual place. You shut the door, moving to your bathroom to strip and get into the shower. You turned on the stream, stepping under it before it even heated up, enjoying the cold water against your hot skin.

You rushed through your shower, keeping the water warm enough to wash yourself but not scalding like you normally liked it. Once finished, you stepped out, drying off and pulling on clean clothes. A pair of shorts and a lightweight tank top. You headed back into the living room to find Jihoon hadn’t moved an inch. His popsicle had been consumed and he was breathing slowly as he basked in the fan generated winds.

You shook your head, moving to get a bowl from the cabinet. Jihoon perked up as you moved about the kitchen, peeking up over the back of the couch as you moved to the sink. You turned on the faucet, filling the bowl halfway before turning it off and heading to the fridge, opening the freezer and scooping some of the ice out into the bowl. 

You started back towards your room and noticed him peering at you over the back of the sofa. “You good?” you asked, raising a brow. He shook his head. “What’s that?” he asked, lifting his head more to see the bowl in your hands. “It’s an old trick,” you replied. “I’ll show you,” you added as you started for your room, stopping to look back at him.

“Bring the fans.”

Jihoon followed you, carrying the two tower fans with him to your room. You set up a stool from your vanity with the bowl on it near the bed before setting the fans up behind it, facing the fans towards the bowel and turning them on high. “Lay down.” you instructed. Jihoon climbed onto your bed, laying across it. You joined him and smiled as he sighed.

“The fan blows across the cool air that settles on the surface of the ice water and blows it out. It’s something we used to do when I was a kid. We didn’t have AC when I was growing up,” you explained. “It’s really nice,” he murmured.

The two of you lay there in silence, eyes shut as you enjoyed the cool air. Jihoon soon started to squirm and you opened your eyes, turning your head to look at him. “What’s wrong?” you asked. He sighed and turned to look at you. “It’s nice, don’t get me wrong,” he said softly. “But it’s not enough.”

You glanced at the bowl of ice and then back to Jihoon before an idea popped into your head. “Wait here,” you said as you got up, walking into your bathroom and returning with a towel. Jihoon watched as you placed the towel down on your bed. “Lay on the towel,” you instructed. He got up with a groan and started to move as you walked around to where the bowl of ice sat. 

“And take your shirt off.”

Jihoon froze, turning his gaze to look at you as you pulled the stool closer to the bed. “Take my shirt off?” he asked, watching you with wide eyes. You nodded. “Trust me,” you said as you sat on the edge of the bed, the stool with the bowl of ice between your thighs. Jihoon hesitated before slipping his shirt off and setting it aside. “Lay down,” you told him. He did as you said, laying on his back.

You dipped your hand into the bowl, scooping up one of the ice cubes and turned to Jihoon, placing it against his skin. He let out a gasp which turned quickly into a sigh. “Feel better?” you asked. He nodded wordlessly, licking his lips as you started to run the ice all over his chest, first across his collar bones and then down his sternum to his stomach.

You could see the beads of water rolling down his skin to the towel under him. The ice cube melted pretty quickly and you soon grabbed another, sliding it over his skin, up to his neck, letting it pool slightly before running it along his shoulders until it too melted. You continued this, going through a few ice cubes. “How do you feel?” you asked as you grabbed a smaller cube, popping it into your mouth.

“G-good,” Jihoon said, swallowing thickly. As you grabbed another ice cube, you noticed the slight bulge in his pants. Raising a brow, you turned back to look at his face. “Someone’s getting a little excited,” you said with a hint of amusement. Jihoon’s eyes opened and he glanced down, quickly covering himself with his hands. “S-sorry,” he muttered.

You smiled slyly. “Don’t be,” you said simply as you brushed another frozen cube over his skin, paying special attention to his chest, dragging the ice around one nipple before moving to the other. He let out a soft groan, eyes fluttering shut as you continued to tease him with the frozen water. “Y/N,” he moaned softly as you pressed the ice against his skin, placing your palm over it and sliding it around, drops of water rolling down his skin as you guided your hand lower and lower until the ice was gone.

You grabbed another cub, pressing against his stomach with your hand, sliding lower and lower until your fingers worked under the waistband of his shorts. Jihoon’s eyes snapped open and he met your gaze. “Do you want me to stop?” you asked softly. He shook his head, holding your gaze.

Without taking your eyes off him, you slipped your hand into his shorts, finding him completely without underwear as you guided the ice down his groin. Jihoon let out a groan as your hand pushed the ice down to his cock, finding it already completely hard. “S-sorry about this,” Jihoon whispered as you let the ice melt at the base of his cock. “Don’t apologize,” you said as you grabbed another ice cube with your free hand, popping it into your mouth again.

You pulled your hand out, sticking your hand into the ice water for a few seconds before pulling it out and slipped your hand back into his shorts, your cold hand wrapping around the shaft of his cock. Jihoon groaned, hips bucking slightly. “What?” you asked, sounding slightly condescending. “Does that feel good?” you cooed. Jihoon nodded, biting into his bottom lip as your hand started to stroke him slowly.

You grabbed another ice cube, popping it into your mouth and climbed onto the bed, moving to kneel beside him. “What’re you doing?” Jihoon asked as you grabbed the waistband of his shorts and tugged them down. This was crossing so many lines but at this point, neither you nor Jihoon could be bothered to care. He lifted his hips as you tugged his shorts down, freeing his cock.

You wrapped your hands around him again. You glanced up at him before taking his cock into your mouth. The ice had melted already but your tongue had a lingering coolness to it and it made Jihoon groan as his head fell back, your head sinking down as you took more and more of his cock into your mouth. “Fuck, baby,” he gasped, his hand resting on the back of your head.

“Feels so good.”

You pulled back, letting his cock fall from your mouth. You moved to grab another ice cube, popping it into your mouth under your tongue before taking Jihoons cock back into your mouth. He let out a guttural moan as your head bobbed, your cold spit dribbling down his shaft. “F-ah. Holy shit!” he groaned as your tongue shifted, the ice under it slipping out and pressing against his cock.

Jihoon bucked his hips, thrusting up into your mouth and hitting the back of your mouth. “Don’t stop, god please don’t stop,” he groaned as you pulled off him, grabbing another ice cube before taking him back into your mouth. You slid the ice over his abdomen, enjoying the way his muscles twitched. You glided the ice down past his cock, pressing it to the base of the underside of his cock, beads of cold water rolling down past his balls.

He bucked again, his cock making you gagged but you made no attempt to move back instead letting him set a steady pace, thrusting shallowly into your mouth while you let the ice trail over his skin. “F-fucking hell. M’gonna cum if you keep doing that!” he gasped. You pulled back, tongue swirling around the tip of his cock as you let the ice finish melting.

“You wanna cum in my mouth or inside me?” you asked, your voice low and seductive. “Inside you, please,” he begged, his hand moving to the back of your neck. “C’mere,” he added as he pulled you towards him. You crawled over him, letting your tongue run up his stomach and chest before he pulled you into a sloppy kiss.

You pulled back, tugging your shirt off over your head and then shimmying out of your shorts and underwear. You grabbed two more ice cubes, popping one into your mouth as you straddled his lap. Jihoon grabbed his cock, lining it up with your slit as you hovered over him. “Wait shouldn’t I — oh fuck!” he gasped as you lowered yourself down onto his cock, sinking it into your cunt.

Once his cock was nestled inside your walls, you pressed the other ice cube against his chest. His hands moved to your hips, eyes rolling back as you started to move slowly, rolling your hips as you glided the ice over his skin. “Oh fuck that feels so good,” he groaned, hips bucking slightly as you rode him at your own pace.

You leaned over to grab another cube, popping it into your mouth and letting it melt on your tongue. Once it was gone, you leaned over, hips continued to roll as you grinded against Jihoon. His cock throbbed and twitched inside you as he matched your movements, thrusting up into you.

“Open your mouth,” you whispered, grabbing him by the jaw. He hesitated before obliging, parting his lips. You surprised him by spitting into his mouth quickly before kissing him roughly. It was much different than he was used to but with all the ice cubes you had let melt into your mouth, he would let you do anything if it meant you’d keep using the ice cubes.

His grip on your hips tightened, nails digging into your skin. “M’close,” he groaned against your lips. You grabbed another cube from the bowl, most of it water by this point. “Open your mouth,” you whispered, pushing the cube past his lips when he parted them. Your lips met his, tongue slipping into his mouth, making the ice cube swirl around his mouth.

You change the roll of your hips for lifting them, bouncing on his cock and driving you both towards the edge. “M’gonna cum,” he groaned against your lips. “Do it,” you urged. “Cum inside me.” Jihoon devolved into a series of curses, moans, and whimpers as he chased his high, hips rutting up to meet yours as he tumbled over the edge, his cum releasing into your walls until it started to spill out of you.

Your walls spasmed around him as you came, moaning against his lips as your hips started to falter. Jihoon held you in place as he thrusted up into you, riding out both your highs until he finally stilled, letting you sink down on his spent cock, his cum dripping out of your abused hole.

You let out a sigh, collapsing onto his chest as you tried to steady your breathing. Jihoon’s hand rested on your back, fingers trailing up and down your spine as he stared up at the ceiling. “That was…” you trailed off, searching for the right word. “Incredible,” Jihoon finished your sentence. “That was fucking incredible.”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze, a smile spread across your face before you both broke into laughter. Your laughter lasted a few minutes as the reality of your situation settled on you.

“So,” Jihoon said, moving a hand to the back of your neck. “Where does this leave us?” he asked. You shrugged. “Where do you want it to leave us?” you responded with your own question. Jihoon’s other hand moved to cup your cheek, eyes dipping to your lips as he brushed over them with his thumb. “I kind of want to make this a regular thing,” he muttered. “Especially if we include the ice.”

You pressed a chaste kiss to the bad of his thumb. “Well,” you replied, pushing his hand back and leaning in to kiss his lips. “The AC won’t be fixed until tomorrow,” you reminded him as you reached up to brush his hair back off his forehead. “So we have the rest of the day.” 

A smile spread across Jihoon’s face. “You want to go again?” he asked. You nodded as you pushed yourself up. “Can you grab a new towel?” you asked as you climbed off him and off the bed entirely. “Where are you going?” he asked as he sat up, watching you grab the bowl from the stool. You turned to look at him as you moved towards the door.

“We need more ice.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[pucksandpower]

Grid Kids: First Times

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: they know you’re their mom … you know they’re your kids … but these are the first times you all say so out loud

Series Masterlist

Max Verstappen: Champion of the World

The roar of the engines has faded, the race has ended, and the stands are filled with jubilant cheers. Among the sea of fans waving flags, the color of the Orange Army is predominant. Max Verstappen has just clinched his first World Championship.

As confetti rains down, Max climbs atop his car, soaking in the euphoria. His face displays a myriad of emotions: triumph … relief … elation. During the celebratory chaos, he searches for a familiar face, and as his eyes find yours, a calm settles over him.

As you approach, he jumps down and without a moment’s hesitation pulls you into a tight embrace. Over the din, he murmurs something almost inaudible.

“Thanks, Mom.”

You pull back, a bit taken aback. The weight of the single word isn’t lost on either of you. Max, ever the tough racer, has tears glistening in his eyes.

He clears his throat, trying to mask the emotion, “I mean, after everything, you’ve been like a second mom to me. I couldn’t have done it without your support.”

