#apologies for poor grammar

[rookwurmwood]

The Witch Stone

Part One: The Wizard of Hangman's Hollow

There are places in this world which are still beholden to many secrets. Places where the vestiges of Heathen-Times still lurk, far from the peal of church bells. One such place is the rugged and lonely hill-country of Appalachia. Many superstitions still linger regarding the deep, unspoiled highlands; especially the hollows. Deep, narrow valleys nestled between the high peaks which always seem 'neath a perpetual shade of twilight cast by the dense canopy of gnarled, ancient trees and the ghostly fog which remains persistent long after the morning mist has been burned away by the midday sun. Nearly every one of these tales share a similar puritanical character, claiming that the forest and dark hills are the abode of mountain-witches, demons, and all other familiars of the devil and that those who stray too far from the amber halo of the porch-light into the trees are passing the threshold of Satan's Kingdom; surrendering themselves, both physically and spiritually, to the powers of darkness.

Yet there are those who lay claim to those desolate regions, sturdy folk who sought freedom from the powers that be. The mountaineers would lead simple lives as trappers, hunters, and farmers who survived however they could among the mountains; creating small outposts of civilization in the heart of wild country.

One such place is a small town called Shepherd's Creek in the heart of West Virginia, a decently sized settlement founded by a coalition of Scotch-Irish settlers who fled the tyranny of the crown back in the early days of the colonies and natives from the Adena and Hopewell culture who were drawn to the settlement out of curiosity before partnering with the Celts. It rests on a tributary to the Kanawha, which lent the hamlet its name. It was here in 1816 when coal was found in one of the clefts in the hills. This discovery caused the settlement to grow and expand in the intervening century as more were drawn to Shepherd's Creek to pursue mining, which generated much of the income and infrastructure based around the mine and the river at the town's heart.

By 1916, Shepherd's Creek had become a subsidiary exporter of coal which was sent upon barges down the river which cut its serpentine path between the rolling hills to meet the Kanawha. However, the location of the town in the backwoods, far from any main roads lent the area a perpetual obscurity which destined Shepherd's Creek to never exceed more than a couple thousand residents. Most of whom being misfit, desegregated blue-collars and rednecks and their families who sought better worker's rights than the ones provided by the major labor unions, especially after the strikes at Cabin Creek and Paint Creek and the ensuing Coal War which would come to a head in 1921 with the Battle at Blair Mountain which will forever mark a chapter of bloody history in the chronicles of the coal-country.

Shepherd's Creek itself is a microcosm of Appalachia in and of itself, almost idyllic in its quaintness. Its architecture hearkens back to the colonial period with many small houses packed against the banks of the river with the main street of the town leading from the cavernous opening of Cromlech Mine to the wharf where the barges take up their cargo. Several Georgian manor-houses atop the tallest hills overlooking the town and the meager skyline is punctuated by the white spire of the St. John's Church which rests at the heart of town and the steep roof of the Finicky Fox Public House which is but a short walk from the mine. Around the town is a spider's web of dirt roads which stretch across the rolling countryside which lead to either the driveways of the myriad small farmsteads which dot the landscape or join into a gravel backroad which will end its wandering path at a main road which will take you all the way to Charleston.

There is, however, one neck of the woods which many in Shepherd's Creek deem it wise to avoid; especially at night. South of the main street of the town is a muddy trail which will lead you to Hangman's Hollow. The general squalor of the locale sits in stark contrast to the rest of the town and is the source of much scorn for the residents, coupled with the perpetual sulfurous odor which permeates about the place as if the place were haunted by some feted grave-specter conjured back from the shapeless black gulfs of night to further add to the atmosphere of incestuous degradation. Most avoid the place for fear of having a run-in with those who dwell among the shacks and cabins which line the overgrown road through the hollow. Most of whom being outcasts and pariahs who slink about the dark trees, shunned by society often for good reason. One such individual was Chester Ogden.

The Ogden Family was once a respected clan and major pillar of the community, that was until the scandal which saw most of the remaining members leaving town in an effort to salvage their reputations. Chester was born the son of a physician, Dr. James Ogden, which granted him a life of relative opulence in a manor-house off Church Street; where his ancestors had dwelt since the first timbers of the town were erected. Chester himself inherited much of his father's intellect and was considered a prodigy in the natural sciences when he was but a boy. He had later proven his worth when the Spanish Flu came back with those few who returned from the Great War. After the plague had taken his father who had succumbed during his struggle to treat all the afflicted, Chester had taken up his father's mantle as town doctor and saved the populace from the miasmic hands of illness all while only 17 years old.

Chester was a tall and slim man with a pointed, bespectacled face, dark eyes, and a head of neatly parted black hair. His elegant features and polite, bookish nature made him quite the unobtainable prize among those who sought his hand as he was staunchly devoted to his studies, which had greatly broadened. By the age of 20, he was a true Renaissance Man in every sense of the word. Being an omnivorous reader, well learned in: medicine, chemistry, higher mathematics, philosophy, and archeology. His renown reached far beyond Shepherd's Creek by this point as he had published several papers which were universally praised in scholarly circles and scientific journals across the country. He had even been granted the privilege to host lectures at Marshall University.

Though, as is typical for those gifted with his level of brilliance, he did harbor some eccentricities; chief of which being his predilection for the strange and esoteric. A fact many saw as ironic due to his standing as a steadfast man of science but those who spoke with him on the matter claimed he dismissed it as a passing interest in the macabre; though the passion at which he discussed such topics alongside his small library of occult literature argued otherwise. Such volumes were often purchased from private collectors from overseas, often at exorbitant prices. His cryptical collection included works penned by Agrippa and Paracelsus, as well as several more obscure authors from various points in Classical as well as Medieval History, with all of the books focusing on a myriad of disparate and phantasmagorical subjects as: alchemical and hermetic doctrine, astrology, mystical philosophy, and arcane cycles of lore with one or two of his more aged volumes diving into shadowy topics of witchcraft, demonology, and necromancy.

As time went on, it would seem that Chester grew complacent with the conventional sciences and histories and began to publish more papers concerning philosophy and theosophy, often accented with extracts and passages lifted from those grimoires of his. He slowly dissipated from public circles and spent his days sequestered in his study. Pouring over those dread-tomes and performing queer experiments in a makeshift laboratory equipped with strange apparatuses and instruments. He would only venture out to have dinner or to walk down to the chemist where he would purchase all manner of chemical salts and compounds. Marcus Brown, the chemist in question, always seemed to be short of mercury, sulfur, phosphorus, and acid the morning after one of Chester's visits.

Gradually, Chester's routine became more and more nocturnal so that his studies would remain undisturbed with sightings of him becoming increasingly rare. He was only ever seen outside the walls of his family's manor when his stores of chemicals needed to be replenished or on long trips to the post office in the neighboring town to pick up another manuscript he had ordered. The only time he was seen outside without a clear motivation was on nights when the moon shone gibbous in the sky. On such evenings, Mr. Ogden would seemingly be gripped by some lunatic urge and would disappear for hours on end off into the wilderness; swathed in dark clothing and carrying with him an old surgeon's bag which appeared to be bearing a heavy burden, only returning when velvety black skies gave way to the radiant golds and reds of daybreak. Curiously, the woodmen and farmers on the fringes of Shepherd's Creek claimed that strange lights could be seen dancing among the ominously swaying trees, such phenomena synchronized eerily well with Chester's late-night outings.

Mr. Ogden was so consumed by his research that he had begun to neglect his own health. His well-groomed hair and boyish features gave way to a sallow, gaunt visage bordered by unkempt mane of long hair and the stubbly beginnings of a goatish beard. He also sported a festering wound on his left hand as it always appeared to be wrapped in bloody gauze when not concealed in the pocket of his coat and failed to show any signs of healing. Though he was no older than 22, his face bore premature lines of age as a result of the frequent exercise of an iron-clad will and many sleepless nights.

His mother was greatly disappointed with her son's abandonment of his prior ambition and prospects, calling it an insult to his father's memory. Tensions amongst the Ogdens grew after nights of harsh chemical smells and bizarre noises emanating from the study which Chester had claimed as his laboratory and forbade anyone to enter. This unrest eventually came to a head with Chester Ogden being forcefully emancipated when it was discovered that the dwindling family fortune had been funding the research which most in his house saw as frivolous. Thus the forsaken scion of the Ogden Clan relocated himself to a log cabin in Hangman's Hollow which he spent the following summer renovating. That autumn, his nocturnal expeditions and experimentations would increase in frequency and fervor.

He would still provide aid to those who sought him out as his reputation as the town-doctor had yet to be outshined by his eccentricities in the eyes of the public. Though this faltering image would not last long as those who were desperate or unfortunate enough to find themselves in his care were often assailed by the hermit's ramblings while he administered treatments. Even with all his oddities, it was clear that there was still a brilliance to him as he shared tidbits of metaphysical concepts with his patients. The most peculiar story came from Tommy Pierce, the foreman of Cromlech Mine who had sought aid for the morphine addiction he had picked up after his time with the army during the Great War. The whole time he was there, Chester spoke of things which he had unearthed during his studies into the esoteric regarding the inhabitants of distant spheres of existence where our notions of time and space hold no jurisdiction. Even he, a man beholden to the horrors of mechanized killing and chemical warfare, left Ogden's Clinic thoroughly disturbed. He regaled the patrons at the Finicky Fox of his visit, bookending the anecdote with:

"I tells ya, I'd rather live with them pains n' shakes then ask that crackpot for help ever again. Ya couldn't drag me back to Hangman's Holler even if ya tried."

Chester's cabin was in a constant state of controlled disarray. What was once a parlor had been converted into a makeshift clinic, cordoned off from the rest of the structure by canvas curtains. Behind which was the kitchen and bedroom which he used as his laboratory. Those who let curiosity coax them into pulling back the cloth barrier were greeted by table and countertop alike cluttered with heavy books of frightening antiquity, all bearing marginalia in Ogden's spidery hand. A chalk board was mounted upon the wall which bore all manner of equations, formulae, and geometric patterns which looked oddly like pentagrams. A telescope sat on a rickety tripod in front of the only window, next to it being a notebook full of crudely drawn star-charts. The stove was topped with beakers, alembics, and flasks of various sizes, all filled with fluids that bubbled and fizzed over low flames, giving off noxious fumes. In response, Mr. Ogden would become enraged, drawing the curtains shut and berating his guest for attempting to interfere with his delicate experiments.

Once in a while, someone would stealthily accompany Chester on his moonlit strolls to sate their own morbid curiosity regarding the habits of the eccentric. All returned with reports of uniform character and peculiarity.

When the moon hung gibbous over the hills, Ogden would steal away into the forest as he always did. He would tread along a briar-choked path down into the deepest recesses of a damp hollow. The trees shunned this place and the silver moonlight freely spilled into the clearing, bathing the weathered surface of a cyclopean edifice at its center. It was a huge, flat stone shaped a bit like a table which stood just over waist high. Its surface was cracked and stained by centuries of wind and rain. Beneath the moss and lichen it was engraved with patterns of concentric rings, all converging on a bowl-like recess in the middle of the stone. A relic of elder days standing defiant to the march of time. This was the so-called Witch-Stone, a local enigma with its own fair share of folklore surrounding it. It bears no similarities to the sacred earthen-works and monuments of the Adena, with the natives themselves claiming no ownership of the monolith and stating that it had been here far before their arrival.

The early European settlers of the region were similarly perplexed by what would have been an utterly benign stone and it is recorded that the pastor of Shepherd's Creek said in his 1785 sermon that it was "The Devil's Tea-Table" where witches would gather to perform their sabbatical pagan rites around bubbling cauldrons of moon-drugs. Later, the witch-hunting frenzy would crept its way into Shepherd's Creek and a midwife was hanged there after accusations of witchcraft. Legend has it that she called out to her infernal master as the life was being wrung out of her by her hempen executioner and now, if you visit the stone on certain nights, bad things will happen. Up until that point, it had just been a place where young'uns would wander to at sundown and dare each other to touch it but no one ever seemed to muster the guts to do so.

