#GATHERING MY HANDFUL OF HORROR FANS

[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.

[nickistuffs]

Birthday with you

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference

Summary: As a late birthday celebration, Harry invited you to meet the people he holds dear to his heart.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None. Fluff 💗

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

Harry had invited you to his birthday party at one of his luxurious villas in Italy. The villa, perched on a hill with breathtaking views of the Mediterranean, was stunning. The atmosphere was filled with the clinking of glasses, laughter, and the gentle hum of conversation—a perfect blend of elegance and warmth. But as you stepped inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were an outsider. This wasn’t just any party. It was an intimate gathering, filled with Harry's close family and friends, all of whom had known him for years. They shared memories and inside jokes you could only wish to be part of. You had never met any of them before, though you knew them from following Harry's career—interviews, social media, the occasional tabloid headline. But surface-level knowledge was hardly the same as truly knowing someone.

Harry, ever the warm and welcoming person, had been ecstatic to invite you. The moment you arrived, he stuck close to you, offering fleeting touches of his hand and gazes that reassured you. "I can’t wait for you to meet everyone," he had said, his enthusiasm undeniable. You tried to calm your nerves, but with every new face you saw, you couldn’t help but feel small. Would they accept you? Or would you just be another fan who had somehow found their way into Harry's world?

You sat quietly on a stool, nursing your drink and watching the lively chatter around you. Stories about childhood antics, tour memories, and quiet moments filled the air—things you were never a part of. The feeling of being an outsider weighed on you. But Harry had wanted you here, and you couldn’t let your nerves take over.

Just as you began to wonder if you'd ever feel at ease, someone tapped you gently on the shoulder. You turned around, startled, and found yourself face-to-face with Anne, Harry’s mum. Her warm smile immediately made you feel a little less alone.

"You must be Y/N," she said, her voice full of kindness. "Harry's told me so much about you. It’s wonderful to finally meet you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Twist," you replied, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice.

"Please, call me Anne," she insisted. "I hope everyone’s making you feel welcome."

"Everyone's been lovely," you said with a smile, though a part of you still felt that initial intimidation.

Anne gave you a knowing glance before leaning in slightly. "You know, when Harry first mentioned inviting you, I could see how much he values your presence. He spoke about you with such enthusiasm."

You looked over at Harry, who was deep in conversation with a group of people. He caught your eye, offering you a warm smile that melted some of the tension.

"He's been looking forward to introducing you to everyone," Anne continued, "and I’m glad he did. It’s always wonderful to meet the people who mean so much to him."

Her words touched you more than you expected. "Thank you, Anne. That really means a lot."

Just as you were beginning to relax, you noticed Harry’s playful voice behind you. "I see you’ve met the most important woman in my life," he said, wrapping an arm around his mother’s shoulders.

Anne chuckled and patted Harry’s hand. "We've been getting along splendidly. I was just telling Y/N some stories from when you were little."

Harry groaned, his face contorting in mock horror. "Mum, you didn’t!"

"Oh, I did," Anne teased. "I had to let Y/N in on the time you tried to bake a cake and ended up with flour everywhere."

You laughed, picturing a younger Harry covered in flour. "That must have been quite the sight."

Harry rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. "I was seven! The recipe was way too complicated."

Anne raised an eyebrow. "It was a simple sponge cake, dear."

Before Harry could respond, Gemma, his sister, stepped into the conversation with a mischievous grin. "Oh, that’s nothing," she chimed in, her voice full of amusement as she approached the two of you, her baby cradled in her arms. "If we’re talking about embarrassing Harry stories, I’ve got plenty more."

Harry groaned louder. "Not you too, Gem."

Gemma’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, this is one of my favorites. Do you remember the time when Harry decided to put on a magic show for the whole family?"

Harry’s eyes widened. "Gemma, don’t you dare."

But Gemma, clearly enjoying the moment, wasn’t about to stop. "Well, let’s just say the 'magician' managed to lock himself in the bathroom for an hour because he couldn’t get the handcuffs off. And we had to call Mum to get him out."

You burst out laughing, imagining little Harry, desperate to get out of the bathroom. "That sounds like a real magic trick."

"It was more of a disappearing act," Gemma teased. "The only thing Harry disappeared into was the bathroom, and we had to rescue him."

Harry’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but the smile on his face showed he was in on the joke. "I was, like, five!" he protested.

Anne laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I think we should let Y/N hear the one about his birthday party when he got his first guitar."

You couldn’t help but laugh even more. It was so clear how much love and laughter surrounded this family. Their teasing, their easy camaraderie—it all made you feel like you were slowly becoming a part of it.

Harry finally gave in, rolling his eyes but laughing along with his mum and sister. "Alright, alright, I get it. I was a disaster as a kid."

"You were adorable," Gemma corrected with a playful grin, turning to you. "But honestly, Y/N, Harry’s stories are just the beginning. He’s grown up to be quite the character, even if he tries to act all serious now."

You smiled warmly at her. "I’m starting to see that."

Harry turned his attention back to you, his gaze softening. "I’m glad you’re getting to know my family. They’ve been a huge part of who I am."

"I can see that," you replied, genuinely touched by their kindness. "They’ve been wonderful."

Anne gave Harry a gentle nudge. "I’ll leave you two to chat. It was lovely talking with you, Y/N."