Sebastian joins the moment, a proud smile on his face. “Welcome to the champions’ club,” he jokes but the underlying pride in his voice is unmistakable.

You wipe away a tear, “I’ve always believed in you, Max. And no matter what, you’ll always be one of my grid kids.”

Charles Leclerc: What If

The race is intense, the energy palpable. But in a split second, the exhilaration turns to horror as Charles’ car careens off track, crashing into the barriers. The scene is chilling and the paddock holds its collective breath.

Time seems to stretch endlessly until, finally, the screens show Charles moving inside his cockpit. It's a sign — he's conscious. When he is carefully extricated from the wreckage and gives a thumbs-up to the cameras, relief washes over everyone.

As he is taken to the medical center, your grid kids gather, their usual playful banter replaced by anxious glances and silent support.

When you’re finally allowed to see Charles, his face is pale, eyes reflecting the trauma of the crash. Despite the bandages and evident pain, he manages a small smile upon seeing you.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

You lean over, brushing the hair from his forehead, your touch filled with motherly concern. “Hey yourself. You gave us all quite the scare.”

He swallows hard, gaze locking onto yours, vulnerability evident. “I thought ... for a moment there ... I thought I wouldn’t ...” he trails off, the gravity of the incident heavy in the room.

You take his hand, offering comfort and strength. “But you’re here, Charles. You’re here.”

He nods, tears forming. And then, in a voice filled with raw emotion, he murmurs, “Thank you, Mom.”

The title that slips out isn’t one of blood or birth but of bond and heart.

You squeeze his hand, “Always, Charles. Always.”

Lance Stroll: Who Needs Wrists Anyway?

After Sebastian’s retirement, life quiets down somewhat. The raucous race weekends are replaced with peaceful moments gardening and beekeeping. But the bond with your grid kids remains as strong as ever.

One evening, a call disturbs the calm. Lance had taken a hard fall while biking and had broken both his wrists. The news shakes you, memories of crashes flooding back. Without hesitation, you pack a bag and book the next flight out to be by his side.

When you enter Lance’s room, you're struck by the sight before you. Both his hands are in casts, his usually playful eyes clouded with pain and frustration. However, seeing you brings a faint smile to his face.

“You didn’t have to come,” he starts, though the gratefulness in his tone betrays him.

You chuckle, pulling a chair beside his bed, “How could I not? I can’t let you starve or wear the same clothes for weeks.”

Lance laughs, “Well, there’s always the option of going commando.”

You both chat, the room filled with light-hearted banter in an attempt to lift the mood. As you prepare to leave for the night after ensuring he is comfortable and has everything he needs, Lance’s voice halts you.

“You know,” he starts, hesitating, “Even after Seb retired, you still ... you’re still here for us, for me. It means a lot.”

You turn back, smiling gently. “Once a family, always a family.”

He swallows, emotion causing his voice to waver, “Thanks, Mom.”

You reach out to squeeze his arm in comfort but remember the reason for your visit. Pulling back before you could hurt Lance, you say, “Get some rest. We’ve got a lot of healing to do.”

George Russell: King of PowerPoint

The rookies sit in the dim room, fidgeting in their chairs, their faces a mix of excitement and nervousness. They’re about to receive their initiation presentation by none other than George Russell, now the Director of the GPDA — an annual tradition to welcome the new drivers, give them insights into the world of F1, and ensure they understand the guidelines, all while keeping it light and enjoyable. It’s also an excuse to give a PowerPoint … and George never turns down an opportunity to put his prowess to good use.

George steps up to the podium, clicking the remote to begin his presentation. The slides cover everything from safety protocols to media interactions. But then, a slide pops up with a familiar face on the screen: yours.

The title reads: “The Heart of Our F1 Family”

George pauses, taking a deep breath. “Now, for those of you new to Formula 1, there’s someone you need to know, someone who has been instrumental for many of us drivers, both on and off the track.”

He clicks to the next slide, showcasing a larger image of you, radiant in the middle of a race weekend while giving one of your famous pep talks to the grid kids.

“This,” George says, voice filled with warmth, “is Y/N Vettel. To the world, she’s known for her contributions to the sport, her philanthropy, and so much more. But to many of us drivers,” he glances at the familiar faces of the other grid kids sitting at the back, “she’s known simply as Mom.”

There’s a hushed silence, the emotional weight of the moment evident.

“She’s our anchor, our guiding light, and sometimes,” George grins, “our stern disciplinarian. If you ever find yourselves needing advice or just someone to talk to, you know where to turn. Welcome to Formula 1!”

Lando Norris: Stream and Shout

Lando is live on Twitch, engaging with thousands upon thousands of fans from around the world while deeply engrossed in a racing simulation game — swerving, overtaking, and trying to claim the top spot. Along with the intense gaming, he’s also juggling questions from fans.

“Hey Lando, any tips for new racers?” one fan asks.

“Just keep training, mate. And don’t get disheartened by failures,” Lando replies, narrowly avoiding a virtual crash.

Another question pops up in the chat, “Who’s been your biggest supporter in F1?”

Lando doesn’t hesitate. “Well, there’s my team, my family, and of course,” he pauses as he navigates a tricky turn on his screen, “there’s Y/N. She is ... well, she’s like a mom to many of us on the grid. Actually,” he corrects himself with a grin, leaning closer to the mic, “She IS mom.”

Fans catch on quickly, and the chat floods with comments.

“Mom? That’s so sweet!”

“Tell us more about her!”

Lando chuckles, “She’s just ... amazing. Always there, always supportive. We’ve had our fair share of fun, chaos, and love. If you’re ever around the paddock, you’ll know. Y/N is magnetic in the best way.”

Mick Schumacher: Drunken Adoration

The end-of-season party is in full swing. It is a tradition where everyone lets loose by either celebrating their successes or shrugging off the stress of the competitive year. The atmosphere is electric with loud music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses.

Mick has perhaps indulged a bit too much. His usually composed and calm demeanor is replaced with a giddy, slightly wobbly version of himself.

As you navigate through the crowd, ensuring everyone was having a good time and not getting into too much trouble, you find Mick seated at the bar, a glass of something strong in his hand.

“Hey!” you call out, approaching him, “Having fun?”

Mick turns, his eyes slightly glazed but recognizing you instantly. A wide smile spreads across his face, “Hey! You know, you’re really awesome.” He slurs, the alcohol evident in his speech.

Laughing, you reply, “Thanks, Mick. Maybe we should switch to water now?”

He shakes his head, trying to focus. “No, no, you don’t get it. You’re not just awesome. You’re ... you’re like ... my mom. Like, a second mom. But also the first because you’re always there and ... you get it, right?”

You chuckle, moved by his inebriated but sincere confession. “I get it, Mick. And thank you. That means a lot.”

Helping him off the stool, you decide it’s time to get him some coffee and maybe a sandwich. “Come on, let’s sober you up a bit.”

As you lead him away, Mick continues to mumble about how great you are, his drunken words filled with genuine affection.

The party continues but for you, that heartfelt albeit tipsy confession is the highlight of the evening.

You: Sons and Spotlights

It’s a grand evening and the room glistens with opulence. Influential personalities from various fields gather, all in the name of charity and giving back. The annual International Philanthropy Awards Gala is an event where the most generous hearts are recognized, and this year, you’re among the honorees.

As you take the stage to accept the award for your contributions to various charities, the spotlight shines brightly but among the crowd, you spot familiar faces — Charles, Max, Lando, Mick, George, and Lance sitting next to your husband. Their presence is unexpected but deeply touching

You begin your speech, gratitude evident in every word, “Giving back is a principle I have always lived by. We are blessed in so many ways and it’s our duty to share those blessings with others.” As you continue, mentioning the various charities and initiatives you work with, an overwhelming wave of emotion grips you.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you glance once more at your grid kids and say, “I have had many titles over the years — friend, daughter, wife — but one that has been among the most precious to me is simply being Mom.”

The room seems to hold its collective breath.

“These young men,” you continue, gesturing towards them, “are my sons in every way that matters. Not by birth but by bond. Charles, Max, George, Lando, Mick, and Lance are my source of strength, joy, and sometimes, a bit of frustration,” you add with a twinkle in your eye, causing a ripple of laughter.

“But more than anything, they are my family. And tonight, in this room filled with so many esteemed individuals, I want to take a moment to thank my sons. For their love, for their constant support, and for making me the best possible version of myself.”

As applause fills the room, your grid kids stand, pride evident in their glassy eyes that mirror your own, joining the crowd in honoring you. They might be champions on the track, but off it, they are just sons, celebrating their mom.

Bonus: A Family Holiday

Mother’s Day arrives and you wake to find a beautiful bouquet of flowers on your doorstep accompanied by a heartfelt note that reads:

For the woman who has been a mother to us all.

Touched by the gesture, you make your way to the living room. As you enter, warm smiles greet you and the scent of a homemade breakfast wafts through the air.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” your grid kids chorus, raising their glasses.

Max grins, “We know you’re not our biological mom but you’ve definitely earned the title.”

Charles, holding a tray with a stack of pancakes, adds, “We couldn’t ask for a better mentor and friend.”

Lance, with a card in hand, steps forward, “And we wanted to show our appreciation.”

You take the card, and as you read, your heart swells. It’s filled with their personal messages, anecdotes, and memories — marking the journey you’ve all shared.

George, holds out a gift bag with a sheepish grin, “We thought you might like this.”

Inside the bag is a beautiful necklace with six interconnected rings, each representing one of your grid kids. It symbolizes the bond you share, a connection as unbreakable as those rings.

Tears well up in your eyes, “This ... this is so thoughtful.”

Mick smiles softly, “You’ve always been there, through everything. This is just a small token of our gratitude.”

You pull them all into a group hug, the love and warmth radiating through the room. “Thank you, my sons. This means the world to me.”

And as you all sit down to enjoy the homemade (only slightly charred) breakfast, the simple yet emotional celebration of Mother's Day reminds you that family isn’t just about blood ties. It’s about the connections forged through shared experiences, tireless support, and love that transcends convention.

[wombywoo]

Hello!!

I wanted to ask if you would be willing to share how you go about finding the references for the injuries you depict in your work? Your pieces where the CoD boys are sporting injuries, fresh and old, are always so lifelike and to my untrained eye seem entirely medically correct.

I have been trying my hand at drawing the boys retired and resting as well, but I’m finding it difficult to decide what work injuries to add and how to find the respective references.

How do you decide what injuries to portray? And how do you go about finding the reference material?

Your huge fan, amustikas

Oooh ok ok! I'm gonna post my answer publically because I think others would find this interesting too!

To preface, I am definitely NOT a medical professional, and as such, a lot of the stuff I choose to depict in my art is not so much..ah, medically accurate as it is....aesthetically pleasing 🤭

I'll start with scars, as a lot of us enjoy slashing up Simon's face with them, lol. Generally, I'll do a cursory google image search for the type of scar I'm looking for (be warned, these can be graphic) with searches like 'burn scar' 'surgery scar' etc. But I find that for things like cuts and lacerations, real-life scars are a bit innocuous and lame 🤷‍♀️ Unfortunately not everyone's skin wants to retain that perfect slash look™️😔

So what I usually end up referencing are costume prosthetic scars ✨

As you can see, they're pretty gnarly:

And you definitely don't have to go this intense, but I find that the dramatic, carved-like appearance of these translate better to art than a realistically healed wound 🤙

The other thing to consider is the prevalence of injuries in the military. From what I've gathered, the most common will be back/shoulder/limb injuries, just a general fucking up of the whole musculoskeletal system in general due to constant overuse 🤕 Hearing loss, shrapnel/blast/burn injuries are also common, as well as all the negative psychological effects :') goooood times (not)

I think it's neat to look up real-life examples of these things, but it can get a bit intense if you're squeamish...