There, Mr. Ogden would begin his work. He would start by undoing the clasp of his surgeon's bag from which he would produce two flasks of chemicals, a knife, and one of the heavy books from his collection. The spectacle would begin with him emptying the two flasks into the basin of the altar which, by some chemical mechanism, would spontaneously burst into blue flames which bathed the clearing in a dim, ghostly light. Then he would open his grimoire to a marked page and begin to read aloud. Starting at a whisper and gradually increasing in volume until he was howling with feverish exaltation in an unknown language while he swayed and undulated in a ritualistic fashion.

"Ahrr'Ghaluathh ia khoduia! Gharr'Uaighahh ia nhoss nhuiidd ing bharnn'aos! Ghahll'Uiaghh dai aoshhan dhaan la'ad thae'fhathahl ahh ghuaiithh ah t'haahn urkh khanghaii ahhr dhraihh! Khafh'ohd ak ahmzharr rhoh'uikh iu'bhouahhdaiithh ia mhaah ahrr mhaesiithh ahsharnohl!"

He would continue this grotesque incantation as he set the book upon the weathered stone, the pages illuminated by the ghost-fire and flipping wildly in an unseasonably warm breeze which carried with it the stench of an open grave. He would then unwind the bandages from his left hand, reach for the knife which he had set on the stone, raise his hands high above his head while shouting to the sky, and quickly yank the edge cross the palm of his sinistral hand so that flecks of crimson smattered the surface of the monolith before him; all while singing, or rather shrieking, that strange chant with a precision which portrayed a notion of constant repetition.

While the display was already a testament to Chester Ogden's singular interest and character, there was more to this than the obsessive practice of some dead folk-religion by a deranged mind as occasionally, the Witch-Man would have his cries answered by a sound that was felt rather than heard. A curious subsonic vibration which somehow carried the impression of discernable syllables. It had no clear origin and seemed to come from the hills themselves. With every reply, the stone hummed and resonated in weird tones while the blue flames on the altar would dance in a sickening fashion, as if possessed of some will of its own. The flickering light of the flames as they swelled and faltered would illuminate the surrounding forest, shedding light on the things which furtively dwell among the deep hollows: silhouettes darted between the shafts of light which parted the curtains of ulterior darkness, shapes that were anything but human in outline that stood out against the darkness like fresh paint layered upon a coat which had already dried.

These exchanges would go on for hours as Ogden would have whole dialogs with unseen things, all in that croaking, guttural language of untraceable kindred. All the while, he would scrawl notes in the margins of his great books. Eventually, Chester would appear satisfied and utter a brief incantation which snuffed out the flame instantly; bathing the elder monument in darkness yet again before he gathered his implements and returned back the way he came.

Accusations of witchcraft were once again whispered among the people of Shepherd's Creek and soon it was common practice to bar your doors when the moon was gibbous.

The following winter is when animals began to turn up missing, mostly cats, chickens, and the occasional goat with the culprit being labeled as foxes or cougars which were growing desperate as the snow came down heavier and heavier, though there was always an undercurrent of suspicion towards the Wizard of Hangman's Hollow as the forest paths he walked always reeked of death. Investigation was futile, however, as crows began to appear in abnormal abundance along the tree-line. Attempting to shoo them off was fruitless and they would become unusually aggressive to anyone who tread too close with one man even being hospitalized after he had been mobbed by a murder of crows. Some of the more fanatical attendants of St. Johns and the more superstitious residents went as far as to claim that Chester had be-witched the corvids as his familiars.

By then, Chester Ogden's descent into madness was absolute in the eyes of most. Many wanted him institutionalized for his own safety though any relative or heir who could have authorized such an order had been long gone, departing from Shepherd's Creek in a struggling attempt to sever contact and cleanse their sullied image as soon as Chester's mania eclipsed his prior standing as a man of science, especially once the tabloid press caught wind of the gossip. Mr. Ogden was soon the sole member of his family in Shepherd's Creek, the last of a well respected lineage being a destitute lunatic. With his kinsmen gone, he had once again dared to reappear amidst the public, shedding his prior secretiveness. He was 24 by this point but looked nearly twice that in appearance. Gaunt to the point of emaciation, face dominated by deep-set eyes and a wispy beard. Light shunned him, the flames of lanterns and candles always seeming to dance away from him, regardless of breeze or lack thereof. What few cats remained in town arched their backs and hissed when their paths crossed. Dogs loathed him, snarling and barking wildly in his presence. The townsfolk regarded him with silent disdain whenever they chanced across him but they always avoided his gaze as those eyes which were previously too timid to meet another's in youth were said to freeze the blood and pierce the soul of those he leered at. Some swore his eyes possessed some vague inhuman quality or burned with an infernal light like the fires of Dis when his face was curtained by shadow.

The pale glimmering of the ghost-lights from the forest grew in intensity and nights of the gibbous moon were marked by an increase in unexplainable phenomena. Objects would move on their own accord, shadows moved about the trees after sun-down, and odd voices with no discernable point of origin harassed the miners as they walked home. It was as if some Poltergeist was called from beyond the waters of death, but the worst was yet to come.

Halloween, 1926. While neighboring towns celebrated with drinking and merriment in the guise of goblins and ghouls, the people of Shepherd's Creek were struck by the heavy fist of tragedy. A young girl, Dorothy Huffman, had gone out to trick-or-treat by herself in the late afternoon and had never returned. Henry, the girl's father, had returned from a late shift at Cromlech Mine to find his house empty and the neighbors clueless of Dorothy's whereabouts. He was beside himself with worry and organized a search party at once. The last person to see Dorothy said they saw her crossing paths with Chester Ogden who had been aimlessly wandering the streets, seemingly engaged in a vain search for something before laying eyes on young Dorothy. Suddenly, it seemed as if the girl had been gripped by a drug-like delirium while Mr. Ogden locked eyes with her, all while he muttered something under his breath. Then, Mr. Ogden began to walk towards the forest to which Dorothy began to follow with a shambling gait and a glazed expression. This information was brought to the sheriff who immediately went to assist Mr. Huffman's posse, fearing that Ogden had graduated from subjecting cats to his experiments and had gotten his hands on a larger specimen.

They made for the forest but were halted by an out of season thunderstorm which gathered overhead suddenly and without warning. The trees groaned and cracked under the force of an immense wind and bolts of lightning shot down from the sky like arrows which forced the posse to seek shelter. Lights shone from the forest brighter than ever before which only grew as daylight died. Mingled with the cracking of lightning and the howling of the wind was another sound, a voice which roared with lycanthropic fury over the storm in that gurgling cant, magnified by some otherworldly force as if to mock the party who wished to save the girl. A pillar of sickly blue light rose from the dark outlines of the swaying trees and pierced the raging clouds into the starry night beyond.

"N'hohsuun Bhrehn'hhenohd iir Hh'nhafh! Dhe whahs dehh ahh'dheegh ehna'iihd ghuirhyfh yg ahh'bhth! Chl'uihh fhiih!"

That night, devils danced on the roofs of Shepherd's Creek and madness rode the screaming wind on bat-like wings. Those who lived close to the woods told that they could see lumbering, polypus shapes and vast amorphous forms which could not be of this world accompanied by what men of an earlier era may have called imps and fauns engaged in diabolical Samhain revelry to the infernal piping and whining of ceremonial flutes, the incessant pounding of ritual drums, and an inhuman ululating of a singular pitch and tone which had not been described since the witch-hunts nearly two centuries prior.

When the storm had cleared and daylight banished the shadows, the search party had forced their way into the dank hollow, already aware they were far too late and dreading the scene they were to find. They eventually came upon the clearing and the Witch-Stone. The forest floor was burned black and the trees were bereft of the auburn autumn leaves and angled outward as if blown away by the force of an immense explosion, yet no cinders linger and there was not smell of smoke. There was no trace of Dorothy with the only sign of life being Ogden who sat upon the table-like stone, laughing or wailing at the top of his lungs. Between bouts of jubilant, child-like screaming and hysterical tears, he would rave to anyone he could:

"You yokels thought me mad but I have done it! The correct stars were in position, the sacred geometry was precise, the barriers were thin enough, the vessel was accepted! I have brought forth my quintessence, my philosopher's stone, my magnum opus. I will take my findings to Harvard and be praised for my research!"

Chester Ogden was dragged kicking and screaming to the jailhouse once he had been torn away from the pummeling fists of Henry and was committed, or rather condemned, to the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum. There he would spend the remainder of his years amidst padded walls, his dark woolen coat traded for a straitjacket with no home to return to as those who did share in his blood had long renounced the name of Ogden. Dorothy Huffman was never found and no amount of questioning revealed what he had done to the girl, the only indication of him having any knowledge being a slight smirk and a sardonic chuckle.

Mr. Huffman was inconsolable after the disappearance of his daughter, he spent his days combing through Ogden's cabin for clues or on his porch sipping hooch from a mason jar. He became a misanthrope who never gave up hope searching for his daughter when all others had given up after the first snow. Eventually, he himself would vanish during a violent snow-storm. Many assumed he had either gotten lost in the blizzard or simply wandered out into the woods to let the frost take him and the authorities had resigned that they would probably recover both bodies once the spring showers dispelled the snow. Though the relative peace in Shepherd's Creek was short lived, coming to an end with the next gibbous moon...

The ghost-fires shone out once again from between the snow-cloaked trees and the stillness of the night was broken by wild howls. The following morning, bare footprints were found in the snow along the tree-line which traced out an aimless and shambling trail, around which still lingered the stench of grave-soil and wet moss. Then came the disappearances as a new shadow was abroad. One which crept through the streets, wheezing and coughing all the way. It clawed at doors in an attempt to loose their hinges and crawled through unlatched windows to strangle the hapless dreamer and raid the squalling contents of unattended cradles.

To be continued in The Witch-Stone, Part Two: The Beast of Shepherd's Creek.

[philsmeatylegss]

Have said it a million times and will never stop saying it.

Phannies whose first language is not English, please write as many posts and fanfics you want.

This includes phannies who aren’t completely fluent and or have poor grammar/spelling.

Please rant and engage and be as chaotic as the rest of us. Even if you cannot express it in English.

I personally have always found it so impressive and admirable when I learn a phannie mutual of mine has a first language other than English. Your ability to participate as much as you do while having to translate every video, every post, is something I am always so impressed by.

Please participate as much as you want in the phandom. Even if you only feel like posting in your first language, even if you know your grammar/spelling isn’t perfect, please share your thoughts and feelings!!!

[stxrsys]

newest favourite issue of being plural is that not a single one of us can agree on a specific area to study in depth career wise

like yes average singlet debates between quite a few and so do we on an individual basis but strong leanings to forensic science/detective work/neuroscience, and acting/voice acting/theater/content creation, and forest services/ranger/search and rescue, ANd psych/morgue/autopsy/etc focus areas is exhausting and I;m pretty sure one of us is really craving getting into baking

we have zero time for this and there's still more areas we keep getting pulled into due to someone having a vicelike grip on an interest

[mewkwota]

I was imagining something like a Smash Reunion Party where everyone's families were also invited, but regardless of the scenario I can see Mario staying in touch with fellow Fighters and celebrating important moments with them. Such is the way of Mr. Nintendo. :>

[klanced]

happy pride everyone ❤️ can we ruminate on how vld’s treatment of shiro was genuinely one of the most homophobic things I have ever seen in recent television

[my-name-is-bunnyfoxy]

TW: Wars, genocides, bombing, mentions of death

Hey just letting ya'll know you do not have my respect if you support stuff like wars, genocides, bombing or anything like that. And if you ignore those things and or are neutral on them, you also don't have my respect.

I'll gladly block you if you support anything that is mentioned above.

Also don't ignore any war that is currently happening or has happened. That to me shows you don't care what had and is currently happening right now.

So many people have lost their lives during wars like world war 1 and 2, the war between Ukraine and Russia, and right now what is currently the most talked about war that is Palestine and Israel and so many more wars that have happened in the past and or wars that are still happening right now.

