#scott c. brown | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lokisgoodgirl · 9 months ago

Text

Be Mine [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A morning meeting has an unexpected twist. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Language. Smutty. Avenger!Loki x Female Reader. Questionable flirting techniques. (w/c 2.8k)

The muscle at the side of Loki’s jaw flexed. He swallowed; an achingly glacial bob of his Adam’s apple making you want to claw your eyes out.

For some inexplicable reason he had opted to wear full leathers to today’s briefing.

It was seven nineteen in the AM. Thor was sporting a muscle vest boasting not one but three stains of varying complexity and a pair of shorts which left little to the imagination. Scott was wearing his dressing gown.

The rest of the team hung off chairs and flopped on the table in various states of undress. Steve stood at the head of the room as usual; prim and fresh in a crisp button-down and perfectly creased chinos.

“So what we’re seeing here,” Steve said, turning to the group from the Powerpoint, “is an up-tick in biological experiments-”

His eyes narrowed while they roamed over the doodling, distracted and hungover band sprawled around the table. “Lang.” he snapped. “Close your legs; there are ladies present.’

Scott shuffled up his seat, drawing the dressing gown down over his knees while mumbling apologies. A low rumble of mirth circled the room, but Loki’s gaze never left the Captain’s.

The curve of his dark lashes swept upward, features set in performative rapture. Loki's facial expression hadn’t changed as the scene unfolded, but for a miniscule twitch of his lip. Usually the two of you would exchange a few eye rolls; a few knowing smiles during a particularly turgid monologue about shoe storage post-mission...but not today. Today he hadn't even looked at you.

Steve sighed. He extended a finger and pushed his retractable pointer down to a stub. Pacing to the table, he dropped his head, laying his palms flat. When he looked up, disappointed-dad energy was thick in his eyes. “Folks, this just won’t do.” he said.

Natasha’s sunglasses slid down her nose. Scott crossed his legs making the swivel chair knock into Wilson and waking him up. The Falcon’s arms flew wide on instinct, whacking Tony in the chest. “Jesus Christmas-” Tony snorted, blinking wildly. “It was a party.” Natasha drawled, pushing the sunglasses back in place with disdain. “Maybe if you’d stayed after the cake you’d have those tight panties of yours in less of a spick, Rogers.”

“That’s Captain Rogers.” he snapped. “We’re on the clock.” “Calm down, Rogers.” Tony said, cresting his fingers. He was remarkably chipper for a man with whipped cream crusted in his hairline. “You’re all sitting on my clock. Remember that.”

Steve flushed scarlet. His eyes narrowed as Tony’s smirk grew.

“All I’m saying is it’s a sorry day when Laufeyson is the star pupil. Look at him!” Steve said, gesturing incredulously at Loki who remained in position; back straight, chin up. But now, one eyebrow arched. “All of you lot in your skivvies and Laufeyson’s in full dress?” Steve shook his head. “I fail to see the humour, Rogers.” Loki said. “Why is it so surprising that I come to our daily summons dressed thus? Certainly I have never presented myself in a tragic towelling monstrosity like Lang here.” “There was that one time with the silk nightie.” Sam whispered to Scott. Scott covered his mouth.

“A silk robe.” Loki snapped.

“Usually you only bring out the Asgardian shit when you’re brown-nosing. Or when you’ve done something shifty.” Natasha said, propping her chin up with a fist. You bet her eyes are closed. Wanda nodded behind her Starbucks.

“Or trying to impress someone,” the witch said. Natasha waved a finger in agreement. “Sexually.” Wanda added.

Loki released a scandalised snort. “How dare you.” he said. Leather creaked against his biceps as he folded his arms.

Beneath the table, your thighs squeezed together. The only thing hotter than Loki in leather, was an indignant Loki in leather. You suddenly became very aware of your quickened breaths making the buttons of your blouse strain. The god’s eyes darted to the side, meeting yours. “What?” he snarled. “Nothing.” you squeaked, swallowing. An awkward silence hung in the room. The scent of stale vodka suddenly seemed very strong. Steve sighed.

“Let’s call it for this morning-” he said, immediately met with muted hisses of celebration around the table. He patted down the air. “Rescheduled for this afternoon. Thirteen-hundred sharp. Wear clothes.” Approval turned to whines and hushed curses as chairs were swivelled and aching bodies shifted. “Unbelievable.” Loki snarled under his breath.

You watched out the corner of your eye as he stood; the flat of his iron stomach inches from your face. The scent of rich leather filled your nostrils while Loki’s fingers nipped beneath the hem of his tunic, tugging it down. He flipped the length of his cape with a sniff. You saw it swirl around his boots briefly as he stepped towards the window, clasping his hands behind his back.

Taking your time, you picked up each piece of carefully laid stationary at your seat. One by one, the rest of the team left the room. Steve was last, his hand hovering on the door handle while he shot you a wary look. As a parting gift, he opened the door wider. “You didn’t stay late?” Loki’s voice was a thick hum in the growing silence. His tone, inscrutable. “Huh?” “At the party.” he said. “You didn’t stay late.”

This time it wasn’t a question. “I usually head off when Thor starts making passes at everyone. I didn’t see you. Were you there?” “He did that?” Loki bristled. “To you?” There was a pause. “To everyone.” you repeated quietly. Loki’s shoulders stiffened. His fingers twitched, thumb digging into one exposed palm behind his back. He was still staring out the window.

“I’ll see you later.” you said, nerves fluttering in your belly. The god’s hair shortened as his chin dipped. You wondered how it would feel to wind those dark strands through your fingers as you rode him. Wondered how the grunts and signs and pretty curses from his lips would sound wet in your ear.

“No.” Loki said. “Excuse me?” “No,” he repeated.

You steadied against the table-top with the pads of your fingertips. Small stars began to burst in your field of vision. “I think the leather looks goo-good,” you stammered. And you didn’t know why.

The thought of him barring the exit of enemies in far flung realms using only that voice barged through the doors of your imagination with the force of a horny caveman. If that was the last sarcastic quip they heard, by god, you imagined they may just have died happy. And hard.

“It looks good.” you repeated, no more than a whisper. Loki turned his head. The sharp profile came into view at a glacial pace. First the peaked tip of his chin, then the slant of his regal nose, then the harsh peak of his cheekbone, then his eyes. Your ass met the table-top with a stumble. There was a small crease between his eyebrows. “Bold of you to make another jest without your compatriots around you, Agent.” he said. Across the short distance between you, venom dripped from his tongue; his hackles raised. “I wasn’t joking,” you said quietly as his gaze fell to your feet with a sneer. The quick breaths that made your buttons strain were back. Loki’s rising stare lingered on your breasts, a small smile tweaking at the corner of his mouth. Words tripped from your lips, forcing their way from behind your teeth. “I like it.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. He turned fully with a ceremonial flourish, the hands clasped behind his back moving to the front and rippling his leather and silken cloak. It fluttered.

“Is that so?” he purred darkly. He didn’t believe you.

You imagined how this is how a rabbit felt in the eyeline of a fox. To look away was to admit weakness, vulnerability. It meant death. And yet – it was the only chance to escape. But did you want to escape? Not really. You wanted to feel the sharp of his teeth fasten to your neck as he sucked and bit and made violent love to every inch of you.

You nodded, not breaking eye-contact. Loki inhaled sharply, chin tilting up as he did so.

His eyes wandered over grim foam tiles as though an enemy lurked beyond the suspended ceiling. They narrowed, darting back and forth. With a thundering heart, you noted one of his heavy boots rise from the floor. He paced forwards slowly, ceremonially, stopping inches from you. Your fingers curled tight around the table’s edge, the messy in your panties beneath the skirt becoming intolerable. Loki cleared his throat. “Am I to understand, contrary to common rhetoric, that you find my Asgardian leathers enticing; Agent?” “I think ‘enticing’ is a little grandiose, is it not?” you laughed, cringing at the way you so easily mirrored his speech. Loki noticed it too. He tilted his head. “I am nothing if not grandiose, Agent.” Loki said. “Am I not impressive? Am I not imposing?”

He trailed a long finger down your bicep, his touch light as a feather. “So often, you mortals use such words as insult.” he mused.

“It is merely a reflection on your own feelings of inferiority. This morning is a perfect example. An attempt at ridicule to deflect from their own pathetic presentation. Each one more bedraggled and an abject embarrassment to their purpose than the last.” Heat began to rise in your cheeks as his finger drifted along your collarbone. There was a pause, his eyes dropping to your lips before the finger brushed the skin at the hollow of your neck. It graced upwards, tracing the curve and stopping beneath the tip of your chin. “But not you.” he said.

The god’s eyes snapped to yours. His cheekbones hollowed under fluorescent lights, mischief glowing from the depths of his irises and painted in every light wrinkle on his brow.

“What else do you like, Agent?” he goaded softly. “Do you like the idea of what lies beneath these leathers?” You swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Loki-” you said, glancing towards the open door. He followed your eyes, rolling his own. With a flick of his hand the door slammed shut. “I want you,” he breathed, leaning closer so that the heat of his cheek warmed your own, “to tell me what else you like.”

You bit your lip, watching his beautiful face come back into view. With a prang, the thought occurred that perhaps you were not the rabbit after all. Perhaps you were the fox. Loki’s gaze lingered on your face, searching it.

Emboldened, you found the words. “Why should I?”

His brows peaked softly. He released a muted sigh, pursing his lips. “As much as I am loathe to admit it, Romanoff was right.” he said. The hand tilting your chin upwards returned to its mate, clasped against the leather tunic. “I was trying to impress someone, but not that insufferable Rogers.”

He raised his eyebrows.

Excitement blossomed deep in your belly; rising like shaken soda and fizzing around your chest. Loki bit his bottom lip.

“You see, Agent, I like you very much. And I’m afraid that now it has reached the juncture where I must know if you like anything about me...beyond my exquisite taste in battle armour.”

The change in his demeanour was so dramatic that you could only gape. But when it came to Loki, could you expect anything less? Without thinking you reached forward and grasped the belt slung over his chest, pulling him forward.

Loki’s mouth clashed with yours, the heat of his lips giving way to the thrust of his tongue. Your hands slid over his metal epaulettes, tangling in ebony waves that cascaded around his shoulders. He tasted like heaven, the scent of him deep and dangerously delicious in a way you’d never known. A scent a girl could lose herself in forever; gladly.

