#Man United decor
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
nounoustouzy · 3 months ago
Text
MANCHESTER UNITED WALL CLOCK
Tumblr media
Every second counts! An exciting and practical accent in any room, this unique high quality Wall Clock serves as a statement piece, creating a personalized environment.
.: Materials: 100% wood (frame), 100% plexiglass (face), 100% metal (mechanism) .: One size: 10" x 10" (25.4 x 25.4 cm) .: Pre-installed backside hook .: For indoor use .: Requires one AA battery (NOT included) .: Silent clock mechanism.
Get it now from here
0 notes
melancholytimes · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media
Victoria Pelova played for the u21 team against United and scored! Great step in her recovery
Tumblr media
Her teammates were there to cheer her on
Tumblr media
It also seems like Amanda Ilestedt was playing in this game as well
Tumblr media
Look at her little face
27 notes · View notes
kurogxrix · 1 year ago
Text
Clingy Mornings
Tumblr media
Bruce Wayne x Wife!reader, Batboys x Batmom
IN WHICH your clinginess towards your husband never fails to disgust your sons.
WC: 1.5k
Tumblr media
“And where'd you think you're going?” The sudden sound of your voice, albeit muffled partly by your pillow and sleepiness, startled your husband from his sitting place at the edge of your shared bed. You could barely even see with the morning grogginess clouding your iris, yet Bruce’s defined back muscles somewhat managed to break through your view. 
Bringing a hand up to wipe at your eyes, you couldn’t help but relish in the sight of your husband’s fine muscles flexing as he turned to meet your eyes. The way his bicep laid there all deliciously as he tipped all of his body weight onto one arm, the other moving up to caress at your cheek lovingly. There was no denying the pure adoration that swam through his beautiful blue iris, they spoke for themselves. 
“Well one of us has to be downstairs before Alfred decides that we’ve had enough sleeping time and barges into our room.” he chuckled slightly, a rare instance for The Batman, yet he’d only show this side when he was Bruce Wayne alongside you. His beautiful wife and mother of his children, adopted or not, they were yours. He had to force himself and resist the urge to chuckle as he watched your expression morph into a pout, your delicate hand pulling at his arm as you tried to get him back under the sheets with you. 
“Cmon Bruce, just a few more minutes.” you pleaded, tiredness still evident in your voice but it progressively faded the more you stayed up begging your husband to fall asleep with you again. Your hopes spike as Bruce laid behind you for a second, but the fact that he was laying on his forearm and elbow immediately crushed all of your hopes. His warm palm never left your cheek once, making you snuggle deeper into the palm that was just as big as your face. 
“I’d love to, trust me. But are you sure that you don’t want to see those demons of yours before they leave?” Of course he’d do that, of course Bruce would use your beloved children as bait for you to accompany him downstairs and finally leave the bed. You grunted something along the lines of ‘well then you better carry me’ in the crook of his neck as you threw your arms around his shoulders. This time Bruce couldn’t resist chuckling as he grabbed you delicately by the hips, hosting you onto his lap as he stood up from the plush mattress. 
Bruce hadn’t complained once about your clinginess. Truth to be told you’d been like this since the night before because you had rarely seen your beloved Bruce for nearly a whole ass week. It wasn’t unusual that you both wouldn’t see each other, on days that you’d be busy with work and on nights that the city’s menaces just wouldn’t rest. But recently everything had just been too much, too many meetings, too many villains and yet not enough time.
You winced as his hands came to lay across the bruises that now decorated your hips, two huge hand marks engraved into your skin as a remnant of the previous night. Needless to say that the reunion sex had you reaching for the stars, and the faint ache between your legs was a constant reminder of just what Bruce’s perfect girth could do to you. 
Your husband moved his hands with expertise as he descended the stairs, having only one hand under your ass to support your weight as the other laid along your back. You weren’t even concerned about a potential fall, because your husband did happen to be Batman, and his strength was unmeasured to your body weight. No matter what it was. 
Dick had been the first to notice his father walk into the living room, not that it was hard to notice him considering the absolute unit of a man that your 6’4 husband was. Your eldest son was perched up on the sofa, a bowl full of cereal and milk as the TV played in the background. He froze at first, unable to see you from your buried position in Bruce’s chest. Dick was afraid that you’d walk in shortly after you dear husband and start ripping one off on your son for eating on your couch, because even as the grown ass man that he now was, Dick was the messiest eater that you’d ever seen.
Though luckily for him that never came because it seemed like you had better plans, which included being stuck all day to your husband. No exaggeration. He watched in amusement as Bruce sat down amongst his children on the sofa, Damian not even displaying an ounce of attention towards his father as his eyes strained on the TV. could tell that it was a lazy morning for the both of you, even if Bruce claimed that it wasn’t for him. He had been clearly too bothered to dress before going down, instead clad in nothing but a pair of black boxers that he’d quickly thrown on in the morning. His warm, bare skin brought warmth against your clothed one, making you cling to him even harder than you previously were. 
Dick couldn’t help the smile growing upon his lips as he noticed the way your hands were clamped tightly around Bruce’s neck alongside the way your legs caged his waist. Like a clingy koala, he thought. 
You’d not moved from your position upon arrival, and at first your children could’ve thought that you were sleeping, and that Bruce was the clingy one after having snatched you from the comfort of your bed to snuggle with you downstairs on the couch.
Although they quickly found their assumptions to be wrong as they watched Bruce hand move up to your lower back, rubbing it adoringly before he gently tapped you to move and cuddle his side so he could eat. The bowl of cereal that he’d quickly grabbed from Alfred sat on the table staring at him, and his stomach was yelling for it. 
You squeezed in between Bruce and Damian as you climbed off your husband's lap, offering him the limited space that he’d get for the rest of the week. By all means you were still cuddled up to his side, an arm wrapped around his bicep as you rested your head on his bulging muscles. 
In the back of your mind, you heard a little voice telling you that this morning was all too weird. Why? Because the living room was far too silent for it to harbour all four of your children at once in. Maybe If you’d both been a little more aware you would’ve caught the sight of Jason trying and desperately failing in his attempts of ‘secretly’ snapping a picture of you both since the moment you’d walked in. 
Bruce could be sure that in a few hours he’d get a ping from his phone and a bunch of notifications about some sort of instagram post that your son has posted about the seemingly intimidating Bruce Wayne cuddling up to his wife. The caption would read ‘Bruce Wayne has gone soft, nobody is safe from the softpocalypse anymore’, but you didn’t know that as of now. 
Maybe you’d catch sight of that devilish grin adorning your youngest’s face, yet again that was nothing new. Or maybe you would have been able to notice the way Tim would often part from his beloved cup of coffee to check if Jason got the right angle. Although Bruce would admit later on that there’s no shame in showing some well deserved love to your spouse, he’d most definitely ground them all for playing this little ‘prank’ on him. 
You slowly returned in Bruce’s embrace after watching whatever idiotic movie that Dick had put on for god knows how long. Bruce’s bowl now empty and sitting on the coffee table before you. You took it as a sign that you could retake your spot within his arms, and your brooding husband didn’t even complain once as you got comfortable. With your face now buried in the warmth of his neck once again, you couldn’t help yourself but to give him a chaste kiss here and there.
“In front of my coffee.” you paused your movements at the disgusted tone in Tim’s words, effectively getting your other son’s to turn towards you both. You relished in their disgusted disagreeing, carefree laughter escaping you while blocking whatever sound came from the TV. You watched as your boys all left the room one by one to go on with their days, claiming that they can’t stand you two being ‘too in love’ because it was far too disgusting.
A solid minute after the room regained its original silence, save for the soft sounds of the movie still playing, Bruce allowed himself to relax in your arms. He slid down the sofa in a lazy position, keeping you tightly trapped in his embrace as he rested his head above yours. Hands regaining their comforting motions above your back, a rare and cocky smile graced Bruce’s face. Now that the whole mansion knew that you both were up and going, all in your ‘disgusting’ clinginess, he could only guess when the next person who dared to walk upon you both would come and disturb you. 
-
Hope my bruce girlies eat this shit up. also this is UNEDITED😔
13K notes · View notes
hiro6plus · 2 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Transitional Home Office - Built-In Example of a large transitional built-in desk with carpeting, a blue floor, and blue walls.
0 notes
jinniejjam · 3 months ago
Text
Lonely Wine
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
✎ Mean Neighbor!Lee Know x Lonely Afab!Reader
✎ Christmas AU, Emotional, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, 18+ MDNI! NSFW, Mutual Pining, Smut, Mistletoe Trope, Romantic Ending.
✎ 3.4k
✎ Synopsis: you find yourself feeling alone and distant, lost in your own thoughts. Your annoying neighbor, Lee Minho, crosses your path, and the exchange between you is far from pleasant. But then, to your surprise, he apologizes. As the holiday season continues, the walls between you begin to crumble, and you start to realize that even the most unexpected neighbors can bring warmth and connection when you least expect it.
A/n : hii y'all! I bring the christmas fanfic for today, hope you enjoy the story and also Merry Christmas! I hope warmth found u^^
—Bae
The air was cold, sharp against your skin as you leaned on the edge of your window, a half-empty glass of wine in your hand. Christmas Eve had always been a hollow affair for you, a reminder of what you didn’t have.
Your family wasn’t just complicated—it was fractured, splintered beyond repair. Your parents had divorced years ago, both quickly moving on to build new families, leaving you somewhere in the middle. No one outright abandoned you, but no one fought for you either. Holidays became a game of polite invitations and shallow smiles, and eventually, you stopped trying to belong anywhere.
You finished the wine faster than you intended, the warmth in your chest doing little to ease the ache. The sound of distant laughter and carols drifted in through the window, each note a cruel reminder of what this night was supposed to be.
When you realized your stock of wine was gone, you sighed and grabbed your coat. A trip to the store would be better than sitting alone with your thoughts.
The grocery store was mostly empty, its fluorescent lights buzzing softly. You wandered the aisles, the sight of festive decorations and holiday discounts doing nothing to lift your spirits. Three bottles of wine went into your basket—too much for one night, maybe, but you didn’t care.
By the time you returned to your building, your arms were aching from the weight of the bottles. You stepped into the elevator, letting out a breath as the doors closed.
But they didn’t close fast enough.
“Hold it!” a familiar voice called, and your stomach dropped as Lee Minho slid in just before the doors shut.
Of course. Out of all the people in this building, it had to be him.
Lee Minho, your annoying salty neighbor who had been a thorn of your peacefull life in this building, you're not sure how and when it started, but every encounter with him always feels like a war somehow, well its maybe begin from the very first you moved in to this building.
Flashback
The new apartment smelled like fresh paint and floor polish. You sat on your worn couch, staring at the boxes still stacked in chaotic clusters, a sigh escaping your lips. Starting over wasn’t easy. The stress of work and the pressures of life had already begun weighing down on you, but you were determined to make this new chapter as bright as possible.
After a long debate, you decided to bake cookies for your neighbors as a peace offering—a way to establish yourself in the building. A sense of community might help ease the loneliness. Armed with a plate of warm cookies, you stepped out of your door, knocking at the unit beside yours.
It swung open sharply.
The man who stood before you was breathtakingly gorgeous, but his expression was nothing short of murderous. His dark, sharp eyes narrowed in annoyance, his jawline so sharp you could swear it could cut glass.
“Yes?” His voice was flat, unwelcoming.
“Oh, hi! I just moved in next door. I made cookies and thought I’d introduce myself!” you said, holding the plate out with a smile.
He stared at the cookies like they were contaminated.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” His tone was curt. Without another word, he shut the door.
You blinked, stunned. What the hell was that?
Or that one time when he complained, saying that you're being loud just 3 days right after you moved in.
The next few days after moving in filled with unpacking, arranging furniture, and trying to settle into your new place. It was exhausting, and by the weekend, you decided to reward yourself with a relaxing night—some wine, your favorite playlist, and a bubble bath.
The music was soft, barely above a whisper, but as you swayed along while unpacking some remaining boxes, a sudden knock startled you. It wasn’t just a polite tap; it was loud, deliberate, and aggressive.
You frowned as you opened the door, only to find yourself face-to-face with your grumpy neighbor. Lee Minho stood there, arms crossed, his dark eyes glaring down at you like you were the source of all his problems.
“Seriously?” he snapped.
“What?” you asked, taken aback.
“The music,” he said. “Some of us are trying to sleep, and your constant noise is making it impossible.”
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s barely 9 PM.”
“And? Some people have early mornings,” he replied. “Unlike you, apparently.”
You folded your arms. “Excuse me, but I’m not exactly throwing a party over here. The music is quiet enough that I can barely hear it myself. Maybe the problem isn’t me; maybe it’s you.”
His jaw tightened. “Oh, so now I’m the problem?”
“Kind of, yeah,” you shot back. “Maybe you should consider moving to a remote cabin in the woods if you hate hearing other people so much.”
The tension between you crackled like static. He exhaled sharply, clearly deciding you weren’t worth more of his time.
“Whatever,” he muttered. “Just keep it down.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his apartment, leaving you fuming in the doorway.
You think that was the moment the gloves came off. From then on, the two of you clashed at every opportunity—snarky comments in the elevator, icy glares in the hallway, and a mounting frustration that turned into outright hostility.
Back to present time, he leaned casually against the cold wall of the elevator, his sharp eyes scanning the bottles in your arms. His smirk was almost immediate.
“Three bottles?” he quipped, tilting his head. “For one person? What is this, a pity party?”
You didn’t respond, staring straight ahead and hoping he’d shut up.
But Minho wasn’t done. “What? Are you that lonely? Not even a family to spend Christmas with?”
His words hit like a gut punch, sharp and uncalled for. Your fingers tightened around the bag handles as you turned to glare at him.
“Yeah, keep talking, Lee. I’m sure your perfect little life makes all of this just so much better,” you shot back, your voice trembling but laced with bitterness.
Minho blinked, taken aback. He had expected you to snap back, to fight him with the same sarcastic edge you always did. Instead, he saw the hurt in your eyes, the raw emotion you’d been trying so hard to hide. His stomach twisted in regret, realizing too late that he had pushed the wrong button this time. The smug expression he wore faltered, guilt creeping in as he watched you turn away right after the elevator door opened.
Once inside your apartment, the weight of his words finally crashed down on you. You set the bottles on the counter, your hands trembling.
Not even a family.
It wasn’t just an insult—it was the truth. Your parents had their own lives, their own families, and you were nothing more than a reminder of their failed marriage. Christmas had become a painful routine: fake smiles, awkward dinners, and feeling like an outsider in both of their homes. This year, you hadn’t even bothered to show up.
Tears welled in your eyes as you uncorked one of the bottles. The first sip burned your throat, but you didn’t stop. With each gulp, you tried to drown the ache, to silence the doubts and regrets swirling in your mind.
But the wine didn’t help. Instead, it magnified everything.
The tears spilled over, hot and relentless, as the weight of the night pressed harder on you. You sank onto the couch, clutching the bottle like it was your lifeline. The sound of distant carols and laughter seeped in through the thin walls, each note a cruel reminder of what you didn’t have.
A knock at the door made you freeze.
“Who’s there?” you called, your voice hoarse.
“It’s me.”
Minho.
Your chest tightened. The last person you wanted to see right now was him.
“Go away!” you shouted, wiping at your tear-streaked face.
But he didn’t leave.
“I need to apologize,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.
You clenched your jaw, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t need your pity, Minho. Just leave me alone.”
But his voice came again, insistent. “Please. I shouldn’t have said that. It was out of line.”
Something about the raw sincerity in his tone gave you pause. Slowly, you stood and walked to the door, hesitating before unlocking it.
When you opened it, Minho was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk replaced by something almost apologetic. His eyes flickered to your puffy, tear-streaked face, and his jaw tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
You crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why do you care?”
Minho hesitated, his gaze softening. “Because I know what it’s like to be alone on Christmas.”
The admission caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him.
“I’m serious,” he added, his voice quieter now. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was being an ass, and—"
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Before you knew it, you were crying again, the weight of the evening too much to hold back.
Minho stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. “—Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
Before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him. He hesitated for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly. The warmth of his embrace broke something inside you, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you afloat.
Minho held you close, his arms steady and sure, like he was the only anchor keeping you from falling apart. The quiet between you was heavy but not uncomfortable; his presence alone was enough to steady your trembling breaths. His hand moved gently up and down your back, offering a kind of comfort you hadn’t realized you craved.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his chest, your voice muffled.
“For what?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
“For being a mess.”
He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes softened as they searched yours, and for the first time, you saw something other than irritation or smugness—something tender.
“You’re not a mess,” he murmured. “You’re human.”
The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten, and before you could think twice, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne.
“Come on,” he said gently, his hands steadying you as he guided you toward the couch. “Sit down. Let me help.”
He left briefly, and you heard the soft clink of glasses. When he returned, he handed you a glass of water and a blanket, sitting beside you with a closeness that felt intentional.
“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice still fragile.
“I wanted to.” His reply was simple, but his tone carried weight.
The room was quiet as you sipped the water, his eyes never leaving you. The soft glow of the Christmas lights from your small tree cast warm shadows across his face, making him look softer, more vulnerable.
“You’re different tonight,” you said softly, daring to glance at him.
His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners. “So are you.”
The silence stretched again, but this time it was charged, buzzing with something unspoken.
“Minho,” you began, your voice hesitant, but he interrupted you by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long, making heat creeping to your cheeks, redish hue appear within a second.
“You deserve better than this,” he said quietly.
You blinked at him, startled. “What do you mean?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely at your apartment, the wine bottles on the counter, the loneliness hanging in the air. “Being alone on Christmas. Feeling like you don’t have anyone. You deserve someone who cares.”
The vulnerability in his voice stunned you.
“Do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Care, I mean?”
His eyes darkened slightly as they locked onto yours. “More than I should.”
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you seemed to shrink as the tension thickened. He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low, his gaze flickering to your lips.
But you didn’t want him to stop.
Instead of answering, you leaned forward, closing the gap between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was hesitant at first, testing the waters, but quickly deepened as you both gave in to the pull that had been simmering between you for weeks.
Minho’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as you shifted onto his lap. His lips were soft but insistent, exploring yours with a passion that sent a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangled in his hair, eliciting a low sound from him that made your stomach flip.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his breath warm against your lips as he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.
You nodded, your heart pounding. “Yes.”
He kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second. He stood, carrying you effortlessly toward your bedroom, his movements careful and intentional.
Once inside, he laid you gently on the bed, his hands brushing over your skin like he was memorizing every inch of you. The way he looked at you—like you were something precious—made your chest tighten.