TLDR: We shouldn't ignore stuff like wars, genocides and various other horrible things that are still to this day happening. These are some of the worst things a human could do and we shouldn't support those horrific things. These are also literal crimes by the way.

Please if you can, donate, show support or just spread awareness about it or aknowledge the many horrific things that are happening right now (like I mentioned already a few times, wars and all that).

This NEEDS to finally END. FOREVER.

[haihoneys]

Afternoon Delight

Summary: The one where Seonghwa and reader are friends who are mutually pining for each other until an accident in the kitchen changes everything.

Word Count: 2,541

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Fem!Reader  

A/N: implied mutual pining!! there's literally barely any plot here lolol

Warnings: barely proof read. poor grammar in all kinds of ways. smuttttttt. unprotected sex, penetrative sex, fingering, fem receiving oral, mentions of a cut finger lolol

————

Everything happened so quickly… One minute, Seonghwa was chopping vegetables for the kababs you were preparing to throw on the grill. The next, he was hissing and dropping the knife to clatter against the island.

“Shit!” His curse was sharp as he sucked his bleeding finger into his mouth.

You gasped, discarding your own knife and reaching for the kitchen towel draped over the oven door handle. “Oh Hwa, let me see.”

A grimace twisted onto his face as he held his hand out to you. Thankfully, the cut isn’t nearly as bad as you’d expected. Some disinfectant and a bandage should do the trick. “C’mon, let’s get this cleaned up, hm?”

Seongwha waved you off, “I can handle it. Just tell me where the first aid kit is!”

You huffed, eyes rolling so hard Seonghwa was sure you caught a glimpse of your brain. “You’re my guest, Seonghwa. And you were helping me cook dinner! I’m not letting you clean and bandage a wound on your own.”

“Okay, first of all… It’s not a wound, Y/N. It’s barely a cut! I’m fine!” He chuckled as he said it, praying the heat working its way up his neck and cheeks wasn’t noticeable. The last thing he needed was you seeing him fucking blush over the fact that you wanted to take care of him like that. 

Then you grabbed his uninjured hand, your touch effectively pulling him out of his thoughts, and tugged towards the small bathroom just off the kitchen. You pulled him inside and nudged the door shut so you’d have better access to the cabinet where your first aid kit sat.

“Run your finger under the cold water while I find everything,” you instructed him, turning to gather your supplies. 

He did as he was told, rolling his eyes playfully at your bossiness. 

Once you had everything you needed to fix him up, you turned back to him and gently took his injured hand. “This might sting a bit,” you mumbled as you took a peroxide-soaked cotton ball and dabbed at his finger.

Seonghwa hissed and flinched, jerking his hand back and cradling it against his chest. 

Scoffing, you took his hand and dabbed at it a second time, tightening your grip ever so slightly when he tried to pull away again. “Okay, now it didn’t hurt that bad. Don’t be a baby.”

He pouted down at you, bottom lip jutting out comically. “I’m not being a bab- OW!” 

You snorted as you tossed the cotton ball into the trash can and reached for a bandage. “Yeah,” you laughed, “you are.”

You opened the bandage, peeling the paper off and letting it fall to the counter as you readjusted your grip on his hand so you could wrap it around his finger. When it was securely in place, you brought it up to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. 

“There, all better.” You smiled up at him, and his breath caught in his throat at the warmth on your face. 

Without thinking, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours. It was a whisper of a kiss, his lips just barely brushing over yours before he pulled back. You blinked up at him, eyes so wide it would have been comical in any other setting, but were otherwise unmoving.

Seonghwa started to apologize, taking your stunned silence as a rejection. His anxiety ratcheted up, pulse pounding in his ears.

Then you surged forward, hands fisting his shirt so tightly your nails probably could have torn the fabric had they been a fraction sharper. You pulled him into you and smashed your mouth back to his, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. It was raw and primal, and it went straight to your cunt. 

It felt like his hands were everywhere. Your hair. Your ass. Your thighs. Your face. He couldn’t get enough. He wanted to feel every inch of you. Then he wanted to taste it. He’s wanted to find a bed or even a couch, somewhere soft where he could spread you out and take his time with you. Draw out your pleasure and his own until neither of you could function anymore. But right then… he needed you right that instant, or he honestly might have dropped dead at your feet. 

He had you pressed up against the door, one hand tangled in your hair and the other gripping the hem of your skirt. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will. We can go back out there and act like this never happened.” And he was fully prepared to do just that. He was man enough to do that if that’s what you wanted. 

“Please,” it’s a sweet little sound, and he thought he felt his heart stop in his chest at the desperation in your voice, “Please don’t stop.” 

He hummed and started kissing and sucking and biting at your neck, hands moving to hike your skirt up around your waist. Long, deft fingers started tracing you over your panties, smirking when you moaned his name. 

“Shhh, I got you baby,” he mumbled into the skin of your neck. 

His fingers hooked into the side of your panties, pulling them aside so he could rub at your clit. Slow and teasing movements that have you melting into his touch. 

Then he slipped a finger inside you, and he practically dropped to his knees when he felt how truly wet you were for him already. Seonghwa wanted to drink you in, make you cum all over his face, then lick you clean before starting over from the beginning. He crooked his finger forward, testing the angle and pressure until you pitched forward in arms. He keeps rubbing there, the feeling near torturous as he adds another finger and twists his wrist so that the heel of his hand is grinding into your clit with a delicious pressure. 

You clawed at him, ready to rip your pleasure from his bare skin if you needed to. You muttered some strangled version of his name combined with “please” and he can't take it anymore.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, hoisting one of your legs up onto his shoulder, and dove into you. 

His inhumanly long tongue laved over your clit before he wrapped his mouth fully around it, fingers still furiously working against that sweet spot inside you. He groaned into your pussy, and the vibrations of it nearly did you in. Your vision was going white around the edges; you were so close you could taste it.

Without a warning, he pulled away. The loss of his mouth made you want to cry. You start to beg, ready to promise him anything, offer up your very soul, if he would just put his mouth back on you.

“Need you to cum baby. Can you do that for me?” He kissed the request into the plush flesh just under your belly button, tongue slowly licking his way back down towards your pussy. 

Long lashes fluttered up at you as he wrapped his lips around your clit, holding your gaze as he sucked hard enough to hollow out his cheeks. And that’s the image that sent you into complete oblivion. Seeing this man on his knees for you… it’s a piece of artwork you’d never forget. 

Seonghwa worked you through it gently, letting you ride out your high on his tongue and fingers until you were trembling above him. He brought your leg back down, tenderly stroking up and down your thigh as he stood. 

He leaned in, mouth just barely hovering above yours as he whispered, “You did so great for me.” Then he kissed you again, the taste of you still on his tongue making you moan into his mouth.

He tried to take it slow, to be sweet and gentle in the wake of your orgasm. But when you moaned like that.. the tether he had on his self-control snapped. 

Strong hands gripped your hips and spun you around to face the mirror. He nudged your feet apart, making just enough room for him between your thighs. 

“Hold on to the counter,” it was more of a command than a request, his voice so deep and guttural it sent a shiver down your spine. You did as you were told and looked up to watch his face as he admired you. You deepened your arch a little and he found your gaze in the mirror. 

Your head was still swimming; you didn’t even register the fact that he’d undone his pants and pulled out his cock. Something you want to remedy. Soon. 

He stroked himself, plush bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he stared down at your cunt peeking from between your thighs. Then he stepped forward and rutted against you, both of you moaning when his tip caught at your entrance, just shy of sliding home. You were ready to beg for him again when he gave you the sweet relief of actually pushing inside. 

A strangled gasp tore from your throat as he bottomed out. You weren’t expecting the searing ecstasy that spread through your body at the feel of him, his thighs pressed flush to the back of yours. 

He had one hand gripping your hip so tightly you swore there would be little indents of his fingers there for days to come; the other hand was pressed against the glass of the mirror. He rocked back slowly, and the deliciously heavy drag of his cock had you whining and keening for him.

Seonghwa shhhed you and pressed kisses to your neck and ear, murmuring something about other people being able to hear. Caught up in the heat of the moment, you had completely forgotten about the other friends you’d invited over for dinner. Most of them definitely within earshot.

But you didn’t care. Let them hear! They could have a front-row seat for all you cared. 

Seonghwa knew better than that, though. He knew that when all was said and done, once you were more level-headed, you would be mortified if anyone heard you. So he contorted himself and leaned back to fumble with the shower, spinning the handle to turn the spray nearly all the way up in hopes of muffling the sounds. 

He turned back to you and folded himself over you, thrusting back up into you to the hilt. It had you squealing, clawing at the countertop for purchase, anything to grip onto. Steam filled the room quickly, condensation turning everything into a slippery hazard. He slapped a hand against the mirror, trying to find his own leverage. His hips are pounded into your ass, the tip of his cock kissing at your cervix. 

He finally gave up trying to gain any actual leverage in that position, moving both hands to grip at your hips and pulling you into him as he fucks in and out of you. You weren’t even forming coherent words at that point, just a blubbering mess begging for him. You didn’t even know what you were begging for… you thought if it got any better, you might actually see god and all his angels

Then Seonghwa growled out a low “fuck” and pulled all the way out of you. You didn’t even have time to protest or question what he was doing before he spun you around and grabbed the backs of your thighs to hoist you up on the counter. 

More than a little disoriented from being manhandled into the new position, you started to fall back against the mirror. But he was still present enough to shoot out a hand and cup the back of your head, cushioning the slight impact just before your skull made contact with the glass.

It was such a juxtaposition, the tenderness of that act compared to the lewdness of you sitting there spread open to him and him standing with his cock out and leaking precum. 

You were both panting, heavy breaths only adding to the growing heat of the room. He hooked his hands behind your knees and pulled you so that your ass was barely resting on the counter. “Keep holding on baby. Don’t want you to fall.” 

With one hand, you gripped the edge of the counter, the other winding into his hair just as he slid back into you. You moaned out his name, and he was pretty certain he could die a happy man right at that moment. 

He kissed you again, swallowing all your sounds as he set the same brutal pace he had just a heartbeat ago. It’s wet and messy, all clashing teeth and bitten lips.

“Touch yourself for me,” he mumbled into your mouth, pressing his forehead to yours so he could watch with heavy-lidded eyes as you slithered your hand between your bodies to swirl tight little circles against your clit.

It only took a moment before white-hot pleasure was licking its way up your spine, stars bursting behind your eyelids. You cried out as you came, his name a song on your lips. 

You went soft and pliant then, your arms winding around his neck to pull impossibly closer to you. You kissed his temple, murmuring sweet things about how he’s making you feel so good, how he’s stretching you out and filling you up so perfectly that he must have been made for you. 

His thrusts turned sloppy then, jerking and stilted. With a groan of your name, Seonghwa pulled out and stroked his cock in brutally quick movements. He came with a deep moan, hot cum painting over your pussy and thighs. 

He leaned against you, his head resting on your shoulder as he caught his breath. You ran your fingers through his hair and pressed kisses to the side of his head and face. 

The small bathroom was suddenly quiet except for your heavy breathing and the soft hissing of the shower. When he finally came to and realized what a mess he made of you, he fumbled around the bathroom until he found a washcloth and ran it under the (now lukewarm) water from the shower before shutting it off and turning back to you. 

You tried to take the washcloth from him, but he grunted and swatted your hands away. He gently reached between your thighs and rubbed at your pussy before cleaning off the mess on your thighs. 

He tossed the rag into the shower and tucked himself back into his pants before helping you off the counter and readjusting your skirt. He swiped your panties off the floor and tucked them in his back pocket.

“Those are mine,” you tease with a laugh. 

“Not anymore, they’re not.” He kissed your temple and smoothed your hair out of your face. “You did so well for me, angel.” 

You melted into him, not expecting the words to have that much of an effect. You hummed and nuzzled further into his chest, his hands petting over your hair. 

A knock on the door startled you out of your peaceful little bubble. “Are you two almost done in there? I’m about to piss myself!” Wooyoung whined before shaking the door knob.