As she walked away, Harry took a step closer, his gaze intent. "I hope I’m not being too embarrassing," he said, a teasing smile on his face.

"Just enough," you teased back.

Harry laughed, his voice warm and carefree. "Fair enough. Come on, there’s someone else I want you to meet."

Taking your hand, he led you through the villa, guiding you from group to group and introducing you to more of his loved ones. With each introduction, you felt a little more at home, your earlier nervousness slowly fading. Harry’s world was no longer something you observed from afar—it was becoming something you were a part of. The people he loved were just as warm and kind as he was, and they made you feel less like an outsider with every passing moment.

...

After a few more conversations with family, Harry squeezed your hand and grinned. "Come on, there's a group of people I want you to meet."

You followed him through the lively party, passing by laughter-filled clusters of guests. As you neared a circle of friends, Harry's arm brushed your back to guide you into the group. The familiar faces in the circle weren't just anyone—they were his close-knit crew, each one sharing a piece of Harry’s world.

"Hey, everyone, this is Y/N" Harry announced, his voice light but with a hint of pride. "This is basically my second family." His eyes twinkled as he gestured toward them. "And trust me, they’ve all been waiting to meet you."

You smiled nervously, unsure of what to expect. The group welcomed you warmly, their faces open and friendly.

First, Harry’s friend Jeff, with a mischievous smile and an easygoing nature, stepped forward. “So, you’re the famous Y/N Harry’s always talking about. Good to finally meet you!” He gave you a quick hug, which immediately put you at ease.

Next was Glenne, whose bright eyes and calm demeanour were a sharp contrast to Jeff’s energy. She extended her hand warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you, Harry loves talking about you know,” she joked, laughing softly.

You chuckled and felt yourself relax even more. “I’m not used to this kind of attention,” you said, glancing at Harry, who was grinning proudly.

Just then, Sarah caught your attention. She was holding her infant daughter in her arms, a soft smile on her lips. “Hi, Y/N, I’m Sarah,” she said gently, her voice tender as she rocked her baby back and forth. “It’s wonderful to meet you. Harry was right your are pretty.”

"Well your daughter’s adorable," you said, blushing at her compliment.

Sarah beamed, her eyes lighting up. “Thank you! She’s a handful, but a joy. One of the many little wonders of life.” Her baby cooed, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

As if on cue, Mitch, with his wild, curly hair and a playful grin, came rushing past. He was in the middle of a lighthearted battle with a toddler, trying to tickle the little one. “Hey, I’m Mitch!” he exclaimed between laughs as the toddler squirmed and giggled. “Don’t let this chaos fool you, I’m a softie on the inside.”

The toddler finally broke free from Mitch’s grasp and sprinted toward Sarah, who swooped them up effortlessly. “It’s like a never-ending game with these two,” Mitch said, shrugging in amusement.

You smiled at the scene, feeling more and more comfortable with each passing second. Harry’s friends were warm and welcoming, each of them with their own.

...

As the group bombarded you with questions about your life, your interests, and how you ended up at the villa, you found yourself laughing and feeling surprisingly at ease. Each question felt like an invitation to share more of yourself, and their curiosity and warmth made you feel more at home with every passing minute.

You talked about your favorite books, the music you loved, and how you ended up in Italy. With every word, you felt a little more connected to the people who meant so much to Harry. The ease with which they welcomed you made the night feel like a celebration not just for Harry, but for the bonds they all shared—bonds you were now becoming a part of.

However, Harry had been standing off to the side, watching with a knowing smile. As much as he loved seeing you connect with his friends, there was something about the way they all adored you that made him want to have you to himself, just for a moment. He admired how effortlessly you fit in, but he couldn’t help but feel a little possessive, wanting a break from the crowd.

After a particularly lively round of questions about your favorite books and music, Harry stepped forward, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes twinkled with playful mischief as he squeezed your hand and, with a teasing smirk, spoke up.

“Alright, as generous as I am, I think it’s time I get a little selfish,” he said, his voice smooth and full of charm. “I want to steal my girl for a moment.” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “If that’s okay with everyone?”

The group let out a collective groan of exaggerated disappointment, but there was no mistaking the fondness in their voices. “Go on, mate, we’ll let you have her for a bit,” Jeff said with a wink, raising his glass in a mock salute.

Harry smiled at them, giving you a wink of his own, before gently guiding you away from the group. “See, they understand,” he said with a smirk, leading you toward a quieter corner of the villa.

As you walked away, a warm blush spread across your cheeks from his words. You could feel the eyes of his friends on you, but it didn’t matter. The heat of the moment only deepened the connection between the two of you, and Harry’s presence was like an anchor in the sea of social energy around you.

Once you were far enough from the crowd, Harry stopped, turning to face you. His eyes softened as they lingered on you for a moment, taking in the soft blue dress you wore for him. The way the fabric hugged your form made his heart skip a beat. He reached up, his fingers gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The simple touch sent a warm shiver down your spine.

He smiled, clearly appreciative of the effort you’d put into looking beautiful for him. “I couldn’t help myself,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, filled with affection. “I just wanted to be with you, even if it’s just for a minute.”

You chuckled, your voice light but sincere. “It’s your birthday party, Harry. The attention should be on you.”