In seconds your back was flat against the table, its cool wood harsh against the heat of your skin through the blouse. Loki’s ravenous kiss consumed you, licking and dancing inside your mouth like a man possessed. His shallow moans ricocheted between slurps of his lips, wetness coating them.

“Tell me, you infuriating woman,” he panted as a thick forearm landed on the wood beside your head. The metal vambrace clanged against cheap wood. Saliva hung between your mouths as he stared deep into your soul; blue eyes darkening. “Tell me what you like.”

“About you?” you panted. Loki didn’t nod, only lowered his chin.

His nose nudged at your lips, dragging upwards, tongue tracing around the bottom one. He had begun to smile. One of his legs nudged your thighs wider. The god straightened and you felt a thrill run from your scalp to the tips of your dangling toes. He towered above like a monolith, leather tight to his rectangular body. Hair fell around his jaw, perfectly imperfectly wolfish curls flirting against his skin. His cape brushed against your bare calves as he shifted his stance, palms sliding up your thighs and pushing your skirt higher. “Yes; I like the idea of what’s beneath all this,” you whined as you pawed at his leather-clad stomach. It was so hard. Loki smirked, watching beneath half-lidded eyes. “I think about fucking you in the showers after training,” you whispered bashfully as your hips thrust up against your will. Loki raised an eyebrow. “More...” he rumbled. “I think about you all the time. All the awful things I want to do to you, y-you do to me- Loki, uhh-”

His hands crept higher as you spoke, fingers hooking around the hips of your panties. “If I pull these down, darling” he said with an air of reprimand, “will they be wet?” You let out a gasping moan, back arching against the table.

“Excellent.” Loki snickered, pulling the panties down the length of your legs before stepping back between them.

A hand flew to your mouth as you watched one long finger dip between your thighs, running lightly between your folds. He brought it to his lips, sucking gently. His cheekbones hollowed, finger slipping out. He swallowed with a groan of appreciation.

Loki settled himself between your legs, pushing them wider. The height of the table pressed your dripping centre against his crotch. You thought you might explode. His palms slid up your waist, exploring the curves of your body while your legs wrapped around his hips. The god’s cock pressed eagerly against the leather, strong and thick up the centre. His forearms came down at either side of your head, metal wrist-guards clinking.

“I will show you what it is to be mine,” he murmured in your ear.

Loki’s cock settled against your sex, rubbing in perfect gyration. “Oh...god,” you gasped as the weight of his body pressed against your own.

Fingers combed up from the base of his neck, tangling in his hair. The next moment, they grasped around his back, pulling him closer, catching in the folds of his cloak which draped across your bodies. The god grunted filthy praises in your ear as his bound manhood sent electric currents of pleasure deeper than you’d ever known. His searching lips found their way to your neck, your jaw. Every utterance from his throat more disgustingly sensual than the last. Hot leather filled your nostrils, the scent of him strong and intoxicating. Mounting orgasm bubbled in waves, a dream-like trance broken only with whispered groans of pleasure from your throats. Loki Laufeyson was about to make you cum. The thought was unbelievable. And yet, your pussy being tugged and massaged and owned by his leather-bound cock into the throes of heaven knew it to be true. Dry-humped like a teenager in the back of a pick-up.

“Be mine...” Loki mumbled breathlessly, a strangled choke gasping from deep in his chest. He immediately dove for a perishing kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and releasing it with a wet suck. He smouldered down.

Against the bright lights, his dark halo shone; tendrils curling against your cheek and brushing with every calculated roll of his hips. Every muscle in your body tensed. Your legs tightened against his hips.

“Be mine,” he echoed. His face was twisted, and you suddenly wondered how close he was to cumming in those beautiful leather pants. “Loki-” you gasped, clutching at his cape. Back arching, the last thing you heard as climax stormed your brain were the matching pants of the god. The last thing you saw were his peaked brows above dilated pupils so deep you could drown in them.

In the afterglow, all you could manage were garbled phrases as your forearm draped over your eyes. “That was...unexpected.” you panted when the god’s weight lifted from your chest. “Perhaps for you.” Loki winked. “It was very carefully calculated on my part,” You watched in dazed disbelief as Loki sank to his knees, leather creaking, and hoisted your hips higher. He lapped at your soaking pussy, muffled moans seeping from his throat as he buried himself in your fresh pleasure. The flat of his tongue licked a thick stripe from the base to your swollen clit, placing a gentle suck on the tip. His eyes flickered up, meeting yours.

“Immaculate, as expected.” he breathed. His chin glistened.

You groaned as he withdrew; grasping at the air as he went. That small caress of him against your sex was everything you could ever have dreamed. Loki let you reluctantly arrange yourself before offering his hand for the short hop off the table. “Not exactly how I imagined our first time,” you said with a sheepish smile. Loki scanned your face.

“Agent don’t be insulting. That was merely a sample,” he scoffed. “It barely counts.” He stepped forward, pulling you flush against him with a flat palm at the base of your spine. “We must ensure you have eaten something before more intimate activities are indulged in; lest you faint. Or worse.” “Or worse?” “You are only mortal, after all.” Loki smiled slyly. “And this,” he gestured to his cock; hard and straining against the leather, “can be rather a handful. As well can his Master.” You slapped him on the shoulder. Loki smirked. Remembering the unexpected schedule change, you frowned. “You think we have time before the meeting later?”

Loki snorted. “We’re not attending. The two of us fulfilled our obligations, unlike the more cretinous members of our party.” You raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to get me in trouble, I can tell.” Loki’s fingers danced up your back, a light thrust of his hips making your body keen. His dirty exhale flooded your ear, the warm scent of him overloading your senses.

“Oh Agent,” he purred against the skin; his eyes darting covertly to the pair of panties discarded on the floor. “As if you expected anything less.”

Taglist (continued in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #lokismut #loki oneshot #loki laufeyson smut #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki x yn #loki x female reader smut #loki gifs #loki marvel

2K notes · View notes

theambitiouswoman · 1 year ago

Text

Book Recommendations 📚📒

Business and Leadership:

"Good to Great" by Jim Collins

"The Lean Startup" by Eric Ries

"Zero to One" by Peter Thiel

"Leaders Eat Last" by Simon Sinek

"Outliers: The Story of Success" by Malcolm Gladwell

Success and Personal Development:

"The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People" by Stephen R. Covey

"Mindset: The New Psychology of Success" by Carol S. Dweck

"Atomic Habits" by James Clear

"Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance" by Angela Duckworth

"The Power of Habit" by Charles Duhigg

Mental Health and Well-being:

"The Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle

"Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy" by David D. Burns

"The Gifts of Imperfection" by Brené Brown

"The Anxiety and Phobia Workbook" by Edmund J. Bourne

"The Dialectical Behavior Therapy Skills Workbook" by Matthew McKay, Jeffrey C. Wood, and Jeffrey Brantley

Goal Setting and Achievement:

"Goals!: How to Get Everything You Want—Faster Than You Ever Thought Possible" by Brian Tracy

"The 12 Week Year" by Brian P. Moran and Michael Lennington

"Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us" by Daniel H. Pink

"The One Thing" by Gary Keller and Jay Papasan

"Smarter Faster Better" by Charles Duhigg

Relationships and Communication:

"How to Win Friends and Influence People" by Dale Carnegie

"The 5 Love Languages" by Gary Chapman

"Crucial Conversations: Tools for Talking When Stakes Are High" by Al Switzler, Joseph Grenny, and Ron McMillan

"Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life" by Marshall B. Rosenberg

"Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus" by John Gray

Self-Help and Personal Growth:

"The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck" by Mark Manson

"Daring Greatly" by Brené Brown

"Awaken the Giant Within" by Tony Robbins

"The Miracle Morning" by Hal Elrod

"You Are a Badass" by Jen Sincero

Science and Popular Science:

"Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind" by Yuval Noah Harari

"The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" by Rebecca Skloot

"Cosmos" by Carl Sagan

"A Short History of Nearly Everything" by Bill Bryson

"The Selfish Gene" by Richard Dawkins

Health and Nutrition:

"The China Study" by T. Colin Campbell and Thomas M. Campbell II

"In Defense of Food" by Michael Pollan

"Why We Sleep" by Matthew Walker

"Born to Run" by Christopher McDougall

"The Omnivore's Dilemma" by Michael Pollan

Fiction and Literature:

"To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee

"1984" by George Orwell

"The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald

"The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger

"Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen

#books #books and reading #reading #goodreads #bookshelf #bookish #readersofinstagram #reading list #personal improvement #personal development #life advice #advice

1K notes · View notes

princesssmars · 1 year ago

Text

practical magick

a stiles stilinski x witch!reader

plot : just when stiles thought he had gotten used to the dramatics of the supernatual, he happens across you performing magic in the forest. when you fail to wipe his memory, his thursday afternoon gets a whole lot weirder.

wc : 4.678

contains : sfw. kissing at the end. the picture for look inspo is fair-skinned but the reader's skin color is not described! reader has hair! google translated latin sorry 😞i like my men loserish and obsessed sorry.

a/n : yasss a little halloween special. rewatching teen wolf for the third time bc idfk. is it obvious i love witch!reader's yet.

for the first time in over a decade, stiles stilinksi was bored out of his mind.

he had previously thought that given his adhd gave him a deep desire to be doing literally anything all the time that the word bored wouldn't enter his daily vocabulary until he died.

yet here he is, kicking his feet at the dead leaves on the ground as he searched for any hidden traces of wolfsbane. the only reasons this had even happened was because he had opened his big mouth too many times and was sent on a busy quest by deaton, to "make sure the surrounding areas were safe for werewolves."

just reminding himself of what led him here was enough to tick him off again. it wasn't like the past two years have been easy, being under the constant threat of werewolves, werewolf hunters, kanimas, etcetera etcetera. it was enough to stress out the most stable of adults, and stiles was the direct opposite of that, so of course he got nervous and started talking over people and pissing them off.