[clownoverrat]

I realized after posting that it's borderline impossible to read on mobile so here's a segmented version under the cut

Can I interest you in a complete pre-canon timeline?

[satellite-evans]

farmers market

Pairing: Harry Styles x pregnant!reader

Summary: Harry takes his pregnant girlfriend to the farmers market :)

Word count: 1k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Saturday mornings had become your favorite part of the week, especially now that you were six months pregnant. There was something about the air in the fall that made everything feel crisp, fresh, and alive. You breathed it in deeply as you and Harry approached the farmer’s market entrance, the golden sunlight filtering through the trees and creating a beautiful radiance on everything. The sounds of the bustling crowd, the chatter of vendors, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze all added to the charm. For you, this was the perfect way to spend the morning—slowly strolling through the stalls, picking out fresh produce, and taking in the delicious aromas that surrounded you.

Harry, on the other hand, loved watching you. There was a joy in your eyes every time you came across something that caught your attention—whether it was a basket of perfectly ripe peaches or a bouquet of wildflowers. He found himself smiling more, simply watching you enjoy the little things. Though his schedule was often packed with work, he didn’t mind these outings. In fact, he insisted on them.

"I can't believe you actually woke up early for this," you teased, nudging him playfully with your shoulder as the two of you made your way through the market entrance.

Harry adjusted his sunglasses, his hand still wrapped around yours. He squeezed it gently before responding, "Hey, I have my priorities straight. You, our little one, and fresh strawberries."

You grinned at him. "I knew you were just here for the food."

"And the company," he corrected, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. He lingered for a moment, his fingers brushing your skin. "You sure you're up for this? We could’ve just ordered everything online."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. "Harry, I’m pregnant, not fragile. I’m not going to break. Besides, I want to pick things out myself. You know how picky I get when it comes to cravings."

He chuckled, his hand gently resting on the small of your back, guiding you as you walked. "Yeah, I remember. The great pickle debacle of last month."

You groaned, covering your face with your hand in embarrassment. "Don’t remind me. I still feel bad for that poor store clerk."

"He survived," Harry teased, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face as you reached the first stall. "And now we have a whole shelf stocked with pickles at home. We're prepared for the next craving, love."

As you approached the stall, a burst of color filled your vision. Strawberries. Plump and bright, their sweetness practically radiated from the basket. You couldn’t help yourself. A soft gasp left your lips as you reached for a carton. "Oh my gosh, look at these strawberries! I need them."

The vendor, an older man with a wide grin and a straw hat, chuckled at your enthusiasm. "Good choice, dear. These are the sweetest berries you’ll find this season, grown just down the road."

Harry smiled at the vendor, then at you. "Perfect. We’ll take a few cartons, please."

The man winked at you as he handed over the strawberries. "Craving strawberries, huh? Must mean you’re having a sweet little one."

You laughed, resting your hand on your bump. "Seems like it."

Harry watched you carefully, his hand brushing yours as you inspected the fruit, a soft chuckle escaping him. "You know, love, if you keep eating them like this, our little one is going to come out looking like a strawberry."

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "Should be no problem for you, since you only sing about fruit and... other things."

Harry’s face broke into laughter, shaking his head as he squeezed your hand a little tighter. "Alright, fair point. Guess we’re a perfect match then."

As you both moved down the market path, you spotted a stall selling honey, its glass jars glistening in the sunlight. Your eyes lit up, and without missing a beat, you tugged Harry toward it. "Ooh, fresh honey!"

The elderly woman behind the stand greeted you with a warm smile. "Well hello, dear! Looking for something sweet today?"

Harry wrapped his arm around you protectively, as if to shield you from the bustling crowd around you. He glanced down at you, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "She’s been craving everything sweet since she got pregnant," he said, his voice soft, his gaze lingering on you.

The vendor’s smile widened. "Ah, a little one on the way! Congratulations, dear. I’ve got just the thing for you—this wildflower honey. It’s perfect with tea or drizzled over yogurt."

You took one of the jars into your hands, turning it over in your palms as you inspected it. "We’ll take two jars, please," you said with a smile. You could already imagine the honey paired with some of the fruit you had bought.

Harry leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "At this rate, we’ll have an entire pantry of honey, jams, and fruit."

You nudged him with your elbow, a playful glint in your eyes. "Says the guy who could probably live off protein shakes and fruit."

He grinned down at you, leaning his head against yours for a brief moment. "Hey, fruit’s good for you. And clearly, our little one agrees."

As the two of you continued down the market lane, Harry remained ever the protector, placing a hand gently on your lower back whenever the crowd got too dense or people brushed by too closely. He made sure to stay close, watching you like a hawk as you darted from one stall to another, carefully selecting items that would satisfy your cravings. His protective nature seemed to grow stronger with each passing day, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of love in your chest every time he touched you.

You stopped in front of a stall selling freshly baked bread. You picked up a warm loaf, its crust golden and inviting, and breathed in deeply. "Look at this bread, H!" you said, holding it up to him. "It smells amazing."

The baker, a jovial man with flour-dusted hands, beamed at you. "Fresh from the oven this morning, love. It’s a market favorite!"

Harry inhaled the rich aroma of the bread and nodded. "Alright, we’ll take two. One for you, and one for the baby."

You giggled, shaking your head at him. "You’re going to use the baby excuse for everything now, aren’t you?"

He shot you a mischievous grin. "Absolutely."

Next, you came across a stand selling handmade baby clothes. Harry’s eyes softened the moment he saw a tiny knitted sweater. His hand lingered over the soft material before he held it up to you, his voice barely above a whisper. "Look at this. Think our little one would like it?"

An elderly woman behind the stand smiled warmly at the two of you. "Oh, that one’s made from the softest wool, dear. Perfect for a little bundle of joy."

You felt your heart swell in your chest as you looked at Harry. Your voice wavered slightly. "I think they’d look adorable in it."

Harry’s fingers gently traced the top of your arm, sending a warm shiver through you. "We’re really doing this, huh?" His gaze softened as he brushed his thumb across the back of your hand. "Baby, family, all of it."

You smiled, your heart full of emotion. Resting your hand over his, you looked up at him with a soft, affectionate smile. "Yeah, we are."

As the morning wore on, your bags filled with fresh produce, honey, flowers, and baby clothes, Harry remained a constant presence at your side, his protectiveness never wavering. He kissed your forehead whenever you stopped to look at something, always keeping a careful eye on you as the crowds grew thicker.

You were about to make your way to the car when Harry glanced at the overflowing bags in his hands, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "Think we went a little overboard?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "No such thing when it comes to fresh fruit."

He raised an eyebrow at you. "You and your fruit obsession. I’m telling you, if this baby’s first word is 'peach,' I’m blaming you."

You shot back with a laugh. "Alright, but if their first word is 'kiwi,' or ‘watermelon’ or ‘cherry’ then I’m blaming you!"

Harry pulled you closer, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "Alright, love. Truce. Let's go home and make something delicious with all this."

And as the two of you walked back to the car, the morning sun warm on your skin, you knew that these were the moments that would stay with you forever—simple, quiet, full of love and anticipation.

[choerypetal]

Hide and Seek / Homelander

(pt 2. of Meet and Greet)

summary ; In part two of the meet and greet, Homelander's obsession reaches new heights, leaving him unsatisfied at his core and willing to do anything to make you his.

!! read part one first! ; !!

ps; english isn't my first language so i apologize for any grammar mistakes, xo' (as it will be eventually corrected if needed)

tag list; @private-eye-on-you ; @lins-shenanigans ; @horrorxgorewhore @siredtom ; @certain-tragedies ; @hotchners-wifey ; @naelis-open-sea

enjoy xo'

Homelander's comment, 'You look lovely in the costume,' lingered in your mind for a week. You couldn't escape his presence. His silhouette, his maddeningly perfect face seemed to follow you everywhere—from your usual coffee shop to the special limited editions of The Vought, and even as you continued watching the show for longer periods of time. From Deep's special cupcakes to the coffee most loved by Homelander, his influence was everywhere, not just keeping the city alive but himself as well.

Although you didn't realize it, Homelander had become just as obsessed with you as he was with seeing his own face on the cup you were holding. From a distance, he watched your every move—the way your plump lips touched the cup, how you drank your coffee, and even how you covered his image with your hand. Despite finding your behavior an offense, he knew he’d eventually have to tease about it. The sadistic man that he was, wasn’t afraid to even acknowledge it. Especially during their weekly Seven meetings. 

"So, I suggest we review some new recruits," Ashley said, her nervousness palpable. She wanted to please not only the public but, most importantly, Homelander. This was no easy task given recent events and the current situation. Homelander's obvious boredom showed his lack of interest, and Deep, poor thing, was just as disinterested, staring blankly at the screen and agreeing with whatever Homelander mumbled. However, Deep was secretly relieved not to have any of John’s powers. Especially right now. Because, at that exact moment, it was your face, and your face alone, that occupied his thoughts. Murmuring your name under his breath, he was fortunate not to get caught up in the moment. That of course, when a single cough from Ashley’s mouth was enough to slip his mind elsewhere. 

"You know, Ashley, just pick whoever you think will fit for now. Sign their papers. My brain is going to fucking explode from this hell hole," he said, standing up without even glancing at her. Not even Ashley's whiny complaints about the complications it might cause could stop him. He paused, considering for a moment that she might convince him. "Don't come to me for the next 24 hours," he snapped, his piercing blue eyes conveying a clear threat. When wasn't he a threat, anyway? "Or I'll personally fuck up every single one of you." That was enough to make her quickly nod in response. Poor thing, she only wanted to make him proud. A satisfied grin played on his lips, mirrored by Ashley's, though hers was a little more nervous. His, however, was genuine. 

You, on the other hand, had been fortunate enough not to see Homelander's face for a while. From the bookstore you frequented to the coffee shop, his presence seemed to pervade your life. Your mother didn’t help either, as she insisted on framing a picture of you with him in the living room—a gesture Homelander found endearing. On some nights, he would see you through the window, dressed in your pajamas, reading whatever caught your interest, with that picture always in the background. Unlike Homelander, it haunted your dreams.  

Deep down, Homelander struggled to resist the urge to invade your personal space, not wanting to frighten you. However, when he saw your forced smile at the meet and greet, he was reminded that a smile meant nothing to him. To him and you alone. It was your scent that drove him wild. At first, he considered going undercover, posing as one of your father’s coworkers, but he realized it would be futile. Why cover his own shame, when he could let his ego take it over?

So, he waited until sunrise. When he could finally entered your room, imagining you in your shortest pajamas, which hugged your curves so perfectly, he had to bite his bottom lip to control himself. Just by the thought of his fingers sinking into your flesh as you leaned toward him for more...

"Goodbye, Mom!" Your voice echoed in Homelander's mind as he realized he'd been lurking around your house since last night. He had been trying to dismiss, the missed call records provided by Ashley, however, unable to ignore them. Fortunately, he was hidden well enough that you didn’t notice him as you exited the house.

Your hair meticulously washed, your skin fresh with makeup, and that dress. Never in a thousand years, aside from his own enemies, did Homelander think he would become so obsessed with someone. He wanted to chuckle to himself at the irony, knowing he wasn’t being the most subtle superhero. When your gaze shifted toward his hiding spot, he quickly concealed himself behind a tree, exhaling in relief when you shrugged off the feeling of being watched. You then left for work, something Homelander knew all too well. This also meant he could meet your mother, who, after all, was his biggest fan. 

Fortunately, you managed to get through the day without a single client yelling at you. However, what you didn’t expect was an unexpected visit from the man himself. As you approached the door, you overheard some mumbling. Did your mother have a visitor today? 

And then it hit you.

Hearing the all-too-familiar voice say, "Oh, these look lovely," with a genuine smile, you froze in your tracks. Seeing your mother so happy, even more thrilled than a fangirl, like she’d seen god himself. She noticed you immediately. "My dear! Look who came to visit," she exclaimed, taking you into her arms for a hug. Before you could greet the guest, your eyes met his—Homelander, in your own home. 