He shrugged with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “They’ve worked with me all year. They might be sick of me already.”

You laughed at that, the sound of it filling the space between you two, feeling like it was just the two of you at that moment, away from the chaos of the party.

You leaned in slightly, your faces close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. The distant sounds of the party faded into the background, and in that quiet moment, all that mattered was the intimacy between the two of you. Harry’s gentle touch, his easygoing nature, and the warmth of his presence made everything else seem distant, like background noise.

He leaned down, his lips brushing near your ear, his breath warm against your cheek. “Though I have to say, it’s pretty fun making you blush.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your attempt at feigning indifference. “You're impossible,” you whispered, your voice light but full of affection.

Harry chuckled, and you could feel the warmth of his laugh in the air between you. “You love it,” he teased gently, his fingers still tracing circles on your skin.

Just then, the sound of laughter broke through the quiet moment, and you heard a voice from the distance call out with a teasing tone.

“Hey lovebirds, time to blow out the candles on your cake, Harry!”

The playful interruption came from none other than Jeff, who stood with the group, his mischievous grin matching the fondness in his eyes. The others behind him chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment they had interrupted.

You and Harry exchanged an amused glance, both of you still caught in the afterglow of the quiet moment you shared. With a soft sigh, Harry smiled, his hand gently holding yours once more.

“Well,” he said, his grin widening as he gave you a playful nudge, “looks like they’re calling us back to the party. But don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Of course you’re not.”

With that, Harry led you back toward the group. As the bustling crowd and lively chatter resumed around you, the warmth of the quiet moment you’d just shared lingered. It was a perfect balance—shared laughter, heartfelt conversations, and just enough of Harry’s attention to remind you how much he cared. The party was a celebration of him, but with him by your side, it felt like a celebration of the two of you.

Just as Harry was about to blow out his candles, Anne’s voice rang out, playful and full of motherly warmth. “Make a wish, Harry!” she called from across the room.

Harry paused for a beat, a small smile playing on his lips. He glanced at you, then back at his cake, before he blew out the candles. He already knew what he’d wished for—and he didn’t need to make a wish to know it had already come true.

...

AAAHHH!!! HBD to our lovely Harry Styles <3

[fatuismooches]

Dottore's unofficial fan club is working on their next biggest accomplishment - fanfiction of him and his lover.

The rumors and whispers of what Il Dottore and his segments got up to in their labs were some of the most spoken-about (and overused) pieces of gossip that new recruits found themselves petrified by. What do you mean he did this? And that?! Oh, the horror!

However, wherever these kinds of words happened to be spoken, a loyalist of the Harbinger was bound to pop out somewhere and vehemently refute any such statements with their heart, soul, and mind. Although such people seemed crazy at first, quite a few of them existed, much more than what anyone who had any surface level of the scholar would guess. After all, how else could they write over a hundred-page handbook of their Harbinger? Their dedication to their craft could possibly rival Dottore himself!

Their Lord Dottore had so many things to admire, so many traits spread across his various segments. They could only worship from afar, but also, they had another person to appreciate - none other than the only person who he held fondness for, his utmost beloved - you. It was a critical point in the fanclub, seeing how sweetly their Harbinger treated you, and how you kept him on his toes. Well, now they could add "loving partner" to the list of things they loved about him! What joy!

As such, today they had gathered to continue working on the next installment in their writing, more specifically - "Dottore x [Name] - Valentine's Day Oneshot" (the title had yet to be determined). With serious expressions and pen and paper in hand, they had begun their work.

"Do you think that the Lord Harbinger would be interested in such a day in the first place?"

"Well, considering my Lord let [Name] put mistletoes and wreaths during the holidays on the lab doors, I don't think he would be completely opposed to the idea." A chorus of agreement from the others sounded in response.

"Alright, alright, listen to what I have so far!"

—

["Oh Dottore!~"

The man could hear the cheery and excited voice all the way down the hallway before the person even entered the room. Of course, there was only one possible person this voice could belong to, only one person could have the gall to act like that toward him. Nearly bursting through the door, they spoke once more.

"Are you ready?!" A wide smile stretched onto their lovely face, save for some small pants. Dottore, with his back turned, could safely hide a small smile, despite his seemingly unbothered hums.

"Not a moment too early or late. Exactly on time," he mused, listening to [Name]'s skipping footsteps approach from behind him, fully expecting the warm arms wrapped around him.

"Well, I definitely don't think you forgot either. But I think you're just excited to eat some of my sweets again." [Name]'s face nuzzled into his back as they giggled, tilting their head to peer at his calendar. It was filled in with a work-related thing listed nearly every day, but more importantly, the fourteenth had a time slot set specifically aside for something unnamed. The only person who could ever guess correctly would be Dottore himself and his beloved of course.

"Perhaps I am. What then?" Dottore turned around to face [Name] properly, their face now snug into his chest as they looked up with shining eyes, his hand stroking the top of their head.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to take all the chocolates before you, Dottore!"]

—

"Wait wait wait, don't you think [Name] would refer to Lord Dottore in a more affectionate manner in private?"

"I did think of that, but I wasn't sure what else to use..."

"Alright, try this then."

—

["Well, I guess I'll just have to eat them all before you," [Name] teased him, his real name flowing from their lips freely, making the Harbinger catch them in a kiss.]