His touch was both tender and consuming, each kiss and caress unraveling the stress and pain that had been weighing you down for so long. The intimacy of it all made your heart ache in the best way.
It wasn’t just about the physical connection—it was about the way he held you, the way he whispered your name like it was sacred, the way he made you feel seen, cherished.
His lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You shivered, your body responding to his touch even before you could think. Minho’s hands caressed the curves of your body, each movement slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of you. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting something inside of you that had been dormant for far too long.
"Minho..." You whispered his name, your voice trembling as your fingers slid to the waistband of his pants, grabing his clothed cock making him groan from the contact.
"Fuck, Princess."
He kissed you again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your pulse spike. You felt his body pressing against yours, his muscles flexing as he leaned into you. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer to him until you could feel the heat of his body, hands trailing to tug on your sweater, getting rid of it in a swift motion, leaving you in your black lacy bra.
When he pulled away for just a second, his dark eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "You're so beautiful” he said, his voice low and raspy, full of an almost dangerous edge.
He squeze your tits from outside of your bra, your body aching for him in a way you couldn’t deny. "Minh, please.”
With a growl, he kissed you again, his hands rough as they worked quickly to remove the last remnants of your clothes. You felt the heat of his skin against yours, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your spine before they slid to your hips, pulling you closer as his mouth moved over your collarbone, his kisses becoming more desperate.
Every kiss he gave, every movement of his hands, felt like it was igniting something inside of you, a need that you hadn’t realized had been building up for so long. You moaned softly, your hands running over his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips.
He responded with a groan of his own, his mouth returning to yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. The air between you grew thick with desire, the tension so palpable you could hardly breathe. His hands moved to your back, gently pushing you back onto the bed, his body following you, never breaking the connection.
As he hovered over you, his lips brushing against your ear, he whispered, “I want you, all of you.”
You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as his words sank in, the meaning behind them making your heart race even faster. “Then take me,” you responded, your voice low and demanding, feeling a surge of confidence you hadn’t known you had.
Without another word, Minho moved over you, his hands and lips tracing the line of your body with a sense of urgency, like he couldn’t wait any longer. He drag his waist band You felt the pressure of his body against yours, he run his heavy cock along your folds, squelching sound coming from the contact signing how wet you are already, "Holly fuck baby, do you hear that? Mmh all wet for me" he said, still teasing your drench cunt. The heat between you both becoming almost unbearable.
Minho finally align his tip to your enterance, pushing it in to your clenching hole, earning a trail of moan from both of you.
"Ahh minhh," Your fingers dug into his back, urging him on as you kissed him with the same urgency, your body moving against his in rhythm.
His movements grew faster, more desperate, as he sought to claim you in the way that only he could. You could feel every inch of him as he slid deeper, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp with pleasure. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as your body trembled beneath him.
"Minho mmh," his name slipped from your lips in a soft, breathless cry, and the sound of it seemed to drive him wild. He growled low in his throat, his hips snapping against yours with a relentless intensity. You met him with every thrust, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control, the pleasure building, escalating with each movement.
"Minho... fuckh you're gonna make me cumhh," you gasped, the heat of your bodies colliding with an intensity that took your breath away.
He groaned, his name slipping from your lips in a way that made his pulse quicken. The sound of your voice, the way you were calling out for him, drove him to the edge. He leaned down, kissing you deeply, his tongue claiming yours in a dance that matched the rhythm of your bodies.
"Cum for me kitten, cum" he said, hips pistoning to hit the certain spot that makes you see the stars.
As the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, you felt the tension inside of you snap, "Minhh ahh FUCK," your body convulsing in waves of ecstasy.
"Fuck, fuck fuck shit baby s'goodh mmhh" Minho followed you over the edge, his body trembling as he gave in to the moment, his own release consuming him.
You both lay there, breathless and tangled in each other's arms, your bodies still pressed together, the warmth of his skin against yours grounding you in the reality of the moment. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.
Minho’s hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you gently, the softness of the kiss in stark contrast to the fiery intensity of what had just happened.
“I care about you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over yours once more. “More than you know.”
You looked up at him, the vulnerability in your chest now replaced with something deeper, something stronger. You smiled softly, your hands running over his back, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.
"I care about you too," you whispered, your voice full of quiet certainty.
And as the two of you lay together, tangled in the aftermath, you realized that this wasn’t just a night of passion. It was a turning point—one that would change everything between you. It was the beginning of something real, something lasting, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at home.
Make a brief synopsis for this story
573 notes · View notes
perfectlyoongi · 9 months ago
Text
HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who proposed to you on vacation on the outskirts of florence. four days of beautiful scenery and incredible memories were just a cover for Jungkook's true plan: in a green field dressed in brightly colored flowers, the two of you were having a small picnic while laughter and tender words danced with the gentle breeze of the day; and when Jungkook's question flowed as naturally as any other sentence he could have said, your heart immediately accelerated, sending waves of happiness and fulfillment throughout your body. “will you marry me? make a whole life by my side? only you and me?”
HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who insisted on throwing floating lanterns at your wedding. but Jungkook didn't want any lanterns, no; Jungkook wanted your dreams and desires for your life to be written and decorated on the light fabric of the lantern, believing that, when they reached the vast starry sky, they would be able to cling to the various stars and guard your future forever. “the celestial magic of the stars will make all our dreams come true, you’ll see.”
HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who kisses you under the rain on bad days. it was a simple gesture, something small and quite banal, but it was something precious, an action that warmed you inside and made you feel good, made you feel alive; it was between raindrops that Jungkook declared his love for you in the form of a kiss, the lips that sang so many promises to you and shared so many dreams reminding you that in all the darkness of the world, among all the rain and grey, there was always something warm, there was always his love for you. “just to remind you that after so long, i still love you. and i will love you forever.”
HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who wears his wedding ring like a badge of honor. Jungkook was proud to be your husband; for him, you were the only person to exist, you were the only one who really mattered because you, quite simply, were incredible in every way; so, having a token of your love, something physical that people could see, only made Jungkook's eyes shine even brighter — after all, he was eternally united to the best person that could exist. “yes, i’m married to the love of my life. isn't it incredible? i’m the luckiest man alive.”
HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who hugs you from the back in the morning and gently kisses your neck. still infected by sleep, Jungkook walked slowly through the kitchen, his feet leaving traces of need, his small yawns looking for you lazily; Jungkook's arms would wrap around you without any difficulty, squeezing you with all the love he felt for you, letting his natural scent mix with that of breakfast; Jungkook's lips kissed your neck innocently, an invisible mark of wishes for a good day beginning another opportunity to live life. “good morning. you weren’t in bed, i thought i wouldn’t have time to say goodbye.”
HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who takes you on long car rides at night just to decompress. with the windows open to let the night breeze flood his car, Jungkook took you to different neighborhoods and streets without any destination in mind, just the desire to bring you a little peace controlling his steering wheel; soft music was gently played in the car, while the stars of the night guided you to moments of tranquility and serenity that made you realize that it was with Jungkook that life was worth living. “the night is beautiful today. do you wanna go out? we can eat ice cream later.”
HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who will love you forever and ever. Jungkook deeply believed that it was the universe that brought you together; it was impossible for two such deep and similar souls to meet by chance — it had to be destiny. because, for Jungkook, your souls had already been formed in ancient times, wandering through worlds and constellations in search of a way of loving deeper than the spiritual — and here you two were, extending every fragment of your passion beyond the soul. “what are the chances of feeling like we’ve loved each other forever? believe me, we are made of the same celestial dust.”
953 notes · View notes
forhappysake · 6 months ago
Text
Never Forget a Face
A/N - Why is titling fics so hard? I used a Hunger Games quote because it fit so well so lmk if you can pick it out. Nearly 5K words, not proofread.
Summary - After the end of a bloody case, Emily tasks a begrudging Spencer with checking in on the newbie. Warnings - Spencer x fem!reader, typical BAU-level violence, murder, kn!ves, season 12/13 spoilers, extensive handwashing (?), a bitter post-prison reid with a grumpy x sunshine plot
Tumblr media
My hands are stained red.
That was your first coherent thought as you stared in the bathroom mirror. The fluorescent lighting cast a pale glow over your face, making you look more ghostly than you already did. Your once blue shirt was covered in splotches. Your hands, dangling over the sink, were the color of burnt rust. 
As you turned on the faucet and applied soap to your hands, your brain replayed the events that brought you here. 
This was only your second case with the team. Hell, it was only your fourth case with the bureau. All you wanted to do was fit in. You’d heard great things about the BAU: the highly decorated Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, the face of the FBI - Jennifer Jareau, and the sought-after genius of Dr. Spencer Reid. 
The first case with the BAU had gone well. You’d done a lot of the grunt work, putting in an intense number of hours in a dingy police precinct pouring over paperwork with Dr. Reid, who kept telling you to call him Spencer. Despite this faux friendliness, you couldn’t help but get the feeling he was tired of working with you. 
Not that you could blame him. You were, by all definitions, a newbie. He had over a decade of experience and a serious reputation. A genius to boot, his sighs and looks often made you feel like you were in his way more than you were actually helping. Hence why, when Emily had asked for two volunteers to tail a suspect for the day, you’d quickly volunteered to go with the charming Luke Alvez. 
Six hours later, Luke, along with yourself, had tracked an unsub while he was taking his latest victim back to his home in a rural area. Back-up, which was supposed to be on the way, wouldn’t be there for at least twenty minutes. When the first blood-curdling scream rang out from the house, the two of you knew you had no choice but to act alone. 
Luke went in through the front door, making his presence known as you tiptoed around the side of the house to enter undetected. When you found a cracked window, you were able to slip inside without much issue. 
In that moment, you remembered hearing Luke attempting to talk down the unsub. You approached their voices, careful not to let anyone know you were inside. 
“How do you think this is going to end?” Luke asked the unsub, his voice firm. 
The unsub had laughed and the muffled cries of his victim could be heard from your spot. You tucked yourself quietly behind a hallway entrance into the room Luke was in. You peeked around the corner to let him know you were there. His only acknowledgment of you was a brief glance, but that was all you needed to know that he wanted you to stay in place. 
“I think,” the unsub started, with more cries coming from his captive, “that she’ll probably die before this is all over.” 
You tried to recall the profile. Emily’s voice replayed in your mind. 
“He kills with a knife and dumps the body in a secondary location, meaning he gets the women alone and gets close to them before he kills them. Based on the demographics of this region, he’s probably a white man. Likely in his 30s. Attractive but single, most definitely living alone. That’s his selling point. That’s how he’s managed to lure all these women into his vehicle.”
Nothing stuck out to you about him. There was nothing you could think to do to help in this situation besides hide behind the wall. You were waiting for a signal from Luke or the sound of backup approaching. 
Luke cleared his throat and you could picture him shaking his head. “It doesn’t have to be like this, man. Let her go and I can help you.”
The unsub laughed again and you cringed. There was something so unsettling about his voice and his laughter. 
The unsub started to speak, but his voice was cut off by the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. This was your moment. 
You whirled around the corner, gun drawn. “FBI, don’t move,” you warned. The unsub turned to look at you. His cold blue eyes bore a hole in your head. A shiver ran through your spine. “Drop the knife.” 
He appeared irritated, rolling his neck as if trying to work out a kink. He glanced down at his victim. Her eyes were wide and frantic, tears streaming down her face. She was bound and a piece of cloth was tied around her face as a makeshift gag. He pulled her up to his height by her hair, eliciting more cries.
 “Well sweetheart, this isn’t how I pictured this ending for us. I hope you’ll forgive me,” he said as he raised the knife to her throat. 
“Wait!” Luke shouted. 
It was too late. What followed next was nothing short of chaos. 
Luke let off two shots, both of which connected with the unsub. His body cascaded to the floor. You lunged forward at the poor victim. Her throat, now cut, was bleeding at an alarming rate. However, her eyes remained open and the gasps coming from her mouth told you she was still breathing. 
You threw yourself on the floor next to her, removing the gag from her mouth and placing it over her neck as a makeshift tourniquet. 
“Do you hear that?” you asked, the sirens were right outside the house. “Help is almost here, okay? You have to keep your eyes on me.” Her glassy eyes were locked on yours, but the panic was fading from them with the little life she had left. The cloth in your hands was soaked with blood and your hands were turning a deep shade of crimson. 
You shook your head. “No, no. Come on. Look at me,” you tried to encourage her to hold on just for another moment. 
In the midst of your mumbling, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around to see Luke crouched behind you. 
“She’s gone, Y/N,” he said gently. His eyes were locked on her lifeless body. You furrowed your brow, denial coursing through your veins. 
Just as you were about to protest, the EMTs burst through the door with Emily and Dr. Reid in tow. Luke pulled you out of the way as they tended to both the victim and the unsub. 
The four of you watched helplessly from the corner of the room. You felt your body shake gently, adrenaline getting the best of you. You could feel Reid’s eyes on you. His judgement making you more anxious. 
You watched as one of the EMTs working on the victim turned to look at you. He shook his head gently, a sign that she really was gone. 
You'd never forget her face.
A sigh of defeat left your lips and tears welled up in your eyes. In a moment driven by pure emotion, you shot out of the house and back towards the SUV.
Luke sprinted out the front door after you. “Where are you going?” he shouted, clearly confused by your sudden burst of determination. 
“Back to the hotel,” you said matter-of-factly, sliding into the driver’s seat of the car. He rushed over to the driver’s door, holding it open so you couldn’t slam it shut. 
He looked incredulous. “And who am I supposed to ride with?”
You rolled your eyes. “Luke, two people just died and you’re worried about who your chauffeur is going to be.” 
Luke seemed to get the message he pulled back from the door, allowing you to shut it. You started the SUV, cracking the window just enough to shout, “Catch a ride with Reid and Emily.”
You pulled out onto the highway, foot heavy on the pedal as adrenaline still run through you. 
Nearly half an hour later and still covered in blood, you stumbled into the hotel lobby. The desk lady, panicked, quickly rushed in front of you. The lady, presumably Linda based on her nametag, asked you if she needed to call the police. You’d shown her your badge with a bitter laugh, explaining that you were the police. The smell of her floral perfume was making your head spin more than it already was. Thankfully, with a sympathetic smile, she’d moved out of your way and allowed you to proceed to your room. 
Which was how you ended up here, trying to scrub blood off of your still-shaky hands. You weren’t sure how long you’d been at this, but you couldn’t quit now. The dark evidence was still embedded deep beneath your fingernails. 
-SPENCER’S POV-
Walking into the house behind Emily, I could already see the mess that had unraveled. There was blood on the wall, where the unsub lay propped up but clearly dead as if he’d landed sitting up. There was blood on the floor, covering the lifeless body of the last victim. 
And there was blood all over her, the new girl, who was standing in the corner. Her eyes stared off into the distance, and she looked like she could faint at any moment. 
She was nice. Too innocent for the job, clearly. If I hadn’t been sure about that from the other case we worked together, it was evident now. 
Emily and I walked over to the corner, standing beside Y/N and Luke as the EMTs worked on both the unsub and the victim on the other side of the room. Despite the gory scene before us, I couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off Y/N yet. Thoughts laced with sympathy crept into my mind and I resisted the urge to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. 
Just as I was about to do just that, the closest EMT turned to her and shook his head. The victim, as the unsub, was dead. She let out a sound that I could only describe as a shudder before she raced out the front door. 
“What the hell?” Luke asked, following her out. 
Emily sighed, staring at the two bodies before us as the EMTs packed up their things. “Kind of a harsh second case for the kid, huh?” she asked. 
I thought for a moment and shrugged, pushing sympathy away. “It’s not like it gets any easier from here on out, she might as well get used to it now.” I turned and started to walk out of the house, just in time to watch the new girl whip the SUV out of the driveway and hightail it back towards town. Though I wasn’t looking at her, I felt Emily shoot me a look. 
“You’d have never said a thing like that before you went away, Spencer,” she scolded. 
I took a deep breath. She was probably right. “No, I wouldn’t have, but things are different now,” I said plainly. 
I walked down the front porch steps and out on to the lawn where Luke was waiting for us, impatiently resting a hand on the handle of the SUV’s door. 
“Where’s your ride?” I quipped sarcastically. 
He shook his head. “Don’t start. It’s been a long day for all of us.” 
Emily caught up to me, pulling the SUV keys out of her pocket and unlocking the door so Luke could climb inside. As he did, she turned to me. 
“When we get back to the hotel, I want you to go check on Y/N.”
I felt my face contort in a scoff. “Why would I be the one to do that?” 
“Because,” Emily said, staring at the SUV before us, “someone needs to.” 
“So why don’t you?” I challenged, growing more exasperated by the second. 
Emily snapped her head to the side, her eyes shooting daggers at me. “Spencer,” she said sharply. I looked at her, trying to read her microexpressions. “I worry about you. Do you get that?” 
That wasn’t the reply I was expecting. 
I averted my eyes to the ground, somewhat ashamed of my previous attitude. “Yeah, I know.” 
“I want you to check on her because she needs someone who has seen bad things to explain to her that those bad things are survivable,” she started, eyes still locked on my face. I glanced up at her as she continued. 
“And, I want you to check on her because I think it would be good for you,” she finished. 
“Good for me?” I asked, with less attitude and more curiosity this time. 
Emily sensed the shift in my demeanor and I could see her shoulders relax. “Yes, good for you. Ever since you came back, you never stay out after cases anymore. Remember how we all used to go out together? Have a couple drinks? Relax?” 
I nodded because I did remember.  Those were some of the best memories of my life. 
“All you do anymore is go home or back to the hotels and hide in your room until the next morning, reading Vigotsky or Tarkovsky or whatever you do.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was reading the works of Dostoyevsky, so I let her continue uninterrupted. 
“It’s time for you to do some socializing. I think talking about yourself might do you some good for once. Besides, Y/N really is a ray of sunshine once you get to know her. I think her company will be good for you.” 
I thought about what she said for a moment. She wasn’t entirely wrong. “Alright,” I said, “I’ll stop by her room before I go to bed for the night.”
Satisfied with my answer, Emily proceeded to the SUV. 
Soon enough, we were back at the hotel. I thought about how to proceed. Should I go to her room immediately? Should I wait and change out of my work clothes first? 
Absolutely not. Talking is one thing. Wearing my pajamas in front of her? That’s too personal. 
I decided to head straight to her room. Ripping the bandaid off seemed like the best option. 