"No need for theatrics, ma’am," he said with a casual chuckle, hushed by his own hand as he munched on the cookies your mother had made, casually wiping a droplet of milk with his thumb. Your mother giggled and said, "Mother is the name. We don’t have to get formal, right darling?" You blinked twice, hardly believing what you were hearing. Your mother was genuinely making Homelander feel comfortable, right inside your home. Given what you knew from your coworkers and the constant rumors, it was hard not to be creeped out by the thought that he might have done more than just a knock on the door that evening. Yet, you shrugged it off, thinking that perhaps playing the same game he did might be what he wanted after all. Like a cat and a mouse. 

There was a brief pause, then an idea sparked in your mother’s eyes as she looked at John one last time. "Why don’t you stay for dinner? Tonight is roasted chicken and mashed potatoes." How could he refuse? Spending more time with you was just the beginning of his obsession with protecting you and never letting you out of his sight. He smiled, his grin seemingly bigger than before, and nodded. "If Y/N doesn’t mind?" he said, his gaze shifting to you with a more serious expression. You gulped nervously, knowing you couldn’t just say no. "Yes—yes, of course," you stuttered. Oh, how adorable you looked.

“Then, make yourself at home dear.” 

Dinner was only just a few hours from now, with your father now back from work had asked for a personal photo with the Homelander, and a talk John appreciated more. Considering his own father exiling him completely, it was a breath of fresh air for him, especially when he’d be glancing a few times at you, doing whatever you had in mind before the dinner. “My daughter is going to be working for us,” your father would be saying proudly, Homelander could only nod listening actively. “She’d do a great addition I am certain.” his gaze now meeting yours immediately, when you gaze up from your book, he could notice a light shade of pink coming your cheeks. Cherishing it a little too much when your father’s voice then abrupt his mind, “She’s beautiful isn’t she?” he’d said a little too proud. 

She is indeed… Homelander thought to himself that same night. Just by how attentive he was with you. Even if it wasn’t  much of a conversation shared, the glances were enough to please him alone. Which during the dinner, he was not afraid to show. 

Dinner had passed rather quickly, you were glad it did. Considering you listening to whatever nonsense Homelander had to offer to keep your mother so relonctent toward him. Let alone, praise him as a her own god. Boosting an ego, to whom you couldn’t comprehend yourself, and that Homelander was sure to make it seem tonight. 

"Thank you so much for dinner, truly," Homelander said, wiping the corners of his mouth, his eyes never leaving you. Your mother’s gasp was enough to momentarily distract him, and he asked if everything was alright. She quickly assured him it was and invited him to stay until her cake was done baking. Naturally, John didn't decline the offer. "Y/N," your mother called your attention just as you were about to excuse yourself, "how about you give a little tour of the house? I'm sure Homelander would appreciate it." The formality of his name seemed daunting, but John quickly corrected her. "John it is. No need to be formal, now, do we?" A shiver crawled down your spine as your mother’s eyes gleamed with hope, her slender fingers clapping together. "Oh, well, of course! Now, Y/N, make yourself useful and make John feel at home." 

A sigh escaped your lips; there was no way to avoid this, was there? "Yes, of course. Where do you want to start?" Your eyes never left his, feeling yourself getting lost in them, becoming his little mouse to play with. "How about..." he began, his eyes wandering as if he couldn’t be bothered to think. "The bedroom," he finally said. You blinked twice, a third time to fully process his words. "What?" you replied, incredulous. He chuckled, amused by your reaction, and shrugged off the question as if he hadn’t meant it seriously. "Nah, kidding. Lead the way," he said. 

So you did. You felt his shadow hovering over you as you both walked through the house for a little tour. John was no longer hiding his presence, leaning in closer to you. You could feel his breath. By the time you reached your bedroom, the tour was complete, and your mother’s cake would be ready. However, John had something else in mind, and he wasn’t shy about showing it. “And this is the bedroom,” you said nonchalantly, hearing an obvious scoff from him. 

"Funny, isn’t it?" he said, this time his tone serious enough to make your muscles tense. His back was to you as his fingers touched the doorknob, ready to close the door. And he did, pausing momentarily. "Finally, we meet again." His remark made you tilt your head. Meet again? As far as you knew, he had been stalking you all along. But knowing who he was—Homelander, with his omniscience and twisted games—you had no say in the matter. Neither did you, especially after hearing his chuckle. 

“Now why so quiet?” the question was enough to make you unsease. You wanted to tell him, to oppose to him. But you couldn’t he was now yours to torment completely. When he leaned further, scoffing once more by your vulnerability. In that precise moment, Homelander knew he won. 

“Heard you were a good, fuck.” his voice so nonchanltly, a gasp leaving from your mouth as you were unable to speak more than standing right in front of him. How his eyes would wondered around your figure, approaching near to you, his fingers now leaning toward your waist. Gripping by its touch, hungry to fuck you there, in the bed. Raw. 

"Thank you?" you stammered, eager to please him. His grin broadened, fighting not to turn into a frown at your response. He was so satisfied that he gently caressed your cheek with his other finger. "You need me, not just to save you, but to satisfy you." Though your heart was broken, you were a toy Homelander cherished without fear. You were his perfect little toy, as he began to lick his bottom lip, his breath drawing closer, closing the gap between you. "Mine," he growled, his voice hoarse, undeniably hinting at his intentions. He was Homelander, able to do whatever he wanted. And that included you being his. "Got it, little mouse?"

Oh, how he longed to watch you squirm between his legs, begging for more, moaning his name. His persistence knew no bounds; he would do anything—from leaving bite marks to scratches, and even hickeys if necessary. But he couldn't just stand there without having a little fun, right?

"You see," he said, his voice dripping with teasing malice. Disgust welled up in your mouth, but you fought the urge to look away. He loved watching you squirm, the fear in your eyes fueling his twisted envy of every inch of you. "How about we play a little game tonight, hmm?" His thumb brushed gently over your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his.

"W-what game?" you managed to say, breaking your long silence. Even he was momentarily surprised, but your stutter made it worth it. "Hide and seek," he said, pausing for effect. "You hide, and I seek. If I find you, you're mine. Got that?"

You gave a quick nod, followed by a satisfied smile from him. "Good then, I'll start counting. One, two..." You hesitated for a moment, just as his grip shifted from your waist to your arm, preventing you from fleeing your own home. When your eyes met his, they were dark with passion, lust, and a desire to capture his little mouse until its very last breath. "Run..."

Little mouse.”

[noodlemoondle]

Sleep Aid ♡

Zayne x Reader ~ fluff ε٩(๑> ₃ <)۶з

word count: 1.2k

description: after a boring day at work you find yourself unable to sleep at night when you suddenly receive a message from zayne questioning why you’re still awake and offering to come over. after denying and trying to keep him at his home you are now getting out of bed late at night to let your graciously kind (and insanely stubborn) boyfriend into you’re home to help you sleep.

author’s note: hihi everyone!!! this is the first fanfic i’m ever actually posting! kinda confused a bit on how tumblr works so im sorry if the formatting is off but i think it’s all good other than that. i’m using this to test the waters on making a fic acc bc i’ve been waning to get on the writer’s side of it and not just the reader’s lolol. lmk ur thoughts and opinions id love to hear! hope u enjoy!!! ヾ(^▽^ヾ)

(p.s. this has been sitting in my notes app for a while so i’m so sorry for any grammar errors! i also apologize for the shitty title i’m not good at coming up with those T_T )

it was around 1 in the morning and you couldn’t sleep. you weren’t really sure why either you just couldn’t do it. not like you didn’t try, sleep just didn’t want to take you. you didn’t necessarily mind though, you weren’t scheduled to come in the next day. so instead of just fighting to fall asleep, you just decided to mindlessly scroll on your phone until you felt tired enough to actually go to bed.

hugging a pillow and facing the wall, you’ve been scrolling for god knows how long. until suddenly you received a message.

zayne: why are you still awake?

taken aback by the sudden text, your eyes slightly widen. you stare at the notification for a moment in disbelief until you receive another

zayne: don’t ignore me and act like you’re asleep. i can see that you’re active on moment posts.

well there goes your brilliant plan on ignoring him until the sun rises pretending to be asleep all along.

you: stalker

you: also i just so happened to not be able to fall asleep what’s your excuse hm?

zayne: i just got back from the hospital half an hour ago and got ready to go to bed and noticed someone up past her bedtime.

you: bedtime? i’m not 5 🙄

you: plus i don’t have work tomorrow so i can go to bed whenever

zayne: not necessarily. what time you go to bed also plays a factor in your rest not just how long it is.

you: blah blah blah. i’ll be fine. i have been trying to though!!! i just can’t fall asleep for whatever reason :P

zayne: would you like me to come over?

you: no!!!!!

you: i mean i appreciate the offer but i promise im ok! i’ll get tired eventually and fall asleep it’s just not right now. and you should go to bed you had a long shift and need to rest.

zayne: i’m not going to make a comment on your poor sleeping habits, but i dont mind heading over. sleeping with you helps me rest better anyways.

you: 😉

zayne: not like that.

you: 🙄

you: whatever. don’t come over i swear i’ll be fine and i’ll go to bed eventually! 😁

zayne: …

zayne: i’ll be there in 15.

you: ZAYNE!!! 🤬

just as he said 15 minutes later you hear a knock on your door. annoyed, you grumble and stomp over to the door to let him in.

you open the door making sure not to hide the sour look on your face, emphasizing the displeasure of him coming all this way. the moment you open the door a smile tugs on his lips, despite the upset look on your face. he chuckles and leans down to kiss the top of your head.

“hello, dear” he says against your hair. before he walks into your apartment.

“why are you here?” you quickly say with your bottom lip sticking out in a pout with your arms crossed over your chest.

“i thought i made it aware. you can’t sleep.” he states as he brushes a few strands of hair out of your face and behind your ear.

“but i already told you im fine!!! go back home. it is all good here.” you say like a child , attempting to swat away his hand and starting to try and push him out the door.

“what if i said that i couldn’t sleep?” zayne says as he slightly cocks his head to the side at you with a soft smirk.

you pause in your tracks, trying to think of something to respond, knowing exactly what he’s doing. the gears try to slowly turn in your head until you look up at him, and you see him looking back down at you with a knowing grin showing he already got what he wanted.

“…fine.” you mumble begrudgingly as you drag yourself back to your room.

zayne lets out a small breath of laughter as he takes off his coat and begins to follow you to bed.

you sit down and lean against your headboard. picking up your phone and continuing to scroll as zayne joins you in bed. there’s a few moments of silence where you don’t even notice him looking at you. it wasn’t until he suddenly reaches over and snatches your phone right from your hands that you’re reminded of his presence and how he invaded your peaceful home.

“HEY!!! give it back!!!” you say as you jump to him trying to retrieve your phone from his grasp, something you knew was pointless.

“it’s almost 2:00 am you need to go to sleep.” he says with a softer voice as he plugs your phone in on the nightstand closer to him.

“do i have to say it again?” you practically growl as you loom over on top of him.

“well, now i’m here.” his voice deepening, as his hands begin to caress the sides of your torso. a combination he knows gets you to do whatever he wants.

you finally give up. falling on top of him onto his chest where he’s quick to wrap his arms around you and help you get settled.

“it’s not working im still not tired.” you say annoyed trying to wriggle out of his grasp. another fruitless effort, but hey you’ll still try.

one of zaynes hand creeps its way to your hair and begins brushing it out, as he uses his other hand to wrap the duvet around you both tucking, mainly you, in.

“talk to me until you do.” he says, still playing with your hair.

“about what?” you look up to him, with a much calmer demeanor that you don’t notice, but he smiles at.

“your day. what did you do today?” he asks, beginning to scratch up and down your back.

you release a small yawn before you begin to speak. which he uses as a sign to move the hand playing with your hair to cup your cheek, softly rubbing his thumb along the apple of it. making sure to keep his lips pressed against your head.