—

"Oh yes, that's perfect!" The agent squealed, delighted at how the ship was sailing. "Okay, let me skip ahead a bit!"

—

[The couple had found themselves in the kitchen, utensils and ingredients surrounding them. The two were a capable duo that got along with ease, their minds seemingly in sync with each other. Soon enough, the cookies had been finished and left to cool on the counter. The plain yet sugary cookies looked scrumptious, and were it not for his lover's insistence to decorate them, Dottore would have already finished his share.

Not wanting his beloved to get too tired, he hoisted them onto the table to rest their legs and stretch a bit. With a smile, [Name] took his hand and pulled him closer, not even flinching at how dangerously close the beak of Dottore's mask got to their face (they had become accustomed to the peck of it by now.)

They placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, letting out soft giggles when he returned the favor. The scholar's hands wandered down from their shoulders to rest on their thighs, squeezing them.

"Why don't you focus on the other sweet treat, hmm?" They teased him by suddenly pressing a finger full of icing to his nose, to which he scoffed and pulled back at the cool sensation. Wiping it off, instead of tasting it, Dottore smeared it near his partner's mouth.

"Hey! You're not-" Their protest was quickly quieted when Dottore pressed his lips against theirs, licking up the delicious frosting as well.

And so, [Name] and Dottore had a lovely Valentine's Day.]

—

"Archons, that was a great story!" The others nodded resolutely in concurrence.

"I wonder how my Lord will actually spend it with [Name]..."

—

Meanwhile, back in reality some interesting things were happening.

Firstly, you had indeed invited Dottore to bake with you, but numerous things had gone wrong (as you had expected to be honest.)

The two most notable are when you both ended up caked in flour (instead of icing) and when you had turned your back to your beloved for only a bit, and he later presented you with his cookie.

"Y-Your cooking will put me in my grave," you coughed again, "quicker than a-any illness would." There was no romance to be found here. It was dead. Even his absolutely precise measurements couldn't save him.

Ah, and of course you couldn't forget the segments' arguing that happened yearly on who received the best box of cookies. You had to yell at them as they became pouty.

It was a chaotic Valentine's Day.

—

When you conveyed this one day to a few curious agents, they looked unusually stunned.

"So... Lord Dottore cannot cook?"

"Lord Dottore is banned from the kitchen unless he has your explicit permission?"

"The Lord Harbinger isn't suave?"

"O-Our fanfiction is... i-inaccurate?!"

"Oh, the horror!"

"Fanfiction...?" You were a bit confused but you tried to alleviate their worries.

"W-well, I'm not sure why you'd be so worried about this... but you can rest assured that Dottore and I had a sweet Valentine's Day. He did help me bake cookies when I watched his every move! Naturally, he also made sure I didn't get hurt. Even when we got splattered with flour, I threw some more at him for good measure, and you know what, he got back at me too!" You laughed, remembering how he too could be playful.

"And I gave sweets to all the segments too and they were quite happy, even if they can be stupid and silly sometimes! They're all so smart, but sometimes they're complete idiots. That's just how they are, and I love it. "

"Besides, the more Dottore messes up, the more time I get to spend with him. It's silly, but I actually like it. But don't tell him that. He'll figure out my evil plans," you joked, not yet aware of the tears bubbling in the agents' eyes at your and Dottore's heart-throbbing and passionate love story.

If there was one thing that the agents got right, it was the love you and Dottore had for each other - imperfect - yet you wouldn't have it any other way.

[celestialbruise]

sanguine

(some moshang bloody kisses for the new year~)

-

The first time it happens, Shang Qinghua thinks he’d dreamed it.

Mobei Jun had come to haunt his leisure house, and while this was no longer enough to startle Shang Qinghua, it was still enough to leave him on edge, his wary eyes always pinned on his uninvited demonic guest. Mostly, Mobei Jun would come to knock him around a little, mutter a few words of complaint, order Shang Qinghua to do something such as gather information or sabotage some Night Hunt that interfered with Mobei Jun’s interests, and then he’d either pass out on Shang Qinghua’s bed or hover over his shoulder like a shadow of death while Shang Qinghua shakily tried to finish his work. 

Stupidly enough, sometimes the silence lulled Shang Qinghua into a false sense of security - perhaps even comfort. 

He’d always been a rather solitary person. In his past life, his few friends had all been made on Weibo, and while he did meet up with his family on occasion, it was really more a part of his role as a son than for any reason like companionship. They registered him as their flesh and blood and saw no deeper than that. Mostly his days were spent in front of his computer, slaving away on another ten-thousand-word chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way. On occasion he had socialized with his fans in the comment section - his haters too, if he was feeling especially bored and, oh fuck, did that mean he subconsciously considered that asshole Peerless Cucumber to be one of his friends?

Shang Qinghua’s life really had been pathetic. Sadly, given a second chance, he wasn’t faring much better - at least he was a Peak Lord now. That had to count for something, right?

“You write very slowly,” Mobei Jun intoned from behind him. Shang Qinghua couldn’t hide how badly he flinched. He had a tendency to zone out while working, which was probably one of the dumber things to do in the presence of a demon. 

Shang Qinghua glanced down at his hand, slowly scrawling characters. It wasn’t his fault - writing traditional characters was hard! Typing was much, much easier. 