SafeSearch is OFF, the horrors are REal 😳

So yeah...I tend to tone things down, all things considered...😅

For this particular piece:

I researched broken humerus injuries and treatment 👍 Poor boy 🥺(Yes, I am aware that I consumed entire articles and did a shit ton of research about this just to go ahead and put a female's x-ray in this fucking picture sdfghjkl rip💀😭)

But here you can see the actual process for applying the brace for this particular injury:

Neat, eh?

When I draw Johnny with a knee brace, it's usually a real authentic one you can buy on amazon:

Product placement blast!!!💥✨ Bezos, where is my cut?? 🫰

As for ones like this:

I tend to just...scatter some wounds around and patch them up accordingly, lol. Bruising around the eyes is common with any head injury, and surgical stitching will offer a nice puckered skin effect mmm 👌 (I swear I'm normal abt this)

I'm sure the medical malpractice lawsuits are stacking up for me now, but again--it's usually more about the ✨visuals✨

My parting advice would be--go nuts! Feel free to maim and mutilate and mangle to your heart's content 🥰

Thank you for the question, Amustikas! I love your art as well 💗🫶

[holybibly]

This is a little preview of my new series and yes, bunnies, this is a whole series from me. I hope everyone is ready for an erotic dystopia?

Decadent dystopian erotica with majestic dragons - second teaser for today

Glass House Ateez x reader

Everything changed in an instant. 

The king was dead, and thousands of dragons took to the burning skies. The old world was over, and a 'new age' was in the making—an age of gods and monsters. 

A thousand years ago, the fires of revolution blazed across the face of the world. Dragons—the creatures of ancient legends and children's fairy tales—reduced the once prosperous world to ashes in a matter of minutes. Rivers of black blood coursed through the veins of the streets, flooding the cities and lands in their wake. The sky was a blaze of purple flames and electric shocks. The church was reduced to rubble, and the royal family was executed in a public display. In the eyes of the dead, the unspoken horror in front of these majestic creatures remained forever, and in the sparks of the flames, they shimmered like precious sea stones. 

There was a bitter smell of burning flesh and ash in the air. It was the smell of dreams on fire—the smell of a future in decay. 

It was the beginning of the end of ancient life. The beginning of a new world. The Age of Immortality has begun. 

All the legends turned out to be true; dragons did exist. They had always lived close to us, lurking in the velvety darkness of the night, waiting for the hour. Waiting for the hour to come when the power would be in their hands. Dangerous, unbridled, wild creatures of magic and the elements, predators at the top of the food chain. They had come into the world to rule, not to obey, and now, at long last, their time had come. 

The world was at anarchy. Dragons were killing, raping, and enslaving races and lands as if it were an amusing child's game. They drank blood as black as the night from golden bowls, and they ate our succulent flesh as our bones cracked under the pressure of their razor-sharp teeth. They would hold orgies in the midst of the torn corpses and revel in their omnipotence. Those were the days of darkness. A time of terror, when the very word danger was a synonym for life itself. And so it went for several years, until the ultimate power fell into the clutches of the deadly Children of the Night, the oldest of all dragons. 

The majestic Hala. 

Eternal as the moon itself and deadly as the uncharted depths of the ocean, they inspired burning terror in all who encountered them. To their people, they were nothing more than a myth, a legend written on fragments of tablets. Forefathers, ancestors—they had hundreds of names, but each one inspired more fear than the last. They were predators among predators, bristling with animal dominance and primal, unbridled sexuality. They exuded power and sinfulness. They were the ones who defined the rules and set the boundaries of what was permissible. 

With the arrival of Hala, a new phase in the history of the world began. 

Humanity was enslaved, and dragons became the dominant species. As the years went by, the human population began to decline rapidly, with fewer and fewer humans, until "our" species reached the status of gatherers. Angelicus Nova, or Angel Stars, was what we came to be called. Human existence took on a strange religious orientation; we were worshipped, idolized, and adored, but despite all this, humans remained nothing more than a rare exchangeable currency, nothing more than an expensive trinket that was prestigious to own and could be broken with a flick of the wrist. 

The human being also became one of the ways in which money flowed endlessly. These institutions were known as "glass houses." Gateway to heaven. They would be the equivalent of strip clubs or luxury escort houses if you and I were in the old world. The rules were the same: "Look, but don't touch." Girls and boys were expensive pieces of family jewelry that rested under the glass of fancy display cases. Our masters showed us off to the greedy eyes of the world with all the pride and ostentation that dragons have. 

In spite of their possessive, animalistic nature, dragons were nothing more than swaggering bastards with inflated egos and delusions of grandeur.

Humans could be anything as long as dragons owned us—a muse, an innamorata, a nymph, an angel, a siren, or even a goddess—but like everything else in the universe, we came at a price. 

The 'glass houses' were only in operation at night. During the day, all the 'jewels' rested and tidied up after tiring hours of contemplation of the world through the bluish glass of the display window. Nice, obliging workers in starched white collars were busy with the cleaning, scrubbing the baroque decorations of the vetrines with great care from a mixture of sperm, drool, and other secretions. You looked at it with an almost reverent awe, finding it disgusting to the point of bordering on the pornographically beautiful. 

You could see it as real art—crude and original, but art nonetheless. There was something particularly mesmerizing about it, almost hypnotic, about the way the thick, pearly sperm dripped slowly from the golden flowers. 

Of all the glass houses that ever existed, "Eros" was the most beautiful. It was the jewel in the crown of the New Empire, and you were its goddess. There were rumors that the Hala themselves were customers of 'Eros'. But rumors were only rumors. If they were ever to visit your 'home', you would know about it, for they would be where all men ended up—at your feet. 

You were content with the life that you were living. There was no tragedy and no misery, no abusive family or abusive peers, no bullying and harassment at school—no, you had it all great. You were born here at Eros—the growth and blossoming of a beautiful flower. Your whole life has been within the confines of glass rooms and silk sheets, but unlike your dreamy friends, you weren't in need of rescue. 

Your name is Aphrodite. Born in the radiance of the Creator. A goddess among goddesses, carved out of marble and mother of pearl. Your hair falls to the ground in waterfalls of pearls and silk. Your eyes are the eerie silvery moonlight in half-darkness, the deadly attraction of jewels in velvet lashes. Your lips are the succulent, juicy, forbidden fruit that every man would like to taste. The pain of your kiss is going to be the last pleasure of life. 

You are not a delicate, pure lily; you are not a passionate, fiery rose; you are a narcissus reveling in the crystal of mountain waters. You love yourself to pain, to death, to despair, and in all the New Empire, there was none more beautiful than you. 

Original sin. The primordial beauty. You are desire in all it manifests and begins to manifest. 

The naked goddess, clad in snow-white fur like armor, is the goddess of love and ecstasy. 

You've never been conceptualized; you've always been enigmatic. 

You have been the object of worship. Your beauty has been sung in songs, and your love has been professed in a thousand languages. "Eros" was the site of visits from the mightiest and most powerful dragons of the New Empire. They all crawled at your feet, stroking their thick, greased with their cum cocks, greedily as they burned your skin with their golden gaze. They licked the deceptively thin glass of your display case with their long, sometimes split tongues, leaving muddy streaks on the perfect surface of the glass. The mighty and great dragons, unaccustomed to humiliation and submission, urinated like bitches in heat at the mere sight of your bare shoulders and long neck covered with diamond serpents, their eyes shining like stars in the twilight of your silken chambers. They would drip their sperm onto the icy marble floor until it collected in small, glistening puddles, and then they would lick it up as if it were the sweetest nectar in the world. Ambrosia in the truest sense. 

Behind the glass walls of Eros, they were dominators, predators, and the rulers of this world through fear and pain, but here in this garden of Eros, they were nothing more than whores—shameless and needy. Slaves to your beauty, desperate to please you. 

Their moans are always a delight to you. The moaning of your name. 

The scenarios have been repeated to the point of being painful. Sugar-sweet subs with outstretched tongues and pretty, tear-stained faces. Dominant alphas with sweat-glistening skin and eyes rolling with pleasure.

Dragons fucked other dragons; orgies and bacchanals were staged; they were subjugated and subdued. They growled, moaned, squealed, and purred; some were fucked like a port slut, and some were licked for hours until they passed out from hyperstimulation. Some masturbated in front of your window, enjoying the fact that you were there to watch them, and there were others who would spend their heat and ruts in front of your window. 

The list could go on and on: bondage, darkphilia, breeding, voyeurism, humiliation, objectification, and breathing games.

You were saturated with this game. 

There were so many ways in which you could spend your evenings in the company of others. It was all designed to excite you, to make you beg, and to make you plead. Each of your visitors secretly hoped that one day you would strip off your luxurious furs and assume the position that was right for them—submissive, naked, and ready to accept whatever it was they were giving you. 

It was an act of power; it was a position of strength, but here you were the strength. You were power. 

No one would ever have the temerity to lay a hand on you. Goddesses are always untouchable.

You entertained yourselves by teasing them, mocking them, and fanning their flames of desire and passion. Dragons are creatures that are very dependent on their emotions and their desires; they feed on their power and their magic, but when they do not get what they want, it burns them from the inside; it breaks and crumbles them, like a cookie that has been bitten.

It was delicious, but you were full. Thank you, next.

You never denied that you were a sadist; you had a taste for pain; maybe it was a kind of revenge for the destruction of your family; maybe not. They came to you for that feeling; the dragons wanted to be punished and tamed, and the feeling of pain made them cum harder. As they say, Orgasm is a little death.

You could play this game for hours on end, letting the fur expose your boobs and pressing it against the cold glass as you went. It was magnificent—tall and plump, as if it had been milked with milk—with pink nipples the color of magnolia blossoms. There was something animalistically seductive about it—an appeal to their natural reproductive instincts—that evil thought of possible pregnancy. Their whimpering made you laugh, and the sounds they made were so sweet—desperate pleas and long, long moans.

"Let me taste you; I want it so much. I was a good boy, such a good boy."

There were other days when you would let your hands run over the bare skin of your thighs, leaving long red streaks that stood in erotic contrast to the silk of your pale skin. You smeared the clear, shimmering liquid of your juices along the line of your neck, in that most exciting place for dragons, where their teeth locked in a mating mark, as if branding their mate in the most perverse of affiliations.

"Tell me I belong to you; please say it. I'll do anything you don't want. Own me, use me; I want to be your toy.".

Sometimes other girls would be brought into your shop window to put on an erotic show. Exquisite nymphs and rosy-cheeked Lolitas would explore your tender skin with their soft, wet tongues, leaving traces of hungry kisses, until at last their lips would close on the most intimate spot between your thighs.

On days like this, the whole of 'Eros' would shake with furious, jealous growls and thunderclaps. Dragons were terrible possessive, and even though the "scene" itself would excite the hell out of them, the jealousy would burn through their veins from the inside out, like a deadly poison.

"You belong to me, and only to me. You are mine, mine and mine alone. I will tear this girl apart, and we will fuck in her blood until there are no more conscious thoughts left in your pretty little head, until you remember nothing but my name.".

But no matter what their words were to you, you didn't have a care in the world. Nobody would dare touch the goddess, and if they tried, they would not only lose their hands but also get killed.