“well i didn’t do much today. i had a mission i was supposed to go on, but then they sent another group instead. so i just sat on my desk doing some some work i’ve been putting off until i got bored and decided to go shopping. and then once i got off work i went to the convenience store to get some snacks. and i also hope you know you can’t do this every time i can’t sleep. i very often struggle to do so.” you ramble, your voice losing energy the more you talk and closing your eyes by the time you get to the end of it.

zayne cranes his head down to press his lips against your forehead, still cupping your cheek and rubbing it tenderly. he begins to speak against your forehead in a quiet gentle voice.

“i’m aware, but every time that i am able to, i’ll gladly come over and comfort you to sleep. it’s no issue at all. i assure you.”

by the time he finished speaking, zaynes voice lulled you to bed. of course he knew exactly what to do to make you instantly fall asleep. he nuzzles your face once more before turning off the bedside lamp. he curls himself around your sleeping form nuzzling his face into your hair before drifting off to bed himself.

“goodnight, my love.”

[oddtexh]

I love alterhumans, especially that you can't really know if they are one, like

Your cashier could be an Enderman

Your math teacher might be an angel

Your classmate might be Madoka

The random guy you always see at the grocery store could be a void

A random person you just walked past might be miku

Your neighbors kid might be a fox

Your old best friend might be a vampire

The person you brought your lunch form might be an elf

The pilot of your airplane could be a doll

And you just probably won't know

(I apologize for my poor grammar)

[sena-seastar]

Let The Light In

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader

Summary: You try to help Aemond relax when the world outside your shared bedroom becomes too much for him to handle.

Warnings: slight angst & fluff

A/N: This fic is incredibly self-indulgent, as I am deeply infatuated with Aemond's hair. No beta, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes!

The soothing, gentle sound of crackling wood from the fireplace echoed in the air. The shadows of the flames danced along the walls of your and Aemond’s shared bedchamber. Lately, though, it seems like it’s just yours. Your husband had decided to sleep in his own private quarters for the past week. Something that perturbed you deeply. 

This week has been filled with the most restless nights you've had in years, leaving you thoroughly exhausted. You had grown quite accustomed to sleeping in Aemond’s strong arms. The two of you had never spent a night apart since your wedding night two years ago. The marriage had been arranged, of course, but the two of you had quickly become besotted with each other. 

Has your spark faded so soon?

You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm. Surely, you were just overthinking things. Aemond had his hands full with the threat of war looming on the horizon. It made sense that he would have little time for you. That was just something you would have to learn to accept.

You let your eyelids fall closed as you continue to run the brush through your hair. The day had quickly come and gone. The hour of ghosts was quickly approaching. You prayed that sleep would come easier tonight. Your poor mind and body craved a peaceful night's rest.

You jump on the small cushion bench you have been sitting on as your bedroom door slams open and closed—Aemond storms into the room. You watch quietly as he paces the room, mumbling angrily in high valyrian. You try to gauge what he is saying, but he is talking too quietly and far too quickly for you to understand. Even with the lessons Aemond and Maester Orwyle have given you over the past year and a half, it was nearly impossible to comprehend Aemond when he spoke so quickly.

You call him, but he ignores you. So you try again, this time much louder. His back is turned to you. You watch as he slowly turns, his eye wandering about the room as if it were some foreign place. You squirm in your seat when his gaze finally falls upon you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I thought I had gone to my room.”

Your heart sinks at the thought that he no longer considers this his room.

“It is yours, just as much as it is mine,” you shrug.

“Of course,” he mutters sheepishly, shuffling his weight back and forth on his feet.

“Has something happened?” You ask, hoping to draw him into a conversation before he tries to flee.

With an exasperated sigh, Aemond moved to the bed, sitting at the edge. He clenched the blanket tightly in his hands. The two of you sit in silence. You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from badgering him with questions. He’ll never talk if you do that. The minutes feel like hours, but soon, he speaks.

“My mother is angry with me,” he says quietly. 

I should have known, you thought. You were well aware of the strain growing between your husband and good-mother since he had returned from Storm’s End. Since the murd- the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Your heart aches for your husband. You know how close Aemond was to his mother and how much she meant to him. No doubt, the distance between them was significantly affecting him.

“She blames me for starting this war. As if she and my father's council have not been plotting to usurp the throne for years,” he scoffed.

His voice was laced with anger and frustration. You want nothing more than to go to him. To reach out and soothe him, but you're afraid he will leave. This was the most time he had spent with you in a week. You were desperate for his attention.

“The realm is preparing for a war the likes of which Westeros has never seen. She is afraid.”

“Aren’t we all?” He snickered.

The two of you sat in silence. Aemond rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. He seemed so small, almost like a child. Your heart grew heavy, weighed down by your worry and concern for your sweet husband. You wanted to help him, but you did not know how—or if he would even let you.

Your fingers twitch, curling around the brown wooden brush handle in your hand. You look down at it. A smile spreads across your lips as an idea finally comes to mind. You turn around, placing the brush down on the table before turning back towards him.

“Come here,” your soft voice cuts through the silence. You beckon Aemond closer with your hand.

Aemond lifts his head. The man looks at you apprehensively, his eye flickering towards the door. For a moment, you fear he will run, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a slight nod and pushes himself up from the bed. You stand just as he’s about to reach you and quickly step aside. You gesture towards the cushioned bench, instructing him to sit. He hesitates but follows your instructions.

 Aemond sits up tall on the bench, his body tense and rigid. His violet eye watches you in the mirror as you step behind him.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing to his eyepatch.

His face goes pale, and for a moment, you regret asking. Perhaps you were overstepping. Though before you can apologize, he nods his head. Your heart skips a beat, overjoyed that he still trusted you enough to see him like this. You have to stop yourself from smiling like a fool.

You try to steady your trembling fingers as you loosen the eyepatch strap. Your eyes flicker towards the mirror. He isn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, his violet eye is closed. He flinched, and his brows knit together as you pulled the eyepatch off his head. You freeze, unsure if you hurt him or he is just uncomfortable. It had been years since he had lost his eye, but it still caused him some discomfort.

“Are you alright?” You asked. 

He blinks, eye flickering towards you. He watches you, no doubt waiting for some sign of disgust or repulsion. But you give him none; you never have. In your eyes, he was perfection. You do your best to look at him with all of the genuine concern and admiration that you can muster.

“I-,” his voice cracked. He blushed and quickly cleared his throat. 

“I’m fine.” He answered, more assuredly this time.

You nod, leaning over his shoulder to carefully place the eyepatch on the table. Your finger moved back to his hair, gently tugging on the tie that held his hair away from his face. Thankfully, it slips off with ease. His hair falls forward, curtaining around his face. 

You gather the hair off his neck, drawing it onto his back. A soft sigh escapes him as your fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his neck.

You reach over his shoulder again, picking up the brush you had been using moments ago. His single eye falls closed as the brush touches his head. You go slowly, trying to be careful of any knots and tangles, though there are none. The brush skims through his silver tresses with ease. You find yourself growing envious, thinking of all the times you and your handmaids have had to wrestle with your hair. 

His hair shines like beaten silver under the candlelight. The sight is almost hypnotic. You continue with your work, letting the brush run through his silver strands again and again. Little by little, his facade crumbles, and his body relaxes under your touch. After a while, you put the brush back on the table. 

You massage his scalp with your fingertips. Aemond’s head is tilted back just a bit, and a soft hum echoes from his throat. The sound reminds you of a cat purring. You smile, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Carefully, you remove your fingers from his hair before brushing through it one more time.

“Would you like me to braid it?” You ask.

“Yes, please,” he answers.

You nod and get to work. You don’t do anything too extravagant, just a simple three-strand braid. Once you are finished, you lean down and press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“All done,” you smile.

“Thank you,” he replies, sleepily.

You expect him to get you and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he spins around on the bench. His large hands gently take hold of your hips, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that you almost missed it.

“For what, my love?” You ask, gently caressing the side of his face with your fingertips.

“For this ... distance between us.”

“Oh,” you hum. “It’s fine. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“That’s not an excuse,” he mumbles. “I have been-”

You shush him and place a gentle kiss on his scarred brow. “All is forgiven.”

His lips part as he prepares to argue, but he doesn’t. He closed them and nodded, silently thanking you for your forgiveness. Silence takes over the room again, but it’s more comfortable this time. Aemond rubs circles on your hips, through your thin nightdress, with his thumbs.

“Perhaps I shall rest here tonight?” He suggests, avoiding your gaze.

“I would like that,” you smile.

Aemond stands, and you help him undress before the two of you make your way back to your shared bed. Your husband climbs into the bed after you, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your back is pressed against his bare chest, and almost immediately, you can feel your mind at ease.

“I love you,” he whispers against your hair.

You try to say it back but cannot, as sleep pulls you away from the waking world. You squeeze his hand in yours and hope he understands.

[the-isekai-ninja]

You're the only other person who understands me on this. Kakashi is the type to growl "take it like a good girl" as he has you in a mating press trying to breed you. Like Lord 😌 and because I'm a slut for Instincts! Kakashi, who leans a bit too much into his canine instincts, he can smell when you ovulate and he becomes insatiable. Growling in bed happens as well as biting and leaving hickies.

When he's really head over heels, he'll say things like "your mine. my breeding bitch" but he says that with the utmost of affection.

Idk Hun, I'm just in love with Kakashi

Jdbdjsj I was in such a bad mood but seeing this genuinely brightened it up so thank you 😭

But you're SOOOOOO right. Canine headcanons or not I'm sorry but that man has a BREEDING KINK 📣📣 It's the marking, the ownership, the desire to let people know that someone is HIS.

But GOD do you have to coax it out of him. He's so reserved, not even wanting to share what his hobbies are with his kids, so good LUCK getting Kakashi to admit he's got any kinks at all let alone one that he would otherwise be DEATHLY afraid of actually happening.

But one day he forgets to hold back, you tease him a little too much, ur making him feel too good, whatever it is he forgets and he sinks his teeth into you and bites. HARD. 18+ ONLY Under this I got Carried Away™️. (not spell/grammar checked sorry)

He apologizes, kisses and licks at the mark no matter what your reaction is because he shouldn't have. That's not the person he's presented to you. But his teeth marks stay. Purpling and obvious and you have to wear a turtleneck on missions for the next little while.

He feels awful but he's so turned on by it every time he sees it afterwards. He tries so hard not to let it show but he grazes his hand over where it should be. Growls at the sight of it. Sucks and nips at it when he's fucking into you.

When it finally starts to fade, he looks so sad. Like a puppy having his food taken away. You try and ask him what's wrong but he's so stubborn he brushes it off. But when you're in bed again he can't stop staring at that spot. How easy it would be to bite you again. To mark you as his. He starts to think of other ways he can mark you, and pictures of you with his baby in your belly flash through his head, has him growling again as he thrusts so hard you're genuinely worried he'll bust through the wall.

He bites you again during this, and you finally let him know you enjoy it too. To be marked by Kakashi Hatake. You beg him to mark you, to stake his claim on you. At your words he sucks hickies around your chest, purple and wet and all because of him.

He cums hard that round. Something you make a show of, stuffing as much of it back into your pussy as you can, weakly crying that you want his cum to stay inside you.

Kakashi can't tell if you're an angel or a devil with those words.

He pushes your hand away and fingers you, spreading his cum around your folds and pumping it back inside. "You don't need to beg like that Princess," he teases, watching you squirm as he fucks you, "All you have to do is ask and I'll give you as much as you want."

You have tears in your eyes and you beg him then, beg for him to fuck you full. Fuck you until you smell like him, so that everyone knows who you belong to.

Hearing your permission, Kakashi finally lets loose enough to happily give you what you ask for. He stuffs his cock so deep inside your cunt you swear you can feel him in your throat.

Once Kakashi is finally free to fuel his own desires he'll have you bent over every direction he can think of to reach as far inside you as possible. You mewl for him, cry and beg and plead that he fucks you full of his cum so some of it will always be in you.

He looooves pulling your panties back on and watching his cum spill out and soak the fabric. He'll finger you all night after, just to make sure it's still there. And when it dries in the morning he'll empty out a refill into your poor abused pussy.