I strolled down the hall and stopped in front of her door. I placed three quick knocks on the door and waited. And waited. I knocked again. Nothing. 
Maybe she’d gone out for the evening, I reasoned. Or, maybe she was asleep. Regardless, I was ready to turn and go back to my room when I heard the faintest sound of running water coming from inside. 
My mind raced. She was surely just in the shower, right? Or maybe running a bath? The FBI agent in me freaked out. What if she’d went off the deep end and was trying to drown herself? Or what if-
I tried to run through my options, the first obvious one being to try the door handle, which was miraculously unlocked. Who the hell leaves their door unlocked in a cheap hotel like this?
“Y/N?” I called out as I stepped into the room. The bathroom door was wide open to the left of the main door I just entered, and I peered around the corner. 
She stood before the sink, eyes locked on her hands which appeared to be scrubbed nearly raw. I walked inside, concern building by the moment. “What are you doing?” I asked. 
She didn’t hear me - or she ignored me if she did. She continued scrubbing her hands diligently. I leaned forward to get a better look. A few red streaks ran off her hand and down the sink, but I wasn’t so sure what she was washing off was the victim’s blood anymore. 
“Y/N, stop. You’re hurting yourself,” I scolded. Her motions continued. She seemed dazed and unaware of my presence. She was surely in some kind of shock. 
As I stood behind her, I felt as though the scrubbing intensified. I made a snap decision. Stepping forward, I placed my arms on either side of her body, caging her in around the sink as I firmly grabbed her forearms and separated her hands. 
She jumped violently, enough for me to release her arms from my grip and back away quickly. 
“My god, Dr. Reid. How long have you been here?” she asked as her voice shook. She looked exhausted and her hands were bright red. Red lines where she’d repeatedly used her nails to scrape at the skin caught my eye. I pulled my gaze away from her hands, making eye contact with her for the first time. “I came to check on you, after everything. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
She looked down at her hands, the realization of what she had done became apparent as she flexed her fingers and winced. 
“Looks like I came at the right time,” I said quietly, more to myself than to her. 
She shook her head incredulously before she began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Reid. I have no idea why I was doing that. You shouldn’t have had to-” 
I shrugged. “It happens.”
Silence filled the room as I noticed she was still in her blood-soaked clothes. Thoughts whirled through my mind, but I couldn’t form a coherent thought. Words were pouring out of my mouth without my approval. 
 “Here’s what I purpose,” I said before I could stop myself. “Take a shower, get changed, and meet me in my room for a few minutes. I just want to talk to you about a some things.”
 She stared at the floor. I almost thought she was going to say no. 
“Okay,” she whispered. 
I nodded, heading for the bathroom door. “Room 91A. And please, call me Spencer,” I stated. Not waiting for her response, I shut the bathroom door behind me and locked her hotel door on my way out.
-READER POV-
You felt like you were in trouble. 
You know when you’re merely a child and you get in trouble in the middle of class? You know the feeling of your stomach sinking as you walk to the principal’s office?
That was the only way you could describe walking to Dr. Reid’s - Spencer’s - room. 
After a shower that stung your hands and brought tears to your eyes, you slipped into some comfy clothes and wrapped gauze around the rawest parts of your palms, before heading to his room. 
Room 91A. You tapped your knuckles on the door twice. You heard shuffling from inside the room. Spencer stood before you, also showered, also in his pajamas. 
This caught you by surprise. He could tell by the way your eyebrows shot up at his appearance. “I figured we might as well be comfortable with one another,” he said before stepping out of the way. “Come in.”
You brushed past him as you walked inside. Though it was just a hotel room, something about the stack of books on the side table and paperwork scattered on the desk brought a small smile to your face. 
One book in particular laid face up on the edge of the bed. “Dostoyevsky?” you asked. 
Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your question. “Yes. Have you read his work?” 
You nodded, glancing up at him as you ran your hand over the cover of the book, tracing the engraving on the cover of the antique copy. “Everybody knows Crime and Punishment, but I prefer White Nights.” 
You’d caught him off guard. “I didn’t know you were interested in Russian literature,” he said, walking to the other side of the room and taking a seat in one of the two armchairs positioned in the corner, “or any literature, for that matter.” 
You shrugged. “We’ve only known each other for two weeks. I’m not sure why you’d have any idea.” 
His stare faltered, and you caught him averting his eyes to the floor as he leaned back in the chair. “I should have asked. I haven’t been very kind to you. I haven’t done a very good job of making you feel welcome here,” he started cautiously. 
That caught your attention. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, but your first response was to reassure him. “It’s no problem, Spencer. It’s been so busy that I haven’t had time to get to know anyone very well.” You perched yourself on the edge of the bed, watching him carefully. 
“That isn’t true,” he said matter of factly. 
“Excuse me?” you asked, genuinely confused as to if you heard him right. 
Spencer cleared his throat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the tops of his thighs. His hands folded and he used them as a rest for his chin. You could see the gears turning in his head. 
“I said that it isn’t true. You have gotten to know everyone quite well, from what I gather,” Spencer said. 
Before you could respond, he started in again. “I’ve seen pictures of you with Luke and Penelope at the club after the last case. I know you went to lunch with Will and JJ. She says you’re fantastic with Henry and Michael. Tara told me you helped Rossi finish the thousand piece puzzle he’s had splayed out on his office table for two months. All this while Emily claims you’re a ray of sunshine.” 
Your mouth had fallen open a bit in the midst of his confession. You tried to think of an appropriate response. “Well, yes. That’s all true. But I don’t expect you to go out of your way to get to know me. I’m a people person.” You pointed to the books on his side table. “You, on the other hand, seem to prefer quiet time alone. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
The room was silent for a moment. The sound of Spencer’s foot tapping quietly against the floor kept the time. One, two, three… 
“I didn’t used to be this way,” he said frankly. 
You glanced at him, trying to read his expression. His face was stoic. He didn’t look particularly upset, though he surely wasn’t happy either. He ran a lone hand through his hair and brushed a few solitary curls from his eyes. 
“I know,” you responded. 
He furrowed his brow at you, confusion written all over his face. You rose from the bed and approached him before plopping down in the armchair next to his. 
“You know how, for us normal people, we spend a few years in training before we actually get a real assignment?” you asked. 
He nodded. 
“I’ve been with the Bureau in that capacity going on four years,” you started, eyes locked on the wall across from you. “My third year, there were rumors about an FBI agent spending time in prison for some high-level crime. People theorized it was connected to drug running, treason, even murder.”
Spencer cringed. 
“For the longest time, I thought it was a rumor. I forgot about it and I got an internship in Internal Affairs,” you continued. “One day, my boss handed me this huge file, full of reports going back over a decade.”
He was curious now, staring at you intensely as you did your best not to melt under his gaze. 
“If you haven’t figured it out yet, that was your file. One section was full of every report you’d ever written. The other section was what the Department of Justice had collected in an attempt to convict you in the fall.” 
This was new information to Spencer, who felt himself let out a bitter laugh. You paused to look at him. 
“I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that,” he said sourly. “I knew then they would want to be as far away from the case as possible. No wonder it was easier for them to try to keep me in there.” 
You shrugged, continuing. “I guess Emily had called in a favor with Internal Affairs. I was tasked with finding proof of innocence.” 
“And?” Spencer asked. 
“I couldn’t find any,” you stated simply. He nodded. “But I never forgot the file, especially the pictures inside. I never forget a face. Reading through your life with the Bureau, seeing the sequence of ID images each year as you got older, maybe even colder. That stuck with me for some reason.”
He appeared intrigued and was clearly doing his best not to interrupt. 
“When I woke up one morning and saw this huge CBS headline about the DOJ dropping the charges against a wrongly accused agent, I felt a strange kind of vindication,” you admitted. “Nine months later I got a call from Emily, asking me to come in for an interview. Two months later, now we’re here.”  
“Now we’re here,” he repeated. 
You cleared your throat. “What I didn’t bank on when I joined the BAU, was the same face from that file would be across from me at the table every day.”
You turned to him to find he was already looking at you, and you offered him a small smile. “All this to say,” you whispered, “I think you have every reason not to be friendly with the new hire.” 
The room was silent once more, the two of you sneaking glances at each other. Spencer was the first to break the silence. 
“Emily sent me to check on you because she thought it would be good for both of us,” he confessed. “She said you should see me as an example that people can get through bad things, and that I needed to get out of my head and into the real world.” 
You were quiet for a moment before shifting in the chair. You thought of everything you’d seen over the last twelve hours.
“I never forget a face,” you whispered again, thinking back to the victim on the floor. Her glassy eyes staring up at your own. 
Spencer nodded. “Me either.” 
“So how do you do it?” you asked him. 
He turned to you. You swore you could see tears forming in his eyes. 
“I find that there's always that little moment right when you wake up in the morning, when everything's good, because your mind has temporarily forgotten the bad stuff.”
You smiled as he continued. “At night, when I can’t sleep, I make a list in my head of all the good things I've seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It's like a game.”
You tried to think about every good thing you’d ever seen someone do and tears welled in your eyes. “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” you said. 
“It works sometimes,” Spencer smiled. He moved forward, placing a hand on your knee. You looked up at him. The two of you stared at each other. 
“You have to know that you’ll never fully forget these things, but we get through it as a team,” he finished. 
The tears welled up in your eyes spilled over, and you noticed that a few of his own had to. The hand on your knee moved up, wiping the fallen tears from your cheeks.
After a moment of letting the tears dry, you rose from the chair. “I really appreciate this, Spencer. I’m sorry that you had to go out of your way to help me, but I am very grateful.” 
He stood, towering over you. “It’s not a problem. I enjoyed talking to you.” 
“I enjoyed talking to you too,” you said with a smile. You stood next to him for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his close proximity before you snapped out of it. “Well, I should probably go back to my room and let you get back to your work.”
You turned from him and walked towards the door, pausing only when you heard his voice call after you. 
“Y/N,” he said, taking a few steps in your direction to where you’d crossed the room. 
“Yeah, Spencer?” you said, turning to face him. 
He faltered, his eyes finding the floor again. “I just,” Spencer stuttered for a moment, trying to regain his cool. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay. Stay and talk, of course. I-” he paused a moment more. Spencer took a deep breath. “I think Emily was right. I do enjoy your company and I’d like you to stay for a while,” he said firmly. 
You couldn’t hide the surprise on your face. Spencer saw it, too, quickly rushing to give you an out. 
“You don’t have to, of course,” he rushed. His cheeks burned red. 
“No, I don’t have to,” you said. “But I’d like to.” 
You saw his shoulders relax as the tension left his body. 
“Great,” Spencer nodded. He sounded relieved. 
You walked over to the armchair, plopping back down next to him. “Right, so,” you started, “What’s your topic of choice, Spence?” 
The use of his nickname brought the blush back to his cheeks as he scurried back into the chair next to you. 
He glanced at the books on the side table, the topic of conversation coming to him quickly. “Tell me,” Spencer started, “What resonates with you about the White Lady?”
You smiled before diving into a summary that not only analyzed the text but connected it to your own life. You thought your heart skipped a beat when you caught a glimpse of Spencer smiling warmly at you as you rambled. 
It was a long, interesting, conversation-filled night. 
633 notes · View notes
lightseoul · 5 months ago
Text
so i finally did it, y'all—i commissioned the wonderful @zestivivi to draw my first-ever °˖✧ self-ship art °˖✧
and i couldn't help it upon seeing the draft; i had to write a drabble to give it a bit of a backstory and to really just treat myself, so here it is!
(the pic is under the cut, if you're not in the mood to read and just wanna take a peek at it!)
Tumblr media
CALL ME YOUR FAVORITE, CALL ME THE WORST (k. bakugou x reader)
“—and so i told eijirou he could go to hell if he asked me to cover for him tonight,” bakugou finishes, just as you twist your key one last time, effectively unlocking the door.
you toss him a chastising look as you push it open, trying to ignore the hammering in your chest as you do so. “don’t talk to your best friend like that, katsuki.”
at that, he scoffs, trailing behind you and entering through the doorway. “correction, you’re my best friend. and he’s used to it.”
despite yourself, a smile manages to creep into your face, which bakugou unfortunately catches sight of. the man only smirks to himself before gesturing to his trainers, “where do i put these?”
“beside my birks, please,” you sing-song, although your voice comes out a bit wobbly.
fucking nerves.
dropping your bag on the counter, you quickly shuffle through your kitchen and toward your dining area slash living room slash bedroom, scanning the space for any spot you’ve missed before bakugou could see them.
you’re just about to conclude that this place is as tidy as it can get when you sense the pro-hero walk up beside you, and you look at him to see his eyes darting across the area in inspection, a pensive expression on his face.
“what’re you thinking?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. you immediately regret it, though, bracing yourself for constructive feedback that you know will sting nonetheless.
it’s not every day you get to show your new place that’s your very own to anybody, let alone to your famously (notoriously) pedantic boyfriend.
“it's really clean,” he starts, pausing to think for a moment. he eventually turns to face you, that smirk from before now back on his face, “it’s very you. i like it.”
you feel a warmth wash over you, and you don’t fight the grin that’s invading your features. “aww, thanks, babe!”
he waves you off with a hand, resuming his thorough survey of your unit. “‘s nice how you displayed your books here, and that your guitar is easy to reach for. and your decorations are just abo—”
you glance back at the man from where you were hurriedly pouring him a cold glass of water, “just about what, kats?”
to that, bakugou doesn’t say anything. he seems frozen, eyes fixed on what you think is your entertainment area.
you pad toward the spot beside him, and you follow his line of vision.
directly right to your dynamight figurines.
almost instantly, your stomach drops as if you just got hit by a metaphorical tsunami of scalding humiliation. your feet move before your brain can catch up, and in a matter of seconds, you find yourself planted right in front of bakugou, obscuring his view of his mini-me’s.
at least, you tried to. the tall man only continues to effortlessly stare at them through the space above your head.
“so what do you want for dinner?” you manage to croak out, desperate to change the subject and bones threatening to give out in embarrassment.
“…is that a funko pop of all might and… me?”
the ground can swallow you up just about now, thanks.
for a beat, you debate as to whether or not to joke or lie your way out of this one, but one look at the inexplicable expression on your boyfriend’s face has you ultimately decided against it.
“…yes?”
now, in the split second of choosing to tell the truth, you came up with the expectations of him snorting in response, or maybe shooting you a confused look that reads ‘what the fuck’ or something similar, but you certainly didn’t predict him to laugh.
as in, drop his head back and howl laugh.
immediately, you feel yourself flame in shame as you watch the pro-hero bend slightly over and clutch his stomach in mirth, what you think are tears now pooling in the corners of his clenched eyes.
you can’t help but frown, “quit laughing at me, you jerk!”
that only makes him bark out another loud one, and just when you think he’s about to finish, he wheezes: “and you’ve got a nendoroid of me, too!”
that’s it.
you spin on your heel, turning your back on your jackass of a boyfriend, and you’re about to scoop the figurines into your arms and throw them into the abyss at the back of your closet when you feel something tug at your wrist, pulling you and your entire body back.
and before you can even comprehend what’s happening, bakugou’s invading your space and leaning toward you, planting his forehead right at the crook of your neck.
“wha—”
you’re cut off by bakugou snuggling into you, and you can feel him shake in laughter before the chuckles finally escape him and you’re both left in comfortable silence.
you hope he’s not hearing the thunderous ruckus your heart is making right now despite yourself.
a few moments pass with neither of you moving or saying anything before you finally decide to speak up.
“if you think this’ll make up for you laughing so blatantly at me, you’ve got another thing coming for you, mister.”
at that, bakugou snorts, retorting without missing a beat. “i wasn’t laughing at you, dumbass.”
you roll your eyes, although you don’t make any move to push him away. “sure, you weren’t.”
“i’m serious. it just caught me off guard.”
“and then you started laughing at me.”
from where he’s slotted right by your neck, bakugou huffs, and you stop yourself from shivering at the feeling of his breath against your skin.
“i was just laughing at how everything’s turned out, alright?”
instinctively, your eyebrows furrow in question, “what do you mean?”
he sighs, the puff of air he lets out tickling your flesh again, “i just think it’s fucking funny how i grew up with a shit ton of all might merch, and now i have my own merch displayed right beside him, in my girlfriend’s new home, no less.”
and, before you can even feign offense at his comment, he beats you to it.
“i’m just fucking happy, okay? just let me have this.”
you don’t know what else to say at his sudden confession, and so you only manage a nod, moving your head just enough for him to feel the gesture. slowly, you allow yourself to relax your shoulders and lean toward bakugou, who snuggles even closer to you in return.
“they’re quite expensive, you know,” you offer after a few seconds of silence. “and yours are especially hard to come by.”
you can practically hear the grin on his face when he quips, “what, am i your favorite hero, or something?”
“no,” you immediately retort, deadpan. “all might is. explains why i only have one figurine of him and a gazillion of you in here.”
at that, bakugou lets out a genuine laugh, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s sporting that boyish grin and disarming eye smile that really nobody else has the honor of witnessing.
nobody except you.
you hesitantly bring your right hand up, unable to resist the urge to gently cradle the back of his head. upon the split second of contact, however, bakugou stiffens, and you’ve half a mind to withdraw and pull away when he does so.
but all the apprehension evaporates from your system when almost immediately after, he nestles closer into you.
you feel yourself flush at the motion, failing to stop the smile that takes over your lips.
and, if you didn’t know any better, you’d bet your expensive ass dynamight figurines he’s blushing, too.
Tumblr media
bonus:
you’re in the middle of feeding yourself a spoonful of chicken curry when you decide you finally have enough. placing the serving firmly on your platter, you shift to face bakugou, who’s at your right and eating beside you.
more of side-eyeing you than eating in the past thirty minutes since dinner arrived, really.
you pull your lips in a tight line, “spit it out, kats.”
at that, he tosses you a disgusted look, before quickly swallowing the mouthful of cabbage he was just munching on. “why the fuck should i do that?”
you roll your eyes, “not the food, dummy. you’ve got something you want to say.”
“i do not.”
you only give him a knowing stare.
bakugou huffs, putting down his own spoon after a pregnant pause, “fine.”
it takes him a moment to finally do so, and when he does you almost choke.
“…so who the fuck is akaashi and why do you also have one of him?”