That was the law of the New Empire—all the people who were left were protected and sheltered in an incredible way. There were very few of you, and if there had been any harm to even one of you, it would have been a real tragedy.   Only once has there been a breach of that law, and the consequences have been terrible. No one wants a repeat.

In any case, your life in the Garden of Eros was a pleasure. Maybe it was some kind of perverse way of looking at the world and love, but you didn't have any desire to change anything; everything was great.

Have you ever wondered if there might be another version of you out there? Perhaps, somewhere in a parallel universe, humans would still exist as the dominant species, their countries and cities would be prosperous, and you would be living a different life—a normal one. There, in that other universe, that other Aphrodite—no, not Aphrodite—you would have an ordinary name, not a divine one, something cute, something sweet, and always with a hint of shyness. It is probably there that you would have experienced your first love, that you would dream of a prince who would take you off into the sunset, and that "and they lived happily ever after." You would have been embarrassed to talk about sex, and you would have blushed horribly if his fingers had been in your knickers. But you weren't her. And she wasn't you. You don't want to be saved from sinning; you want to become one of them. You want to experience forbidden pleasures. You want to subjugate and dominate.

You're not in need of a prince; you've already had a king, or rather, eight kings. The day will come when everything you have ever dreamed of will come true, even if you haven't met any of the Hala yet.

You want power; you want to sit on a golden throne in a castle high up in the sky, and so it shall be. They say that love is a great strength, but they fail to mention that it is also the greatest weakness. And you, like no one else, know how to use it to your advantage.

This is not a pink fairy tale. There are no rainbow ponies pooping rainbows and eating fairy dust. No, this is a rotten world. It is full of debauchery, violence, and sex. You could say, "Come and rescue me. I'm waiting for  you," but no, you have to rephrase it as "I'm waiting for you to crawl on your knees and lick my heels, and from that moment on, I will own you.".

Yes, that sounds much better.

It's already eight o'clock; time to get ready; you're leaving soon.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the most famous glass house in the New Empire. Tonight we have wet aesthetic cunnilingus as our main course, and for dessert, a mind-blowing orgasm. You have a choice of starters. Drinks are on the house. We accept cash and checks. If you wish, you can leave a tip for one of our "jewels.".

Our hope is that your time at Eros will be an unforgettable experience.

[gtgbabie0]

Candlelit kisses

{When your apartment complex loses power you and Spencer have a sleepover leading you to both share your first kiss}

It’s a long one. Hope you enjoy lovelies!! 💕

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The last thing you were expecting today was a power cut this late into the night, and perhaps that’s why you let out a little yelp with a jump when Spencer knocks at your door causing you to almost drop the small tealight that you were lighting.

“Hey, is your power out too?” You ask, and he nods with a slightly frustrated sigh, his eyebrows knit together as he tries not to drop the papers and books he’s holding against his chest.

You and Spencer have been neighbours for a while now and somewhere along the line, you two got closer. He would come over almost every Friday, sometimes he even stayed over, well more like he would accidentally fall asleep and you never had the heart to wake him up.

“I can’t work like this” he complains walking into your apartment as he drops his work onto your kitchen table. You can practically feel the stress radiating from him as he rolls his shoulders, it was strange seeing him so tensed up.

You walk over to him with a flashlight, “Well hello to you too Spencer, oh yeah no, my day has been good” you sarcastically ramble, and he lets out a dry chuckle looking over at you as you sit down next to him.

“Sorry, I just— it’s a big inconvenience” he sighs once again as he rakes his fingers through his hair. Your hand rests on his shoulder as you give him a gentle look, soothing his arm.

You flick the flashlight on illuminating the table, “Yeah you’re telling me— but hey, I could be your very own personal lamp” you say trying to lighten up the mood, but your attempts are fruitless, and you frown when he shakes his head with a heavy sigh.

In all honesty, Spencer doesn’t want to do any work tonight. He wants to play silly board games with you, only to catch you cheating horribly and watch as you try and defend yourself through a fit of giggles. He wants, more than anything, to just hold you and go to sleep.

“Sorry, I just barged in here complaining- I’ll- I'll leave” he panics slightly. Your relationship is still new, everything felt so thrilling and Spencer is terrified of messing up somehow because he's so insanely in love with you. He doesn’t want to lose this feeling or you, ever.

“Spencer what?— don’t be silly, I don’t mind you staying here you know that” You try to stop him from gathering up his stuff but he’s stubborn as he makes his way towards your door, completely ignoring you.

He stops when you tug on his elbow, “Don’t leave, please” you mumble deciding to swallow your pride, “It’s really dark in here and I don’t want to be alone” you whisper, feeling a little childish but it was true nonetheless.

Your apartment was completely engulfed in darkness, the only thing lighting it was the small tealights that you scattered around, and the cool light of the moon, that splayed across the room. But yet even that made it seem scarier, something out of a horror movie.

Spencer thinks he might melt by how sweet you sound, you wanted him to stay and the thought of you needing him makes him feel all floaty inside.

“Okay, yeah I’ll stay,” he says, smiling softly as he watches your face light up with excitement. He wasn’t too much of a fan of the dark either, the mystery of what might linger within the shadows always seemed much too daunting. Something he couldn’t shake even as he got older.

You clasp your hands together with a smile, “Oh!- I have something actually” his eyebrows furrow with slight confusion as he watches you disappear into your bedroom, but not before your turn around, “I’ll be one second” you inform him, he responds with a quiet, ‘okay?’ Still confused by what’s going on in that wonderful mind of yours.

He sets his work back down on your kitchen table, deciding that it’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. You soon return with a globe-shaped night light in hand, “Spencer Reid, be prepared to be amazed” you smile, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little excited watching you click the batteries into the light.

You set it down on the coffee table before pressing the small button, a hopeful gleam in your eyes, silently praying that it will still work. And it does, the light shines in different colours projecting stars and moons onto the walls and ceiling. Spencer looks around the room, turning around as he does, admiring the way the room is suddenly lit up with warm colours.

“There was a study that found red to be the best colour to fall asleep to as it increases the production of melatonin,” he says, eyes still focused on the stars and moons that litter across the room in an orangey hue. He looks over to you and he goes to ramble off about night lights and their pros and cons but he finds himself completely taken back.

Spencer can practically feel the words leave his mind, and all his thoughts are replaced with you, how pretty you look underneath the warm light. He notices how your soft skin glows and the way your eyes seem to glisten, he doesn’t think there’s anyone in the world who compares to your beauty, in fact, he knows there isn’t. You’re so radiant, and he hopes that the smile your wearing is because of him.

You go bashful once you realise what’s happening, he’s looking at you as if you were a piece of art, sculpted by the gods. And he has those love-filled eyes, the same look he had when he finally asked you out on a date.

“You- you’re beautiful,” he tells you as if it was an undeniable fact, his voice so quiet that you almost miss it. Your smile breaks wider with his gentle words.

You can’t help but giggle, you felt so giddy inside. A feeling you haven’t felt in such a long time and it warms you. “Thank you Spence” you smile.

He feels almost prideful at your reaction, a feeling that settles in his chest blooming through to his heart and it takes his breath away, although you always have that effect on him no matter what you do.

There’s a beat of silence. “So, what about a game of Uno?” You suggest sitting down on the carpet as you reach for the box, patting the floor as an invitation for him to sit, “Loser pays for dinner” You wiggle your eyebrows and he chuckles joining you on the floor.

There is no winning when it comes to Spencer and board games, especially when it’s Uno. In all honesty, you regret going through the rules so intently with him. It’s impossible to win for a multitude of reasons. One because he’s so incredibly smart, and two because he’s a profiler, he can tell when you’re bluffing from a mile away.

So you’ve resorted to hiding cards underneath your thigh, and it worked for a solid minute, then he gives you a look as if to say ‘I know what you’re doing’ and the chuckle that unceremoniously leaves you doesn’t exactly help defend you.

“You’re totally cheating!” He claims, noticing how you’re three cards less than before. You gasp, a hand against your chest as you look at him with shock.

“Cheating? I wouldn’t” you exaggerate your offence, leaning forward to try and take a peak at his remaining cards, but he’s fast to hold them against his chest.

You take the cards from his hands, dodging his hands as he tries to grab them from you. “I would’ve won anyway, and you know it, that’s why hid those cards under your thigh- you know you probably would’ve won if you played your cards correctly, but you’re-” he blabs on, not even noticing how close you are to him. It’s not until your lips are against his that he completely falls silent, taken back by the sudden closeness.

You shock yourself a little too, it was almost as if you had no control it just happened. You push away from him, consumed by a sudden surge of panic.

“I’m so sorry Spencer- I” he grabs your hands before you lose yourself to your own worry, and beneath the dim lights you can see the slightest red dust against his cheeks.

“No!- it’s okay, I- I erm, I liked it actually” he tells you with an almost hopeful smile that you’ll do it again.

You smile back at him and this time you decide to simply ask, “Can I kiss you again? Properly this time” You study his face for any signs of discomfort, and there is none. He nods whispering a bashful, ‘Of course, you can'

And without missing a beat his hands rest on either side of your face and he meets you halfway, his supple lips against yours, a movement that seems to come so naturally to the pair of you. It’s sweet and gentle, and there’s the slightest taste of peppermint and something else, him.

Spencer thinks his heart might just jump out of his chest it’s beating so hard and he swears you hear it too or worse his thoughts. He can’t believe that this is happening, with you.

You tilt your head to urge him closer, your tongue against his and he loses himself. His hold changes as if he’s scared to let you go, that you might not be real, that all of this is just pretend. He kisses you with urgency as if you might just disappear.

You pull back to rest your forehead against his, “Spencer, I’m not going anywhere- you can slow down” you tell him, your tone so gentle as you take his hands guiding them away from your face to rest on your lap.

He nods against you, “I'm sorry- it just, feels too good to be true I guess” he admits, noticing the way you squeeze his hand, your thumb grazing against the curves of his knuckles.

“You don’t have to apologise- just know I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying right here with you” you whisper, brushing his hair behind his ear as you press a kiss to the tip of his nose, then another to his cheek then to the corner of his mouth and so on.

You pepper kisses against his face until he’s laughing, trying to push you away and the sound makes your heart clench with love, it’s something you’ll never grow tired of hearing.

“You're still paying for dinner by the way,” he says lips grazing against yours. And just when you’re about to kiss him, in an attempt to persuade him otherwise, the lights turn on and it’s then you can really see him, in much better lighting. Rosy cheeks and glossy love-sick eyes, and you think you fall for him ten times harder.

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[your-average-yandere-lover]

𝓡𝓮𝓭𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓷’𝓼

Tw: Cursing, Spooky themes, Teo slander, mentions of pumpkin slaughter and suggestive content under the cut.

Notes: Happy Halloween! I wanted to do more but I've been so busy with midterms, work and personal stuff that I never got around to it! Here is my half assed Redacted headcanon because—I can. Side note if someone can clarify, is redacted they/them exclusive or bother he/him, they/them, my ass is confused. Obsessed either way though, none the less lol…mk—Happy Halloween!!! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

❥ Redacted likes Halloween. Obviously, they would only want to celebrate Halloween if it makes angel happy. However, considering Redacted is a huge horror fan, they would probably pick Halloween over the other holidays.

❥ Redacted enjoys when you feel safe and happy so, when you said you wanted to go to a haunted house, it wasn’t exactly exciting news.