He finally FINALLY reveals his breeding kink a few months later when he pulls your legs up against your shoulders and takes a step back to see you presented so perfectly for him in a mating press. Love bites and hickies dot your thighs and legs and hes so caught up in the moment he can't help but breathe out, "You want me to breed you Princess?"

You sob out a "Yes! Finally!" and he slams his cock so deep inside your cunt you almost cum on the spot.

He always takes good care of you but this night is different. He truly fucks you like he means it when he promised to breed you.

You can feel the rumbling resonating from his throat as he makes out with you, a low timber that excites you to no end.

Long and deep thrusts, edging himself closer and closer for what feels like ages as your pussy clamps around his cock, orgasm after orgasm being coaxed from you. Finally he needs to empty himself inside of your waiting cunt and he spills so much cum inside you it leaks out past his cock. He keeps fucking you even after he cums though, needing to make sure it sticks. Desperate to knock you up properly. "You're such a good mate for me Princess." His words are slurred and he's leaving sloppy kisses along your face as he thrusts into you more. You cradle his face and kiss him, thanking him for breeding you. For choosing you as his breeding bitch.

He groans at the name, "That's what you are isn't it. My perfect little breeding bitch. This pussy was made for me to cum into. You'll be such a good mom for my kids…."

Of course the birth control your on is strong enough to prevent that from actually happening, you do start to get worried he'll fuck you hard enough it'll give up on you.

However, the idea of popping out a silver haired baby definitely isn't something you would complain about. After all, the begging and crying you played into was all just to get Kakashi to break out of his shell. You know the books he likes, know exactly how to get him to loosen up. Playing up the submissive role to get him to bend you backwards and mate with you isn't the worst thing you would do for his dick. If Kakashi never finds out you were pulling the threads all along, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

When he finally learns the truth about it a few years, a name exchange, and three kids later though, he doesn't let you get away with it without trying for a fourth.

[maretinelli]

SECRET FOR ONE YEAR

Ollie Bearman X Russell!fem!reader

Summary: When Ollie and Y/n have been dating for almost one year, the only person who doesn't know yet is George. Y/n's older brother.

Words: 5.3K+

Warnings: Romance, secret dating, appearance of George and Carmen (I love Carmen🥹), conversations about sex, and women's conversations hahaha.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. This story came to me when I was having insomnia, but I decided to write it the next day.

MASTERLIST

Ollie Bearman and Y/n Russell had a quiet romance, hidden from the view of the media and, more importantly, Y/n's brother, George.

From the beginning, the idea of a relationship between her and Ollie seemed complicated, considering the rivalry between him and George on the F1 tracks. The Mercedes driver was a kind, understanding and friendly man, and she knew he would treat Ollie well, but still the fear of telling her older brother lingered in her mind.

They held their meetings in discreet places and away from the eyes of paparazzi, avoiding any type of public exposure.

The Russell and Bearman families knew about this romance, even Carmen, George's girlfriend, and they helped keep up appearances, avoiding any gesture or word that could reveal anything about the relationship.

Poor George, he was oblivious to this. Thinking that Y/n was going to her best friends' house from college every time she caught a flight. But the truth was, she was going to spend a few days at Ollie's house in London. Poor George.

A year passed, and they kept their relationship a secret. There were also days when some fans were suspicious, but Y/n told her brother that it was just rumors, nothing much. The poor pilot believed it, because Y/n and Ollie had been close friends for years.

That's what he thought.

Ollie didn't pressure his girlfriend to tell the world or her brother, he understood Y/n's concerns and supported her with sweet and comforting words.

Sure, he wanted to shout from the rooftops that Y/n Russell was the love of his life. But he also enjoyed the peace they had away from the spotlight.

The day was cold and cloudy. Y/n was at her older brother's house, having girl time with Carmem. Y/n talked about how her relationship with Ollie was going, while the eldest gave advice and listened attentively to her younger sister-in-law.

The relationship between Y/n and Carmem has always been marked by a remarkable closeness. Ever since Carmem started dating George, Y/n felt comfortable opening up to her, even in the most difficult times. They laughed together, shared secrets and, most importantly, always knew how to give each other space when needed. It was a friendship built on mutual trust.

Y/n was lying on George and Carmem's big bed, with her feet covered in a sock and resting on the headboard, relaxing while her sister-in-law was sitting in the armchair, concentrating on painting her nails, with a skincare mask on her face, just like Y/n.

The two were enjoying a rare moment of tranquility, away from the stresses of everyday life and their boyfriends' Formula 1 events.

"You know... sometimes I feel like telling George about my relationship," she begins, and Carmen looks up, looking at her sister-in-law lying on the bed. "I feel sorry for Ollie, I keep the relationship a secret because of my brother and not because of the media, and I feel like he wants to show everyone that we're together. But... it seems like I won't let him, you know?"

Y/n turns to Carmen, looking at her with slightly teary eyes. Carmen tries not to laugh, even though the subject was serious, Y/n looked funny with that pink mask on her face.

"Look, honey. I understand the weight you carry." Carmen says. "You can talk more and I know Ollie will understand what you want right now. And when the time is right, you can tell George. I know he loves and protects you a lot as your big brother, but he wants to see you happy too, just like Ollie. I see the love the pilot has for you, and I know he's willing to do whatever you decide."

Y/n turns her head to her and smiles, sniffling a little. "Oh, what I would be without you, Carmen!"

Carmem smiles sweetly and goes back to painting her nails.

Y/n turned her gaze to the wall in front of her, while wiggling her toes absentmindedly, her hands were inside the pocket of the sweatshirt she was wearing.

Carmen sees how she thinks about something, and bites her lower lip. "Y/n, what are you thinking about now?" She asks teasingly.

The girl lets out a little laugh and looks at her sister-in-law. "Oh, I don't know how to tell you this...it's kind of...embarrassing...I guess." Y/n takes her hands out of her pocket and begins to peel off the nail polish, shyly.

Carmen frowns and looks curiously at the youngest. "Hey, you can trust me! You know!"

Y/n rolls a little in bed to face her sister-in-law, but doesn't realize she was right on the edge, almost falling. A sudden movement and she ends up on her back on the floor.

"It's just that Ollie and I..." She laughs awkwardly. "You see... we slept together for the first time last week..." She says quietly, but Carmen hears and smiles, her eyes widening a little.

"What? Like, in a way-" Carmen doesn't finish, because Y/n interrupts.

"NO!" She says loudly. "Well, yes. No, but...damn." She tries to explain herself and Carmen laughs. "I mean, we slept together in a real sleeping way. You know." Y/n explains. "But also, you know, we've slept together that other way..." She feels her cheeks grow hot, confessing this to someone.

No one knew, however, Y/n was embarrassed to tell her mother. Not that she would fight, but you see, she would be talking about sex with the woman who raised her.

"So? Can I ask how you felt?"

Y/n smiles embarrassedly. "The first time is weird, isn't it?! But I have to say it was good... he was good..." She searches for the right words, taking some time to think better. "It was kind... He respected the moment and everything" She turns around smiling.

Carmem smiles, still focused on her nails. "Ah, that was cute!"

Y/n rolls her eyes laughing, looking back at the wall.

"You know you can trust me. I can give you tips on how to-"

Y/n interrupts her, blushing from having spent too much time on that subject. "Thanks! That's weird coming from you, because you're dating my brother. But coming from a woman to a woman, I take the advice."

Carmem laughs softly. "Was it the first time for both of you?" She asks, we try to help Y/n with the question.

Before Y/n could respond, something interrupts.

"First time of what?" George says loudly, startling Y/n, making her turn around quickly and fall off the bed in fright. Her back makes a loud bang on the floor.

"Holy shit" she curses under her breath, placing her hands behind her back for falling on her sneakers. That would definitely leave a bruise later.

"Are you okay?" George asked worriedly as he watched his sister get up. Carmen across the room was holding back a laugh.

"I am." Y/n grimaces. "But it was your fault, you scared me!" She jokes, making George roll his eyes.

"Hey, it's not my fault if you were telling a secret against me and got scared by my arrival" He raises his hands laughing. Y/n exchanges a look with Carmen, who had a smile on her face.

"Funny you" Y/n sits on the bed. And George laughs.

••••••••••••••••••••••

Days passed, and the Monza Grand Prix finally arrived. The atmosphere was full of energy, with fans cheering and teams busy making final adjustments for free practice. Y/n took advantage of her break from university to watch the race up close. It was rare to be able to watch her boyfriend and her brother at the same time, but this dynamic had its price: secrecy.

In the Mercedes VIP lounge, Y/n was comfortably seated in one of the armchairs, her eyes fixed on her cell phone. She was wearing a casual but elegant Mercedes outfit, which went unnoticed among the luxury of the area.

To George, it seemed like his sister was just there to support him like she always did: wearing a T-shirt with their last name and a team cap. He would never suspect the real reason behind her presence.

Ollie Bearman.

As she was scrolling through her phone, she heard footsteps entering the room. Instinctively, she looked up and froze. There was Ollie, with that unmistakable smile that always made her heart beat faster.

"Hey, my love-" She could have sworn the nickname came out louder than they expected.

Y/n's eyes widened immediately, putting her finger to her lips and frantically gesturing with her hands for him to stop talking. Before she could react further, the side door of the room opened again, and George walked out of his private room with a friendly smile.

“Ah, Ollie!” George greeted, extending his hand to the Haas driver. Ollie, who had also been frozen for a moment, quickly composed his expression and shook George’s hand.

"Hey, George! How are you?" He replied, his voice slightly hesitant, but still friendly.

"Of course! What brings you to our room?" George asked, clearly curious but kind.

Y/n held her breath, trying to look distracted by her cell phone, while her eyes moved to follow the scene.

Thinking quickly, she looked up and replied, "Oh, I called you! I thought we could take a walk around the paddock before practice starts. You know, catch up."

George seemed pleased with the answer, as he knew how great friends they had been since the younger driver was in F2.

He nodded. "Good idea! It's a great day for a walk."

As Y/n stood up, Carmem entered the room with a calm smile. She walked towards the coffee machine, but when she saw Ollie and Y/n together, she gave her sister-in-law a knowing look, which she hid as much as possible. Carmem clearly knew what was happening, but she wouldn't say anything.

As Y/n walked past her brother to leave, holding her cell phone, George frowned slightly when he noticed something in her hand.

"Hey, I never noticed before. Nice ring, Y/n!" He commented, casually pointing to the discreet wedding band she wore on her finger.

For a moment, silence filled the room. Ollie froze in place, while Y/n felt her cheeks grow hot. Carmem almost choked on her coffee, but George, innocent as always, didn't understand anything wrong in the atmosphere.

"Oh, thank you!" Y/n said quickly, trying to sound natural. "Our mother gave it to me the other day. I thought it was pretty and decided to use it,"

"You have good taste," George replied with a smile, before turning to Carmen, who was trying to contain her laughter.

Y/n took advantage of the moment to pull Ollie by the arm and leave. They hurried across the paddock, trying not to attract curious glances. As soon as they found a more secluded corner, away from the hustle and bustle, Ollie grabbed her hand, gently pulling her closer.

Before she could say anything, he surprised her with a passionate kiss. Y/n smiled against his lips, feeling the warmth of his arms around her. When they pulled away, Ollie had a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"So it was your mother who gave you that beautiful ring?" He joked, chuckling softly.

Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but laugh. "It was the first thing that came to my mind, okay? And it worked, didn't it?"

Ollie caressed her face, his gaze full of affection. "You're amazing, you know that? Even when we're in danger of getting caught, you think quickly."

Y/n bit her lip, looking away for a moment. "I was thinking... I think it's time to tell G. I don't want to hide it from him anymore. He'll understand when I tell him, right?"

Ollie nodded, squeezing her hands lightly. "Of course he will!" He smiled. "I'll do whatever you decide, love. No matter what happens, we face it together. Always."