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
for context, here's my entertainment area LMAO i really took self-indulgence to another level, huh (sorry not sorry) title is from the song call me by shinedown (credits to @creativepromptsforwriting for the idea)
Tumblr media
anyway, thank you so much again to @/zestivivi for turning my vision into reality and then some <3 thank you for being so easy to work with and receptive to my requests, particularly to make the character look just like me! 'til the next one, for sure :,)
419 notes · View notes
mv1simp · 7 months ago
Note
my constant thought about max is him and virgin reader where r is saving herself for marriage and for her husband but max convinces her that doing anal means she’ll stay a virgin <33
Anon YOU EVEN MADE ME BLUSHH 🤭🤭🤭 do u know how hard that is. got me kickin and gigglin an shit, here u go u filthy animal keep the requests coming 🫶
Low Life ♥️
Max Verstappen x Horner! Reader
Tumblr media
I been on the molly and ‘em xans with your daughter, if she catch me cheatin’ I won’t ever tell her sorry
Mad Max is back in full force with the poor Redbull strategy this season - and his boss, Christian Horner, doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it. Guess Max will just have to find some other way to get his revenge and relieve his stress…starting with his boss’s precious, spoiled daughter.
Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, innocent virgin!reader, who’s also a spoiled brat lol, dark! Max, blackmail, coercion, filming, VERY dubcon, anal, size kink, dom/sub, bimbofication, religious themes, EVERYTIME I WRITE A DARK MAX FIC IT KEEPS GETTING MORE NASTY GODDAMN, 5.2k WC
To say Max was pent up with rage would be an understatement. After dedicating himself tirelessly and dominating the track since his debut, the Redbull team had disappointed him this season with their pisspoor car and even poorer strategy. And to top it off, his boss was now making comments to the media about how he needed to spend less time on the sim rig the night before a race, making Max scoff. As if Horner knew more about winning a race than a 3 time world champion, Max thought angrily, yanking off his helmet as he stormed straight to his boss's office to give him a piece of his mind after another disappointing P3 finish.
Horner was having none of it, though, telling Max some bullshit about how the team needed to have a united front blah blah blah. Max has already tuned him out, cause what the fuck does he mean the team - he was the one bringing home the results every weekend, and anyone who tried to say otherwise just needed to look at the track record of Max completely dominating his teammates in equal machinery. God, he hadn’t gotten this mad in a long time, so he excuses himself rudely as he can tell he’s about to wreck something if he has to hear another one of Horner’s excuses. He wrenches open the office door just to have you stumble straight into his firm chest as you try to enter it.
You, Christian’s Horner’s daughter from his first wedding, freshly graduated from some private all girls college. He’d met you 3 months ago while you were trotting about like the spoiled little brat you undoubtedly were. No job, just using your degree as decor while you used your daddy’s fame to find yourself a rich man to spread your legs for, he had speculated, knowing just your type.
And it irritated him to no end that you looked the picture of innocence, an angelic figure in your white minidress and kitten heels and wide doe eyes, with a matching purity ring and all - even though your pretty tits and fat ass were openly ogled by many a male staff member. Max himself had to readjust his pants a few times when he’d seen you bend over.
He’d assumed you’d try to sink your gold digging claws into him soon enough, wanting some of his multimillionaire status for yourself, but you’d surprised him by skittishly avoiding him, almost looking a little scared, which he found amusing. He supposed he did dwarf your 5 foot frame though, and you had all the aura of a sweet little lamb compared to the Dutch lion. You’d surprised him again last month, when you’d introduced your dad to your pick of a first boyfriend - Tim, a docile looking, short guy who was a lowly new hire in the F4 reserve category. Too far down in the rankings to do any real benefit to your status. Conveniently, though, Tim’s father happened to own a software development app that was currently in the process of a $3 million acquisition deal. Chump change to someone like Max, but like he said, he knew your type, didn’t he?
But he’d been most surprised when he’d overheard moaning one night when he’d stayed late in the garage - and had pervily gone to investigate down the abandoned hallway and into one of the empty rooms - only to get an instant hard on at the sight of you on your knees, dress pulled down to your waist and those delicious tits out on display. So entranced by the angelic vision, Max hadn’t even noticed your loser boyfriend - till a scowl appeared on your pretty face as Tim furiously jerked his tiny dick off in front of you. He was panting and whining, sweat running down his face as he pathetically begged please, please can i touch your boobs-
You were no scared little lamb now as you snapped at him viciously. No! I told you, only looking and no touching! I promised daddy I would stay pure for my husband- Eww! Oh my god, what is that?
You’d been cut off as your boyfriend came, his small, clear load weakly spurting past his fist so that only a couple of drops landed on your caramel skin. Max had thought you’d been lying about the purity bullshit, just wanting an excuse to avoid Tim’s touch - but his eyes narrowed at your look of disgust at your boyfriend’s dick, and the genuinely puzzled expression on your face as you tried to figure out what the clear fluid that landed on you was - making the impressive semi he still rocked twitch, despite your pathetic boyfriend ruining his show. Interesting, you were still a virgin, huh?
Sure, you’d piqued his interest then, but he ignored you now as you stumble back from his hard chest, wide brown doe eyes blinking up at him. He’s still furious with Horner and starts to move past you but your aggravating father perks up, asking if you could show Max where his new drivers' room was in the refurbished wing, so that he could cool down and destress in peace after today’s race. Of course, daddy, you responded sweetly, making Max’s cock stir. He eyed you doubtfully as you lead the way. You had to know what you were doing, a grown woman using that word, right? But then again, he’d seen you call Horner by that title in a team wide press conference, making GP choke on his water next to him - so maybe not.
His anger hadn’t dissipated one bit as you approached his room, in a much more secluded area of the new wing for him to “cool down” as Horner had passively aggressively suggested. Still clearly nervous in his presence, you accidentally dropped the key you’d fished out. As you bent over to collect them, your miniskirt rose up, revealing your juicy ass peeking past your white cotton panties. Oh, he’d found the perfect way to get back at his boss, Max thought devilishly.
As you unlocked the door, he stepped in behind you, giving you no choice but to stumble inside - and then he’d casually stopped in front of the door to block your exit. You nervously twirled your keycard in your fingers, shuffling side to side.
Why don’t you sit down, he offered, we should get to know each other, yeah? You still looked like you wanted to bolt any second, but at Max’s authoritative tone you gingerly sat down on the plush couch.
He started with some generic bullshit about how he’d seen you around, you were his boss’s daughter after all, and as Horner’s best driver he should be on good terms with you too, no?
You relaxed, now looking up to meet his eyes and smiling brightly, pleased that the great Max Verstappen had come to seek your favour. You start saying that it was nice to meet him too, you’d heard lots about him, he was such an incredible driver-
You hadn’t noticed Max discreetly locking the door behind him. Stepping forward, he responded neutrally to your excited questions as he casually strips off his top layer, leaving him shirtless.
You abruptly stop talking, going pink in the face, and he asks what’s wrong, I’m just getting changed, are you a virgin or something? His mocking tone makes it clear that he still didn’t quite believe you were one. When you don’t reply, he gently lifts your face up with his large hand. And as your eyes shyly rise up to meet his, desperately avoiding looking at his broad, toned abs, there’s no faking the genuine innocence in them. I am, you stutter out. A virgin, I mean. I made a promise to daddy to wait till marriage.
You twirl your promise ring around anxiously as you say it. Max didn’t know what kind of sick brainwashing Horner had been subjecting his daughter too, but he fully intended to use it to his advantage. Really? He says slyly. Does your daddy know you let your little boyfriend jerk off on your tits?
You gasp, then glare as you demanded to know how he knew that, had he been watching, that was soo creepy and gross -
There’s the bratty angel he knew had been hiding. He cuts you off, confirming that yes, he’d been watching - but you’d been the dirty girl who seduced her innocent boyfriend in the garage for just anyone to see, hadn’t you?
You’d look outraged at his statements, but he reminded you of the power he had when he nonchalantly mentioned that he hadn’t planned on telling your father, but now that he knew about the promise you had made - well, it was his duty to let Horner know what kind of naughty things you’d been doing behind his back, right?
That had wiped the bratty glare right off your face, instead making you wide eyed and tremble with fear at the thought of your daddy finding out. You begged Max to keep your secret. Please don’t tell him, he would die, you'd do anything to stop him knowing!
Jackpot. Smirking darkly, Max pretended to consider your option before saying that he supposed he could keep it to himself if you helped him destress and relax like your father had sent you here to do, okay?
You nodded eagerly, looking up at him with those innocent doe eyes as he stepped right in front of you, watching you predatorily. His thick fingers brush along your pink lips, and his eyes darken as you instinctively take them into your mouth, sucking sweetly. Oh, you were going to be such a sweet little angel for him, he just knew it.
Within seconds he had you dropping your dress down to your waist, exposing those lush, pretty tits of yours. You blushed when he stared hungrily and ordered you to play with them, and at first you obliged and gently squeezed them, but then stopped to brattily ask just how this was supposed to help destress him, was he just being pervy again?
Great point, he said, and sat down next to you to easily lift you into his lap, taking over and roughly palming your tits. N-no touching! You had squealed, desperately trying to escape his strong arms. Rolling his eyes, he forced you back against him, explaining that it was okay, you knew that it didn’t count if it was to help him destress, right? And besides, nothing would affect your promise to your daddy except a man’s cock actually entering your precious virgin hole-
Okay! You had said frantically to put a stop to his explicit words, face flushed. Okay, if you promise it doesn’t count, I’ll still be a virgin, right?
God, it was so cute how naive you were. You hadn’t even realised that if what Max was saying was true then there was nothing illicit with what you and Tim had done - and Max had nothing to hold over you. Right, Angel, Max promised, enjoying the dazed look you gave him at the nickname as he squeezed your tits, bending down to take a pretty nipple into his mouth. It doesn’t count.
And that was how Max had his boss’s innocent little daughter wrapped around his fingers, ready to do whatever he asked of her, as long as he kept your secret. It was such a rush, having his way with you right under your father’s nose, being able to punish you for his crimes and ruining you more and more each time Horner pissed him off - and oh, did he piss Max off constantly.
So the next race, he’d had you fully strip for him, and yes, even those cute panties, Angel, when you’d whined, embarrassed from his intense gaze. You’d bit your lip and slid them off, obediently spreading your legs and gently playing with yourself like he’d asked, using unfamiliar movements. Soon enough you’d become accustomed to Max’s hungry stares at your innocent parts and began thrusting your tiny fingers inside your virgin cunny, because it had started to feel sooo good and soo tingly down there, and you’d never felt like that before.
You’d become distracted, closing your eyes from the sensation and when you opened them you shrieked, because Max was now standing right above you, greedily looking down at your petite form as he stroked his own private parts - called a cock, he’d made you repeat. He’d also warned you never to scream again in his room, or he’d gag you next time and tell your dad about Tim. You pouted, nodding obediently, but whining that you got scared Maxie, why was it so big, so angry, was it going to hurt you?
Of course not, Angel he’d reassured at the next race again, this time making you sit next to him, naked except for your kitten heels and a lacy blue thong he’d had delivered to your house - your father as clueless as ever when he handed the package over to you. It won’t hurt you, he promised, but it's very hard from stress and needs you to help drain it, okay?
He’d guided you to his large cock, smirking evilly as you struggled to grip him even with two hands. He moved one large hand over both of yours, showing you how to jerk him off the way he liked. You’d picked it up very quickly, innocently asking him why Tim's cock was so much tinier that his. Cause, Angel, I'm just a better man than he is, he had said with a chuckle. Oh, you had said, then - I hope my husband is a good man then, and has a big cock like you.
Oh, Jesus. Max was definitely going to hell after this. Feeling his peak approaching, he ordered you onto your knees, making you hold your tits up - and then proceeded to cover them with his thick, creamy release, so much of it that it dripped down onto your stomach - and much more than the time you had seen Tim’s cock explode. You’d almost screamed again but bit your tongue at the last minute, remembering Max’s threat last time. But it didn’t stop you from glaring up at him, brattily asking what this gross stuff was, eww, you didn’t want it on you-
That’s fine, Max had said cooly. That’s fine, because next time he'd make you drink it all instead. Your eyes went wide at that, tears forming and you adamantly denied Max, saying you’d never do something like that, it sounded pervy and dirty.
But your reluctance meant nothing to Max, as he smirked at you from your fathers side the next day, whispering something in his ear that had your daddy looking over at you and an icy chill running down your back. You were petrified as you got a text from your father to come see him in his office now, walking in on the verge of tears only to have him smile delightedly at you because Max mentioned you’d been very supportive of his races lately, it’s been a big reason why he’s so much more of a team player these days, so proud of you for helping the team, sweetie!
You’d accepted his praise, blushing from the attention, and later had dutifully wandered back to Max’s room to greet him after the race. He smirked at finding you there, already naked except for a pink lacey thong and heels, on your knees for him, shyly thanking him for keeping your secret and saying such nice things to your daddy. Of course, Angel, he murmured, unzipping himself. You know just how to say thank you then, hmm? And you obediently nodded, jerking him off like he’d taught you, then licking and sucking on his cock when he asked, and then taking all of his length inside your eager throat at his command, gagging the whole way as he tutted disapprovingly at you, taking over and controlling the pace with his large hands. It had really hurt your tiny mouth, and you couldn’t speak properly afterwards, but seeing Maxie swear and tell you how good you were doing, how he never wanted to let you go, made that tingly feeling come back in between your legs again. Instead of ignoring it like you normally did, this time you couldn't resist fingering yourself, thong pushed the side as you shoved your fingers inside your wet cunny.
Maxie had gone breathless seeing that, and then he tensed before you felt his warm, sticky thick cum fill your mouth. You swallowed every drop, opening your mouth afterwords for him to inspect. Good girl, he said, patting your head. My sweet angel, you drained my stress so well. Oh, so that’s what it was, you say innocently. I’m glad I made you feel better, Maxie.
After that, there were no races for a whole month as the paddock went into summer break. You had thought you’d be glad for the relief from Maxie and his mean demands, but you found yourself texting him often, missing his loving kisses and touches after you helped relieve his stress, missing the tingly feeling you got when he looked predatorily at you spread open for him.
You’d been shocked when you opened your eyes as a shadow had blocked out the sun while you were sunbathing at your family’s St Tropez holiday home, only to find Max grinning down at you, saying your dad had invited him to come for the week. Had you been doing your homework? You nodded diligently, looking at the banana you’d been practising swallowing whole without gagging to copy the dirty video Max had texted you of a petite woman eagerly sucking a very big cock - he must be a good man, you’d thought, just like your Maxie.
Secretly, you were so glad he was here, shooting him looks over the dinner table as he sung praises about what a good friend you’d been to him, helping him get back to P1, making your daddy proudly pat your head. And after dinner when everyone had gone to bed, he joined you in the hot tub to unwind. You’d excitedly begun to tell him about what you had been upto on the break when you felt his thick fingers creeping up the inside of your thighs. You’d frozen instantly, because Maxie had never touched you there himself, but before you could say anything your father stepped out onto the veranda, asking you something about your plans for the next day.
Answer him, Max mouthed, smirking as you had no choice but to let him keep gliding up your legs and undoing your tiny bikini. And when your daddy had gone back inside, oblivious that the flush on your face wasn’t from the heat of the pool, you’d tried to shove Max’s hand away, brattily saying you didn’t want his hand near your private parts, that was just for your husband-
Doesn’t count, Angel, Max had cooed, easily overpowering you and sliding a finger in, much thicker and longer than yours and making you squeal as he started pumping it in and out of you. And he hadn’t stopped despite your half hearted protests, because you’d started to feel really good, really tingly, and Maxie, I feel funny, I think I’m going to pee-
After you had your first orgasm, he carried your tired figure back into the house, setting you down and licking your cum off his fingers. And then, through your half asleep state, you felt his tongue swirling around your nipples, leaving hickeys and then trailing down, and down before his warm breath gently blew over your puffy cunny. And then you felt his wide tongue licking your folds, making you gasp awake and squeal cause why was he kissing you down there, that’s so pervy-
But he’d easily bullied you back into quiet muffled moans again, your skimpy bikini bottoms shoved inside your mouth as he warned you that your father was going to wake up right next door and come investigate if you didn’t shut up. So you reluctantly let him continue his filthy kissing, spitting and licking on your most innocent parts until you felt you had to pee again. He grinned wickedly as you squirted a second time, completely ruining the sheets, before redressing your passed out figure in a comfy hoodie. You felt the ghost of a sweet kiss on your forehead before he walked away.
You avoided him the next few days, glaring when he would approach you, angry he’d kissed you somewhere only your husband should. He’d promised you were still a virgin, sure, but still! It was just too much, wasn’t it?
But you’d been unable to resist his advances any longer when he’d cornered you in the family study one day when everyone else had gone out to the markets. He’d sweetly apologised, presenting you with a new Dior bag he’d had speed delivered that morning, and you happily snatched it up, gasping with delight as you look inside to find a Cartier bracelet. You’ll forgive me, right, Angel? Max had said, slowly wrapping his arms around you from behind and rubbing his practically blue balls against your plush ass as you distractedly admire your new gifts. I just wanted to make you feel good, hmm?
You nodded breathlessly, agreeing that you supposed it had felt really good, you liked that tingly feeling in between your legs. Yeah? Max had grinned, kissing you and slipping his tongue inside and saying that he knew a way to make you feel even better, Angel, and you’d still be a virgin after it, he pinky promises, okay?
With the new Dior bag and diamond bracelet you’d become a lot more agreeable, and didn’t protest as he laid you back on your father’s study table, lifting your miniskirt over your hips and grinning wickedly when he found no panties - just your glistening pussy. Y-you always just rip them anyways, Maxie you pouted.
Oh, you secretly wanted this, didn’t you? Acting all bratty just cause you wanted to make him work for it, he was certain. Your sweet body was such a good plaything for him that he didn’t really mind, deciding not to punish you for avoiding him.
You curiously watch as he unzips himself, taking his thick cock out, then you squeal adamantly in protest when he brings it close to your innocent hole. Shh, Angel, it’s just on the outside, he’d promised, I won’t put it in, it’ll feel so good, trust me.
And it had felt sooo good, making you bite your lip and toss your head back as he dragged his warm length along your folds, slapping your clit a few times with his cockhead, making you spread your soft legs invitingly as you felt the addictive tingly feeling come back again.
He’d been unable to resist the temptation, sliding just the tip into your virgin cunny- but you’d immediately screamed in protest, twisting away and he had generously released you from his hold, tongue in cheek as you sashayed away with a backwards glare, Dior bag in hand. He’d had to leave the next day, and you didn’t see him the rest of the break.
After the break, you had seemed different to Max. You carried the brattiness openly in your eyes, confident now in your ability to seduce him as he has brought such expensive apology gifts just for a little taste of your virginity.