❥ The idea of you being in fear was something they dreaded but…on the other hand…you clinging onto them for dear life was just a tiny…tiny bit tempting—but the cost of scaring you didn’t compete with the temptation of being depended on. Ultimately they agreed to take you, but they had to gather every ounce of strength in them to ensure they didn’t clobber every actor jumping out in front of you.

❥ Unknowingly angel did the staff an act of kindness when convincing Redacted not to take their ‘new’ sledgehammer to ‘cosplay’ as a serial killer whilst out and about.

❥ Redacted has a special cell in hell for the few propionate actors that popped out and made angel scream bloody murder—And don’t think for one minute he doesn’t have a grudge against every single person who works at the haunted house—even though it was your idea to go in the first place. Simply put, he’s not nearly as forgiving as angel.

❥ At some point in the spooky season, Redacted would absolutely take you to your favorite candy shop, if you like sweets, because—who doesn’t love treating their inner child to some candies! They’d make sure that the store would have all the candies you’d both would share as kids. Redacted would also make sure sure to buy a bunch to take home and devour while you turn off the lights and pretend you aren’t home when the trick-or-treaters come by. Yk because that’s what all adults do on Halloween—be fr with me rn. Unless your Teo ig…I have no doubt homeboy is terrorizing children and flirting with women wearing suggestive outfits, on their way to parties.

❥ Around the spooky season, Redacted loves to watch you watching classics like Slasher films or Halloween but, he’ll only put them on if you want to watch them. He enjoys setting out nostalgic snacks from your childhoods and cuddling up in a blanket with you.

❥ Redacted may pull off the goth aesthetic, however Redacted would create a movie night straight outta a Pinterest board if they knew it would make angel happy. They’d honestly do anything to make you smile and enjoy your time together.

❥ When you suggested pumpkin carving, you never expected them to create such detailed monstrosities. Their pumpkin looked professional, they would absolutely win any contest, hands down; ya boy put Dr.Frankenstein to shame. And watching them carve the guts out was another thing, bro would literally butcher the pumpkin like they were creating an audition tape for a slasher film; they were completely unphased by the nasty smell and the pumpkin pulp everywhere.

❥ Being an artist they’d made their pumpkins look really cool—like one was a hockey mask and the other was a cute doodle like portrait of you as an Angel which he loved your sweet reaction to. The only down side was you didn’t really have anywhere to put them but luckily the you and the fellow library staff were told you could bring some by to add a bit of fun to the building around the spooky season.

❥ If you like pumpkin seeds, he’d make them with you after you set out your pumpkins. The more fun activities to do with you the better—even if they watched twenty different videos on baking the seeds the night before and is stressed about making sure everything is perfect.

❥ If you bake your friends anything, Redacted will get hella Jealous. They want to say something but they don’t wanna ruin your fun ideas—well they really just want you to save your fun ideas for them. Besides you look so cute in the apron they bought you. They end up switching your sugar with the salt, and making the desserts into a literal salt licks in hopes you give up and go to them for comfort. And that maybe if you serve your dessert to other people they will fall off the face of the earth.