Those words made Y/n smile, her eyes shining with emotion. She hugged him tightly, feeling grateful to have him by her side. "Thank you for being so understanding. I don't know what I would do without you."

"You won't have to find out," he replied, kissing the top of her head with a smile.

They stayed there for a few more minutes, enjoying the moment away from the watchful eyes of the paddock and exchanging soft caresses and vows of love.

Time passed, and the paddock was buzzing with activity. Drivers were milling around, some focused on practice and others engaged in casual conversation. George, still sweaty from his practice session, came out of the Mercedes garage, surveying the surroundings. Soon, he spotted Ollie chatting animatedly with Leclerc, Piastri and Antonelli.

Ollie gestured as he laughed at something, his hand resting on an iron barrier next to the group. George, distracted, fixed his eyes on the Haas driver. It was then that she noticed something glowing on his finger.

A ring. He frowned, feeling a slight sense of déjà vu. The ring was surprisingly similar to the one he had seen on Y/n’s hand earlier.

"It can't be..." He muttered to himself. He shook his head, trying to push the thought away.

Maybe it was just a coincidence, he thought. But the idea lingered in his mind as he walked back to the VIP room.

Upon entering, he saw Y/n standing on the balcony, holding a cup of coffee while watching the movement on the dance floor. The afternoon light reflected on her hair, and George felt a wave of nostalgia at seeing her there so calmly. It was hard to believe that his little sister, who he always wanted to protect, was growing up.

"Are you enjoying your day, Y/n?" He asked casually.

"Yes, everything is so busy today," she replied, without taking her eyes off the track.

George walked past her, but couldn’t help but look at her hand again. The same ring. He frowned again, but didn’t comment.

Instead, he looked around, searching for Carmen. "Have you seen Carmen? I didn't find her in the Mercedes hospitality room?" He asked, crossing his arms.

Y/n finished her coffee, placing the empty cup on the nearby table. "No, I didn't see her. Maybe she's in the paddock or talking to someone," she said, already starting to walk towards the exit.

George tried to call Carmen, but the call didn't go through. "Damn, my phone's dead." He stopped and looked at Y/n. "Can I use your phone? I need to try to talk to her."

Y/n, who already had her hand on the door, turned around with a casual smile. "Sure, here." She took her cell phone out of her pants pocket and handed it to her brother without hesitation. "You can use it as you please." She said as she told him the phone's password.

George thanked her as Y/n left, oblivious to what he was going to do next. With his phone in hand, he unlocked it with the intention of going to the dialer, but the first thing he saw was the messages tab open. He was about to close it when something caught his eye. At the top of the contact list was the name.

'Mi amore❤️'

Reflexively, he stopped, frowning again. Mi amore? The heart emoji was hard to ignore. Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the chat. What he saw stopped him cold.

The messages were clearly between Yin and Ollie. There were pictures of them in the messages he quickly passed along. Conversations full of affection, inside jokes, and even some passionate confessions.

George didn't need to read much to understand what was going on. Y/n and Ollie...? The penny started to drop. The ring. The smiles. The discreet behavior of both. Everything made sense now.

As George absorbed the shock, Y/n walked around the paddock casually. From afar, she saw Ollie leaning against one of the barriers, waiting for her.

He smiled as soon as he saw her, that warm smile that always made Y/n feel special. She quickened her steps, and when they got close to each other, Ollie opened his arms, as if he wanted to hug her, but stopped when he remembered the public setting.

"Hi, mi amore" he said quietly, a sparkle in his eyes.

"Hi," she replied with a shy smile, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to them.

The two began walking together, towards the paddock cafeteria, trying to keep the conversation casual while enjoying the rare moment of being together.

Meanwhile, in the VIP room, George was still holding Y/n's cell phone, his eyes fixed on the screen, completely surprised and trying to decide what to do with that information.

He barely noticed when Carmen entered the VIP room, smiling happily. But as soon as she noticed her boyfriend's pale, dazed gaze fixed on Y/n's phone, her smile disappeared.

"George? What's wrong?" She asked, concern evident in her voice.

He shook his head slowly, as if he was still trying to organize his thoughts. "I... I need to find Y/n," he said, his voice a little hoarse.

Carmen immediately noticed the phone in his hand and her eyes widened. "George... is that your sister's phone?" He looked at the device and then at his girlfriend, hesitantly. "Oh my God..." She murmured when she saw the wallpaper and the accessories that indicated that it belonged to Y/n.

Carmen sighed deeply, placing her hand on her forehead. He had figured it out.

Without another word, George hurried off, nervously walking around the paddock looking for Y/n. He barely noticed the glances that some of the team members were throwing his way. All he wanted was answers.

As he walked, something caught his attention. Chatter and laughter came from behind one of the garages. He stopped, recognizing Y/n's soft chuckle. Following the sound, George walked around the structure, only to find the scene of Y/n and Ollie, their backs to him, sharing a kiss and laughing together.

"Y/n?" George called, his voice firm but filled with surprise and a hint of frustration.

The two instantly pulled away, Y/n reflexively pushing Ollie away. She stared at her brother with wide eyes, while Ollie seemed frozen, trying to think of something to say.

"You don't have to move away" George said, holding up Y/n's phone. "I already know."

Y/n felt her heart sink in her chest. Ollie looked at her, worried. George continued, "When I went to call Carmen, her contact list was open. I saw the messages."

Y/n and Ollie stood completely still, as if time had stopped. Finally, George took a deep breath and asked, "How long have you two been together?"

Hesitantly, Y/n exchanged a look with Ollie before replying quietly, "A year..."

George's eyes widened, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "A YEAR?! Why didn't you guys tell me?"

Y/n stepped forward, trying to explain herself. "George, I... I thought it would be awkward for you. You and Ollie are racing rivals. I didn't want it to affect your work or our relationship as brothers."

He dropped his arms, frustration giving way to quiet sadness. "Did you really think that would make me treat you differently? That I would put this above your happiness?"

Y/n felt a lump in her throat, but managed to shake her head. "I was afraid... of disappointing you."

George closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing those words. "What about the families? Do they know?" He asked, already imagining the answer.

Reluctantly, Y/n nodded. "Yes... everyone knew but you. I'm sorry, George. It was never our intention to exclude you."

He sighed, shaking his head as he processed everything. "I understand," he said finally. "I understand that you wanted to protect things. But... it hurts me to know that you felt you couldn't trust me. You're my sister, Y/n. I will always want the best for you."

Y/n, moved, gave a small smile. "Thank you for understanding." George hugs his sister.

The Mercedes driver stepped closer, his eyes softening. He looked at Ollie, extending his hand. "Congratulations on your relationship... really."

Ollie, surprised, shook George's hand. "Thank you, George. That means a lot."

But then George narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at him, his tone becoming more serious though there was a hint of teasing. "Now, listen carefully. Take good care of my sister, Ollie. Because if you don't, things are going to get ugly for you."

Ollie laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Don't worry. I'm taking good care of her."

Y/n smiled, feeling the weight she was carrying finally dissipate. George, seeing the scene, gave a genuine smile and added, "Just please don't give me nephews TOO SOON, okay?"

The comment made Y/n blush and Ollie laugh, completely breaking the tension. "No rush, George" Ollie replied, winking at Y/n.

George shook his head, laughing along. He handed his phone to his sister, patted Ollie on the back, and walked away, looking more at ease.

Once they were alone, Ollie turned to Y/n, an amused smile on his face. "I thought he was going to freak out, but he was pretty calm... for a protective older brother."

Y/n laughed, feeling relieved. "I thought so too. I think he trusted you more than I expected him to."

Ollie put an arm around her shoulders. "Well, at least now we don't have to hide anymore."

She nodded, looking at him fondly. "Yes. Finally."

[formulawolff]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪. setting it straight ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: idek tbh

warnings: age gap relationship, oral (f! receiving… toto is a munch confirmed) cursing, allusions to sex in public, toto being sexy, slight dom vibes (from toto), poorly translated german, probably some poor grammar, yadayadayada

a/n: i’m absolutely fried rn & it was missing toto and golden girl hours. i don’t apologize for this and will not be apologizing for how absolutely filthy it is!

his tongue drags.

it’s flattened against your soaked folds, carefully taking in the way your juices seep on to his tongue.

“t-toto,” the way his name falls from your lips is utterly sinful.

it’s a pant, a mere mewl brimmed with nothing but pleasure.

“what is it?” he’s nearly out of breath, intoxicated off your taste, “what is it, my love?”

“w-we shouldn’t,” your hips writhe, squirming as his hands envelop your thighs, tightening as the last few words tumble out, “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“oh?” he cocks his head, “should i stop then?”

you’re teetering on the edge of cumming, just on the brink.

though, you don’t have to tell him that.

he’s well aware.

he can sense your ragged breathing, the way your chest heaves. how your battered clit throbs, swollen and engorged from his teasing tongue. your skin is nearly burning as the pads of his thumbs caress your inner thighs.

“please don’t stop.”

“are you sure?”

his mocha depths are almost a shade darker than usual, nearly an obsidian hue. they’re fiery with lust as he takes you in once again, absolutely soaked and aching.

aching for release.

he hums, prompting you to answer, “can i continue or are we done here?”

“you can’t just leave me like this,” you protest, shaking your head furiously, “please, toto. i need it.”

“and what do you need?” your jaw tightens as you notice the smug smirk, “tell me, baby. what do you need?”

“i need you to make me cum.”

“that’s all i needed to hear,” he clicks his tongue, obviously please with your answer.

there was really no explaining how you got to be in this position.

well, maybe there was.

it was a rough race weekend in spa.

with the disqualification, daniel’s little stunt, and your fourth place finish, it wasn’t really quite the weekend you had in mind.

you were over the moon for george of course. well, until the disqualification. that put toto in a pretty sour mood. not to mention the plethora of reporters and media following him around after that news broke. that really almost sent him over the edge.

and you didn’t want to him started on daniel’s little stunt either.

just before qualifying, you were in the garage with alex, recording a bit for your upcoming podcast episode. before you knew it, daniel was strolling in, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, proclaiming how much he missed you and how he wanted to rekindle your friendship.

the entire thing caught you completely off guard, your mind reeling as daniel shot you a wink, waving goodbye as he exited the paddock. it only lasted about three minutes, yet felt like an eternity.

and the worst part about it?

a fan recorded daniel as he left the garage, promptly posting it to their tik tok page. that tik tok was then plastered all over instagram and x, sparking all sorts of rumors.

rumors that you were possibly cheating on the team principal with daniel.

the incident left you speechless, unable to string together an incoherent thought, let alone focus on qualifying. you ended up placing eighth, one of the lower finishes you have had in quite some time. it left james questioning your ability to make a podium, not to mention the thousands of posts bashing you, undermining your skills and credibility as a driver.

although toto could see right through daniel, you could tell it had pissed him off.

more than he would have liked to admit.

so the moment you were alone, you found him in your driver’s room, locking the door, practically pouncing on you.

he wouldn’t say it, but you knew what he was doing.

he was setting the record straight.

reminding you that you were his.

and only his.

the only way he knew how.

“you’re mine, you know that?”

you blink, registering that he’s still positioned between your thighs, on his knees, hovering at the edge of the couch.

“is this about daniel?”

“natürlich ist es das,” his tongue darts out, circling around your clit, “ich musste dich daran erinnern, wem du gehörst.”

“hör auf damit,” you tsk, rolling your eyes, “you have nothing to worry about.”

“i know,” his lashes flutter as he murmurs, his gaze fixated on your drenched core. he lifts a finger, the digit tracing along your folds, “it’s not you i’m worried about. it’s him.”

“aber du bist der mann, den ich liebe.”

his heart skips a beat, the team principal’s lust dissipating for just a moment. he couldn’t help but melt at the softness in your voice, at the sureness in those words.

fuck, did he love you.

oh so much.

propelling himself upward, a hand connects with your cheek, thumb trailing along your cheekbone, “i love you, my sweet girl.”

“i love you more, toto.”

shaking his head, the team principal can’t help but grin, dimples forming as he notices your beautiful smile take shape.

“and i love you most.”