"stupid wolfsbane, stupid werewolves," he mumbles, kicking at more of the dead brown leaves on the forest floor, tearing a line of the familiar purple plant up from the ground and stuffing it into the brown sack in his other hand. once he was done it was likely it would either be tucked in jars in deaton's stash or burned. he wouldn't mind seeing the latter.

its another twenty moments of grumbling and scavenging before a sound in the distance stops him in his tracks. he stands still, making sure that he barely breathes before he relaxes, figuring his anger and memories are making him paranoid of the woods.

a minute later he wishes his mind was playing tricks on him, because he nears the noise again, but this this its louder.

"its closer," he thinks.

he barely even registers when his legs start running. he may have a bag full of wolfsbane, but there was no guarantee the threat was something the plant could harm. and he didn't feel like tempting fate today.

at this point he's slightly lost his direction, but when he passes the stunted redwood stump he and scott carved their names into during the fifth grade he starts to understand where he is, and as his heart beats in his hears he knows if he turns right here he'll come up onto the old willow tree-

in the span of ten seconds he smacks head on into a hard object, falling on his ass and gasping as the air is knocked from his lungs. he blinks quickly to try to rid of the black spots in his vision, and before he can comprehend it he's making eye contact with you.

he's slightly embarrassed that the first thought that races across his mind is how pretty you are. he knows he should be wary of you, but he can't help it. your hair is a rich (h/c), seeming to almost shine despite the sun being blocked by clouds. your skin is smooth and your eyes are gorgeous and big and still staring straight at him.

you both rush to stand up. he holds his hands out in a way that you would calm a wild animal, hoping it doesn't piss you off.

you continue to stare at him. which isn't helping calm down his racing pulse.

"uh, alright. look, i'm not gonna hurt you, alright? i'm just...looking for something..."

before he can finish his sentence, you raise your hands to cup the sides of his face. his words die in his mouth and he feels his cheeks warm up to the point he's surprised they haven't burned your palms. you look determined, and for a second he feels like he's gone to heaven

"convertere et perge quid agas. oblivisceris quid hic vidisti."

turn around and continue what you're doing. you will forget what you saw here.

his mouth opens and his brows scrunch in shock. he never thought those latin lessons he took online and with lydia would pay off, but he's really glad he did them now.

he considers doing what you said, just turning around and forgetting all about this encounter. but unfortunately his curiosity is getting the better of him, and if his suspicions are correct he needs to know more about you.

"i'm gonna guess you just tried to put a spell on me, right?"

your eyes widen so largely he's afraid they're going to pop out of your skull.

"i..i don't understand, that should have worked. are you a warlock? druid?"

"no, no. i'm just stiles." he tells. his guess that you were something supernatural is partially confirmed, since you know about druids and the whole tried to put a spell on him thing.

"well, stiles, unless you tell me why my spell didn't work on you i'm most likely going to have to kill you." you deadpan.

he thinks you're kidding so he eta out a strained laugh. you don't even twitch.

he wracks his brain for a good enough excuse that will save his life before his arm moves without command and thrusts the bag in your direction.

"well, i have a uh, a bag full of wolfsbane, if that matters at all. pretty sure it does since…yeah…wolfsbane”

yours eyes dart from him to the bag, most likely not trusting that their isn’t some insta-death powder that will pop out as soon as you open it, so he looses his thumbs grip and steps closer so you can see the purple herbs inside.

“hate to admit it but you’re right,” you sigh, pushing back some hair from your face. his eyes follow the movement before darting back to yours.“ that much wolfsbane would make most supernatural or magical doings wonky.”

"yes, yes! exactly. that makes sense. im sorry about that-"

"why would you even have that much wolfsbane anyway? are you a hunter?"

"what? no, no! im not, i swear to you im not a hunter. i can explain this, really i can." he nearly chokes on his words at the speed he speaks.

you stare at him for a few seconds more before crossing your arms over your chest, hopefully about to let him explain why he has a bag filled to the brim with a dangerous plant on a random afternoon.

when you start to walk directly past him into the forest he doesn’t think he’s ever been more confused.

"fine. you can explain it on the way back.”

he’s as still as a statue as he process your words. you just accused him of being a hunter and now you want him to follow you to whatever mysterious place your going? even for him this is weird, and he’s ten seconds from refusing-

“hurry up.”

he rushes to catch up behind you.

after around twenty minutes of stiles repeatedly asking where you were going followed by silence on your end, you finally reach a clearing in the woods filled by a large victorian-era house, fully black with large looming windows lit up by warm golden lighting coming from inside. there's a nearly fully glass sunroom/greenhouse on the right side, and he can see from here the varying flowers and plants that fill the room. he wants to ask how a house like this could be kept under wraps from the rest of the town, but then he remembers.

magic, duh.

you lead him through the threshold of the home and down a hallway until you arrive in what must be your living room, not giving him a chance to admire the room before you're pushing on his shoulders so he sits in a loveseat, taking your own seat across from him. your legs spread and you rest your elbows on your knees as you glare at him, causing him to shift in his seat.

"why are you carrying a bag full of wolfsbane?"

"my friend's boss, deaton. he asked me to pick up any wolfsbane in the woods to make it safer for them when they do the whole wolfing out thing."

"deaton's working with werewolves again? does he have a death wish?" your brow raises in confusion, he notes how the fingers on your right-hand scratch at the skin on your right.

"i'll be honest, you're kind of creeping me out."

"thank you. why is he doing it?"

"my friend, scott. he's a werewolf. and so are our friends erica and boyd. and derek and his weird uncle peter-"

"the fucking hale's are back? are you kidding?" a scoff leaves you and you get up out of your chair, starting to pace back and forth in front of his chair.

"yeah, it was this whole thing with peter being evil and killing his niece, and he turned scott but scott thought it was derek who turned him. it was a whole thing. not to mention how peter came back from the dead-"

you continue to walk around the room while occasionally pausing to pay attention as the boy details the events that have happened in the past year. despite you being a stranger it felt oddly cathartic to vent about everything that had happened to him. admitting to the countless times he felt scared out of his mind but had to stay strong lest his enemies take advantage of it.

"that's a lot for a normal human to go through in just a year with no prior knowledge of the supernatural. i'm surprised your brain didn't implode from the stress."

he blinks. "thanks. i guess."

"you're welcome. i'm going to make some tea. stay here," you say, moving from standing across from him to heading to a room near the side of the room, able to faintly see some dark counters and pots and herbs hanging from the ceiling, "not like you'd be able to leave anyway."

that's reassuring, stiles thinks to himself, bouncing his leg up and down where he sits. after a minute he figures you won’t kill him horrendously if hes looks around a bit, so he gets up and starts observing the countless pictures on the walls. some are old, like the people in them are wearing outfits from a few hundred years ago, while some are colored and recent. in most of the recent ones, you’re with three older women who look just as dark but ethereal as you do.

he continues looking at some pictures and hung-up trinkets when you come back into the room with two cups of tea, handing one with a smile to the wary boy with a halfhearted promise that it’s “totally not poisoned.”

“can i ask you a question?” he asks, sipping at his tea after he discovers it’s not poisoned and actually really good. he was never really fond of tea, always preferring coffee or energy drinks when he was in a low-energy period. he remembers his mom liked chamomile tea.

“you just did. but go ahead.”

“why would you let me in here? you could have just questioned me at the willow tree, you didn’t have to let me into your house. not that i don’t like your house. i like the whole victorian gothic vibe.”

you don’t answer for a solid minute, slowly drinking from your cup as you stare into the lite fireplace.

“witches pride ourselves on our knowledge. to be aware of our abilities and surroundings at all times to best stimulate our growth. and as much as i’d like to be this powerhouse who could take down any threat, i know i’m not. if you actually were powerful and i tried to take you on myself? who knows what would happen.”

“and i’m guessing that magical barrier around the house would protect you in case i really did try anything?” he gently asks, not wanting to talk too loudly to distract you from opening up to him.

“exactly. plus if you tried anything my aunts probably would have put a curse on you and your loved ones. something not too flashy to attract attention, but enough to cause great suffering.” he notices your soft sigh when you stop talking, almost like you’re disappointed you won’t get to see this suffering play out.

“plus it’s better to know where your talents excel,” you continue, setting your cup down on a skull patterned coaster on the coffee table in front of you. “i’ve always been better at using my magic to investigate my surroundings. helps to find materials or signs of psychos roaming around.”

something you two have in common. it makes his mouth quirk up.

“so, the werewolves and all the other things being back in town, that’s a problem for you and your aunts, right?”

“yup. if it was just werewolves it’d be normal for beacon hills, but kanimas and a whole pack of alphas? who knows how much that can disrupt the natural balance and what more they’ll bring.”

he thinks over his next words carefully. scott would likely be upset at first at him for trusting you, but he was also the nicest person stiles had ever met. if you could help them then it was worth the risk.

“then how about a trade. you help us with this alpha problem, and you get the experience you need to become a great and all powerful witch. pretty soon you'll be riding your broom to your heart's content."

you can’t help but scoff a laugh as you think it over. he starts to think you’re about to reject the offer as you stare him down before you get up and offer him a hand.

“you’ve got a deal.”

after shaking on it, you send the boy back with his bag of wolfsbane and a few more helpful weeds from your greenhouse, giving him a note to give to deaton so he won’t ask too many questions.

when he returns to the vets office he dumps the materials on the operating table, ignoring isaacs joke about how if he took any longer they’d all be alpha chow by now. he can tell deaton is concerned about where he got the vials of strange red and yellow herbs, but when he reads the note his eyes widen and he lets out a mix between a laugh and a sigh. scott asked insistently what was on the note but his boss refused to tell him what it said.

before he left to drive home, deaton pulled stiles to a corner and told him that he had been in close contact with one of your aunts before something happened a few years after the hale fire that caused them to go into hiding and cut contact with all supernaturals they had previously been helping, including him as the emissary of the hale family.

as he lay in bed that night staring up at his ceiling, all he could think about was you. you were a welcome distraction from the chaos of his current life, a pretty distraction at that. if not a bit scary. which he didn't mind all that much.

the both of you spent more time together in the following weeks. at first, it was just simple conversations by the willow tree talking about the werewolf situations and checking what materials deaton needed from your family. as time went on his curiosity got the best of him and he started to ask you more questions about your life.

"so hit me if this is stupid but did you have any family in salem? or can you like make a potion ina cauldron to see if I did because I could use that as massive bargaining power in fights with issac-ow! why'd you hit me?"