❥On that note…He would 100% scare the living shit out of Leon, Teo, Jay, Violet, anyone honestly if you weren't around or you thought it was funny.

~~~~~18+ under the line~~~~~~~

❥ You’re gonna dress up?…Hell yeah. Redacted loves this idea. They’d shamelessly sends you all sorts of costumes you can’t wear out. They won’t waste the opportunity to make this holiday into an excuse to seduce angel.

[rangerelizabeth]

Here’s a little Halloween drabble set the next October of my if it feels like love (college au) universe for your Sunday night. No plot, just pure fluff. Hope you enjoy it!

You put a spell on me

Prompts: Horror movies, sleepovers, sharing a blanket

Word count: 2336

[AO3 Link]

Gale is traipsing down the stairs from his bedroom when he hears his favorite voice call out “I’m here!” followed by the sound of the front door falling shut. He’d been lying in bed flipping through a textbook for his Quantum Physics class when the familiar sound of John’s truck rumbling into the driveway had him throwing off his blankets to go greet his boyfriend.

By the time he arrives at the bottom of the staircase, John is already sprawled out on his back on one of the couches in the living room, chatting with Curt who’s seated across from him with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. Honestly, with the way John immediately walks into the house and makes himself at home every time he comes over, one would think it’s John that lives there instead of him, Gale thinks amusedly.

John looks up as Gale draws closer, greeting him with a soft smile. Gale returns the fond look before sprawling completely on top of John on the couch, pressing his face into his shoulder.

John lets out a chuckle. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” Gale returns contentedly, voice muffled by John’s sweatshirt.

“Happy Halloween,” John says, bringing a hand up to scratch absentmindedly at the back of Gale’s hair.

Gale hums at the touch. “Happy Halloween.”

“Yeah, yeah. Happy Halloween, you lovebirds,” Curt says exasperatedly from across the coffee table. “I’m going to get everything ready in the kitchen.”

Gale hears shuffling as Curt presumably rises from the couch to head into the kitchen to “get everything ready.” By that, Gale assumes he means pouring the candy they bought earlier in the week into a bowl in case trick-or-treaters stop by, popping a couple of bags of popcorn for their impending Halloween horror movie night, and most importantly, avoiding third wheeling with Gale and John until Ken and Rosie get home from the gym.

Gale shifts his head to look up at John, who he finds already smiling down at him. “How was your day?”

“The usual. Class, homework, another class,” John says with a shrug, jostling Gale a little where he still rests atop him. “I’m excited for tonight, though.”

Gale snorts. “‘Course you are, you love horror movies. Me on the other hand…”

John laughs, squeezing Gale a little tighter for a moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

Just then, Ken and Rosie burst through the front door, chatting animatedly and dressed in sweat-marked tank tops despite the chill of late October. Gale finally sits up from his place blanketing John to greet them. Then, Curt emerges from the kitchen to greet Ken with a brief kiss before sternly instructing the two of them to go shower so they can get started with their movie night.

As Ken and Rosie go to their respective rooms to clean up, Curt brings the snacks in from the kitchen while Gale and John gather every blanket and pillow in the house and deposit them onto the couches. They dim the lights and plop down onto the couches, Gale and John cozying up under a blanket together in the corner of the sofa they had been on earlier, while Curt stretches out across from them once more as they wait for the other two boys.

John and Curt gush enthusiastically about the lineup of horror movies that Curt and Ken apparently picked out for them, and Gale listens in disdain. He’s never been one for horror movies, flinching at all the jump scares and sleeping with the lights on afterwards every time he’s watched one.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Gale jumps a little, already feeling keyed up at the prospect of the night ahead. Pressed up against him, John feels the movement and chuckles softly. “You freaked out already, baby? We haven’t even started the movies yet.”

Gale huffs. “I told you I’m not a fan of horror movies,” he grumbles.

“Must be trick-or-treaters,” Curt says, hopping up from the couch. “I’ll get it.”

After Curt grabs the bowl of candy from the coffee table, making his way into the foyer, John turns to Gale, ducking his head a little to meet his eyes. “You know you don’t have to watch these if you really don’t want to, right?” John asks. “We can always beg off to your room and do something else.”

“Something else, huh?” Gale jokes suggestively, bumping his shoulder against John’s.

John laughs, rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant—”

“I know,” Gale interrupts, smiling softly. “But I’ll be okay with the movies, I promise. I want to hang out with everyone.”

Finally, just as Curt returns from giving out candy, Ken joins them in the living room, now dressed in warmer clothes and his curly hair still damp from his shower. Rosie enters a few minutes later, settling into the other corner of the couch as Curt and Ken.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Rosie exclaims, clapping his hands together anticipatorily.

“Which one should we start with?” Ken asks excitedly. “Chucky? Annabelle? Or maybe Insidious?”

As John, Curt, and Rosie jump in to offer their suggestions of which movie they should watch first from the lineup, Gale stays quiet. Curt apparently notices, because he shushes everyone else before asking, “Gale, what do you think?”

Gale blinks in uncertainty. “Um, whichever one is the least scary?”

Rosie laughs. “Chucky it is then, I think.”

They start the movie, Gale snuggling further into John’s side under their blanket, who wraps a strong arm around him. For a few short moments, he’s content with John’s body pressed warm against his, safety and security flooding his veins like they always do when he’s in the other boy’s presence.

But soon enough, he’s flinching at every little jump scare in the movie and squeezing his eyes shut whenever something gory happens on screen. John must be able to feel how tense he is, because he pries one of Gale’s hands from where he’s caught the blanket in a death grip, clasping it gently in his own. John’s other hand rubs soothing circles into Gale’s shoulder, and he relaxes the tiniest fraction.

Gale tilts his head up to look at John, who ducks down to press a quick kiss to his lips. A smile tugs at Gale’s mouth, and for a brief moment, he finds himself forgetting about the movie.

And yet, when he settles back down against John’s shoulder, eyes returning to the television, he’s met with the visual of someone getting murdered, blood and gore filling the screen. He cringes, turning to press his face into John’s chest, who holds him a little tighter.

Over the sound of the movie emanating loudly from the speakers, Gale hears someone laugh. He thinks it’s Rosie. Sure enough comes Rosie’s teasing voice. “You alright there, Gale?”

Gale shifts his head to glare across the room at the other boy. Next to Rosie, he sees Curt and Ken watching him in shared amusement too.

“Don’t worry, Gale. John will protect you from the big bad monsters, won’t you, John?” Curt ribs them playfully.

“Shut it, Curt,” John rebuts with an eye roll, though he’s clearly teasing too. Then, he drops his mouth right next to Gale’s ear to whisper, “I will, though.”

Gale’s heart flutters, and he decides to ignore the teasing from their friends, just pressing a grateful kiss against John’s shoulder instead.

The doorbell rings then, likely more trick-or-treaters, and Gale jumps at the opportunity to escape the horror movie for a couple of minutes. “I can get it this time.”

“Want us to pause the movie for you?” Ken asks.

Gale shakes his head. “Definitely not,” he says emphatically, which earns him a few chuckles from his friends.

“I’ll come with you,” John offers, so Gale grabs the candy bowl and they head for the front door together.

When Gale pulls open the door, they’re met by the sight of a smiling group of children dressed in elaborate costumes who simultaneously exclaim, “Trick or treat!” When he looks past them, he sees their parents waiting a little further down the driveway, clearly keeping their distance to let their kids have fun while still maintaining a close eye on them.

John crouches down to meet the kids’ level, and Gale watches fondly as he starts talking to one of them kindly. “Who do we have here? Spider-Man?”

The little boy dressed in blue and red nods enthusiastically before pretending to shoot a web at John from the plastic costume web-shooters on his wrists. Gale’s heart swells with affection as John plays along, falling backwards dramatically. “Whoah! You got me!”

The boy giggles happily as Gale begins dropping handfuls of candy into all of the children’s awaiting candy bags. Once they’ve all gotten their candy, each with a polite little “thank you,” they run excitedly down the driveway back to their parents. Gale shuts the door softly behind him, turning to face John who has since gotten to his feet.

His thoughts must be written all over his face, because John tilts his head curiously. “What?”

“I love you,” Gale says honestly. “You were so good with them. That was adorable.”

John smiles softly, tugging him closer by the hand. “I love you too.”

Gale lets his forehead drop gently against John’s as he looks into the other boy’s expressive, dark blue eyes, before tilting his chin up to meet John’s lips in a sweet, unhurried kiss. They stay there for a moment, not even the faint sounds of the television and their friends chatter coming from the living room interrupting their little bubble, instead just remaining entirely wrapped up in one another.

Finally they part, smiling fondly at one another until John breaks the comfortable silence. “I can't wait for the day when we greet trick-or-treaters at a house of our own,” he confesses quietly.

Gale’s stomach swoops with happy butterflies. Though they’ve been together for almost a year now and have even gone so far as talking about marriage before, it never fails to put Gale on cloud nine whenever John mentions their future together.

“That could be us, standing at the end of the driveway together one day, too,” Gale says shyly.

“You mean like… taking our kids trick-or-treating?” John asks slowly.

The questioning tone in John’s voice makes Gale suddenly wish he could rewind time and undo his words. Neither of them have mentioned kids before, and he’s not sure that bringing it up for the first time on Halloween while they’re supposed to be hanging out with their friends was the most logical move.

He can feel the heat creeping onto his cheeks in nervousness and embarrassment, but there’s really nothing to be done besides owning up to his words, so he gives a small nod. For a moment, John just stares at him in wonder.

“Yeah, that sounds even better than my plan,” he finally breathes out, as if in mild disbelief, before kissing Gale soundly.

When they finally return to the living room—lips kiss-reddened and swollen, with happy grins painting both of their faces—they pointedly ignore the jests from their friends about what took them so long, in favor of settling back under their fluffy blanket on the couch.

Gale notices that they’ve moved on to the next movie, Annabelle or Insidious or something like that, but finds that he’s still riding the high of his and John’s conversation in the foyer, far too happy to feel as scared as he did before. He still flinches a little at a couple of the jump scares, but doesn’t have to hide away in John’s chest anymore just to avoid looking at the television screen.

Two more movies, a whole lot of popcorn, and some Halloween cookies courtesy of Ken’s surprisingly good baking skills later, they all decide to call it a night. Gale is thankful that it’s a Friday, with none of them having to worry about getting up early for classes the next day, as he tugs John upstairs with him to his bedroom.

Once ready for bed, they cuddle in close together under Gale’s covers, the room blanketed in darkness. Gale’s head is pillowed on John’s chest, with both of the other boy’s arms wrapped snugly around his shoulders. He’s immensely comfortable, yet finds he can’t drift off to sleep.

Despite his nerves easing about the horror movies after greeting the trick-or-treaters downstairs, it suddenly feels like they’ve returned in full force. Every little noise in the quiet of the room sets his hair standing on end. There’s a thump from downstairs, and it’s likely just Curt or Ken moving around, but Gale startles at the sudden noise anyway.

“You okay?” John murmurs sleepily, eyes still closed. If Gale had to guess, the other boy had almost been asleep before his flinch pulled him from his dozing.

Gale bites his lip in contemplation before deciding to fess up, pride be damned. “I guess I’m still just a little freaked out from those movies.”

John blinks his eyes open slowly, squinting at Gale through the darkness. “Want me to check the closet for ghosts before we go to sleep?” he teases.

Gale rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Or how about under the bed?”

“I’ll kick you out if you keep that up,” Gale threatens.

Despite his feigned annoyance at the teasing, it’s a clear attempt on John’s part to lighten the mood and get Gale’s mind off the movies, and for that, he’s extremely grateful.

“Really though, are you okay?” John asks, his tone serious now and concern evident in his eyes.

Gale nods against John’s chest. “Yeah, I’m okay. As long as you’re here.”

John’s arms tighten around him, and Gale feels a feather-light kiss placed on the top of his head. He lets his eyes fall shut, love and contentment flooding every inch of his body, leaving no room for any residual fear.

“I’m here,” John says softly. “I’ll always be here.”

[yanderemommabean]

listen to me what if some alien researcher takes the reader to a human zoo type thing for research if you're comfortable with that momma

You’re terrified at first. You wake up in a large, wide glass case with these beings staring at you. You feel watched, like they’re wanting you to do a trick or something, and they simply chitter and chirp on the other side in a way you can’t decipher.

You look around, seeing a rather soft looking bed with basic blankets and sheets, what seems to be a treadmill and a table. On the wall to the left is a screen with what seems to be a feed of a field of flowers.

Before you can gather the courage to speak, the two beings on the other side tap on the glass, one entering with what seemed to be a collar like device.

“I’m sure you’re scared, poor neglected thing. Don’t worry, we’re here to show you the love you deserve. It’s alright now” they pacify, locking the device around your throat as you can only freeze and whimper in fear.

Their fingers gently run through your hair, petting you as they flash a sharp tooth smile. “You’re so precious to us. You’ll help us unlock all sorts of knowledge of the human body! Just behave and you’ll be just fine”.

Their fingers come to tilt your head, your mouth quivering as words finally manage to leave you. “Don’t kill me, please! Just let me go home!” You cry, heart hammering in your ears as your brain forces you to dissociate a bit and feel as if you’re in some fucked up movie.

The other creature enters at that, tugging the other back a bit as they chitter. “Ah. They say such things when distressed?” The first one asks between the odd noises.

Oh that’s so cute to learn! Humans make such interesting pleads when scared and confused! Like a lost little kitten or cub!

Perhaps you’ll show even cuter signals like when you’re fed or when you’re cozy? They’ve heard humans often smile and warm up when happy and relaxed!

Large fingers encircle your waist with ease, lifting you up and setting you on the bed provided. “Alright, it’s ok. My partner here tells me you think you’re in danger, but I assure you, you’re safer than back home. We only wish to learn and explore, and…well I myself am becoming attached”.

“N-no, no I don’t want this! Take this thing off of me!” You beg again, clawing at the device as it shocks you and makes you whimper at the sting. The being clicks and chitters, nuzzling you a bit as it pushes your hands to your side. “Ah ah ah, that’ll only hurt you. This must be so strange for such a simple creature, I can’t even imagine! But I suppose I can let an outburst or two slide. I’d hate to sedate you so early in studying you and your habits”.