“I usually write faster than this, I’m just thinking,” Shang Qinghua grumbled, annoyed, before feeling horror envelop him at the realization that his annoyance was audible, bleeding all over his words like ink. “Sorry, my king!”

Shang Qinghua braced himself for the blow and miraculously managed to swallow his undignified yelp when an ice-cold hand cuffed him over the head. 

“And stop picking at your lip!” Mobei Jun snapped. It took Shang Qinghua a moment to register that he even was. Another unconscious habit - picking at his lips, worrying at the dead skin, peeling it away, over and over, sometimes only stopping when he’d taste blood.

As if summoned by his thoughts, something wet suddenly welled forth.

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua’s hand slowly fell away. “Sorry, my king,” he dutifully repeated, raising his hand back up to wipe the blood away, before a large, pale hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist, five strong fingers coiled to keep him in place. Shang Qinghua froze, and not just because of the icy touch.

“My king?”

When he looked up, he was shocked breathless. Mobei Jun’s eyes had gone dark.Pupil entirely eclipsed his frigid-blue irises, and Shang Qinghua suddenly got the bone-deep impression that he was staring into a fathomless abyss - or perhaps, more aptly, the eyes of a beast.

“My king….?” Shang Qinghua repeated, voice layered with nerves, when Mobei Jun still did not answer. Was Shang Qinghua’s blood really so unsightly? So offensive? He didn’t remember writing ice demons to have an aversion to human blood…..

In one swift movement, faster than he could blink, Mobei Jun dipped down and swept his tongue across Shang Qinghua’s bleeding lip. Shang Qinghua was too shocked to even flinch. Mobei Jun’s tongue, now flecked with sanguine, slithered back into his mouth and Mobei Jun’s lashes fluttered as his throat bobbed. A moment later his eyes flared as if incensed and he returned, this time capturing Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip in between his teeth. A whimper stole from Shang Qinghua’s mouth unbidden as razor-sharp teeth teased his stinging flesh. It wasn’t painful, but the threat that it could be set his blood alight. In fear! Definitely fear…..

Shang Qinghua swore what escaped from him next was a gasp of shock, and nothing at all like a moan as Mobei Jun began to suck. He could scarcely comprehend it, all at once wound taut as a bowstring yet going boneless, limp. Pliable under his king’s hands and his surprisingly deft ministrations. At the feeling of his own blood being pulled forth into Mobei Jun’s mouth, the strangest sensation overtook Shang Qinghua. It was not simply one thing. It was cold and hot. Fire and ice. Pain and the absence of it. No, there was something sharp tugging just behind his navel, like a fishhook was caught there, waiting to spill his guts. Was it fear…..? Unconsciously, his eyes fluttered shut.

At long last, Mobei Jun’s strangely warm mouth pulled away. Shang Qinghua opened his eyes, feeling dazed. Light-headed, though he was certain Mobei Jun couldn’t have drained that much blood. Drank, drank that much, because that’s what he had done, hadn’t he? He’d taken Shang Qinghua’s cut lip as if it were a chalice filled with wine and he’d…..he’d-

“Sweet,” Mobei Jun murmured, licking his lips. Shang Qinghua felt a lurch in his gut as if he were free-falling.

Had he really written demons to crave the taste of human blood….?

[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.

[fanhackers]

Fandom/Activism

I interrupt my dive into Abigail DeKosnik’s work to note that as the United States moves deeper into its (apparently endless) election season, we’re seeing a lot of fandom-as-activism starting to emerge, as well as activism-as-fandom. De Kosnik herself was one of the early writers on fandom/activism, writing “Participatory democracy and Hillary Clinton's marginalized fandom” for the very first issue of Transformative Works and Cultures in 2008; more recently, Aja Romano wrote about how Donald Trump’s followers can be seen to be acting like a fandom for Vox: “If you want to understand modern politics, you have to understand modern fandom.” 

TWC hosted an entire guest issue on Transformative Works and Fan Activism, edited by Henry Jenkins and Sangita Shresthova; Jenkins and Shresthova also collaborated on By Any Media Necessary: The New Youth Activism (NYU, 2016) which collects essays on fan activism. Other essays on fandom/activism have been published by TWC with Alex Xanthoudakis’s Mobilizing minions: Fan activism efficacy of Misha Collins fans in "Supernatural" fandom (2020) and  Hannah Carilyn Gunderman’s Fan geographies and engagement between geopolitics of Brexit, Donald Trump, and Doctor Who on social media (2020) being recent examples. Meanwhile, Tanya Cook and Kayle Joseph are the authors of Fandom Acts of Kindness: A Heroic Guide to Activism, Advocacy, and Doing Chaotic Good (Penguin Randomhouse 2023), a guide on how to use fandom and fannish strategies to make a difference. 

Some examples of fandom/activism emerging this U.S. election season include Heroes 4 Harris: Kamala-Con  which is scheduled to happen online today, Sunday September 8, 2024, 1pm PT / 4pm ET: this is billed as “a Comic-Con for Kamala” and “the largest fandom led gathering in support of a presidential candidate in American history.” It will feature: “actors, writers, directors, and super fans of Hollywood's most inspiring heroic fandoms” and promises not just inspiration from some of our favorite stars (Mark Ruffalo, Sean Astin, Rosario Dawson and others - not to mention Henry Jenkins himself) but also breakout groups and training in “fan mobilization.”  