"you said i could."

"yeah but not so hard. jeez, ever thought of quitting this witch thing and trying boxing."

"never thought of it. maybe i should start now. with your face."

"really funny."

(your threats kind of reminded him of derek, but had less of an 'i'm about to rip your throat out and eat your esophagus vibe.' slightly.)

but as time went on it got deeper. as he told him more about himself you started to do the same, once even apologizing for "giving off psycho killer bitch vibes" and chalking it up to being so isolated from people for most of your life. he told you he didn't mind the vibes, assuring you he liked it maybe a little too excitedly.

he could really feel the shift when one day he came up to the willow tree and he saw you, standing with a frame photo in your hands and nearly on the brink of tears. he was so shocked at seeing you show such intense emotion he wasn't watching where he was going and stepped on a branch, alarming you as your head whipped to him like a deer in headlights.

"i...im sorry. i can leave if you want."

"no no, it's," you shook your head, looking down at the photo once again. "it's fine. it doesn't matter."

"well if it's enough to make you cry id say its world ending-"

"could you just shut up? for once in your life?"

it's quiet for a minute, the only sound in the air being the gentle breeze. even thought the comment stings stiles knows all too well you're just lashing out in anger and hurt.

"im sorry."

"don't apologize. i get it, i do." he moves closer until he's standing beside you, walking slowly so he doesn't make you lash out again.

he looks down at the photo and he gets it. its you, about six or seven with a bright smile on your face and standing with two people he can tell are your parents. he can see the resemblance. you have one of their smiles and hair color, the other's nose, and by their clothes, the same dark style.

"its been over ten years. since i lost them," you whisper, your voice sounding more weak than he's ever heard it. "itd be nice if I was staying with my aunts for some sabrina the teenage witch reason but no. i don't have a choice."

he gently puts a hand on your shoulder. "i get it, i do. i lost my mom. every day i remember things about her in things i do. it hurts but its better than forgetting."

you sniff and hes about to back up when you put your hand over his on your shoulder, gripping it tightly. it hurts a bit. he doesn't really care.

"its not fair."

"its not."

"...thank you."

"don't mention it."

you give him with the materials and he's about to leave when you stop him, your hand grasping his wrist. he wants to ask whats wrong but he stops. you're staring right at him, into his soul he thinks, and all he wants is to hold you and tell you any pain he's suffered the past few years is worth it because it led him to you, that even if you asked him to sacrifice himself on an alter for a spell that would make you happy for a minute he would do it-

"this bracelet. i want you to wear it and don't take it off no matter what, all right?"

hey, that works for him.

as soon as the bracelet was clasped around his wrist he felt different. like his nerves were tingling and his brain was warm. he felt like he was going to get the most powerful migraine in existence and reached to take it off when you took his hand again.

"please. just give it a minute."

and so he did.

only thirty seconds of dull pain later and he felt normal, if not better. like when you're a kid and have the best day of your life and return home to a good meal. a nice bath, and a great night's rest. he feels almost powerful.

"hey what is this thing? did you just give me powers? is this gonna make me your servant or something?"

"bye stiles."

he gives deaton the materials after telling scott where he was ignoring the weird look on his face before the boy goes back to examining an adorable beagle on the operating table.

deaton takes the bag and bottles with an appreciative smile, his eyebrows scrunching up when he notices the jewelry on stiles wrist.

"where'd you get that bracelet?"

"uhh, i found it. at a thrift shop. thought it looked cool. why?"

deaton clearly doesn't believe him but decides to entertain stiles anyway. "the band is a normal bracelet but the charms are what makes it special. they're pagan."

"could you explain them to me? just because you know."

the vet just shakes his head and laughs before pointing to each one.

"this one, the witchs knot. standard symbol for warding off evil. its mostly used as a protection charm."

stiles admires the charm, the metal silver with the symbol burned into it. it looks like a circle with a line roped in and out of four points of it.

"this, hecates wheel. a goddess of magic, as you probably already know. symbolizes the power of knowledge and life."

this charm is a bit heavier, the stone looking weathered with a scratched labyrinth engraved on it, a distinct 'x' in the middle of it.

"and this one is..." deaton starts before his words trail off. stiles looks at it. it looks like four combined circles, each with symbols inside them. the two across from each other on the side looking like two crescent moons, the one on the top holding a basic pentagram. but he doesn't recognize the one on the bottom-two perpendicular lines forming an 'x' with little swirly lines coming from the middle on the top and bottom.

"what? what does it mean? is it bad?"

"no, it's not bad at all, stiles. the crescents and pentagram are used in another basic protection spell. more protection for the user."

"and the one on the bottom?"

"well, i don't honestly know what it is. its most likely a personal sigil made by the person who made it. but by my guess, based on others I've seen before, it might mean whoever made it has a deep love and affection for whoever they gifted the bracelet to."

stiles thought he was keeping his cool, but scott made extra sure to remind him the following days and the dumbass look on his face when deaton explained the symbol to him.

he didnt know what to do. this had to mean you felt the same way he did about you, right? why else would you gift him a love sigil on a bracelet you insisted he wear? for a second he considered it was a love spell you tried to put on him, but he was feeling iffy about that. mostly about how he wouldn't care that much.

(he apparently admitted that in a sleepy haze when he was sleeping over at scotts, and he's never wanted to die more than when he woke up and realized issac of all people heard him.)

the next time he saw you he tried as hard as he could to act casual. you asked him about ten times if he was okay, and he eventually came up with a good enough 'just a slight stomach bug' lie and regretted it immensely when you invited him back to your house, telling him you'd been practicing making simple health remedies and you had the perfect thing to fix him.

the whole walk to your house he was on edge, his palms feeling sweaty for the first time in his life as he repeatedly wiped them off on his pants. just like the first meeting, you tell him to wait on the couch and he lets out a shaky breath when you leave into the kitchen.

what does he do? does he confess? does he need to? he was so scared that he was being too obvious and maybe that's why you put the sigil on the bracelet, to let him know you returned his affections. but what is he wasn't obvious? and he was basically telling you he only liked you because you liked him? what if-

"stop staring into space and drink this tea, dummy."

he laughs awkwardly and takes the ornate cup from your hand, sniffing the tea before he drinks it. it's sweet but savory, smelling like nutmeg and milk. he can see little flakes and leaves floating on the top. he takes a sip and hums at the taste.

"screw boxing, you should be a professional chef. i'm gonna need you to give me this recipe."

"yeah right. a witch never reveals her secrets." you scoff before sitting down next to him on the couch. you put your arm up on the back and rest your head on your wrist as you cross your legs, your foot brushing against his leg. he nearly spills the tea over his lap.

he can't help but admire you. he had given you a few magazines he'd gotten from stores and stuff to better show you how people were dressing these days, and while you'd hated most of it you took to some trends, wearing a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a pair of combat boots. he tried to focus on the rips in your jeans as to not let his eyes wander up, where you were wearing a leather halter camisole with nothing underneath. he can't help but laugh in his head when he thinks of the word camisole. maybe he was spending too much time around lydia.

"stiles? seriously are you possessed or something? normally you'd be talking my ear off trying to guess exactly what ingredients i used for the tea."

he sets the cup down after taking another long sip and turns his body to you, your eyebrows raising in what he can tell is amusement. most people could easily get annoyed by his theatrics, but after your near trauma bonding at the willow tree, you had always made sure to welcome them with a smile.

"look, i have something to say. which you probably already know, but i need to say it to you anyway to make sure you really know, y'know?"

you blink. "go ahead."

he breathes in and out a few times, his previous confidence suddenly disappearing.

"let me guess, you saw the sigil and now you're going to confess your love to me?"

he goes into a near coughing fit.

"how, well thanks because now i dont have to actually say it, but if you had given me a minute-"

before he knows it you're scooting closer, your faces just a few inches apart. you're staring at him with that same look you had when you gave him the bracelet. his breath is picking up and he bites his bottom lip, your eyes darting to the motion.

"can i kiss you?"

"yes, god yes-"

your hand grips his chin and brings his lips to yours, the intensity and plushness of it nearly driving him insane. he doesn't really know what to do with his hands, settling to just keep them on his lap before your other hand brings them to your waist and squeezes them in place. at this point you're nearly on his lap and that combined with the kiss and the fact he swears he just felt your tongue poke his lip is going to be the death of him.

he pulls away from the kiss and kneads his hands on your hips, able to feel the softness of your skin on the places where the camisole lifts up.

"wow. i mean just...arent you a recluse? where'd you learn to kiss like that? have you like, conjured up clones to practice with or something."

"stiles?"

"yeah?"

"shut up and kiss me again."

"whatever you say, babe."

for the first time in his life, stiles stilinksi thinks everything is gonna work out.

ty for reading! had to tell myself to get up off my ass and write at 3am and wrote about half of this so sorry for any dialogue inconsistencies. love you bye bye.

#teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #stiles #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski fluff #stiles stilinski x witch reader #stiles x reader #witch reader #witch!reader #deaton #scott mcall

887 notes · View notes

whereispearlescentmoon · 2 days ago

Text

A ficlet based on the idea that the snails just hang around after the end of the session and also reflect their respective players true feelings. (yes I saw the one someone made earlier about Pearl’s snail with Gem but I had this written already and I’m not gonna not post it just because someone else posted the idea first.)

Pearl was, frankly, sick and tired of the snails. She kept checking the seams of their new base to ensure that nothing can get in. Her fingernails had bits of debris caught underneath them from each time she ran them over the corners, over the grout holding the cobblestone walls together, over everything. Grian said the snails won’t want to kill them anymore, but Pearl wasn’t taking any chances. Cleo and Scott seemed content to have theirs hanging around, and even Impulse wasn’t as wary, but while she thought they were cute at first, it’s a little less cute when they’ve killed you twice.

“Aw look at it! It loves Scott!” Cleo cooed happily. Pearl was actually trying very hard NOT to look at Cleo’s especially. Like Cleo, it was stitched together of green undead flesh. But unlike Cleo, Pearl had no affection for it and thus her disgust overpowered anything else. When she did take a glance at her teammates, Scott was happily patting ZombieSnail’s shell as it snuggled into him. Snailjor was similarly content to curl up against Cleo, who was petting it almost like a cat.