You had infuriatingly said no when he tried to rub himself against your cunny at the next race, and at the one after that, so here he was, stuck fingering you and sliding his tongue in and out of your folds for the 3rd time this week while his cock ached to be buried inside you - when the wicked idea came to him.
He’d made sure to have all the preparations ready for the next race, knowing you would be a brat and try to weasel your way out of it. Like he’d predicted, you make your way to his plush sofa, spreading your legs to show off your naked pussy and demanding he come kiss it how you liked.
Oh, his Angel had become quite the spoilt little bitch, hasn’t she? He’d have to make sure you learned your lesson about who was in charge around here. You smirk as he drags his tongue up and down your puffy folds, thinking you had the millionaire driver all wrapped around your fingers. His thick third and ring fingers join his tongue, making you moan and close your eyes as he pumps them into your pussy. And then, his thumb drops down, lower, to circle your other winking hole before sliding inside.
You’d jumped in shock, naively asking why he was touching your dirty hole, that’s so embarrassing, you don’t want him to touch that place!
Max cooes that he couldn’t care less, besides, he can clean it out for you, yeah? If he just slides his cock in, just a little bit, he can make sure it’s all clean for you.
Your eyes go impossibly wide at the thought of his big cock anywhere near your ass. You furiously close your legs, brattily telling him that you’d had enough, wasn’t he just being a pervert now, and you’d already broken up with Tim ages ago and since Max seemed to be very relaxed now given his P1s has resumed you didn’t think you needed to help him out anymore!
Time to pull out the big guns. Sitting back on the sofa now, Max palms his growing erection as he calls out to you, making you pause from where your hand rested on the doorknob.
You know, Angel, I’ve had a lot of creepy fans sneak onto the garage lately. Some even got into my room. I guess they just really wanted to see me shirtless, huh?
You turn around to look at him, confused, until your eyes slowly widen in horror as he points to the camera tucked in the corner. There’s no trace of sympathy on his handsome face as he starts lazily jerking himself off, telling you that it had been your fathers idea to set it up, for his safety, and he’d even kindly offered to go through all the footage later - he took any threats against his prized driver very seriously.
You panicked, already teary eyed at the thought of your father seeing you spreading your legs sluttily and demanding Max pleasure you. You immediately dropped to your knees, begging Max to keep the tape himself-
Now why would I do that, Angel? Max cooes, getting harder at the sight of you kneeling in front of him and crying for his help. After all, you’re the one who’s forcing him to kiss her pussy on that video, hmm?
He knows he has you right where he wants you as you beg him, offering up your precious pussy to slide against again if he wanted, just don’t go inside, okay?
That’s not the hole he wants, Angel, he told you darkly. No - he wanted your other hole, the dirty embarrassing one, and he wants to sink his entire cock inside it.
He watches you stutter and gasp, before you take a deep breath and naively ask My husband won’t be able to tell, right Maxie? I’ll still be a virgin?
Max smirks. Of course, Angel. You know he’d never break your precious promise. And with that, you’re ready to become his obedient pet again, blankly turning around and sticking your ass up in the air like he asks, spreading your cheeks for him to look at.
And oh, Max takes his sweet time looking, enjoying the twisted satisfaction of having completely broken you down like this. He generously douses you in lube, making you squeal at the chill, before he’s furiously pumping his thumb inside your impossibly tight back hole. You tremble as he lines his cock up, ordered you to relax or it’ll hurt, Angel. Slowly sinking inside, he moans as he finally finds his way into your heat, feeling like he’s reached heaven. Tears stream down your face as you wail once he begins meanly thrusting, wickedly taking your anal virginity all for himself and giving you his fingers to suckle on and keep quiet.
He doesn’t stop until he’s finished inside you, panting heavily and pushing his matted hair out of his eyes, pressing kisses down your spine to let you know you did so well for him.
He pulls out with a wet squelch, enjoying the sight of his cum dripping out of your poor, abused little hole. Sitting back comfortably on the sofa, legs spread, he gives you a cocky smirk as you turn around, still seated on the ground in front of him.
Now clean it up, he demands meanly. He can’t have your hole make his cock dirty now, can he? And you obediently responded, crawling forward with glazed eyes, licking him clean from balls to tip like he’s trained you to do.
After that night, Max had held you completely in the palm of his hand. You’d be the perfect angel for him, doing whatever he wanted wherever he wanted - except for entering your innocent pussy, of course. He’d let you keep it yours for now, finding the fantasy hot. He’d buy you a diamond ring one of these days, he mused, so that you’d beg him to finally claim your virginity.
But for now, he had a couple other tricks to try out. And if you’d try to refuse, he’ll pull up the video he has on his phone of your eyes rolling back as Max ate you out on your father’s work desk from summer break.
He’d taken you back to his hotel room to teach you those tricks, making you wail and scream his name without restriction, headboard banging against the wall. It was hilarious when Horner had come upto him at breakfast the next morning, patting his back and saying it sounded like he’d been celebrating his win very well last night, congratulations, he deserves it and sounded like the girl couldn’t get enough!
Max had to hold back his laughter, as your clueless father had no idea he was carrying an extra croissant up for the very same girl who couldn’t get enough - his precious little daughter, who still lay sleeping in his hotel bed, exhausted from his dirty activities all night.
You’d ended up missing your flight back, making some weak excuse to your daddy and had followed Max into his private jet, obediently spreading yourself open for him as he pulled you behind the privacy screen. The flight attendants had blushed as they heard your eager moans and the lewd sounds of Max greedily fucking your ass again.
And when you landed, greeting your waiting family, Max had to discreetly wipe the line of cum that trickled down your skirt. You didn’t have to worry, though, he’d already thoughtfully ordered another delivery of sexy underwear straight to your home 🖤
—————————————————————————
A/N: I actually gave myself post nut clarity writing this (post writing smut clarity?? Post smut conscience??) time to go outside and reconnect with nature. As always,,,lmk what u think 🤔
1K notes · View notes
dionysianivy · 12 days ago
Text
𝐎𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐚
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁
What is Ostara?
Ostara is a lesser sabbat that marks the official arrival of spring and takes place on the spring equinox, around March 20-21 in the Northern Hemisphere and September 20-23 in the Southern Hemisphere. It’s the moment when day and night are of equal length, symbolizing balance before the days begin to grow longer and light overcomes darkness. This is a time of renewal, fertility, and new beginnings, making it perfect for fresh starts and setting intentions for the season ahead.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁
The Legend of Ostara
According to a legend, Ostara is celebrated in honor of the Germanic goddess of the dawn and spring. The story goes that she once found a bird injured by the cold of winter. To save it, she transformed it into a hare, but the hare retained its ability to lay eggs. As a sign of gratitude, the hare painted and gifted eggs to the goddess, which is why eggs remain a central symbol of Ostara today. (1883, H. Krebs)
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁
Goddess Eostre
Eostre, also known as Ostara, is the Germanic goddess of spring, fertility, and renewal. Her name is linked to the word "east" and the rising dawn, and some believe it means "Radiant Dawn." Eostre represents the spirit of spring and the return of fertility to the earth. Her arrival was traditionally celebrated with flowers, singing, bell ringing, and the lighting of new fires at dawn. She is often described as a beautiful young woman with flowers woven into her hair, accompanied by her consort and also her sacred animal, a hare. Sometimes he appears as a full-grown man, other times as a small rabbit cradled in her arms. Together, they bring eggs, a powerful symbol of the earth’s rebirth and fertility.
There isn’t much information about Eostre, but she is mentioned in the writings of an 8th-century monk, Venerable Bede. He recorded that the pagan Anglo-Saxons of medieval Northumbria held festivals in her honor during the month of April. Other than this, we don’t know much about how she was worshiped in ancient times. However, by the 19th century, she had become an important figure in German folklore, appearing in literature, paintings, and stories. She is often depicted as a youthful maiden adorned with flowers, symbolizing nature’s renewal after winter.
Some ancient festivals are said to have honored her with offerings of flowers, eggs, and feasts, welcoming the warmth and life she brings. Venerable Bede documented these traditions around the year 700 CE while traveling through Europe, recording pagan customs for the Catholic Church. The Church later attempted to shift the focus from Eostre to the resurrection of Jesus, but many ancient traditions remained deeply rooted. Eventually, instead of trying to erase them, the Church adapted and merged the two celebrations, renaming their spring festival “Easter” as a way to unite both traditions.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁
The Symbolism of The Painted Eggs
Eggs have long been a symbol of fertility, renewal, and the emergence of new life. Many cultures have used painted eggs in their spring festivals, from ancient Egyptians and Persians to European pagans. In the context of Ostara, eggs represent the potential for new beginnings and the fertility of the land as it awakens from winter. Decorating eggs is a tradition that has continued for centuries, carrying the magic of transformation and the blessings of abundance for the coming season.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁
Magic Correspondences
Planets: Mars
Season: Spring
Element: Air
Time of the Day: Dawn, Early Morning
Tarot: The High Priestess, The Emperor, Sevend of Wands, Justice
Colors: All pastel colors, yellow, green, pink, blue, brown
Herbs: Sorrel, Mint, Rosemary, Ginger, Irish Moss, Tansy, Woodruff, Wood Betony, Star Anise, Catnip
Fruits: Strawberries, Tangerine, Bananas, Lemon, Grapefruit, Apple, Orange, Mulberries, Kiwi
Vegetables: Artichokes, Asparagus, Carrots, Spring Onions, Garlic, Wild Nettles, Mushrooms
Crystals: Aquamarine, Jasper, Amethyst, Rose Quartz, Green Aventurine, Moonstone. Amazonite
Runes: Teiwaz, Ehwaz, Berkana
Trees: Birch, Rowan, Dogwood, Ash, Alder
Godesses: Eostre, Freyja, Aphrodite, Isis, Hecate, Demeter, Gaia, Athena, Astarte, Minerva, Cybele, The Morrigan
Gods: Mars, Ares, Apollo, Pan, Cernunnos, Tyr, Odin, Osiris, Dagda, Adonis
Dragon: Grael, Sairys
Flowers: Daffodil, Hyacinth, Daisy, Tulips, Clover, Crocus, Violet, Rose, Jasmine, Lilac, Honeysuckle
Animals: Hare, Rabbit, Chicks, Lamb, Butterfly, Robin, Bee, Snake. Deer, Wolf
Magical Powers: Balance, Renewal, Action, New Beginnings, Hope, New Possibilities, Fertility, Rebirth
Symbols: Rabbits, Eggs, Flowers, Bees, Birds and Nests, Butterflies, Flower Crowns, Seeds
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁
Activities to do:
🐰 Decorate your space with Ostara symbols like eggs, bunnies, baby chicks etc.
🐣 Start planting seeds in your garden.
🐰 Buy or pick fresh flowers and place them in your home.
🐣 Paint some eggs. Use simple colors or add sigils, runes, symbols or anything you want to attract.
🐰 If you have a farm or a garden, it's the perfect time to buy and raise baby chicks! <3
🐣 Enjoy a festive meal to celebrate both Ostara and Spring Equinox.
🐰 Do some painting or other creative activities.
🐣 Do a deep spring cleaning, you rearrange your furniture for a fresh start.
🐰 Clean up your garden.
🐣 Leave seeds in your garden for birds.
🐰 Spend time in nature and look for the first signs of spring.
🐣 Make a list of goals to accomplish before spring ends.
🐰 Burn some incense to cleanse your space.
🐣 Make special Ostara candles with seasonal colors or herbs.
🐰 Do a tarot, rune, or pendulum reading in the morning of Ostara.
🐣 Try an Ostara guided meditation to connect with the celebration.
🐰 Honor Goddess Eostre with offerings or prayers.
🐣 Make an Ostara magickal jar
🐰 Wear clothing or jewelry in Ostara colors.
🐣 Try new recipes, especially with eggs and carrots.
🐰 Drink some tea and relax.
🐣 Read about Ostara and its traditions.
🐰 Make a flower crown for yourself or a loved one.
🐣 Try colorful makeup inspired by spring.
🐰 Dye eggs naturally or try flower prints on them.
🐣 Make friendship bracelets and share them with your loved ones.
🐰 Spend time with animals and connect with their energy.
🐣 Host an Ostara picnic or dinner with friends or family.
🐰 Plant your dream garden or buy new flower seeds.
🐣 Try aromatherapy with fresh scents (spring flowers).
🐰 Plan an egg hunt for fun with friends or family.
🐣 Connect with deities associated with Ostara and spring.
🐰 Worship your deities and honor Goddess Eostre.
🐣 Paint your nails in pastel colors.
🐰 Decorate your altar with Ostara symbols and colorful ribbons.
🐣 Try new activities, change routines, and care for yourself!
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁
Food and Drinks:
Anything that has eggs! omelet, deviled eggs, stuffed eggs, carrot cake, braided bread, honey pastries, lamb, ham, fish, green vegetables, asparagus, goat cheese, sheep cheese, cow milk cheese, goat milk, sheep milk, cow milk, seasonal fruits, orange juice, tangerine juice, homemade carrot juice, dishes garnished with parsley, sweet egg tarts, muffins, carrot muffins, waffles, hot cross buns, herbal tea, mint, salads garnished with edible flowers, lemon, lemon bread, violet flower cake, lavender cake, brownies, preserves from last season, apples, yogurt, mozzarella, chocolate cake.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁
useful sources: Wicca: A Modern Guide To Witchcraft & Magick; Encyclopedia of Witchcraft: The Complete A-Z for the Entire Magical World by Judika Illes
gifs credit: Pinterest
tips♡🐇🌼
243 notes · View notes
avifaunaa · 2 months ago
Text
how the world spins without you [ n.r. ] [ pt.1 ]
Tumblr media
AUTHORS NOTE: Hey guys just a quick note. I go a bit into Natasha's entrance into the U.S. and exit from the Red Room in a sort of big chunk of this. It involves Clint being there as her buddy and as someone who helps her get used to her new life. If you're just here for smut I apologize greatly. I do get to it but I wanted to have Nat be a large focus in this fic! That said -- I hope you enjoy it otherwise. This is an AU where Thanos simply doesn’t live after infinity war. They get to him in time.
Masterlist
PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader
Summary: Natasha was adept at many things: assassination, spying, avenging — they made for a great resume. What she wasn’t quite so adept at was understanding you when she returns from her exile and found you at her beloved table.
Content Warnings: Discussions of culture shock and Natasha's integration into the States, SLOW BURN TO GET TO THE SMUT, Mild-to-moderate angst, SO SOFT, hints that R's parents are absent / neglectful at best, Yelena and Kate being immediate gremlins upon introduction
Word Count: ~7.9k
Men and Minors DNI
Tumblr media
Natasha Romanoff did not indulge in many things for herself. 
Growing up, it was because she was never offered such things. Enjoying 'the small things in life' was simply not an option in the Red Room and Dreykov was particular about ensuring what his girls consumed. Even the smallest comforts could lead to the idea of freedom.
One of the first things Natasha did when she walked away -- after signing an agreement with the United States government, with S.H.I.E.L.D., -- was get coffee. With Clint.
"You ever had coffee? You've had to have coffee," the Hawkeye said as though it were obvious. They had just been transferred back to the U.S. after a successful escape from Budapest. Growing close in tight quarters had meant learning a little about one another between them listening and watching the people go about their lives.
And between the games of hang-man and tic-tac-toe. Another introduction from Clint, seeming flabbergasted that he had to explain the concept of both games to Natasha who, despite her brief stay in America as a child, simply did not know either game.
She learned quickly and had eventually started to defeat him.
"Once," Natasha replied shortly following behind the bruised and filthy man into the bustling New York shop. "For a mission. To blend in."
Clint did not ask her to elaborate, but he clapped his hands together loud enough to garner some curious looks towards the two [ who already stood out like bleeding, infected thumbs needing to be amputated ].
"Wonderful," he chortled, eyes focusing on the chalk-board menus hanging above the barista bar. Fake vines wrapped invitingly around the signs and little drawings decorated the corners.
Natasha did not know -- could not know -- if she hated such a sight of casual happiness when her entire world before today was never allowed this.
"What do I get?" the redhead asked as the line grew closer.
"Whatever you want," he responds as his muscled arm gestured to the various pastry displays and again at the hanging menu board. "Everything here is different. Some things are iced others are hot. Do you want it made like a caffeinated milkshake? Ask for a frappe, I guess."
"Why so many options?" Natasha questioned next, frowning and feeling slightly overwhelmed.
She would never admit that even her fine training and brutal grooming couldn't have prevented some of this culture shock. The Red Room was able to prevent her from seeking out these luxuries in the name of her duties -- they scarcely deigned to say what luxuries they were.
Natasha felt as though she were face to face with one now. Why so many choices when not one person can try nor like them all? She did not even want to look at the amount of food inside of the displays stacked. 
She knew the reality of what happens to the food not finished after a store closes. Thrown out and wasted while others hunger for prices they cannot afford.
"Natasha?" They were at the counter now, where all the thick scents of coffee beans and other smells unfamiliar were at their strongest. "Anything look good?"
Natasha scanned the board for something and to squash that overwhelming lump that threatened to rise from her stomach and into her throat, she just said, "Coffee, black."
Clint groaned from beside her as he pulled out a battered wallet. Natasha watched as he used a credit card to pay and wondered if that would be another luxury given to her.
The Red Room gave them everything they saw as a necessity. Money for missions was sent through a wire transfer to a bank account to withdraw as cash. Mostly to keep their mission as untraceable as possible, but also to control the Widows by only ever giving them enough to get through their assignment. 
Running away never worked out for most who tried, anyway.
Clint nudged her a moment later. "C'mon, let's get you sat down okay?"
"Where?"
Clint shrugged more dramatically than needed as he once again used his arms to gesture to the open plan floor where some tables were taken and some sofas around a fire-place hosted people as well. Other tables and some overstuffed leather chairs remained vancant.
"Wherever the heart desires, Nat. No assigned seating required. I'll wait for the order -- why don't you find somewhere for us to sit?"
Natasha wanted to do something other than that.  People hardly bothered her in most circumstances -- people had been her job for her entire life. But she was not used to people in a casual context where there was no target to watch out for, no enemies to ensure weren't around with you.
But her feet were moving anyway, avoiding the high traffic tables and definitely shying away from the social circle the fireplace seemed to attract.
She found an empty table near the back close to the hallway leading to the bathrooms where the volume wasn't so thick and where her back could sit comfortably where less amounts of threats were.