Meanwhile, Lynda Carter (always a Wonder Woman!) is also trying to get out the fan vote for Harris with her group Geeks & Nerds for Harris Walz (@GeekOutTheVote); this is also billed as “a fan activist campaign” and they are planning special online events, the first of which will be an online call on September 24, 2024.  As they describe on their website: “Fandom has never just been about media consumption. Fans are artists, creators, and digital ambassadors. When we share what we love, it radiates around the world. And to paraphrase the Vice President, it’s how we show them who we are. By connecting battle-tested campaign canvassing strategies to the heritage and practices of fan communities, we can encourage fans to get out the vote in key battleground states.”

Donald Trump, aside from being his own fandom with himself as fan in chief, also seems to have had some self-identified fandoms collectively organizing for him over the years - these include Fans of Kanye West, Fans of Race Car Driving, and, strange but true, Fans of the 1980s, who apparently believe that Donald Trump would also be a fan of 80s horror movies, Scritti Politti, and  the soundtrack to Pretty in Pink. (I’m not making that up; it’s on their Twitter.) That said, Mel Stanfill’s newest book Fandom is Ugly (2024) argues that, despite its popular reputation, media fandom is not essentially progressive; that in fact, “reactionary politics and media fandoms go hand in hand.” Stanfill’s book looks at the ways in which fans have organized in conservative, reactionary, or even hateful ways, from Gamergate to the collective abuse and harassment of actors in the latest Star Wars franchise. 

The discipline of fandom studies is now being used to study all different kinds of affiliations and advocacy movements, not just those based around film, tv, sports, or music. Fan studies is now applied to political and social movements. Jenkins is still a powerful voice on the relationship between fan studies and participatory democracy (whether progressive or reactionary): read this 2024 interview with him published in Communication and the Public: “The path from participatory culture to participatory politics: A critical investigation—An interview with Henry Jenkins.”  As Jenkins notes:

Part of the ethos of fandom is to ask questions—from nitpicking to imagining other outcomes, different trajectories for character arcs, and other worlds where the story might occur, all of which is expressed through fan works. I would say that fans are often more critical than the general audience in asking these questions, which makes them somewhat different from many partisans and activists I might know who rarely question their beliefs and ideological commitments. And fans are more tolerant—as an aggregate—of different interpretations than partisans are of different ideological stances. So, you could do worse in grounding a democracy than engaging with fans.

[miasmaghoul]

So I got one particular kink request that mentions maybe needing an OC. I have an idea for this already, but it occurred to me that I've never told you guys about my actual OC. I'm sure most won't care, but I do, soooo...

Everyone, meet my ghouly guy Jasper!

Jasper is an earth ghoul, but more in a rock direction than a plant direction. He was summoned near the end of Terzo's reign, and lives in the depths of the abbey with the other service ghouls. His assigned tasks mostly revolve around building maintenence, and he usually goes unseen due to a preference for working at night. He's not a fan of crowds anyway, so it all works out. The last thing he needs is a gaggle of siblings ogling him while he repairs cracks in the walls with nothing but a palmful of finely crushed stone and a little burst of magic.

He keeps to himself in the off hours too, preferring to hang in his dorm with something immersive; a good book (preferably horror or mystery), a video game (loves single player RPGs and cozy games like Stardew Valley), doing a puzzle (jigsaw, crossword, or really any sort of word game) or listening to music while staring at the ceiling. His dorm sits beneath one of the band's equipment storage rooms, and it's not uncommon for one or two of the band ghouls to hang out and play something every now and then. He has very sharp ears, and if he closes his eyes he can usually tell who's fucking around (or just fucking, let's be real) in there.

If he does need to participate in group activities, he enjoys the company of his fellow earth ghouls. They aren't a rowdy bunch (except for Pebble, though they still get on well enough), so he'll have no problem meeting Mountain in the orchard for a joint and idle chitchat, or having a quiet lunch with Ivy in the rose garden. He also finds himself drawn to air ghouls - he had a huge crush on Zephyr, but their Whole Thing with Mountain told Jasper to keep his distance. They still made great friends though!

His first roommate was Aether, before he was recruited into the band and moved to Dew's room. They got along very well, and Aether taught him a lot about many, many things. The abbey, the world Above, human-shaped vessels and what they can do...many lessons were taught in that cramped dorm room. Jasper has it to himself now, but still he leaves Aether's side clean and organized. Just in case.

Aether tried to teach him to play guitar as well, but never got the hang of it - coordination was an issue, as was the fact that his finger strength kept breaking the higher strings. He prefers to sing anyway, in a voice that could go straight to your bones. The one exception to his 'no crowds' rule comes when it's time for a celebratory mass, where he will don a ceremonial robes and join the choir in worshipful song. Mostly he just sings in the shower though.

He has an extremely dry sense of humor, always heavy handed with sarcasm, but is also able to pull a pun out at the drop of a hat. Loves to banter and tease in his own way, though it can take other ghouls some time to adjust to his mannerisms. But if something hits him just right, really tickles, then he's cackling like a hyena with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Loves to hunt with Mountain; the pair of them have spent many night tracking everything from rabbits to bucks with nothing but claws and fangs, tearing into their prizes with unabashed, feral pleasure. Jasper will take pieces of their pelts and fashion them into little pouches or decorative pieces to store on his one crowded bookshelf. There are a few hand-carved pieces of antler there too, none of anything identifiable, but at least he'd tried!