Impulse was reacting a bit more normally in Pearl’s opinion. ISnail was following him around as he changed into a more comfortable set of clothes to sleep in (cargo shorts are very practical, but not very soft), occasionally nudging at Impulse’s ankle. It made Pearl ache to be back on Hermitcraft, with Olive getting in her way as she tidied up. They had to stay the normal length of the session though, even if they had cut the killing short. It would be a few more days before anyone could go anywhere.

Then there was Pearl’s own snail. It was, frankly, nowhere to be seen. It seemed to want as little to do with her as she did with it. Oh well. Another soul bound (that is what Grian had called them, right? It seemed like he was making things up to torment Pearl specifically at this point) rejecting her. Whatever.

Maybe she had spoken too soon, she thought, as a light rustling came from outside the walls. It was followed by the sound of those stupid propellers the things had been using to fly around all session.

“I’m not in the mood, dude,” Pearl called out, as she, like Impulse, searched their chests for the sleep shorts she had brought. As her back was turned, she could hear the snail still approaching, and sighed as its cold and slimy body nudged against her leg. “Seriously, can you just-“

Her words caught in her throat as she looked down at the snail. Instead of the brown shell, navy blue jacket, and oddly long hair that she had been running from all session, there was a light orange shell and little set of overalls. Gem’s then. Pearl crouched beside it, eying it suspiciously. She still really didn’t get why Gem was so angry at her, but it couldn’t be a good sign that her murder snail was here.

“What’s up little Gem?” Pearl asked, putting her hand out. The snail, predictably, bit her, drawing blood with its oddly sharp teeth. Pearl drew back with a yelp, curling the hand into her jacket. “Dang it! Jeez Louise Gem, if you wanted to kill me outside of session time, wait till we’re back home at least,”

And home had been odd, frankly. It seemed like Gem might have been avoiding her on Hermitcraft. The Life Series wasn’t normally like that. It got kind of fuzzy when you weren’t in the server proper. Only a couple of weeks after Pearl had slaughtered them both in Double Life, she had been planning with Impulse and laughing with Cleo. She had done some clean up for Scar the same week she had put up a wall between her and the Clockers. Hell, even right after Secret Life her and Gem had hung out like nothing was the matter, chatting about the series casually. Something about being back here had dug up feelings Gem had clearly chosen not to address with her, and could Pearl really be blamed for that? No, she decided, and she wouldn’t take Gem’s snail letting out those feelings like this either.

“Whoa, what happened?” Scott had come rushing over at Pearl’s yelp. She sighed, gesturing with her now bleeding finger. Scott hissed through his teeth, “Woof, that’s nasty. What did you do to tick off Gem’s snail?”

Pearl growled, frustrating welling up. “The same thing I’ve done to Gem! Nothing! It came up to me to bite me! I literally didn’t do anything!”

Scott put his hands up, looking for all the world like he didn’t believe her.

“Alright, alright, let me look at that finger then, don’t want it to get infected. You’ve already lost more lives than you can afford.” His tone was joking, but Pearl couldn’t help but be a little hurt. She wasn’t trying to lose lives! Really! She didn’t want to win, but she didn’t want to go out first. It was just hard with the wild cards to find her normal footing.

Usually in these games her biggest strength was the ability to hide and outlast her opponents, but the twists had made that impossible. She was a good fighter, could hold her own when inevitably there was only a handful of people left and she had to fight, but she usually avoided getting involved until then. Now, she might be dead before those final bloodbath days, when the whole server was red and all was going to hell, even happened.

While Scott took the time to properly clean out the cut, the snail nudged at Pearl’s ankle again. She shook it off with a frustrated huff.

“See what I mean? It’s trying to come up to me! What am I supposed to do about that?” Scott finished wrapping her finger and looked down at the snail, which seemed frankly uninterested in him, beady green eyes fixated on Pearl alone.

“Maybe it’s like an abused cat,” he proposed, “It wants to show you affection but when you do it back, it starts hissing and biting. You’ve just got to let it come to you and pretend you don’t even notice it,”

“Or, we could leave it outside the base and hope it goes back to Gem?” She suggested, hopefully. Scott gave her an exasperated look.

“Didn’t it fly over the wall to get her in the first place?” Pearl pouted and huffed, crossing her arms.

She titled her head to get a good look at the snail. Her right eye had gone red tinted and it made it harder to see out of, forcing her to crane her neck at odd angles to see with the left. The Gem snail had come crawling back and was circling the log Pearl had sat down on. Every subsequent circle, it got closer and closer, until it was brushing Pearl’s leg. Finally, as Pearl sat still so as to not provoke another attack, it settled on the log beside her, leaning its weight against her thigh. Pearl ignored it pointedly, holding back a shudder at the weird feeling of its slug-like body.

It wasn’t until the next morning that the Gem snail finally left. Pearl had barely been able to sleep, halfway between comforted and afraid of the thing snoozing beside her. She didn’t want to provoke it. She hadn’t wanted to provoke Gem. Maybe she was doing all of this wrong. Or maybe Gem was. Either way, she just wanted to go home and have things be normal again.

Somewhere, in the forest, Pearlescentsnail found a tree and climbed up it to sleep. She looked around, making sure there was no one else there, sank into her shell, and stayed there until the session ended. She went out alone.

#pearlescentmoon #geminitay #smajor1995 #zombiecleo #fanfic #wild life SMP #THIS IS NOT A SHIP FIC #you can read it that way if you want but it is not written with that intention #shiny duo #life series

86 notes · View notes

kaiyatoast · 8 months ago

Text

peachy - theo raeken

summary: theo gives you a ride home pairings: theo raeken x gn!reader w/c: 1147

“theo’s staring at you.”

your head snapped up from the ground, turning in the direction of your strawberry blonde best friend. you gave her a questioning look and she pointed in the boy’s direction. you looked there and sure enough, he was looking straight at you. your cheeks heated up and you smiled softly at him, feeling the usual fluttering of your heart whenever you looked at him.

it was obvious you had some sort of attraction towards him. before he killed your brother, after he killed him, and after he came back from hell. you’ve always found him good looking. how his soft brown hair fell over his face, his gorgeous blue eyes, the small smile on his soft, kissable lips that was always present around you, his really nice bice-

“y/n! are you listening?” stiles exclaimed, jolting you out of your thoughts. your cheeks heated up further as you looked away from theo. you nodded sheepishly. lydia nudged you with a small smirk and a wink. in turn, you playfully growled at her, showing her your fangs. she rolled her eyes at you and linked your arms together.

you kept yourself from staring at theo for the rest of the pack meeting, only glancing at him every so often. every time you looked at him, he’d already have his eyes on you with a small smile on his face. when the meeting was over, everyone left. you walked off with lydia and she was already grilling you.

“are you going to do anything?” she asked. you gave her a confused look.

“do what with who?”

“theo. are you going to do anything about your very obvious attraction to him?” the strawberry blonde asked you. you shook your head as scott joined you, walking alongside you.

“it is not obvious,” you scowled. both lydia and scott looked at each other before looking back at you.

“it’s very obvious, y/n. everyone could see how attracted you are to each other,” lydia said. scott nodded.

“we could even smell it,” he added with a boyish grin. you rolled your eyes at your alpha and best friend.

“fine. but it’s one sided. but i do not have that much attraction to him anyways,” you lied.

“we know you’re lying,” lydia and scott said. you walked backwards so that you were facing them.

“i’m not lying,” you lied again. “what would i be attracted to anyways? his eyes? hair? face? body? nuh uh, i don’t think so.”

“i think it’s all of it,” lydia piped in unhelpfully. you gave her a flat look before continuing.

“besides, all this attraction is only temporary. i haven’t been crushing on him for a while,” you said and lydia gave you an unconvinced look. scott glanced behind you but you ignored it.

“besides, i’ll just avoid him so i don’t have to deal with his goodlooking-ness,” you continued with a nod.

“who are you avoiding?” a familiar voice asked and you turned, almost tripping over your two feet. you felt the usual flutter in your stomach when theo gave you a small smirk.

“uh, no one?” you said, biting the insides of your cheek. he chuckled and the sound made you smile.

“oh! theo! you’re here! perfect. can you drop y/n? i have things that i need to do and scott has some place he needs to be, thanks,” lydia said before pulling scott with her so that you were left alone with theo.

goddamnit lydia.

“uh, you don’t have to drop me, i think stiles is still here,” you said, biting your lips.

“it’s fine, i’ll drop you off,” theo said with the charming smile still on his face. he held his hand to you and without any hesitation, you took it. he interlocked your fingers as you walked to his truck. the two of you talked as he drove, with one of his hands on your thigh. your eyes kept glancing down at it before looking up again.

you tried to focus on the conversation, but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the warmth on your thigh. or how his hand covered your entire thigh. and wow, he had really nice hands. you wondered how his hands would fe-

“y/n? you alright?” theo asked. your eyes snapped up to meet his.

“yep, all cool,” you nodded. all was decidedly not cool, but that was because of the warmth you could feel. and the tingles. you wondered what it would feel like on yo-

“are you sure? you seem really distracted,” theo smirked. he could probably hear how your heartbeat was all over the place. he parked the car in front of your house, turning to focus on you.

“yes i’m sure. everything’s peachy.”

“peachy?”

"yes peachy. everything's fine and peachy. thanks for the ride, raeken." you glared at him, suddenly mad at him for teasing you when he knew that you had a not-really-there, tinsy-small crush on him.

you turned to open the door, but before you could, his hand reached out to grasp your forearm.

"what, theo?" you asked, your anger dissipating. you knew that you were unfair to him, and that you were truly annoyed at yourself, for not saying anything, but also not being able to get over him.

"sorry, it was unfair for me to snap at you."

"it's alright. you wanna tell me what's really on your mind? and what got you so annoyed?"

you let out a small, unamused laugh. "no, it's alright. i'll get over it. don't worry about it. you probably have something better to do."