She sat awkwardly, arms crossing across the table as she waited. Her eyes floated around the small but busy shop and took in the scene. A mother handing her child a small lidded cup of chocolate milk, a delighted look in the kiddo's eyes, as she adjusted her bag and grabbed her own cup of coffee and started leading the child out the door.
"Clint!" a low-sung voice called out clearly. Clint practically skipped to the counter where two different drinks awaited him as he thanked the barista and turned around on his heel with a swerve.
He spotted Natasha pretty quickly and danced through the crowd -- but he actively involved himself in people instead of avoiding them. He said cheerful "excuse me's!" and a very scolded "pardon" to an elderly couple he nudged the table of as he approached.
"That was a lot of foot work when you could have walked around," the Russian told him when he finally made a safe approach with a smug grin. 
"What, and not show off my circus-grade balancing act? I don't think so," he retorted with an even wider grin as he set both drinks down with a flourish. 
Natasha bit her tongue when a comment almost forced its' way out. Instead she turned her gaze to the two drinks on the table and read their labels. BLACK read one, the other in a clear tall cup with heavy ice, ICED MOCHA.
Clint pulled his toward him and pulled a straw out of nowhere [ later, Natasha would admit she was still impressed by it for a month until she learned his secret to the trick ] and popped it into the drink's lid.
"I cannot believe," he starts, dropping into the chair across from her and leaning back comfortably, "that I bring you to one of the best coffee shops New York City has to offer and you insult me--"
"It is all the same -- the same intentions, yes?" she asked as she brought the hot drink up to her lips. It was bitter like the one or two other times she'd had coffee but this flavor had a hint of hazelnut. Perhaps a different brand?
"Sure, I mean sort of?" Clint scratched the chin scruff he'd began growing in Budapest. "Some people can't stand the bitterness of normal coffee or don't like it hot. That's why there's so many different ways to get it."
"I don't see the point."
"Would you eat pizza the same way as someone who say . . . likes anchovies?"
Natasha lets herself think on it. The one time she had pizza was when she was with Melina and Alexi as a child. She could still remember how melted the cheese was -- that was the type they got. Cheese. Alexi got some sort of "Americanized Everything" as he called it.
She answered with, "I suppose not. Anchovies are not good."
Clint laughed. "Right. Not everyone wants anchovy on pizza but they still want the pizza. The same goes for coffee. They want the coffee but they may not like how bitter or hot it is. So there's different flavors, different ways to make it. Iced, blended, the works."
"I see," Natasha said as she sipped at her bitter, hot coffee while Clint held his not bitter, hot coffee. "What form did you get?"
"I like mine iced with extra chocolate syrup," he told her. He eyed her, grinned, then nudged it closer. "Wanna try?"
She blinked at him. "It is your drink, I have my own."
Clint raised a bloodied [ days old and dried ] eyebrow at her. "So? It doesn't mean there's a contract that legally binds you from tasting it. Just try it. If you don't end up liking it, you know to not get it next time."
Natasha regards the drink for a moment as it was offered. She decided that she's already done so many things that she shouldn't otherwise be doing -- she was no longer working with Dreykov. Dreykov was dead and he could not touch her.
She leaned over and took a sip. It was definitely cold and tasted like coffee but had a chocolate taste and was sweeter than anything she's ever tasted.
"Good? Terrible? Wanna pull your tongue out and burn it?" Clint wondered. 
Natasha smiled a little at him. "I think I like it very much."
Tumblr media
Over the years, Natasha would keep coming back to this coffee shop. She learned its name and kept it safe — especially when the attack of New York occurred. 
It had been destroyed when she got to it but she was able to save everyone inside. They rebuilt and continued on as anyone can do when a disaster strikes and shock that aliens exist have made the human brain barely able to cope. 
The first time they opened since the attack was when Natasha decided to try something new. She had been able to do many new things: become an Avenger, work somewhat nicely with other people, and above all: save the world with Tony Stark and not kill him in the process. 
She’d been greeted reverently by the staff who had starshine in their eyes and gratitude to give. 
It was overwhelming. She wanted to run away and never come back again. 
She ordered an iced mocha with extra chocolate syrup, instead. To go — because too many people were starting to come in. Regulars of the store that she’d recognized but ones that now knew her too. It was too much to handle at once and she needed her exterior to stay solid. 
They threw in a free pastry — she didn’t see what it was but heard the crinkling of the bag sat down by her as she leaned against the counter. She took her coffee and unwanted bread product of unknown origin and left. 
She didn’t return for three weeks. 
When she did she made Steve come with her. They’d grown close the more the government had implemented the Avengers program after the attack and had suffered Tony in bogus amounts. 
[ They grew to love Tony, too, if only because he knew how to handle the public more than even Steve but also because he was able to make them forget ]. 
Steve was better at this thing — the superhero persona. He took it in stride and spoke warmly with people when approached, offering conversation and knowing how to slip away from it politely and smoothly. 
This time while Steve was talking to a young pretty blonde near the entrance, Natasha ordered a macchiato. She got Steve his enormously detailed drink he’d listed off for her before being taken to the side and she threw in a couple of pie slices. Blueberry. 
She almost believed she could stay this time. Her table was open and it was still early enough to enjoy the energy before the morning rush took over and invaded their space. 
Natasha turned to Steve and said, “Okay, Captain America, your coffee is getting cold. We should sit down and eat our pies before we get called back.”
A perfect exit, a glance of relief from the blonde hero, and they sat down. Nat facing the front again but for entirely different reasons this time. 
She picked at her pie slice with a plastic fork while Steve drank his coffee and ate his with just the right amount of speed to not concern other patrons. 
“You’ve been holding out on me,” he told her, looking around comfortably at the shop. It looked somewhat the same rebuilt — perhaps more updated in terms of structure but otherwise not as new as one could come to think. “This is your hideout?”
Natasha played with a blueberry that fell from the crust. “It was.”
Steve regarded her for a silent minute, then sighed and set down his fork. “You’re not settling well with the attention.”
“I’m doing fine.” She didn’t glance up at him. They were the defacto leaders of their little operation even if Fury believed he was. Besides Clint, it was Steve that Nat was starting to confide in for some things. 
For others he seemed to read her like an open fucking book that she had previously managed to keep chained and locked tight. 
America was making her soft. 
“You’re lying,” he decided after a moment, then took a sip of his coffee and said nothing more. 
She waited for him to dig further, but he simply went back to his pie and coffee. She watched him suspiciously. “What — no pep talk about how this is my life now? How I should find a way to live with it so that I can better serve the people?”
Steve tapped his chin. “I’d say you’re living with this life in the best way you can, Nat. I don’t exactly know your entire story but I do know that you worked with people like I did but uh —“ he squinted, “oppositely.”
“You can say I killed people, Steve,” she sighed. Her pie was pushed back, uneaten. 
Steve nodded. “Okay. You killed people — maybe they didn’t deserve it but for whatever reason you were sent to do it. You didn’t ask questions but you did as you were told. I was in the army and they essentially ran the same rules but we did it on a greater scale in a massive war instead of in the shadows. Killing was in the job.”
“You became Captain America,” Natasha told him bluntly, curling her lip slightly, “A man that brought great comfort and safety to his country and protected them with the serum they never knew he had running in his veins. But they didn’t have to know — because you did good.”
“Sure,” Steve agreed, looking slightly sadder, “and maybe some of the men I killed could’ve been good. Because I didn’t ask.”
Natasha smiled at him, sadly, “I don’t think so, Steve. They let you play publicly like they let the Red Guardian in Russia play.”  She tapped her fingers against the table. “I was never meant to be a hero in anyone’s stories. I was always their nightmare and a blacked out mention on the paperwork and files.”
Steve didn’t know what else to say, how to comfort her. That was okay. Natasha wouldn’t know what to do with comfort or gentleness. She strayed away from it like she strayed away from her mistresses beatings in her ballet lessons. 
“In truth,” Natasha says, pulling her coffee closer in hopes it will ground her better than she can ground herself, “I needed you here because maybe I struggle being the part of someone’s story that doesn’t bring endless grief and anger.”
She watched now as the customers began going about their business and pretended that Captain America and the Black Widow were just ordinary people among them. 
“Right now, I’m just trying to figure out how to find my place in a world that wasn’t initially meant for me.”
Tumblr media
She met you after the long, destructive battle that ended with the death of Thanos — and Vision with him. Wanda had vanished and Natasha knew she’d be called in when they found traces of her. 
But for now she was home. The drive from the compound was longer than the walk from the Tower but that’s okay. 
“Natasha,” Fiona, the manager, greeted with a small smile and quiet demeanor. “Welcome back. I saw what you did in Wakanda. What you and the Avengers all did.”
Natasha smiles in return, dipping her head in acknowledgement. “Ah, news travels fast now. It was a group effort.”
“I’m glad your name got cleared by the Accords. It wasn’t right,” she continued, shaking her head stiffly, “After all you did. You and Captain America. It simply wasn’t right,” she repeated.
“It’s okay,” Natasha told her with a relaxed stance as she put her hands into her jacket pockets. She was somewhat truthful. It was okay — the fight with Thanos had forgiven a lot of things. 
The government had turned their head and seemingly forgotten who their named fugitives were. Lost the paperwork and welcomed their beloved heros back as though it never happened. 
The other half of Natasha and the others — the halves that had sacrificed a lot of themselves over the years — were still angry and demanding more. 
“It’s being taken care of,” the redhead-turning-blonde continued as she graced an easy smile toward Fiona. “I’m just happy to be home. I missed this place.”
“We missed you too! We kept your streak for what you’ve tried and what you haven’t,” the small barista exclaimed, crouching down and digging under some shelves presumably. 
She pulled out a white board that was somewhat on the verge of being erased with all the scuffs it had on its writing. But thankfully it was still legible. She was on course for trying the caramel apple mocha next. 
She went with that. “Frappe or cappe?” 
Natasha thought for a moment. “Let’s do it as a frappe,” she decided, pulling out her wallet and handing over the sleek black credit card labelled with the large STARK INDUSTRIES on top. 
Fiona swiped it once before handing it back, “It’ll be out very soon,” she said as she hopped over to the machines to start making her order. 
Natasha meandered over to the pickup counter, finding a spot on the corner to lean against and pull out her phone. The chubby, slobbery face of Nathaniel grinning next to Cooper and Lila greeted her when she looked at her Lock Screen. 
She had one text from Tony regarding her rooms at the compound needing to be Clint-proofed [ “Why are you trying to keep me out of your life?” Clint bemoaned when he called her from the blocked off vents later that night ].
She sent a quick text, telling Tony to add flamethrowers to the vent walls if needed to keep the Hawkeye from breaking the damn thing. 
Tony only sent back a devil emoji followed by three fire emojis. 
Natasha snorted and pocketed her phone as Fiona came over capping the top of her drink, extra whipped cream spilling out the top. 
“Here you go,” she chirped proudly as she slid over the drink. “I did add a little of the spice that we use for our pumpkin flavored drinks. It’s really good with this one too.”
“I trust your judgement, Fiona,” Natasha said as she took the drink in hand and smiled. “Thank you. I’ll let you know how I like it.”
“Please do! Your reviews keep us busy.”
Natasha turned and tapped the cup with her fingers as she looked for her table. It was busy already this morning but Natasha had quickly learned that blending in could be as easy or as difficult as she made it. 
She said hello to some people who greeted her first, and made some small conversations. The regulars knew she liked to keep to herself until she finished her drink, however, and left her alone with just a smile and short greeting. 
But she came to a stop shortly. 
Someone was at her table, littering the surface with notebooks and a textbook opened that they seemed to be deeply focused on. 
Natasha kept walking towards her table cautiously, suddenly greeted with a new challenge in her comfort zone. 
Small talk was an effort — but maybe —
You looked up and they struck Natasha like a speeding car with no intentions to stop. They were so brown — your eyes. Rich in the color and fierce in the cold New York sun. 
She expected shock when you realized who she was. Some sort of spluttering hello. 
But you only looked slightly irked as you pulled out an AirPod she didn’t see you wearing before and said, “Why the hell are you staring at me?”
This was the worst place for you to have chosen to study — especially since you chose to do it during the height of Winter Break.
Kate had insisted on its perfect aura, the warmth it was saturated in. You called her dramatic and she didn’t answer any of your texts the rest of the night other than to spam emojis at every message you sent her. 
Whatever, you thought, as you settled at a table with your newly ordered dark chocolate frappe. It was five in the morning with no sun, few to no people, and sugar and caffeine to keep you going now even if it led to the inevitable crash later. 
You got to work with pulling your textbook out and beginning to take extremely detailed notes that you can make even more detailed study cards on at a later date. 
It was hours before an intrusion broke you from your study fever. It wasn’t a forceful one, either, but it demanded attention enough that it had you pulling focus after hours of studying with no end in sight. 
You pointedly ignored it as best you can, hoping that your music and the lack of eye contact would send a strong and clear message: leave me alone, I don’t wish for human contact. 
The message went undelivered as did the feeling of being watched. When you wrote the same bullet point down twice, your eye twitched and you finally gave in. 
Removing your AirPod and breaking your peace when the bustle and surroundings of the shop filtered into your space, you stared back with no motivation to hide how irate you were. 
The words came out long before your brain could process who, exactly, you were talking to.
“Why the hell are you staring at me?” you hissed out. Your eyes dragged upward just as the sentence fully formed and you suddenly wished you were not so eager. 
The Black Widow was staring at you, apparently. Dressed down from battle gear in a pair of jeans and a soft turtleneck, long hair down in waves. But that was the Black Widow without a doubt. 
You couldn’t back down now, you’d lose all respect if she had any when approaching you to begin with. No — you held your ground. You had to. 
Green eyes, green darker than gardens and well-cared for parks, crossed yours. Surprise lit up within them briefly — but it was gone as quickly as it came. 
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said perfectly polite, with an apologetic smile forming on her features. “I didn’t even mean to just stare like I did. Sorry.”
Really? You rubbed at your aching temple and glanced down at your phone. 8:45. You hadn’t moved for a good near four hours at the least. Your coffee was only half finished, and your hand writing had grown less organized on the sheets of paper beneath you. 
“It’s — it’s fine. I didn’t realize anybody was there. Or what time it was.” You flipped the textbook shut and clenched and unclenched your fingers. “No wonder you were staring. I must have looked like a zombified student.”
A soft laugh rose from the woman across from you, feet crossing as she stuck a hand into her jacket pocket. “Not at all. It actually had nothing to do with you, I must confess.”
You gave her a confused look. “What? Then why all the staring? If anything I should be giving you the wide eyed awestruck look.”
The Black Widow in all her glory and turtleneck sweaters suddenly seemed to grow shy. The smile remained but she tapped her fingers rhythmically against her cup. 
“It’s moreso that you’re at the table I usually sit at when I come here,” she confessed quietly, embarrassed at such a small thing to have been caught confused over. “But it’s been a while since I’ve been here so I should’ve expected that the table was likely to be used like I used it.”
You blinked at her confession to you, now more curious and being drawn out of your desire to over-study than ever. “Oh — right you were on the run for a while.”
“Yes,” she confirmed simply, lips thinning into a line as she glanced behind her. 
“You can sit here if you want,” you said, breaking the silence and deciding you didn’t want her to have to leave. You moved your stuff. “I’ve been here since five. I mean, if you’re fine waiting while I finish my coffee I can be out of your hair.”
“I don’t mind, if you’re sure.” Natasha pulled out the chair and gave one more long glance toward the shop behind her before sitting down with her back to them and starting to slowly sip her coffee. “May I ask what you’re studying?”
“Oh. Sure. I’m majoring in electrical engineering with a minor in physics,” you said, turning the textbook slightly so she could see the title of it. 
“That’s a heavy major,” she mused, but didn’t say it in a way most usually did when you told them. “What made you want to go into that?”
You felt your cheeks turning red at the question — something you normally have no problem answering but now do considering who it is asking. “Well to be honest with you —“
“Honesty is always best,” the older woman agreed in a drawl, amusement glittering across her face. 
You puffed, still red, and redder more when Natasha’s amusement seemed to grow upon realizing why without you saying yet, “Okay. I’ve always been sort of interested in engineering. But Stark Industries is literally paving a new path into technology we otherwise wouldn’t break ground on. Imagine what we could do for people in war-torn nations with it? What about turning it to medical use for progress towards incurable diseases? Anything is possible because it hasn’t been done yet. I want to see it, to try it. Like Tony Stark was able to do with that access.”
You were expected to be given a lot of incredulous responses when you told people your ideals for your major. Your expectations were met — but Natasha simply looked thoughtful as she sipped her drink. 
“A passion like that could get you anywhere you want,” Natasha told her. “You have dreams that most people give up on. If they have the technology why haven’t they done it?”
A question you loved answering. “Because they don’t have anyone fighting to get it used in those specific areas, to be produced for those situations,” you replied, leaning closer, “Don’t you see? It needs someone or multiple people to see it for what it can do if given the time and the resources.”
Natasha tilted her head curiously, studying you with an unreadable expression, “You think you’re that person? The one who can make the change?”
A flush of defiance coursed through you at the question. “If nobody else will, who better than myself?”
“Where are you going to school?”
“I go to MIT. I’m currently on my winter break.”
“And yet you’re studying like you have a test tomorrow,” Natasha concluded. She glanced from the scurried notes to the textbook and back to you, as if trying to read you out and get your secrets. 
“I’m on a scholarship and otherwise wouldn’t be there,” you admitted carefully, chin lifting, “It was a lot of hard work to receive it and losing it isn’t an option.”
Natasha rested a hand on her fist — calloused from whatever dark past and Avengering has rewarded her — and regarded you with a startling feline-like expression. 
“Working hard and overworking are different, that will be important to remember. I didn’t know the difference when I was young either.”
“What made you learn?” You ask carefully. 
She pursed her lips and stared behind you at the hallway that held no interesting object to look upon. “I did ballet as apart of a program. I found it fun until my instructor made my ankles bleed every single day for every mistake I made each session.”
You swallowed your shock down and fisted your hands together on the table. “She sounds like a fucking cunt.”
Natasha barked out a laugh, the glazed distance disappearing and replaced by a spark as she returned to focus on you instead. A stray lock of hair lowered across her forehead as she relaxed slightly, “She was, I assure you. I did not know the difference between brutality and hardworking traits until I came to the states. Sometimes,” she finished, “I still do not and must be reminded that I am no longer a tool for anyone’s use that I do not myself see purpose in.”
“Wouldn’t you consider the Avengers program being a tool?” You wondered aloud without meaning to.