He eats normal human food too, as most ghouls do, but he has a guilty pleasure - red clay, harvested from the banks of the stream that cuts through the forest. If anyone finds him gathering it he says he's trying his hand at pottery, but in reality he's squirreling it away to dry so he can have a nice crunchy snack afterwards. Aether walked in on him with his mouth covered in clay dust once, and he has yet to live it down.

Now, some rapid-fire physical traits and preferences!

Jasper is intersex, presents on the masc side of androgynous, and uses he/him pronouns (though they/them is okay too). Demiromantic pansexual, far more willing to share his body than his emotions. Kinky as all hell, but he is a ghoul after all.

He is 6'2" (188cm), narrow and lanky.

He's pale, doesn't particularly enjoy being out in the sun, (Mountain call him a cave dweller), but if he does spend a day tilling in the gardens or the orchard it'll bring out the freckles on his face and arms.

Keeps his hair very short, almost shaved, on the sides and back, but shaggier on top. Easy to let flop over his forehead, or to slick back if he needs to look "presentable". It's thick and copper colored, looks redder in the sun, and he's always running his hands through it. If he shaves the sides down, he likes to carve little designs into the remaining fuzz. His horns are stone-like, only a few inches long, starting at his hairline and angled backwards. (When he's unglamoured they become twin rows of stalagmites in all sizes, sharp as anything.)

His face is angular, with sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin. His ears stick out, the left one more than the right. His eyes are steely gray, a touch sunken and perpetually accompanied by dark circles. Has a thin scar that runs down his forehead and through his left eyebrow, from the time he tripped and fell through one of the glass panels of the greenhouse. His nose used to be narrow and straight, but after an evening spent drinking Terra's moonshine his bedroom floor changed that. (He's a clumsy guy, what can I say.) He doesn't mind the crookedness, though he does sometimes wince when he sneezes. Wears glasses for everything except to read.

Piercings: double lobes in both ears, with a helix on the left and a daith on the right. Used to have his septum done before the nose incident, chose not to re-do it after that healed. Nipples (prefers barbells or shields). Bellybutton (blame Aether).

Tattoos: his elemental symbol on the inside of his left wrist. An intricate sigil at the top of his spine, extending down between his shoulder blades. A black and gray snake that wraps around his right calf, it's head on the top of his foot.

Wears a simple silver ring on his right middle finger and a pair of complementary chains around his neck. One holds a cage-style pendant surrounding a piece of raw obsidian, the other small crystalline vial of something that DEFINITELY isn't blood. Enjoys painting his nails, and will keep his claws glamoured just to flash his color of the week. It'll be chipped after two hours, but he doesn't mind.

For clothing, he keeps it simple. Service ghouls all share a uniform - a black tunic, slacks, white-tipped Oxfords and a simple black mask - but in his off time he likes baggy t-shirts and comfy pants. Or no pants, he kinda hates pants. Keeps a few nicer pieces for the rare occasion his uniform isn't formal enough, but they mostly sit unused in the back of his closet.

Finally, he is terrified of spiders. Many spider-related pranks have been, and will continue to be, pulled on him.

Aaaand thats all I've got off the top of my head lmao. I've never written down anything about my weird rock boy, he just lives in my mind and now, maybe, in yours. Will he ever be fully fleshed out? Will he make an appearance in any future fic? Find out next time, on DragonBall Z!

[earls-wife]

Prepare to be sick of me ahh i love your writing so much!!❤️ How about intimate moments with Ciel that some people might deem sexual but to them it’s like a normalized thing? Like them just having skin to skin moments alone 🌝🌝

Your wish is my command, have these snippets of brain worms that refuse to develop into butterflies. I headcannon the Earl and his wife are not societies prude ones. He still has class, he's just very dotting with her (and likes to use their affection to keep his business deals and other annoying members of society: cheap, in line and out of his home lol).

Keep the requests coming, if you dare. ;)

Reminder: OCiel is aged up to late 20s and goes by the name Astré here. For details, check out my page and my other works if you'd like!

Warnings: smoke, busybodies, suggestive moments but not detailed, naked but not described, Astré is a simp for his wife! I guess this could be considered NSFW....

Moments That Didn't Stay in The Dark

They didn't understand. How could they?

A fleeting temple kiss in a candles flame from a dark corner of the billardroom was seen as a scandal. To him it was a play for power. To bring her into his domain of authority among smoke, the clatter of a cue ball and his next target.

A caress to his wife's lower back on the rare occasion they danced at a gathering, a communication to say 'I desire you', not a reason for the gossiping hens of society to cluck behind their fans at them. Nuisances.

His gloved fingers hapazardly tugging the bodice of her gown back in place as a servant (MeyRin) squeaks out an apology for interrupting. He sighs wondering if he'll ever get a moment alone with his wife in his own home.

Her fingers gripping his thigh at the dinner table among guests that baggered him. Unlike upperclass tradition of hosts not sitting together, he simply didn't care. He wasn't letting other men near his bride, not when she looked so appetizing and stroked her thumb closer to...