Honestly, tranquilizers wouldn’t help in studying humans unless they wanted to go a more morbid route. It’s only to be used to help you from hurting yourself and others, but they aren’t fans of using it at all.

But sweet specimens as cute as you don’t need to know that. You’ll be clever and try and tug on their heart strings, and while they have two hearts, they’re brains are much more powerful. Not to mean they aren’t becoming very enamored, mind you.

“We’ll keep an eye on you for now. The others are just as torn up about being taken from home, you being such social beings and all. Try and behave is all we ask. If you try and take this off again-“ they gesture, as if it isn’t a huge deal. “You’ll be knocked unconscious by the voltage. Then we’d have to doctor you and…well I’m not sure I can keep my hands to myself with something so cute!”.

They leave from the bed after that, speaking with the other alien as the enclosure shuts and you’re left alone, watching other otherworldly forms pass by the corridor. Words have no ability to express the dread, horror, confusion and hopelessness you feel.

It looks like there’s nothing you can do but be an aliens toy, like some captive animal. Maybe if you’re clever you can escape, if you aren’t completely mentally broken soon.

((-Mommabean, I hope you enjoy! Sorry if it’s a bit jumbled and odd! ))

[raapija]

I'm curious (read invested) do you have a time line in mind for the strollonso au? Like when they met, got engaged, got married

In my pookie au, which I set most of my edits into, it goes something like this.... THIS IS GONNA BE LONG OH LORD, I have a whole thing formulated in my brain and writing is down is gonna be a struggle

2014-2015 They met for the first time very briefly as Fernando was visiting the Ferrari Academy drivers at Prema. Note that Lance is a massive Fernando fan since he was a kid, so this was like meeting his hero. Nando immediately forgot about this meeting as it was just a promotional thing, very sad :(

2017 Lance debuts in F1 at Williams, he's about 19yo and still a massive Nando fan but they rarely interact with each other (see, 'shy canadian rookie'). Sure, they talk every now and then, but no sparks yet...

2018 This is where it starts to get interesting. Nando is struggling (and when I say struggling I mean STRUGGLING) at McLaren and his interest starts to waver which leads to his little fixation on Lance. It started out pretty tame and harmless with Nando writing little notes/letters to him and hiding them around the Williams garage (no one knows how he did it without getting caught) and Lance's belongings. He gets more invested in this than driving the McLaren GP2 engine shitbox.

Eventually Nando gathers up enough courage to ask the 20 year old man out. To his absolute horror and shock, the kid says "yeah, sure" and that's how they began dating. For the remainder of 2018, they keep it strictly to themselves, not telling anyone in case their relationship gets leaked. Lots of hotel room slumber parties, discreet dinner dates and traveling in the same planes between races.

Fun little side story I got is that in 2018, Lance, Fernando and Lando took part as team LANCELANDONANDO (hilarious, I know) in the 24h of Daytona ✨ They finished like... 50th, but it was a big deal since Lando was a tiny little baby boy and Nando was a bit of a mentor to him. (see, 'nando never got kids of his own but really wants to be a father figure)

2019-2020 Nando decides to "retire" from F1 after losing all his ambition to drive because of McLaren draining the life force out of him. Now that Nando isn't in F1, they can make their relationship public since the conflict of interest is no longer an issue.

2019 is a rather dark time for Lance, as the media rips him to shreds for 1) dating a man, 2) being almost 20 years younger AND 3) the person he's dating just happens to be Fernando Alonso. He's called every name under the sun, constantly ridiculed and the fans pretty much turn against him. He tries to avoid all the drama by becoming more closed in and even more shy around people.

Fernando, on the other hand, is off doing indy and endurance racing. He's pretty outspoken about their relationship and does his best to gain respect for Lance, always praising him and telling nice things about him. This starts to work after a while as the media starts to forget about the whole thing.

Nando would visit the F1 grid from time to time and Lance would be at his indy races. Eventually it became normal to see them together and act like a couple and the fans started to support them, so the media did a complete 180°. Now it was a race to get the best Strollonso story in the papers...

During this time also, Lance starts to visit Fernando's karting school a lot more and after a while becomes a key part in its operation. He would volunteer as a race director for the kids' tournaments, pop in as a guest coach or just help around with whatever they were doing. He would become a bit of a celebrity in that community of young drivers and really like spending time there.

2021 Surprise! Fernando gets bored of the other stuff and unretires himself to come back into F1 with Alpine! Before this Lance, Nando, Alpine and Aston Martin have a proper sit-down with FIA to figure out how they can allow Nando back in without the risk of sharing team secrets. A couple rule changes, some NDA's and contracts later, it's settled and F1 gets its most popular Spaniard (sorry Carlos) back on track. Everyone celebrates!

Turns out Nando is on a revenge mission this time. All that pent up McLaren resentment is poured right into Alpine and he becomes the villain of F1, which the fans kinda like. Outside the track, he and Lance live their best comfy life, getting a couple houses together, traveling and expanding their family with a doggy, Nyla! 🥰

2022 Alpine is in shambles. Estie Bestie is threatening to strangle his best friend's boyfriend on a daily basis. Lance suggests, just as a joke, that Fernando should come to Aston as he knew Sebastian was about to retire and they hadn't found a replacement for next season. Fernando doesn't take it as a joke. So, Nando calls up Lance's dad and he agrees immediately to take the Spaniard in.

Fast forward to the end of the season, Alpine gets a couple more big L's, and finally Nando can leave that sinking ship to walk right into Aston Martin's motorhome as soon as he drops out the last race. Fans rejoice, as Strollonso is now in the same team, media is fired up from the potential content and FIA can have a breather now that company secrets are no longer at risk.

2023 Working in the same team turns out to be the best choice they ever made. The team spirit is at an all time high, everyone is enjoying working together and the fans absolutely love them. Nando's tiktok influencer career also helps tremendously and people follow their social medias like it's Friends in 1996.

Nando decides before the summer break that it's now or never and proposes to Lance. To his absolute horror and shock, the 25 year old says "yeah, sure" and they get engaged. Everyone expects a big and glamorous wedding, but turns out they have a small civil ceremony during the break with just family and close friends, away from the limelight. It's a cute and intimate wedding party in Tuscany that only gets out as Lance posts a few pictures from it. Fans rejoice once again! Future's looking all bright and rosy for them <3 And speaking of rosy... They got another fur child! Rósa was Lance's 25th birthday present 🥰

2024.... We'll see ✨

[wooahaes]

planned, unplanned

pairing: non-idol!han x fem!reader

genre: fluff. implied friends -> lovers

warnings: food mentions. jisung and reader r both messes and huge horror fans.

word count: ~1.4k

daisy's notes: this one i got a lil carried away with tbh.......

Jisung thought you were the most radiant thing in the room. That was why he stood across it, holding a cup and watching you with this soft look in his eyes that caused him to get elbowed by Hyunjin. His hand immediately flew to the spot as he turned to his friend, about to question what the hell was wrong with him when Hyunjin rolled his eyes.

“Go talk to her,” he said, slightly miffed from another day of watching one of his friends pine. “It’s her birthday. You put this entire party together. At least go say something.” 

Jisung turned, watching where you were deep in conversation with Felix. He’d been showing you something on his phone, your body leaning against his own a little to watch closer. Then you laughed, and Jisung swore he fell in love with the sound all over again. How long had he been pining for you? He wasn’t sure. It all started when Minho introduced the two of you months ago. The two of you had met in a bookstore, and one conversation led to another and soon Minho had asked if he wanted to meet another horror fan. Something about watching the way you lit up at watching a movie with them, thrilled to see practical gore in film. 

That was when Jisung fell, actually. You’d started rambling afterward about the practical effects, apparently having seen this movie before, and gushing about how much you loved seeing it in horror nowadays. All he could do was admire you, smiling to himself as he listened to you talk. Minho had said you’d be shy, and yet you seemed open enough… Only to realize how much you’d been talking, growing flustered and apologizing profusely.

“She’s cute, isn’t she?” Minho had been cleaning up his apartment after you left. “Don’t you think so?”

Jisung hid a smile as he took a long sip of his water. “She’s nice.”

“You’re obvious, you know,” Minho turned around. “Why do you think I tried so hard to get you to walk out with her?”

On occasion, Jisung could be an idiot. The next time the three of you hung out, he made sure to get your number. From there, your friendship blossomed. And when he heard your birthday was coming around…

Well. He’d committed to having a little get-together. He got in touch with your friends, figured out what cake you would like most, introduced Felix to Minho and helped the two of them cook… Everything had to go well. He pored over a playlist composed of songs he knew you loved and ones he hoped you would like, too. Carefully, he orchestrated a night that you would hopefully love. Judging from how happy you seemed now, he’d done well.

At the end of the night, Chris managed to get everyone to come gather around for a selfie he’d promised to send to you afterward. Minho pushed Jisung in-between you and Lisa, and Jisung hoped you couldn’t see how hard he was blushing when you wrapped an arm around him to draw him in closer. 

(He hoped you didn’t notice the quiet way Jisung asked for Chris to send that picture to him, too, even though it was an innocent request the others asked several times before him.)

It wasn’t until you were gathering up your presents from the others that Minho called him over again. When he approached, Minho pushed him toward you, “Jisung lives in the same direction as you. He could help you carry things out to your car—”

You smiled at the suggestion, eyes twinkling in the fairy lights Jisung painstakingly helped hang earlier. “Oh, sure! I can give him a ride home, too.” You paused, turning to Jisung, “if you want, that is. You don’t have to—I just kinda need help getting this stuff,” you nodded toward the bags you couldn’t carry, “into my car.” 

JIsung immediately leapt at the opportunity. He gathered his things, picked up the rest of your bags, and left with you. His heart was racing as he quietly texted Minho in the elevator ride down, saying he’d come back and help clean up tomorrow if he wanted to leave it. Minho just sent a picture back of him and several others, already in the process of doing it. The three little dots lit up a moment later as Minho slowly typed out a message: You did well, Jisungie. Go rest. Have a safe trip home.

Jisung looked up at you, rocking on your heels as you looked at something on your phone. You’d started making small talk a moment later, asking him about work and if he enjoyed getting the day off since you remembered him bemoaning the fact he was working weekends right now. He felt his face flush again. You remembered that…? Of course you did. Jisung always thought you were sweet like that. He asked you about your life, too, until the elevator ride was over. Then he followed you out, a step behind you like a lost puppy as you rattled off details about your car. An apology because it was a little bit messy—you would have cleaned if you knew you were driving someone home. 

“It feels like I always end up messy in some way,” you’d said with this pensive sigh, frowning a little. “It’s like I can’t keep myself straight.” 

“Does it work for you?” He watched you pop the trunk on your car, sticking bags inside. “Some people just work differently.” He’d seen both sides of things: people who could be organized in their own special way, and the people who were organized. Sometimes Jisung swore he didn’t fit in either category, plain and simple.

“It does,” you admitted after a moment. You turned to him, taking some of the bags. “What about you?”

Jisung felt his cheeks warm up. “I think I’m just a mess.” 

“You organized this, though,” you said, casual as could be, as you continued to put things away. Jisung’s breath caught in his throat. “I think you're capable of more than you think.”

“How did you—”

You looked up, confused. “Was it supposed to be a secret? Felix was gushing about how much you care about me—all the cooking you helped with and everything else…” Not meeting his gaze, you smiled, visibly flustered as you began to fidget with your sleeve. “I thought it was sweet.” 

The two of you just stood there, gazing at one another, something unspoken between the two of you. Did you…? Jisung couldn’t stop staring at you, at the starry look in your eyes, the way your lips were slightly parted. You were wearing this soft sweater, and you smelled like vanilla today (to match the cake, you’d giggled when someone pointed it out earlier), and all he could think about was closing the distance between the two of you right now. But was that too forward? A step too far for you when neither of you had even spoken yet. 

“I…” Your voice was soft, strained with this feeling that you were just as scared as he was right now. “I don’t feel like going home just yet.” 

Do you wanna come over? Watch a movie? But that, too, was too forward. “Okay.”

“Do you wanna…” You licked your lips, so visibly nervous now. “There’s late night showings. I’ll buy the popcorn.” 

“Yes,” he said with the softest look in his eyes. “I love you—” And then he caught himself, face burning hot as he realized the stupid confession he just made, “I’d love to! I meant—”

With a warm laugh, you reached forward, hands finding his own for a moment. “No! No, it’s cute—You’re… You’re cute.” Jisung just squeezed your hands, and decided to be bold. “You’re cute, too.” Can I kiss you? Yet he bit back the question. Later. He would gather his courage and ask you later. Instead, he just smiled at you once more. “Happy birthday,” he said once again, far from the first time he’d said it today. Instead of everything else he wanted to say to you now, Jisung decided to just smile at you and resolve to be bolder in the future. With one final squeeze of your hands, he let them go. “I’ll buy our tickets.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @jinnie-ret @cheesemonky

[redroomreflections]

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story Chapter 4

Natasha Romanoff x Black!Fem! Reader

Note: This is a repost from my since deactivated account Natsxaddiction. I will be adding the shorter stories to here; 20 chapters or less - sorry TLH fans =(

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Chapter 4/20 (A completed story)

Summary: Natasha and Reader are married. They get into an accident where Natasha suffers serious injuries including amnesia. Natasha no longer remembers her life with reader and their children. All she remembers are her days loving Bruce.

W/c: 3.2k

“Is Olivia still sleeping?” You ask as you look to the open doorway.

“She is,” Natasha answers simply. She stands with her arms folded and her legs shoulder-width apart. Nothing about her body language is welcoming or loving. She’s uncomfortable with you. You know Natasha so well and she’s prepared herself for a fight. As if you’d take it that far. Not after all this time.

“Do you want to sit?” You know you’re stalling. It’s stupid. You’re nervous to tell your wife about how you met. You’ve both gone over that day plenty of times. It’s nothing new. Natasha doesn’t respond. “We, um, our meeting wasn’t exactly the best. I guess you can gather that. Who told you? Tony? Steve?”

“Bruce,” Natasha supplies simply and she can see the slight confusion on your face. “I called him earlier. I figured he wouldn’t lie to me. Would get straight to the truth.”