Her lips twisted, perhaps impressed by your bravery despite the accidental slip. “That is why you must choose carefully what games you want to play and with who. Who to be a tool for and who to destroy.”
“Are you saying I should take more breaks?” You finally ask. 
She grins smugly as she removes her chin from her fist and leans back in her chair like a fat cat. “Well done, Malyshka. I like playing with you.”
You pondered her words and sort of wanted to know what got you into this situation where the Black Widow was giving you confusing advice. 
Natasha and you were comfortably silent as you two sipped on your coffees together. You think you like whose is without the grandeur that the media tends to flash onto her. She’s thoughtful and quiet — and holy shit you just met and hardly know her. 
Natasha suddenly broke your peaceful silence, looking very serious as she says, “I know a guy I can connect you to at Stark Industries when you graduate if you’d like to get your feet off the ground. He’d probably be impressed with you.”
You stared blankly at her, brain shutting down for ten seconds and rebooting in that time. 
“What.”
Natasha played with her empty coffee cup, nonchalantly saying, “I know a guy —“
“I heard the first time,” you said, shaking your head a little bit to clear it, “You’re talking about Tony Stark. You — you’re willing to put a word in for me?”
Natasha nodded once with finality. “Yes. You remind me of Tony in ways that are all good — and yet you lack the parts of Tony that make me want to kill him.”
“Thanks?”
“You’re welcome.”
“So . . . Like what’s the catch?” You asked, stacking your notebook on top of your textbook and fiddling around to keep from exploding. “Because it’s weird to me that the Black Widow is sitting down across from me and offering me a gigantic opportunity.”
“Once in a life time,” she corrects, “But there isn’t really a catch. Just a request — the offer will still be open and I’ll ensure Tony gets you on his ledger when you graduate and apply.”
“Sure,” you said, pretty much willing to do anything. 
“May I have your number?”
It was so clearly an unexpected request and even you could see Natasha's confident request was followed by tinted cheeks and more taps on her empty cup.
You gave Natasha Romanoff your number.
Tumblr media
Your first date with Natasha was at the coffee shop —  where you met at the table. You spent hours talking like the day before except for this time you got to know each other a bit more on a deeper level. 
You learned she adopted a cat straight off the street that wouldn’t leave her alone. A small black creature with wide yellow eyes. The photos she showed you led to you seeing photos of her nieces and nephews through the Clint Barton. 
“He’s chubby little dude,” you noted as you scooted your chair closer to her to see the photo better. 
“That’s what I said!” she exclaims, beaming at you and nudging your shoulder with hers. 
“Just look at him,” you continued, “those cheeks say it all.”
You learned a little about her and she you. You had similar tastes in music and entertainment, but when it came to movies it seemed you were at an impasse. 
This became evident when she showed up to your apartment for the second date and flashed two tickets to a new horror as snow fell around you both. 
Your head dropped in defeat as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you to her car. “I promise on Tony’s suit that I will protect you from the big bad.” Then she opened the passenger side door for you. 
With a heavy sigh and a suffering look sent her way, you plop into her car and wait for her to shut the door. 
She was a pretty decent protector at the movies. She armed you with sugary drinks and snacks and lifted the armrest between you two and opened an invitation into her arms at any point when it got scary. 
For you it did not take very long at all. You dived into her side and curled so tight when the first brutal murder flashed on the large screen. Natasha was smart, Natasha was clever. She wrapped her arm around you as you buried your face in her neck and grinned as she watched the movie without so much as flinching. 
They went to the coffee shop after to get the remaining heebeejeebies out of your system by chasing it down with caffeine. You notice Natasha thinking it over before ordering a plain mocha latte. 
“You ordered something different this time?” you asked her after she paid for both your orders like she had at the movies. 
Natasha rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s something I’ve been working on. For a lot of my life I was devoid of choices. They were made for me. This helps me remember that decisions I make are my own, nobody else’s.”
“One unique coffee at a time,” you murmured as you brought your straw to your lips and felt something flutter in your chest. 
“One unique coffee at a time,” she echoed, meeting your gaze as she brought her own drink to her lips. 
The third date was the only one left before you would be set to return to MIT. You were firm on making plans for this one and Natasha didn’t argue. 
It was planned for after Christmas and New Year’s — somewhere you had to begrudgingly drag Kate over to help you set up. 
“A date? Good enough to go here?” she asked as you scrolled the website for the restaurant. 
“I really like her,” you say, licking your lips and unsure of what else to tell her in regards to Natasha. “She walked right up to me and . . . I don’t know. She sort of just missile fired into my life.”
Kate snorts, but leans against your pillows and nibbles at her cuticles. “Okay. This is a place I think is good if you really really like her. It’s expensive.”
You checked your bank account earlier. You had enough fun money left to spend on this date. “It’s fine. I can do it.”
Kate tapped a few things into her phone before handing it to you. “Then make the reservation.”
Natasha had to pick you up from your place — considering you didn’t have a car in New York at the moment. She was beautifully dressed in a styled pant-suit with her hair curled into a bun. She had some sort of watch you thought looked familiar but couldn’t remember the brand name of. 
You ran your hands down your glittery dress and hoped it would be enough to impress her. She came to greet you, reaching out to take your hands. “You said dress nice and you end up dressing nicer than me,” Natasha comments. 
You scoffed, fussing with your bracelet to distract yourself from her unwavering gaze and how it made you blush. “T-thank you. You’re so . . . Yeah.”
“Yeah?” she echos, amusement and glee creeping into her tone as she guides you by the hand to her car. 
“Yeah.”
“Glad I got the yeah approval.” She settles you in and punches in the address you give her.
The restaurant is very nice — far nicer than even you usually were able to attend despite your parents’ wealth and reputation in the city. You stayed home from the nicer events often with a nanny. 
Dinner was started with a set course of appetizers followed by a few dishes brought for the main course. Dessert was the most popular dish and it brought you and Natasha closer and sitting together instead of facing one another so you could enjoy sharing the food while giggling to yourselves and talking. 
An entire bottle of wine had been left in an iced bucket at your table and the both of you indulged in a couple of glasses. 
“You hid in a vent for five days?” You squawked at her, failing to hide your laughter behind your hand and thus forced to set down your wine glass. 
“It was our only option, to be fair,” the redhead admitted, smirking. “We had the entire city in a state of disarray and we had to find a way to lay low for a bit.”
“I can’t imagine the discomfort between two people up there!”
“It was sort of fun. Clint was the first person who was actually . . .” Natasha pauses as she considers what to say next. “. . . Who actually spoke to me like a human, I suppose. Not a soldier or a robot.”
You frowned, lacing your fingers with hers. “That’s terrible, Nat.”
She tilted her head at you. “No, that’s just what my life was. I didn’t know any better, really. Didn’t see what life could be like if I knew what was out in the world other than cruelty.”
You ran a thumb over her the top of her palm. “I’m glad you got out and that you’re here now.”
“Me too, Malyshka,” she agrees, and meaning it to the depth of her soul, “me too.”
She drove you home and held your hand the entire time. It was hard to let you go even as she got out to walk around the front of her own car and help you out and walk you to the door of your building. 
“Well, this is me.” You tried to sound cheerful, but there was a sadness laced in the tone thick enough for Natasha to detect. 
“Will you let me drive you to the airport tomorrow?” she murmured, her fingers loosening from yours so her hands can trail up your arms, fingers marking the outline of your neck, and finally cupping your cheeks. 
You locked gazes with her and smiled warmly as you leaned in, seeking out her closeness just as she did with you. 
Natasha was not an expert with how to handle what you made her feel. It took everything in her training to control herself — so she wouldn’t run from the emotions that pelted her. 
It was like having her ribcage peeled open and her heart exposed for you to see. Natasha despised it as much as she adored it — the rush it gave her followed by the nerve-wracking fear. 
You had the sole ability to tear her apart because she’s giving you the chance. She was warned at a young age never to give anyone that opportunity lest they get you killed by betrayal or by weakness. 
It was a cardinal rule Natasha never broke. Even when she got out she never sought out sex, romance, connection. It had the power to destroy everything she was. 
And here she was giving you the paperwork to the instructions. 
 But you wrapped your hands so incredibly gently around hers as they caressed you, nuzzling into the touch and inhaling in her scent and just . . . Simply being there. Both of you. Together. 
“Malyshka?” she murmured, nose nudging yours to grab your attention. “Airport?”
Your eyes flew open, still hazy from the moment that overwhelmed the both of you. You sighed. 
“I have to be there by six to catch by flight, Nat,” you finally told her, shaking your head slowly in her hands. “Too early.”
“I’ll be there at four.” Natasha leaned in, beginning to press soft kisses to your cheeks. One on each one. Then your forehead. 
You furrowed your brow. “Nat, no. That’s way too early.”
“I’m an Avenger, baby.” Nat only pulled back enough to grin at you with that trademark smile of hers. Smug and knowing like she was. 
You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Four thirty.”
“Okay.” She grinned. “Four.”
Then you leaned up and kissed her first, shaking her confidence and surprising her. One hand dropped from where it held your jaw and fell instead to grasp your hip to steady herself. 
It was the most amazing thing she’d ever experience since leaving the Red Room. She’d done many things in her newfound freedom — but this . . . 
You eventually had to pull back for air and she leaned forward to brush an errant piece of hair back behind your ear. So soft, so gentle. 
Your Natasha. 
“I’ll see you at four.”
Tumblr media
You walked off the stage with a diploma -- a piece of paper telling the world that you were now a credited electrical engineer. Your parents promised to make it and then backed out the day before with apologies and a graduation gift: money. Perhaps in hopes to buy your forgiveness.
Kate flew down though and she hugged you so tight when you walked out into the crowd of thousands as the stadium emptied after the ceremony. You were hot under the robes and you wanted to go change but Kate wanted to embrace you in a death grip first.
"So fucking proud, duuuude," she said, shaking you before releasing you with a beam. "Look at you! My baby girl, all grown up."
You rolled your eyes. "Thanks, mom. You're not embarrassing me at all."
"I should hope not! It would be really awkward since I plan on dragging you to every single bar we can manage until we wake up somewhere the next morning," she said with the Kate-stamped seriousness.
You winced. "Kate, I'm not sure --"
She twitched, then grinned. "I'm joking. Your shit's already packed at your dorm and ready to be flown home. Plan tonight is something entirely low-key."
"First of all." You held up a finger. "How and why did you pack up my stuff already? I had the week to get my dorm cleared. I was going to drive it down with a rental and have Natasha help me move it into storage."
"Oh," Kate clapped her hands, "that reminds me--"
"Hi, Malyshka." That voice you'd been in love with since at least March, when she stayed up late with you while you tried not to break down during sessions of studies.
Natasha, who made the distance work by using her superhero mojo to fly down in her own jet to see you for a day and just hang out when she knew you needed it.
Natasha who was beautiful and followed by a younger, curious blonde with braids as she came up to you. She held an expression of pride as she took you in and --
You burst into tears when you saw her, "Nat?"
The blonde looked perplexed and leaned back a bit, expressing loudly in a thick accent, "Does your face always make her cry. Sistra?"
Sistra. Sister. Natasha had told you about her sister Yelena who she'd reunited with while she was on the run. Who helped her take down the Red Room and Dreykov for real this time. It was a story that Nat had told her on one of her visits to you and as she was opening up more. She told you that Yelena was her entire world before and that night expressed that now you were too.
"Yelena," you spluttered, gesturing to the wary ex-assassin in an attempt to hug her. 
"Hello," she greeted awkwardly, tapping your arm with a heavy hand. "I see you know who I am. Natasha." She side-eyed her sister accusingly, but Nat ignored her in favor of embracing you.
"You looked so gorgeous up there. I was very proud watching you walk that stage and keeping your chin up." She kissed the top of your head and held you close as you finally were able to hug your partner again for the first time in months.
Kate and Yelena stood off to the side awkwardly next to one another. "I did not invite you," Kate mentioned, squinting at Yelena.
Yelena sniffed. "Natasha goes, I go. Simple. What are you? Kate?"
"Kate," the brunette confirmed, "Bishop."
"Kate Bishop," Yelena repeated, letting the words flow off her tongue smoothly. A mischievous glint lost on you and Natasha but not on Kate started to glow in her eye. "Do you like mac'n'cheese?"
The look Kate gave her would've had you on the floor in tears if you weren't already in tears in Natasha's arms.
"Let's get you to a hotel, yeah?" Natasha murmured soothingly. She kisses your head again. "You can get to know Yelena if you'd like. We can all watch a movie together."
Nothing sounded better.
Tumblr media
I will not be discussing how much fucking trouble this gave me. just take it and pls enjoy it.
PART TWO
290 notes · View notes
kanmom51 · 17 days ago
Text
Chapter 3 in the making
Traveling together to "film a show" was big (yes, this was to film a show, but we all know it was mainly to spend much needed time together, and if we didn't, let's be honest that we did, but if we didn't, then JK literally confirmed this for us in episode 1 of AYS). But back in 2023 when a public Jikook was a scarcity, left us with more question marks than anything else as to how this will actually be coming to fruition.
Enlisting together was HUGE. Like H U G E. Them being the only ones to do so not only within BTS but the first and only idols to do so. A choice made by the two of them. To do this together. With each other. Not with anyone else.
Are You Sure?! Do we need any words here? Like really? Because AYS was as loud as F$@&. No, seriously, idk what you want to call it, a soft launch, a smack in the noggin, whatever you do, it was quite clear to those who have eyes and a brain. With or without knowing who JM and JK are, their history, their culture. Louder to those who do know them.
Since their enlistment and even through Muse and AYS we got practically nothing from the two. Oh, we did have a couple of interesting pics from their basic training and graduation, a few pics from the unit, a shit ton of signatures, some more interesting than others (joint messages, pretty decorations...) and a few nice messages, but mostly silence from the two. This stood out even more so in comparison to the almost barrage we've been getting from NJ and Tae, both enlisted only a day before Jikook.
And then came December. With less than 6 months to go.
JK going live from his new place. Dare I say their new place? It's not like we haven't talked about this over the past 18 months. Speculating, wondering. But man (figure of speech y'all), these last couple of months, they are sure making me feel like what we saw as leaning to the delusional side or more so wishful thinking, ain't no delusion or wish, but more so a very possible reality to come.
But let's get back on track.
So, December gave us:
"We spend our free time together", "we sing together", "we sing while we shower daily together", not to mention JK's btw remark about seeking privacy away from others "to sing".
Then came JM in January with their "conversations before going bed" about "what kind of image we want to show" and "what kind of lives we will live moving forward".
And February rolls in and we think that we will be back to their silent treatment, but JK comes to us with a heartfelt message (they really feel the end and want out). But nothing prepared us for Hobi's birthday live and once again those two with their "we share a room" and "we have stories to tell, but not sure how much we actually can..." that won't scare us off, lol.
Funny how every single hysterical claim made by those who were hit so very hard by their joint enlistment has been shut down by the two of them by now!!
Anyway, do we see a pattern here? Can we call this a pattern? Is there more to come? Well, obviously there is post military service, but seeing as to how they have been in the past couple of months, I'm thinking that we will be getting more even before that.
I'm guessing that conclusion isn't a far fetched one, seeing what we got last night.
And OMG, that was another HUGE loud af Jikook statement.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Ribbon on right: "I love you 🖤"
Ribbon on left: "BTS Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook".
Yes, a statement.
I stand by that.
Because even if you don't think it's anymore than a cute thing, just another thing that Jikook do together, then you are not seeing the cultural context here.
So, several content producers/directors that were Hybe employees (directors of I am still, AYS and JM's production diary amongst others) have left the company to open their own company (Idk too much about the company they opened, but my guess is that they will continue working with Hybe as contractors rather than employees, but also allowing them to work with other companies and create their own content, including producing a new boy band). And they posted the congratulation they have received.
From Hobi.
Tumblr media
Hoshi and Woonhoo of Seventeen.
Tumblr media
Each sending a separate wreath.
Zico
Tumblr media
And there are wreaths they received from more than one sender. Joint wreaths. But this was from companies (joint ceos), or business partners. Not two separate idols or people.
Tumblr media
Now, if you don't see what's huge here, let me show you the K side of this to maybe get some perspective (although, let's be honest, you don't need to be on the K side to see this is a couple thing).
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Yes, I wonder the same thing!!!
There is more.
So much more.
The K side of things is literally going mad. Good mad.
And there is a reason they are.
This is most definitley not something friends, as close as they might be, would do. Not friends, not multimillionaire friends. They most definitley can afford two wreaths. And that's one of the points here.
Once again.
This was a choice.
Not to send separate congratulative wreaths. They sure can afford to do so. Even if they aren't on vacation at the moment and are in the base. Seriously, two young men closing in on their 30s, independently financially sufficient and so much more.
Yeah, this most definitley was a statement.
And the frenzy K Jikookers are in at this very moment is well enough proof to that.
Btw, haven't been to the dark side, don't know just how crazy and rabid the cult and antiis are going, but my guess would be...
Tumblr media
Anyways, sitting here smile plastered on my face, I'm kind of starting to think, that this is maybe, just maybe, going to become our new normal. Jikook doing couplie things, openly, proudly, unapologetically.
And if this is them even before they are discharged...
What a great time this is going to be.
280 notes · View notes
ssa-dado · 22 days ago
Text
Breaking down Hotch's apartment layout until someone from Criminal Minds slides into my DMs with the damn floorplans
Tumblr media
- CASE BRIEFING: HOW HOTCH'S APARTMENT GASLIT US ALL
As an architecture student, I have a very strong (borderline obsessive) interest in analyzing spaces and locations... especially when they don’t quite add up. And one that has always messed with my brain (sometimes in a good way, but mostly in a frustrating way) is Hotch’s apartment from seasons 4–11.
The transformation from the bare, depressing space in s5 to the warm, cozy atmosphere with antique furniture and clever spatial tricks later on… it’s fascinating.
But also confusing as hell.
Because one question has always haunted me:
Is the apartment we see in Season 4/5 (where Hotch was stabbed and possibly SA’d) the same one he’s living in by Season 10?
(And since I’m a visual learner, here are the pics, because this mystery needs solving... I'll try my best)
(05x01 ; 10x05 don't zoom in, you freaks)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Seems easy to solve, right? The civil number is the same! Great.
121
...But hold on - what’s this?
(07x23)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
...Damn, Aaron, your mailman must be going through it - 121? 123? Pick a struggle.
So… is it the same apartment or not? Because at this point, I’m losing my mind.