"you're right. i have something better to do," theo agreed. the words came originally from your lips, but it still caused you to flinch.

you gave him a tight smile. "okay. wouldn't want to take up more of your time."

you turned to the door again, using your other hand to open the door and pulling your arm from him. "thanks for the ride."

you heard him growl. before you could ask him what his problem was, you felt theo pull you in by your shoulders and your lips on his.

it took you a moment before you could respond. you kissed him back, just as he was about to pull away. you melted into the kiss, and into his hand, which moved to gently hold your face.

you moved your hand to the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. his tongue nudged your lips, and you obliged, opening them to meet his.

when you had to come up for air, you moved back, but theo rested his forehead against yours.

"told you i had better things to do," theo grinned. you rolled your eyes, but before you could retort, he lifted you up and sat you on his lap, moving in to kiss you again.

yep, definitely better things to do

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #theo raeken #theo raeken imagine #theo raeken x reader #post season 6b #yea i started this in 2021 and im only finishing this in 2024

184 notes · View notes

mikrokosmos · 14 days ago

Text

The Gothic in Classical Music History (1760s-1920s)

Intro Back in high school I fell in love with two things; classical music, and Edgar Allan Poe. I’ve always loved Halloween, October, spooky things, ghost stories, horror and slasher movies, etc. And I always loved finding classical music that was also spooky, or dark, or evocative of the same eerie experience of a cold and foggy October day. Thinking about these memories made me want to put together a short list of Gothic Classical music.

But what do I mean? There is no true “Gothic music” as in a specific movement in classical history, because the traditional Gothic refers to literature. Not all art movements have corresponding trends in all mediums. Even so I thought it would be fun to say, if there was such a thing as Gothic music, what would that include?

18th Century

John Henry Fuseli - The Nightmare (1781)

Music of the 1760s-1790s, corresponding with the first wave of “Gothic Novels” in the English language. Some names in this era include Horace Walpole (The Castle of Otranto), Ann Radcliffe (The Mysteries of Udolpho, The Italian) and Charles Brockden Brown (Wieland). The closest we have to music of this same era would be in the Sturm und Drang style. Sturm und Drang (Storm and Stress) was used to describe music written in a minor key that was restless, agitated, intense, emotional, and more extreme than the typical expectations for restraint and lightness/clarity, music that aristocrats in powdered wigs and velvet and lace could relax with. Strong changes of emotion and more emphasis on subjectivity, reflected by sudden modulations and pulsing rhythms.

The most famous piece that I associate with Sturm und Drang is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s “little” g minor Symphony no.25, K.183 (1773). It is famously used in the opening of Miloš Forman’s Amadeus (1984). It is a fun piece, and that opening movement is full of fire, and probably the young Mozart having fun (he wrote it at 17. If you ever want to lower your self esteem, look up what music Mozart wrote at your current age.). Another major work would be Joseph Haydn’s “Farewell” Symphony no.45 (1772), written in the very unusual for the time key of f# minor. And of course, even though he comes later, anything Ludwig van Beethoven published in a minor key has a lot of muscular passion to it, and his early/classical era of the 1790s is no joke. Check out the final movements of his Piano Trio no.3 in c minor and his Piano Sonata no.1 in f minor, or his most famous early sonata, the Pathetique.

But if the Sturm und Drang style and Gothic genre also emphasize the disturbed and the psychological, we can include programmatic works that do the same. Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni (1788) has an incredible moment in the finale. The sociopathic hedonist is confronted by the ghost of the man he murdered in the first act, who possesses a statue and confronts Don Giovanni with his sins. Don Giovanni doesn’t repent, so he is dragged into hell with a chorus of demons. Always a good reminder that Mozart wasn’t the eternal child who wrote pretty melodies.

19th Century

Caspar David Friedrich - The Abbey in the Oakwood (1810)

Music of the early 19th century corresponds better with Gothic fiction because Romanticism in art brought greater interest in the supernatural, in the subjective, in emotional reactions to the universe… major names in fiction include the poetry of Lord Byron (Darkness), Mary Shelley (Frankenstein, The Last Man), and Sir Walter Scott (The Bride of Lammermoor). Greater emphasis is put on the anxiety of the unknown, supernatural fears beyond our control.

Of all Franz Schubert’s songs, Erlkönig (1815) best exemplifies the Gothic (and this is a bold claim because I only know about a fraction of Schubert’s extensive song output). In it, a father and son are riding on horseback. The son is sick with fever. As they ride, the son cries out that he can hear the Elf King calling out to him, some evil spirit or demon that wants to take the son’s life. The father tries to calm him down, but the Elf King gets closer and closer. By the time they reach home, the son has died. Was the Elf King real? Was the son hallucinating from fever? How literal should we take this text? The ambiguity of subjective experiences and how we interpret and understand reality is a major theme in Gothic fiction.

Many famous German operas lean into the supernatural and magical. In this period we get Carl Maria von Weber’s Der Freischütz (1821), considered to be the first Romantic opera. In it, our main character Max who needs to win a shooting contest so he can be allowed to marry his lover, Agathe. He is given a gun that can shoot magic bullets by another forrester Kaspar (who has his own plans). Kaspar tells Max to meet him in the “Wolf’s Glenn” in the woods at midnight for more magic bullets. In the Wolf’s Glenn, Kaspar calls for a spirit, the Black Huntsman Samiel, to help him curse the other characters, offering Max’s soul in exchange. Making deals with demons/the devil was another fascination in Romanticism.

Legends of a diabolical nature were springing around great musicians. At the end of the 1700s, Giuseppe Tartini wrote his most famous composition, the “Devil’s Trill” Violin Sonata in g minor which is full of virtuosic passages. Tartini claimed that the Devil appeared to him in a dream, and that he sold his soul in exchange for the Devil to be his servant. He handed the Devil his violin, and the Devil “…played with such great art and intelligence, as I had never even conceived in my boldest flights of fantasy. I felt enraptured, transported, enchanted: my breath failed me, and I awoke” Source

Similar stories came about with violinist Niccolò Paganini, who astonished the audiences of the early 19th century with his (for the time) otherworldly technique, dazzling them with scales and leaps and scratches the likes of which you can hear across his 24 Caprices for solo violin. A young Franz Liszt was at one of Paganini’s concerts and he was enthralled and inspired to become the “Paganini of the Piano”. He too would dazzle audiences with his percussive intensity, glittering arpeggios, and dreamy modulations to possess women with the spirits of hysteria and other dated misogynistic diseases. Cliche to say but before Bieber Fever, before Beatlemania, there was Lisztomania.

The sense of Faustian bargains comes through in the pieces Liszt wrote after Goethe’s Faust. The Faust Symphony (1857) includes a movement for Mephistopheles, the demon/ the Devil that bargains with Faust. The Mephistopheles movement has no original theme, but takes and corrupts the themes of Faust and his lover Gretchen into a mocking tone. Later on, Liszt was inspired to write a tone poem “The Dance in the Village Inn” or Mephisto Waltz no.1 (c.1862). He also wrote it for piano around the same time. The story has Mephistopheles taking Faust to a wedding in a village and playing the violin so madly, the partygoers are intoxicated by the music and go off dancing in the woods. Emotions taking over and making one act irrationally was another fascination in Gothic fiction.

Liszt would go on in his later years writing a few more Mephisto waltzes, with a lot of forward thinking harmonies and piano writing, unfortunately not as popular. Mephisto waltz no.2 (1881) has moments that make me think of Debussy, and the third (1883) has glittering and ethereal moments. But the best example of Liszt’s interest in the Gothic would be his earlier concert piece Totentanz (1949), or Dance of Death (Danse macabre). In it, the piano and orchestra play out variations on the Medieval chant Dies Irae, always reminding us of the inevitability of death. The variations depict skeletons dancing wildly all while the Mephistopheles at the piano unleashes his seductive tones.

The Dies Irae chant goes across our pop culture, with one famous iteration being a synthesized version of passages from Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique that Wendy Carlos wrote for Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) after Stephen King’s novel of the same name. And it was Berlioz’s symphony that enchanted audiences in 1830 with new, titanic sounds beyond what orchestra music had been before. In the story of the Symphonie fantastique, an artist has tried to overdose on opium after feeling rejected by unrequited love, but instead he has a vivid drug induced nightmare where he is sentenced to be beheaded via guillotine, which was still a traumatic living memory for the Parisian audience. He then sees himself among ghosts and monsters during a witches’ sabbath, the lovely woman’s beautiful theme is distorted into a grotesque mockery, the Dies Irae comes back among the cackling. It was a new degree of imagination expected from the audience. Later, Berlioz would depict demons in Pandæmonium (the Capital of Hell in Dante’s Inferno) at the end of his Damnation of Faust.

Through the mid to late 19th century we get authors of Gothic literature such as Edgar Allan Poe, Elizabeth Gaskell, Emily and Charlotte Brontë, Nathaniel Hawethorne, and Victor Hugo. We also get two more operas that have Gothic themes. First is Richard Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman (1843). In this opera, a ship on the North Sea collides with the Ghost Ship of the Flying Dutchman who is cursed to sail the seas forever, but is allowed to come ashore once every seven years and if he can find a wife, he will be freed. I’m sure you can guess how this opera ends. The overture is often played in concert for a condensed version of Wagnarian thunder and romance. The next important opera is Giuseppe Verdi’s Macbeth (1847), because Shakespeare was being revived and translated in different languages across Europe and Verdi loved his plays. In the opera, Macbeth comes across a chorus of witches that foretell his success and downfall. He is too ambitious and goaded by Lady Macbeth, plans to take the throne through deception and murder. Lady Macbeth is later haunted with phantom blood on her hands which only she can see. And Macbeth succumbs to his inevitable fate.

We also get two significantly “Gothic” pieces of orchestra music. They are both tone poems, which also reflects the concert goers’ tastes. The one that has always been a quintessential “Halloween classical” piece is Camille Saint-Saens’ Danse Macabre (1875), opening at the stroke of midnight (softly evoked by the harp), a violin shrieks out the tritone (the “Devil’s interval” which the Romantics thought meant was cursed by the superstitious Medievals, really it was an idiom for “hard to use in music”) and introduces ballroom music along with the clacking bones of skeletons dancing in the graveyard (evoked by the xylophone). The skeletons dance through the night until the rooster crows at dawn.

The other great Halloween concert piece is Modest Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain (1867) which depicts another witches sabbath, this time on St. John’s Night, a major holiday in Slavic Eastern Orthodox culture. Walt Disney’s Fantasia (1940) would help bring this poem to life with an animated phantasmagoria of ghouls and skeletal horses and other demons flying around the mountainous demon Chernoberg.