“And he told you to ask me, right?” You conclude and she tilts her chin slightly. “I was raised by Hydra.” You begin slowly. You don’t even look to see Natasha’s face. Reliving all of the painful memories of your childhood is never easy. “I wasn’t. I don’t know much about the entire process. My father was a scientist working for Strucker. They had been planning and doing experiments for years. I grew up in the lab. My mother, god knows where she is, but I didn’t really mind. I was always excited to go to work with my dad. The experiments were innocent at first. Started with me standing in the same room as the scepter. Then things progressed.” You shake your head. “My father died and by then I was old enough to make my own decisions. Wanda and Pietro, the twins, were fifteen when they decided to join. I stayed to keep them safe.” You look over to Natasha to make sure she’s still listening. “I’m not telling you this to pity me but I just think you need to understand the magnitude of what we were dealing with. What we all went through at the hands of that man. Things should have been different.” You whisper to yourself.

“Anyway, I was loyal to my brother and sister,” You speak with a bit of defiance. “I couldn’t just leave them. After so many years of brainwashing and…” You don’t finish. You think she of all people would understand. “We were doing what we thought was right. I remained in the shadows. Up until a few years ago, I didn’t exist in the world. I was just another lost kid. So, we had the twins approach the Avengers first. Anything to get to Tony Stark. Wanda can slip into people’s minds and make them see their worst fear. We just needed to figure out what those were. Now she doesn’t need to do that but then,” You realize you may be rambling and that none of this may make sense to her. You lick your lips, finding your mouth to be dry, as you continue telling the story. Your story. “Do you, um, do you remember Morocco? Just a year before Ultron.”

Natasha’s eyes widen in horror. She remembers that night like the back of her hand. She’s always remembered it and played it over and over again in her head. The night she fell in love with a stranger. A woman she danced with well into the night. A woman that she stupidly let her guard down with only to wake up in the morning to an empty bed. The only thing she kept was the memory of that woman and how she made her feel. That and a tiny scar just below her…

Natasha doesn’t even give you time to react before she grabs your chin to turn your head. Sure enough there it is. The scar she remembers oh so well. It’s placed low on your right cheek. Something she thought was a birthmark up until now.

“That was you?” Natasha’s grip tightens for only a second. She can’t believe what she’s seeing. After all this time. All these years making up different reasons you left in her head. Sometimes she thought she imagined it. Other times she couldn’t stop thinking about that woman. About you. Now you’re standing here before her telling her it was all a scheme to get close to her. You can’t read the expression on her face and that terrifies you. She drops her hand, searching your eyes for something you’re not sure of before she backs away. “H-how does any of that make sense? I don’t understand. Was that in your plan? To fuck me and get information out of me? Are you really that deluded?” Natasha can’t wrap her head around what she’s being told.

“It worked. It was the only way to learn your fears,” You respond with a shaky voice. “I, we, I didn’t plan to sleep with you. I was supposed to befriend you and that was it. You were the one to invite me back to your hotel.”

“That makes it so much better,” She says sarcastically.

“I was supposed to dance with you and drug you and Wanda was supposed to come in and slip into your mind,” You confess. “When I met you it was different. You were different. It was nothing like I imagined. For that one night, I felt something and I went against my orders to be with you, and I- just…”

The stakes were high. You had Natasha, the infamous Black Widow right where you wanted her. You had to think quickly on your feet. You had to do something. Anything to get her to trust you.

“You what? Fell in love?”

“It was the first time I’d ever been with anyone. It was completely my choice,” You confirm. “I had you right where I wanted you and I took what I could. I used that information so Wanda could get into your head. Same with Thor and same with Tony, and Bruce, and Steve.”

“And you slept with them too?” Natasha’s hand twitches.

“No,” You shake your head. “Only you. It’s always been only you.”

“And after Ultron? You saw me and thought what? That it would be a happy reunion. Did you not feel anything?” Natasha doesn’t know whether she wants to puke or cry or fight. Everything she’s known has been a lie and she allowed it. She let herself slip for one night only to realize it all was a farce. She was a pawn in some game she wasn’t even playing. How could she trust you after this?

“Did you feel anything when you were a Widow?” You ask rhetorically. You already know the answer to that. Natasha’s been on missions much like the one you did plenty of times.

“Don’t spin this on me,” Natasha raises a finger, poking you in your chest, her eyes showing no sign of recognition. “I was…” She can’t find the words she wants to use. She doesn’t have any excuses for her life either. Not that she owes one to you.

“When we met for a second time, during Ultron, we almost killed each other.” You keep going. “You recognized me immediately. I didn’t want to fight but it’s what I had to do. We almost killed each other.”

“What stopped me?” Natasha questions.

“Love,” You answer quietly. “I know it sounds horrible but I couldn’t hurt you. When we realized what Ultron was doing we changed our minds and we fought with you. We lost Pietro and it all seemed like the world was ending at once. We became Avengers and moved into the compound.”

“Unbelievable,” Natasha scoffs. “So, you’ve been painting our marriage as this perfect thing this entire time when it’s been based on nothing but lies? I married a liar. How do you live with yourself? Are you lying about the girls too? Did you take them from their mother? How do I know you’re not lying to them? How can I trust you with them.”

“Natasha, that’s not fair,” You become emotional. You would never do anything to hurt any of your family. As messy as your past is you have always worked towards righting your wrongs.

“What’s not fair is I have no memories after an accident that could have been caused by my lying, manipulative wife,” Natasha snaps. “And I’m here with you. Not understanding any of this and you tell me we’re happy and I don’t know how to believe you.”

“Natasha,” You take a step towards her but she’s fast and before you even know what she’s doing she has a knife pointed towards your throat. Your shield, a light purple, is the only thing keeping it from touching you. You don’t care when she’s looking at you that way. As if you killed her puppy. Natasha backs away, not giving you another glance, as she leaves to lock herself in the guest bedroom. Truth be told, you assumed she would have left the house entirely. You think the only reason she’s staying is for the girls and even then you feel that’s a bit shaky.

You don’t give yourself room to breathe, letting your shield down, as you reach for the bed blindly. The tears in your eyes blur your vision as you plop onto the mattress.

That went well.

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

Inside the guest room, Natasha is going through a myriad of emotions. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of this situation. Out of the scenarios she played in her head she didn’t think this would be one of them. With the pocket knife still in her hand, she flips it over many times. Realizing the severity of what she almost did, she drops it onto the mattress beside her. How could any of this be true?

You’ve been in her life for even longer than she thought and she’s not sure she likes the idea of that. This is all too much for her to handle. She wants to run. She could do it. You probably wouldn’t stop her she thinks. Another part of her is curiosity. If the old her could get past it and forgive you what makes this different? In all of your interactions for the past few days, you’ve been nothing but genuine and gentle with her. How was she supposed to compartmentalize all of that? Your love was built on lies, pain, and everything Natasha told herself she wouldn’t do. When she was younger and allowed herself to think about having a family, which wasn’t often, she imagined healthy love. Someone who understands her and doesn’t care about her past. A person she could be completely herself with.

Was that you?

For now, she doesn’t know the answer to that question and she’s not ready to question anymore. She’s had enough of her past today. She lies on the bed, parallel to your position in the other room, as she replays what just happened in her head.

Natasha doesn’t come out of the bedroom for the rest of the night. When you find Olivia curled into her you don’t disturb them. You close the door behind them and go back down into your bedroom to make a call.

You hold the phone to your ear, breathing harshly, as you wait for an answer. Wanda picks up after the second ring. She speaks a bright Sokovian greeting but quickly changes her tune when she realizes it’s you.

“Y/n, is everything okay?” Wanda asks. She’s patient as she waits for you to gather yourself. You feel like your heart has been ripped out of your chest and haphazardly thrown back into your body.

“No,” You finally speak. “I told Natasha.”

Wanda asks knowingly. “I take it she didn’t receive things too well.”

“Not at all,” You wipe your face free of the tears running down your face. “Wanda, how am I supposed to do this? Maybe I’m way in over my head. It’s only been a few days but I’ve already managed to make her hate me.”

“I don’t think Natasha has it in her to hate you,” Wanda replies.

“This isn’t our Natasha, Wands.” You sigh. “She’s different. Combative.”

“I remember a time when you were the same way.” Wanda reminds you. “When we first joined Hydra you weren’t exactly the nicest to us.”

“I had to make sure you weren’t trying to kill me in my sleep,” You say. “You were strangers.”

“My point,” Wanda shakes her head. “I’m not saying it will be easy but stick around for her a little longer. She’s going through a rough time too. Would you take it well if everything you’ve known is different or changed?”

“No,” You grumble.

“Then have patience,” Wanda encourages. “Don’t let her walk all over you. You’re supposed to be the top.”

“Not funny,” You roll your eyes.

“I’m sorry, sestra.” Wanda giggles to herself. “I do think you should give her a chance.”

“Who made you the big sister?” You ask in annoyance.

“Sometimes it’s okay for the little sister to take over,” Wanda reminds you. “Come here tomorrow. Have lunch with us. I will make you something special. The girls can come to play and I can see you.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” You agree. “I can’t promise there won’t be tears.”

“From you or the girls?” Wanda jokes.

“Both,” You shoot back. “Do you have to hang up?” You ask as you look at the time. It’s getting pretty late.

“I can stay on the phone,” Wanda promises. “I was going to play a little guitar out on the balcony. Will that bother you?” She’s such a good sister. You don’t know what you’d do without her.

“No, go ahead.” You climb under the covers, propping the phone up next to you, as you drift off to sleep. Wanda’s soft playing and your exhaustion from the day allow you to fall asleep fairly quickly. Hopefully, tomorrow would be better.

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

It’s the next morning and Natasha is awakened by the sound of crying. She sits up, resting on her elbows, to see Olivia is still sound asleep beside her. There’s a sliver of light peeking from her curtains so she can deduce that it’s early morning. How long was she asleep? She pushes the covers back to go and investigate. She follows the sound of noise down to the girl’s bedroom. She finds Lily standing up in her crib, rubbing her eyes, as she calls out for both of you.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Natasha coos, signing hello, as she comes to stand closer to the crib. She looks over the bonnet on Lily’s head, finding it to be interesting before she looks down at Lily’s wide eyes.

“Up,” Lily begs and Natasha obliges. She scoops the little girl into her arms, feeling her bottom for a wet diaper before she walks over to the changing table.

“I know that was pretty uncomfortable huh,” Natasha speaks to her as she changes her diaper quickly. She has a bit of difficulty changing out of her onesie though this doesn’t deter her. She changes Lily’s diaper, deciding to dress her in a different outfit before she looks around the nursery. She hasn’t been in this room yet. It’s well done. The walls are muted pink with a rose gold decal. The dresser in the far corner of the room is white with rose-gold handles. There’s a rocking chair in another corner. Olivia’s bed, shaped like a proper princess’s bed is on the other side while Lily’s crib takes over the other side of the room. There’s a bookshelf full of children’s books. A baby monitor with a camera attached to Lily’s crib. Everything looked so well done and normal. Did you choose the decorations together?

“Ears?” Lily questions and Natasha is reminded of her cochlear implants.

“You don’t wear these at night? I guess that makes sense,” Natasha says as she attempts to put them on. It takes a few tries but eventually, she gets it right. Lily signs “on” giving Natasha a proud smile as they stand together in her bedroom. “Would you like breakfast?” Natasha asks.

“Food?” Lily tilts her head while rubbing her tummy. She sure could eat right now. “Mommy?” Lily asks. She’s looking for you.

“She’s probably still asleep. For now, you have me kid,” Natasha carries Lily down to the first floor. Despite the slight pain in her ribs, she feels a bit better. She’s not supposed to be carrying Lily but she’d be damned if she misses out on this very important thing. She would carry her baby forever if need be. She places Lily in her high chair, before walking over to the fridge to get breakfast.

“Go!Go!” Lily points excitedly. Natasha follows her line of sight to see a box of Yoplait Gogurt sitting on one of the shelves. She takes her time opening it before giving it to Lily. The toddler gulps it down as she watches Natasha. Natasha makes quick work of fixing a bowl of oatmeal. She helps to feed the toddler, finding that Lily is truly a happy baby, as she smiles through the entire meal.

Natasha is enjoying her morning breakfast when she hears footsteps coming down onto the first floor. She spots curls first before Olivia catapults herself into her lap.

“Olivia Jane, be careful,” You warn her as she jumps into Natasha’s arms.

“She’s fine,” Natasha rolls her eyes and you’re not sure exactly how to respond to that. So you ignore it. You walk over to the Keurig, finding your desired flavor, before turning the machine on. You greet Lily with a bunch of kisses to her face, almost turning to kiss Natasha too before you stop yourself. For a second you forgot.

“Mama, I slept in the bed with you,” Olivia reminds Natasha. “I didn’t kick you this time right?” Olivia questions as a bowl of warm oatmeal are placed in front of her. For her bowl, you cut up fruit to place inside.

“No you were a perfect angel,” Natasha assures her.

‘Why you didn’t sleep with Mommy again?” Olivia asks and neither of you knows how to answer that.

“Since Mama is still hurt we decided she needed a bed to herself,” You answer. Hopefully, that would make sense to a three-year-old.

“Oh,” Oliva nods in understanding.

“It’s too easy for you,” Natasha mumbles and you don’t bother to ask her what she means.

“What do you guys think about going to see Aunt Wanda today?” You ask instead.

“I go!” Lily grins. She loves Aunt Wanda and so does Olivia.

“Me too,” Olivia eats from her spoon. She manages to keep all of the oatmeal in her mouth and off the table this time around.

“Your sister?” Natasha questions. “Do you think that’s best?”

“Natasha, the girls have been around my sister from the day we brought them home,” You sigh. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, fixing it to your liking, before taking a small sip. Despite you feeling slightly threatened by her yesterday, you’re a tiny bit more optimistic today. She stepped foot outside of her room so you’re choosing to take that as a good sign. “If you don’t think it’s safe you’re more than welcome to come. Everyone lives about an hour away at the compound.”

“I think I will,” Natasha nods.

This should be fun.

----> next part