- VICTIMOLOGY (TYPOLOGY)
As you all know, the starting point is always victimology—but in architecture, my go-to is typology.
So, what kind of apartment building does Hotch live in?
Because once we figure that out, we can finally make sense of all the architectural crimes committed in his apartment.
We get a glimpse of his building in 5x02, and - without dragging you through a full historical deep dive (unless you want me to, in which case, buckle up) - here’s what we do know: it looks like this...
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The building looks pre-WWII, likely built in the late 1920s–1930s, or designed more recently to mimic that era.
My guess is primarily based on the architectural detailing of the ground floor - the stonework, arches, and classical elements that give it a grander, more “expensive” look - and the distinct visual separation from the upper levels.
Tumblr media
Spencer Reid moment - you can skip it if you'd like -> This actually follows a common design principle (partly influenced by Louis Sullivan’s theories) where different sections of a building reflect their function. The ground floor, being more public-facing, is more decorative and inviting, while the upper floors (where the apartments are) are plainer, emphasizing privacy.
However, the upper levels look stripped down, almost too plain, like they went through a more recent renovation that removed some of the og character. While it was normal in the 1920s/30s to emphasize the lower level, the upper floors would still have had some kind of textured finish brick, terracotta, or even decorative stone accents. Instead, here, it looks like someone just painted over everything... a bit sad, honestly… much like the man living in one of these apartments. Sorry Hotch but it is the truth.
Tumblr media
That said, based on the photos, I hypothesized a possible volumetry diagram and main floor plan of the apartment building, including its functions and layout.
Knowing that Hotch lives in 121 (or 123… whatever it is today), he could very well be on the first floor. Old man isn’t about to risk climbing seven flights of stairs, understandable.
(Or, if we lean into the conspiracy theory that he has childhood trauma related to fire, it’s very telling that he chose a first-floor unit, making for an easier escape in case of danger…)
Tumblr media
Our lovely Emily Prentiss gave us a sneak peek at the ground floor interior in 5x01, which - combined with a study of the window placement on the facade - helped me piece together a small section of the central layout.
Tumblr media
From what we see, I feel even more confident about the building’s era - especially because of the beautiful wooden decorated elevators (yes, those are elevators, not doors... check the buttons on the side)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And now, for another Spencer Reid moment, part two -> In the early 1900s, when elevators were first being introduced in residential buildings, they didn’t look like the modern ones we see today.
Why?
Because men fear change.
Just like with any new technology, people were hesitant, so architects and designers made elevators blend in by disguising them as something more familiar - often looking like grand wooden doors or classic entryways rather than the industrial metal boxes we think of today.
This same pattern happened with building structures - steel (and concrete too!) was widely adopted in the early 1900s because of its strength, allowing for taller buildings, but architects still hid the steel frame behind stone or brick facades to maintain the look of traditional palaces. Even early cars looked like carriages because people weren’t ready to embrace a completely new form.
So, Hotch’s apartment building? It’s yet another classic case of early 20th-century architectural reluctance to embrace modernity - which, honestly, fits him a little too well. The man bottles up his emotions behind the calmest face just like his home hides its innovations behind classic detailing.
I see you, Aaron. You’re not fooling me.
Tumblr media
Now, you may be asking - "Phi, weren’t you supposed to expose all the inconsistencies in Hotch’s apartment and finally solve whether it’s the same place or if they changed it?"
To that, I say… we’re getting there.
Because before we dive into the madness, there’s something that really messes with my brain - the window placement in Hotch’s apartment.
But to even begin analyzing that, we first need to understand how a typical floor plan in a building like this would be structured. And once again, our queen Emily Prentiss in 5x01 unknowingly led us straight to the answer.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The bastard even has a vaulted ceiling - right where I believe the main distribution area (aka elevators and stairs) is located. You can spot it in the pictures near the exit signs.
Also, just a heads-up... in the diagrams, the apartments look smaller than they actually are because I was too lazy to make multiple detailed drawings. (But hey, if someone paid me - hi, CM - I absolutely would) So, for now, I’m using that as a quick reference.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Now… the interior! Or should I say… the everchanging interior.
In this issue, I’ll be analyzing the Season 5 version - I even sketched out a small section of the floor plan (which could be completely wrong, because things change every episode).
From these pics, we can see that his windows are on the opposite side of the entrance - which, so far, checks out.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
But wait... look down here! Check out the window placement in the kitchen. Thanks to that little detail, we can hypothesize that Hotch’s apartment is located in what I’ve labeled as "Unit B" - aka the unit with double exposure (great for ventilation, Aaron, solid choice).
From this pic down here from the s4 finale, we also get a fun little bonus detail - there’s what looks like a tiny dryer (or washing machine?) just sitting out in plain sight. And right behind Hotch, there’s a door that, based on the dimensions, I suspect leads to a bathroom.
Tumblr media
Enough details to sketch out a partial floor plan… and there you have it!
A (partial) floor plan of Hotch’s apartment in its saddest era: bare, empty, and drowning in case files from seasons 4–5
Tumblr media
And seeing more of his apartment in later seasons should be a blessing, right? It should help us map out the whole thing, right?...
Right?
...Wait.
Is that... a full-ass door on the right that totally wasn’t there before?!
Aaron, you hypocrite - you shut down Spencer Reid’s physics magic, yet here you are summoning entire new rooms into existence in your apartment.
(05x02 ; 10x05)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Alright, fine... where does that door lead?
(10x20)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Hot damn.
Referring to the home office, of course… and here’s some solid proof of its placement. Now, I’m gonna… step away for a minute… process... this... architectural betrayal… but YOU - you make sure to study these pics. I’ll be quizzing you later, got it?
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Alright… and now… now that you’ve hopefully been studying (and totally not getting distracted by Hotch’s shirt hanging on for dear life - OMG LOOK AT THE [REDACTED])… focus.
You nasty.
Window placement.
Where’s the home office window? Exactly... on the same side as the others in the living and dining area (you can tell by the way the light enters the room in the pic on the right)
And since you’re all very interested in the architecture (and definitely not drooling over a certain Unit Chief), let me ask you this:
WHY THE HELL IS THERE A WHOLE FIREPLACE IN HIS HOME OFFICE?!
Don’t worry - I’ll answer for you. Since y’all are nasty.
Can I just say that it UPSETS ME to the point where I’m considering a 30-day diet of just drywall that THAT MAN - THAT FEDERAL AGENT - HAS A FIREPLACE. IN HIS HOME OFFICE.
(HELLO?!?!?!?!?? Whore.)
Unhinged. Because:
1. A fireplace is quite literally a symbol of family and warmth (fun fact: Frank Lloyd Wright always designed homes starting with the fireplace! Oh, wait. You might not know who that is, so now this just sounds confusing. My bad. Anyway, he designed a lot of cool stuff... moving on). A fireplace belongs in a living room or dining area, where people actually gather. And considering Hotch’s building is old, there is no way it was originally designed to have one in a private office. That placement is categorically wrong. You’re a terrible designer if you stick a fireplace in an isolated office but not in the main living space where it actually makes sense.
2. The writers could try to lie to my face and say, “Oh, maybe the room was repurposed into Hotch’s home office.”Wrong. His apartment has a big open-concept living/dining area with the kitchen on the side. And unless his place is secretly Rossi’s mansion (spoiler: it’s not), there’s no way the original layout had a separate formal dining room. And even if it did, the fireplace is still in the wrong damn place because formal dining rooms are typically closer to the entry.
3. They could lie even harder and try to argue that Hotch having a fireplace in his office is some deep, symbolic artistic choice - like, oh, he’s so devoted to his job, he’d rather warm his ass doing paperwork than sit by the fire reading Jack a bedtime story like a decent human being. Like. Come on. He’s a family man, for god’s sake. Either give him a properly placed fireplace or JUST DON’T GIVE HIM ONE AT ALL.
(Less is more, people!!! Unless, of course, we’re talking about Hotch’s [REDACTED]... oof. Damn censorship. Right when I was about to say something deeply unholy. )
Goodbye. See you in the next issue.
Hopefully by the end of this series we'll manage to sketch down the entire floorplan
Phi.
223 notes · View notes
greenwitchcrafts · 6 months ago
Text
September 2024 Witch Guide
New Moon: September 2nd
First Quarter: September 11th
Full moon: September 17th
Last Quarter: September 24th
Sabbats: Mabon- September 22nd
September Harvest Moon
Also known as: Autumn Moon, Child Moon, Corn Harvest Moon, Falling Leaves Moon, Haligmonath, Leaves Turning Moon, Mating Moon, Moon of Brown Leaves, Moon When Dear Paw the Earth, Rutting Moon, Singing Moon, Wine Moon, Witumanoth & Yellow Leaf Moon
Element: Earth
Zodiac: Virgo & Libra
Nature spirts: Trooping Faeries
Deities: Brigid, Ceres, Chang-e, Demeter, Freya, Isis, Depths & Vesta
Animals: Jackal & snake
Birds: Ibis & sparrow
Trees: Bay, hawthorn, hazel & larch
Herbs: Copal, fennel, rye, skullcap, valerian, wheat & witch hazel
Flowers: Lily & narcissus
Scents: Bergamot, gardenia, mastic & storax
Stones: Bloodstone,carnelian, cat's eye, chrysolite, citrine, iolite, lapis lazuli, olivine, peridot, sapphire, spinel(blue), tourmaline(blue) & zircon
Colors: Browns, dark blue, Earth tones, green & yellow
Issues, intentions & powers: Confidence, the home, manifestation & protection
Energy: Balance of light & dark, cleaning & straightening of all kinds, dietary matters, employment, health, intellectual pursuits, prosperity, psychism, rest, spirituality, success & work environment
The full Moon that happens nearest to the fall equinox (September 22nd or 23rd) always takes on the name “Harvest Moon.” Unlike other full Moons, this full Moon rises at nearly the same time—around sunset—for several evenings in a row, giving farmers several extra evenings of moonlight & allowing them to finish their harvests before the frosts of fall arrive. 
• While September’s full Moon is usually known as the Harvest Moon, if October’s full Moon happens to occur closer to the equinox than September’s, it takes on the name “Harvest Moon” instead. In this case, September’s full Moon would be referred to as the Corn Moon.
This time of year—late summer into early fall—corresponds with the time of harvesting corn in much of the northern United States. For this reason, a number of Native American peoples traditionally used some variation of the name “Corn Moon” to refer to the Moon of either August or September. 
Mabon
Known as: Autumn Equinox, Cornucopia, Witch's Thanksgiving & Alban Elved
Season: Autumn
Element: Air
Symbols: Acorns, apples, autumn leaves, balance, berries, corn, cornucopia( Horn of Plenty), dried seeds, equality, gourds, grains, grapes, ivy, pine cones, pomegranates, vines, wheat, white roses & wine
Colors: Blue, brown, dark red, deep gold, gold, indigo, leaf green, maroon, orange, red, russet. Violet & yellow
Oils/Incense: Apple, apple blossom, benzoin, black pepper, hay/straw, myrrh, passion flower, patchouli, pine, red poppy & sage
Animals: Dog & Wolf
Birds: Goose, hawk, swallow & swan
Stones: Agate, amethyst, carnelian, lapis lazuli, sapphire, yellow Agate & yellow topaz
Food: Apples, blackberries, blackberry wine, breads, carrots, cider, corn, cornbread, grapes, heather wine, nuts, onions, pomegranates, potatoes, squash, vegetables, wheat & wine
Herbs/Plants: Benzoin, bramble, corn, ferns, grains, hops, ivy, milkweed, myrrh, sage sassafras, Salomon's seal, thistle, tobacco & wheat
Flowers:  Aster, heather, honeysuckle, marigold, mums, passion flower, rose
Trees: Aspen, cedar, cypress, hazel, locust, maple, myrtle oak & pine
Goddesses: Danu, Epona, Inanna, Ishtar, Modron, Morgan, The Morrigan, Muses, Pomona, Persephone, Sin, Sophia & Sura
Gods:  Bacchus, Dionysus, Dumuzi, Esus, The Green Man, Hermes, Mannanan, Thor & Thoth
Issues, Intentions & Powers: Accomplishment, agriculture, balance, goals, gratitude & grounding
Spellwork: Balance, harmony, protection, prosperity, security & self-confidence
Activities:
•Scatter offerings in a harvested fields & Offer libations to trees
• Decorate your home and/or altar space for fall
• Bake bread
• Perform a ritual to restore balance and harmony to your life
• Cleanse your home of negative energies
• Pick apples
• Collect fall themed things from nature like acorns, changing leaves, pine cones, ect)
• Have a dinner or feast with your family and/or friends
• Set intentions for the upcoming year
• Purge what is no longer serving you & commit to healthy changes
•Take a walk in the woods
• Enjoy a pumpkin spice latte
• Donate to your local food bank
• Gather dried herbs, plants, seeds & pods
• Learn something new
• Make wine
• Fill a cornucopia
• Brew an apple cinnamon simmer pot
• Create an outdoor Mabon altar
•Adorn burial sites with leaves, acorns, & pinecones to honor those who have passed over & visit their graves
The name Mabon comes from the Welsh/Brythonic God Mabon Ap Modron, who's name means "Divine/great Son", However,there is evidence that the name was adopted in the 1970s for the Autumn Equinox & has nothing to do with this celebration or this time of year.
• Though many cultures see the second harvest (after the first harvest Lughnasadh) & Equinox as a time for giving thanks before the name Mabon was given because this time of year is traditionally when farmers know how well their summer crops did & how well fed their animals have become. This determines whether you & your family would have enough food for the winter.That is why people used to give thanks around this time, thanks for their crops, animals & food
Some believe it celebrates the autumn equinox when Nature is preparing for the winter months. Night & day are of equal legth  & the God's energy & strength are nearly gone. The Goddess begins to mourn the loss she knows is coming, but knows he will return when he is reborn at Yule.
Related festivals:
• Sukkot- Is a Torah-commanded holiday celebrated for seven days, beginning on the 15th day of the month of Tishrei. It is one of the Three Pilgrimage Festivals on which Israelites were commanded to make a pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem. Originally a harvest festival celebrating the autumn harvest, Sukkot’s modern observance is characterized by festive meals in a sukkah, a temporary wood-covered hut, celebrating the Exodus from Egypt.
• Mid-Autumn festival- September 17th
Is also known as the Moon Festival or Mooncake Festival. It is a traditional festival celebrated in Chinese culture, similar holidays are celebrated by other cultures in East & Southeast Asia. It is one of the most important holidays in Chinese culture; its popularity is on par with that of Chinese New Year. The history of the Mid-Autumn Festival dates back over 3,000 years.  On this day, it is believed that the Moon is at its brightest and fullest size, coinciding with harvest time in the middle of Autumn.
During the festival, lanterns of all size and shapes – which symbolize beacons that light people's path to prosperity & good fortune – are carried & displayed. Mooncakes, a rich pastry typically filled with sweet-bean, egg yolk, meat or lotus-seed paste, are traditionally eaten during this festival. The Mid-Autumn Festival is based on the legend of Chang'e, the Moon goddess in Chinese mythology.
• Thanksgiving- This is a secular holiday which is similar to the cell of Mabon; A day to give thanks for the food & blessings of the previous year. The American Thanksgiving is the last Thursday of November while the Canadian Thanksgiving is celebrated in October
• The Oschophoria- Were a set of ancient Greek festival rites held in Athens during the month Pyanepsion (autumn) in honor of Dionysus. The festival may have had both agricultural and initiatory functions.
-Amidst much singing of special songs, two young men dressed in women's clothes would bear branches with grape-clusters attached from Dionysus to the sanctuary of Athena Skiras & a footrace followed in which select ephebes competed.
Ancient sources connect the festival and its rituals to the Athenian hero-king Theseus & specifically to his return from his Cretan adventure. According to that myth, the Cretan princess Ariadne, whom Theseus had abandoned on the island of Naxos while voyaging home, was rescued by an admiring Dionysus; thus the Oschophoria may have honored Ariadne as well. A section of the ancient calendar frieze incorporated into the Byzantine Panagia Gorgoepikoos church in Athens, corresponding to the month Pyanopsion (alternate spelling), has been identified as an illustration of this festival's procession.
Sources:
Farmersalmanac .com
Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines
Wikipedia
A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs
Encyclopedia britannica
Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living
448 notes · View notes
websitestargirl · 20 days ago
Text
my personal ghost apartment headcanon is as follows:
1 bed 1 bath on the third floor of a walk up apartment from the 80s. no in unit or in building laundry so he has to wash his clothes at the laundromat. rent is really cheap because there’s a cockroach problem and he lives under a bridge with a train that passes through all day and night. but he’s never home much anyways.
cool greyish white walls with landlord special’d white cabinets. one of those green glass bathroom sinks with a garish yellow tile on the wall. he has a plain shower curtain. he has plain white cotton sheets and a light comforter with a plain white cotton duvet. he has a case for all his guns thats tucked under his bed and in the closet is his collection of military memorabilia. old uniforms and badges. keepsakes from old friends that aren’t here anymore.
oak nightstand with an alarm clock and small lamp. he keeps a bottle of painkillers on there too. tacky souvenir magnets on his fridge from some of his younger years. all things considered, still finding the juvenile humor to sneak a magnet into his pocket.
he has cans of stuff and a completely empty fridge, save the water filter and some non perishable picked vegetables.
everything he eats is either takeout or frozen meals. his ass does not cook. i like imagining him eating takeout. i think it’s cute.
he has a tv on a tv stand and a grey, firm sofa. he also has his laptop and other gear. i think he also has a printer. i don’t know what he uses the printer for but i think he’d have one.
honestly the layout of his place isn’t too bad at all but he’s Man decorated it aka not at all. if it got repainted and refurnished the whole thing could look really sweet and cozy. so naturally it’s you’re responsibility to show him that he can actually live in something warm and comforting.
tomorrow ill make some drawings!
191 notes · View notes
theonion · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
In a heartwarming visit that both man and boy are likely to remember for the rest of their lives, Sgt. Thomas Anderson, a highly decorated soldier from the Cyber War of 2096, reportedly returned to his childhood home Wednesday with a message for his 8-year-old self.
The bionic warrior, who leads an elite unit in the 501st Battle Brigade, delighted onlookers when he exited a time portal in the year 2024 and made an emotional surprise visit to himself as a child. Still dressed in bullet-riddled titanium armor, he knelt down, wrapped his mechanical arms around the stunned third-grader, and whispered a poignant message into his ear: One day, robots would try to kill everyone on the planet, and the young boy would be humanity’s only hope.
Full Story
264 notes · View notes