[Here I want to give a quick shoutout to Cesar Franck’s Le Chasseur maudit (The Accursed Huntsman), a tone poem about a Count who doesn’t go to church one Sunday, and instead rides around to whip peasants for his own amusement, so demons drag him to hell. Not nearly as famous a concert piece as the others mentioned in this list but it has colorful orchestration so you should check it out.]

The initial idea for Fantasia was for Disney to repopularize Mickey Mouse by writing him into an animated version of Paul Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. The original poem by Goethe was a classic that Paul Dukas set to music in 1897. In it, we hear the Sorcerer leave his Apprentice to clean the floors of his workshop. The Apprentice uses magic to bring a broom to life so it can do the chores for him. The Broom mindlessly pours buckets of water all over the floor, and the Apprentice isn’t good enough with magic to stop it. He chops it up into pieces with an ax, but they regenerate into several brooms which go back to marching water in. The Sorcerer returns to clean the mess and scolds his Apprentice. This charming tale has a darker and more diabolically fun tone in Dukas orchestra.

20th Century

Harry Clarke - Illustration for "Masque of the Red Death" (1919)

In the same exact year of Dukas’ tone poem, we get Bram Stoker’s Dracula. At this turn of the century other major names include Gaston Luroux (The Phantom of the Opera), Robert Lewis Stevenson (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde), Henry James (The Turn of the Screw), Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray). At this time, there are a few more pieces that continue trying to evoke Gothic subject matter. One comes from Gustav Mahler’s Symphony no.7 (1905), sometimes dubbed “Song of the Night”. Two of the symphonies five movements are titled “Nachtmusik” (night music), the first is more in line with Gothic anxiety and spookiness than the second which is more like a serenade. But the most Gothic movement is the Scherzo which sits in the middle of the symphony and is like a Viennese ballroom full of dancing corpses and skeletons as waltz music decays with them.

A surprising example (at least, because of how relatively obscure it is) comes from Claude Debussy with parts of an opera based on Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher that he worked on between 1908-1917. Not too much a surprise on the one hand because French translations of Poe’s work became popular and influential. On the other hand Debussy is more known for evocative sound pictures, unique musical colors, and subtlety. Perhaps he was drawn to symbolist and psychosexual interpretations of The House of Usher, the same interests that preoccupied him with his only finished opera Pelleas et Melisande. Roger Orledge reconstructed the opera and tried to stay true to Debussy’s style, so what we do have is passable and as shadowy and vague as his other orchestral masterpieces.

Maybe the hardest work to recommend (but I do recommend regardless, give it a chance) is a Modernist song cycle for chamber ensemble. Arnold Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire (1910) uses freely chromatic atonality to give a demented color of psychosis experienced by Pierrot, personified version of a stock character for old Commedia dell Arte plays, a clown who over time became the “sad clown”. Maybe a precursor to the demon from Stephen King’s It, or the demented clowns and jesters that laugh at the madness of the cosmos across Thomas Ligotti’s short stories.

This was only meant to be a small overview of works that could fit my own view of the Gothic in music. There are more examples I could include, so as a hint toward today, I’ll end with a piece that was written about a century ago, yet sounds as if it could have been written today. Henry Cowell’s The Banshee (1925) is a short piano piece, so if you can, at least listen to this one. Instead of playing with the keys like you’re “supposed to”, Cowell asks the performer to drag their fingers along the wires directly. This creates disturbing reverberations and scratching sounds that tingle the back of your neck, that feel like the otherworldly cry of a Banshee.

Happy Halloween.

64 notes · View notes

redroomreflections · 5 months ago

Text

The Ghost in The Window Chapter 1

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: As a former child star and one-half of one of Hollywood's most powerful couples, you’re no stranger to the dangers of the spotlight. Life has just begun to settle for you as you navigate motherhood, marriage, and your career. When a fan-turned-stalker gets a bit too close for comfort, everything is turned upside down

Note: Uploading the WIPs here too...

W/c: 8.4k

No one tells you how surreal it feels once you’re standing up there. A few moments ago you had been waiting patiently in your seat, eyes forward, a polite smile on your face as the nominees were read. Your palms are sweaty as you clutch your stylist, Loki’s, hand in yours. He gives you a comforting squeeze as you listen for your name. The giant camera is turned toward your face and suddenly you have to put on a show. It’s been like this every awards season. Only this time you’re the one on display. You give a curt nod, looking everywhere but the camera, as you think about what to do if you lose. It’s impossible to think of all the scenarios now that you’re here.

“And the winner goes to." Zendaya Coleman opens the envelope slowly. The smile on her face tells you she’s happy about whomever the winner is. You close your eyes and wait for the disappointment. Only it never comes. “Y/n, Y/l/n.” Your name slips from her lips as smooth as butter and you don’t know what to do. You’re amazed by the massive amount of cheers you receive as you stand to go and accept your reward. You kiss Loki’s cheek, and then your mother who is sitting next to you. You’re missing someone else though you know she’s there in spirit. You grip the hem of your dress to make the train easier to drag along with you. It’s a simple one-shoulder rust-brown satin gown that hugs your curves in all the right places. It was something you picked out months ago and sure enough, it’s done you right.

The moments leading up to your acceptance speech were a blur for everything that’s happening now. You’re standing here in front of your peers and coworkers. Words seem to slip from your mind as you hold the seven-pound award to your chest. Your eyes scan the crowd for what feels like forever before you gather your bearings and speak. You step a little closer to the microphone so everyone could hear you.

“Wow,” You take another deep breath. “To say I wasn’t expecting to win is an understatement. I think we all go through those moments in life where we know someone much more talented or charming or any of those things could very well be standing up here too. I’ve always practiced what I was going to say but none of it seems right.” You look around. “I want to thank the tv academy for acknowledging the hard work and dedication that I have put into this project, my fellow costars, and the rest of production. Day in and day out they work so hard to bring these stories alive. I want to thank my fellow nominees who brought their best time and time again. It is an honor to be in the same company as these people. I want to thank our director Brad Lee Scott. He was so honest and welcoming and encouraging to get me to this spot. I would like to thank my beautiful wife, Natasha, who couldn’t make it tonight but I know she’s on the other side of the world cheering me on right now. What can I say, my love? You’ve helped me through it all. Late-night script reading, early morning coffee runs, and even our second child's birth. There’s no one I would rather do any of this with.”

You can see the countdown of the clock showing your speech time is almost up. “I also want to thank my parents. Their immense dedication and support to my dreams never go unnoticed. Finally, I want to say thank you to my kids. I know my little girl, Rosie, is at home watching. It’s way past your bedtime but you're allowed to stay up and see Mommy win just this time.” There’s a polite chuckle from the crowd. You hold up the award. “Thank you all again. Goodnight.” You blow a kiss to the camera before turning away.

You follow Zendaya off the stage and through the wings where there are a thousand and one cameras all on you. Your makeup artist, Darcy Lewis, meets you halfway in order to give you a touch-up. She begins by fixing your lipstick in silence. There’s already enough hustle and bustle around you as you’re greeted and congratulated by several big-name tv stars. At one point, Ellen Pompeo asks to take a picture with you, and you almost faint.

The rest of the night goes by rather quickly and you’re off to your after Emmy’s interview. There’s not a lot you have to do for this part. You’re a bit fatigued, your chest is sore from lack of pumping, and you want nothing more than to go home and cuddle with your kids. Yet being here in this moment is also more than you could imagine. You’re stepping onto the minuscule yellow tape someone has attached to the floor. You raise your chin and pose, eyes forward, shoulders back as you grip the trophy in your hand. It’s not your official award. That one will be engraved and mailed to your house within the next few weeks. For now, you had this one to hold and love on.

“Y/n over here” and “Y/n this way” are all shouted out to you as each interview tries to get your attention first. It’s only when your publicist, Roxy, quiets them down do you attempt to answer a question. Being up here as the center of attention can be overwhelming. Especially when your attention is being pulled every which way.

Finally, one man, someone you recognize from Entertainment Tonight offers up a question.

“So, Y/n, what can you say about season two of Taste of the Wilde?” He asks.

You give him a nod of acknowledgment before you speak. “I think that I don’t have a single clue.” There’s a burst of shared laughter from everyone in the room. “I’m simply a vessel.” You shrug. “I genuinely don’t have a full answer for you. I think what we did this season is very special. What we showed and the journey that, Wilde, my character went through was amazing. It was tasteful and also genuine. It would be great if we had another season. I would be happy to come back and delve through a lot of things. I also think that this season could be great as a standalone. I have faith that the writer’s room is more than competent and talented enough to bring everything together if we get the opportunity.” You finish.

Your years of media training come in handy as you navigate the questions being thrown at you. Some are harder than others but you give something that you hope they are satisfied with. You’re almost to your last question when you hear a collective gasp. For a second, you think a bigger star is about to enter the room. You slowly whip your head to the right and find there’s no one. When you feel strong arms around your waist and a peck on your cheek you immediately know who it is.

Your entire body warms and your stomach fills with butterflies as you tilt your head to see your wife Natasha. She’s wearing a dark green, asymmetrical backless gown that has a dangerously high slit on the thigh. It’s borderline tacky but on Natasha, it never could be. You use your unoccupied hand up to stroke her cheek before giving her a gentle peck.

“Nat, what are you doing here?” You speak lowly so only she could hear. “I thought you were in London for another week?”

“I couldn’t miss the biggest night of my girl’s life,” She murmurs before pecking you again. It’s easy for you to feel lost in her presence. The noise around you dissipates as you show off your award to her. You’re pulled back to reality by the flashing lights and shouts around you as the photographers beg you to pose.

“Natasha, how do you feel about your wife’s big win?” Someone yells out and it catches her attention. Her eyes never leave yours as she answers.

“I am so proud of my wife,” Natasha grins. “I am always so incredibly enamored and in awe of her talent and the work that she does. I am her biggest supporter and I’m so glad that everyone else sees what I see every day.” Natasha looks away to flash an award-winning smile at the camera. She’s speaking so smoothly and you hope she understands you won’t be the only winner tonight.