Mumbling in French to her after a long day of work in the office. He had forced himself to spend time away so they could develope a routine outside of the honeymoon phase that still nipped at their hearts. Now in bed, he quickly removed her chemise and pulled her beneath him so he could kiss her heart and get lost in her arms before exhaustion took him. Sleeping together was mandatory and anyone who said his wife shouldnt stay in his bed would be escorted away by Sebastian. Two rooms? Please. Good riddance to the thought.

Desperate kisses dragged across eachothers lips, heated and full of fire while a shocked audience watched on. She had returned from a business deal (kidnapped), and his hands were quickly balling up her skirts in his hands to get to her, to her skin that was alive and not dead, like his family.

Kissing her ankle after she had a tumble playing crochet with some friends. A Lord on his knees? A ladies ankle, bear of a stocking? His wife's great aunt fainted seeing his affection so publicly, while other ladies watched in in envy of his wife. Other gentleman shifted uncomfortable with seeing the guard dog collared and smitten by a woman.

Astré (OCiel) kneeling before the bed, head resting in her hap as she carded her fingers through his hair after a case that left him spiraling. The demons clung to him yet she plucked each one and set them in a box for later deliberation. As the weight wore away he wrapped his arms around her waist burying his face in her stomach, desperate to know he's not alone.

His wife's hands caressing his back in the bath, not joining him for once, but insisting on doing a servants duty and washing him down. Her fingers trace his brand and her eyes soften with knowing the horrors. He turns and caressed her face assuring her that after all there time together, he isn't afraid of her touch...no matter how hesitant she may be. Astré quickly ignored her request to finish bathing him and pulls her into the bath instead to correct her assumptions. A wet night dress and a few evening delights later had her convinced he was telling the truth.

Breathless and sweaty from pleasure as the sheets stick to there bodies. His wife resting against his bare shoulder as he kissed her hairline, rubbing her arm as he summoned air into his lungs. She was gonna kill him with all that energy. But he wouldn't trade her hunger for him for the world. He just wished he could keep up better. He makes mental notes to ask Sebastian to find some 'reading material' to surprise her with next time she was in need.

[defuckingthrone-dot-com]

Lucky

A/N: BTW I’m still very much stuck here so I decided to write a lil something about it. (Pardon me, I don’t know the terms for what I should call this)

Sorry if this sucks, I did it while I had down time at work. Not proof read. Hope y’all like it.

Warnings; none, pure teeth rotting sweet fluff

*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s had been a pretty good day so far, I was sitting next to Noah on one of the sofas in the creative studio where all of desigin for their merch took place.

All of the guys where gather together having a good time after a good day of work. We were drinking our favorite drinks cracking a joke here and there. If I’m being honest I don’t really bring much to the table when it comes to designing stuff but my favorite thing is to hang out with the boys especially Noah, he was one of my favorite people ever.

“So Y/N, what do you think about the designs so far?” Davis asked, he was head of designs here so I appreciated that he even asked for my opinion.

“I really like them, fans are gonna go crazy over them, so cool that this time around you guys don’t have limited quantities so everyone can really get what they want”, I said

“yeah that’s a plus, I’m really glad we where able to do that this time around” Jolly chimed after he took a sip of his drink.

The conversation went on for a little while about random topics here and there . And somehow we ended up talking about true crime which is one of my most favorite subjects.

“Oh yeah! I recently watched a documentary about serial killers” I took a breath “sometimes I can’t believe what a human being is capable of doing whatever the motive is”

Folio looked at me “I don’t know how you can watch all that stuff and not feel sick, you’re so brave”

I chuckled a bit at the comment “my family is big on horror so I grew up watching docs and horror movies”

“that explains it” Nick said laughing

As I went on to explain something else regarding the topic I noticed that Noah really wasn’t involved in the conversation, he was just humming and looking directly at me. I turned my body so i could fully face him.

“hey big boy, what’s got you thinking and smiling like that?” I said intrigued

“Oh nothing” he chuckled

“Please tell meeeee!” I made my best puppy eyes at him, completely putting on second plain the conversation happening in the background. “Are you even paying attention?” I asked.

“Fine I’ll tell you but you have to promise not to make fun of me” he said looking quizzically at me.

“I can’t promise anything” I said looking around to the others getting up from their seats and making their way around the room, but when I looked back and catched Noah’s brown eyes looking at right at me I couldn’t resist “okay fine I promise I won’t make fun of you”

He stared at me with a wide grin “ Oh I was just thinking about how lucky I am”

“Lucky?” I questioned

“yes lucky, lucky to have you.” Noah mentioned

“silly old me?” I said joking

“Absolutely, I’m gonna be honest I haven’t heard anything you said in the last ten minutes but damn did I realize that I love watching you ramble on about your interests” he says laughing “I love looking at how you express yourself and how pretty that face of yours is” he said grabbing my hand.

“im lucky to spend everyday i can with you, and even know the rest may not realize it; they’re lucky to have you in their life as well, even if it’s just in little moments like these.” Noah said adjusting his position.

I didn’t know what to say; heat rose to my cheeks.

“You’re beautiful and I’m so lucky you’re in my life” he said leaving a small kiss on my temple .

I couldn’t resist just giving him the biggest hug, but what he didn’t know is that I was the lucky one to have him in my life.