You spend a few more minutes mingling with the interviewers before you’re ushered to your truck. Natasha helps you inside first before she climbs in behind you. Roxy holds the door open to make sure you’re both inside safely.

“You don’t need a ride?” You bend at the waist to address her. Her thumbs are working overtime as she types at rapid speed. There’s no doubt in your mind that she has your entire schedule planned out for the next month.

“No, I’ll find my way,” Roxy dismisses. “For now you two go home and kiss those beautiful babies for me. Celebrate! I will call you tomorrow afternoon with the details of the press tour. Enjoy.” She says before slamming the door shut. She taps the glass of the car to signal your driver, Johnny, it’s safe to move.

You’re silent for a few more seconds. You’re being pulled away from the events and out towards the still-busy Los Angeles streets. It’s a forty-minute drive from here to your home so you might as well get comfortable. You lean back against Natasha as she wraps her arms around you once again. She feels solid and warm and you lift up to look down at her physique.

“You’ve been working hard on this movie?” You comment. “I like it.”

“Hmm, I’m glad that you do.” She mutters before she kisses your cheek. “I’m so proud of you, baby. I can’t wait to get you home.” She whispers a little closer to your ear. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Natasha.” You take her hand in yours to run your thumb across her knuckles. “Rose and Grace have missed you too.” You offer. It’s been two months since Natasha’s been home. Almost a month since you’ve seen her in person. She’s just wrapping up her reprising role as an assassin in one of the world’s largest movie franchises. Which meant a lot of her scenes were shot overseas. It was no big deal to you. Not when money was no object for you. She would come home as often as she could and you’d fly to her with the girls in tow often. The frequent distance could put a strain on even the most solid of marriages. Sometimes yours too but you’re making it work.

“I can’t wait to kiss their little cheeks,” Natasha smiles tiredly. “I took the first flight I could out here. It wasn’t even first class.” She informs you and you laugh.

“You’re spoiled,” You tap her nose. “Oh, I can’t wait to get home.” You lie your head back against her shoulder. “I could soak for days. Remind me again why I opt to wear such dangerously high heels?”

“They make your ass look great,” Natasha says. You glance up at Johnny who doesn’t seem to care about what you’re discussing. It’s not like he hasn’t heard everything already. “It’s the truth.”

“I’m glad you still think so,” You tuck your face into her neck. It’s a moment of vulnerability tucked inside of your small talk. Natasha knows firsthand how insecure you’re feeling after giving birth just five months ago. Though you’ve been in the gym day in and day out there are still small differences that you notice like your thighs being a bit thicker, your breasts being at least a cup size bigger than they used to be, and your flat stomach isn't as flat as it used to be. You don’t want to seem vain or shallow but sometimes you struggle with the changes. It doesn’t help that the media and public points them out quite often. Natasha is always there to help you through.

“I do think so and if we have time I’m more than happy to show you tonight,” She gives you a lingering kiss on the cheek. Your heart beats in anticipation of just what this night might entail for you. It’s been a long few months and you’re more than ready to be intimate with your wife again. You’re just thinking of the ways she could rip this dress off you without actually destroying it when the black Escalade approaches the gate of your home.

Johnny uses the button attached to the ceiling of the car to signal for the power gate to open. It does so slowly to reveal the contemporary Spanish home with white paint and red awnings. It stands tall with five bedrooms and four bathrooms. Certainly a bit too big for your family of four but you have a feeling you’d be filling it with more children in the near future. Johnny rushes out of the car to help you both. Natasha exits first and then you.

“Thank you, Jonny, it was so nice seeing you,” You bid him goodnight. He doesn’t pull off until you’re both inside the house. You don’t even wait before you’re kicking off your shoes and following the sound of the television. In the living room is where you find your daughter, Rose, asleep on the couch surrounded by a pile of pillows. The tv plays some commercial in the background and you reach for the remote to turn it off. That’s when Rose’s nanny, Carla, enters the room.

“Congratulations Miss,” Carla greets you with a hug. “I knew you were a shoo-in for that award. There’s too much talent in one body for them not to recognize it.

“Thank you so much, Carla,” You both turn to Rose. “How was she tonight?”

“Oh she was fine,” Carla dismisses. She walks around the room to pick up forgotten toys. “She wanted to stay awake and wait up for you. I tried to tell her it would be pretty late but there’s no arguing with a four-year-old. I assumed you would be attending one of the after-parties.” She inquires.

“Well, I was, but…” You gesture to Natasha who’s now in a robe and slippers. Boy does she change fast.

“Oh, Misses Romanoff, you’re home,” Carla excitedly walks over to her to hug Natasha. “You’re going to make little Rose’s day when she wakes up. I thought you had another week in London?”

“That’s what I said,” You agree.

“Well, I have to go back in two days to wrap up my final scenes,” Natasha says. “The boss gave me time off to come and spend Y/n’s big night with her.”

“Oh, well, don’t let me ruin the fun.” Carla dumps the last toy into the toy box.

“I’ll carry Rose up to the bed,” Natasha offers. “You can take the next two days off. We got it here.” Natasha says. Carla gives a few more praises before she disappears to her bedroom on the first floor.

Natasha walks over to the couch, bending slightly so that she can scoop Rose into her arms. Rose doesn’t startle for a second. She rests her head against Natasha’s shoulder with soft breaths. You follow them through the house and up to the front staircase. You make sure the security system is on and the doors are locked before you make your way to the second floor. You walk into Rose’s bedroom to kiss her goodnight just as Natasha does. She’s practically deadweight when you tuck her into her bed. Natasha flicks on her favorite starry globe nightlight. You leave them to their devices as you walk over to the nursery to find your youngest. Grace is fussy and appears to be waking up from her deep slumber when you approach her crib. Her feet kick out against the mattress and she begins to push herself up against her favorite plushie. You don’t waste time scooping her up and walking over to the rocking chair in a corner of the room. Breastfeeding in a ball gown is a bit harder than usual. After a little trial and error, you’re able to free yourself from the confines of the straps so that you can feed Grace from one side first.

Grace doesn’t open her eyes, though she moves instinctually, rooting for your breasts before she finds the nipple to latch onto. You press your toes against the plush fur rug to rock the both of you. You hold your breath in relief as you feel the first initial letdown. Grace hungrily suckles, her tiny hand holding you in place, as she rests. You don’t even notice Natasha has come in until she’s snapping a few pictures for her own memory.

“To post or not to post?” She wonders aloud before showing you the candids. They’re pretty tasteful pictures. Nothing of importance would be shown. Grace’s face is hidden and so is your chest. There’s pure adoration and love on your face in both pictures. In fact, the picture is really only the outline of your body and the baby. Anyone could tell what you’re doing in it. You’re still in your gown and the soft glow of the nightlight provides the perfect glow against your skin. It looks like something out of an art gallery. Even the most talented photographer wouldn’t be able to catch such a moment you think. A sense of calm emits from it and you give Natasha the okay to post them. She does so with a few taps of her thumbs before she tucks the phone into the pocket of her robe. She reaches her hand out to rub her fingers across Grace’s cheeks.

“She’s getting chunky,” Natasha comments, and you hum. “I’m missing so much.” She says with a tinge of sadness.

“You can burp her when I’m done,” You suggest. “She’ll probably need a diaper change too.” You joke and Natasha catches it.

“I would love to,” Natasha says. She sits with you and watches in complete awe as you help Grace switch sides with a bit of protest from her. She whines and opens her mouth wide ready to cry.

“Ohh, shh, Mommy’s only making sure you’re full,” You whisper to her. Grace settles against you once again. Her screwed-up features give way to pure serenity as she falls asleep again. Before you know it you’re done and you’re handing her off to Natasha.

“I started a bath it should be ready for us,” Natasha calls after you. You walk down the hall towards your bedroom and can in fact hear the water running. Your mind is still reeling from everything that has gone on for the past twenty-four hours. You check your phone, not even caring to look through the hundreds of notifications before you go on Twitter. Under Roxy’s approval, you send a tweet to thank everyone.

Feels surreal. Thank you all for your continued support.

You end the tweet with a bunch of emojis before you close out the app.

“You know, you’re in here, you’re supposed to be inside of the bath,” Natasha steps into the bathroom. She doesn’t wait for you to tell her to help with your gown. She already knows. She takes her sweet time unzipping it. She delights in the sight of smooth skin revealed to her with every inch uncovered. Finally, she takes your hand and allows you to step out when it pools at your ankles. She gives a brow raised at the tiny black thong you’re wearing, prompting you to give a spin so that she can see it. “Damn,” She mutters to herself. You don’t try to cover up or shy away from her gaze. She makes you feel wanted in every way possible. Next, she throws off her own robe before climbing in first. You get in after her and lean against her front. The water is scalding hot and eases the pain in your aching muscles.

Natasha takes her time to pour you both a glass of wine. It’s then you notice all of the candles and the soft music playing.

“Oh, so you just knew you were going to get some tonight?” You sip from your glass.

“No,” Natasha denies. “I knew you would want to decompress. I was hoping that I would be able to fuck you tonight. Big difference.”

“Ahh,” You nod. Her calloused hands come around to grip your waist so that you’re pressed just a bit closer. You can feel her hardened nipples against your back. The water sloshes around you with every movement as she tucks her chin on your shoulder. “I’m so happy you came.” You say again.

“I’m so happy too,” Natasha presses a kiss against your shoulder. “I loved seeing you up there. I watched for a few seconds before. You speak incredibly well. You commanded the space. Did you feel anxious?”

“I did,” You sigh. Natasha’s hands haven’t left your body since you stepped into the bath. She touches you as if she’s trying to memorize every spot and if you didn’t know any better she is. “It’s getting better though. Being up there and realizing I deserve to be in the space just as much as everybody else works wonders for the ego.”

“Mhmm,” Natasha agrees. “You know what would work well for mine?” She asks just as her right-hand ghost over your breasts. She knows you’re way too sensitive there for her to touch since breastfeeding but just like the rest of your body she doesn’t miss a beat. Her left-hand parts your legs for you in a show of strength.

“What?” You play along though you know what she’s about to say.

“Making you cum,” She whispers into your ear. Her fingers dip into your wet heat with practiced precision. She stops over coarse hair, delighting in the fact that you haven’t shaved, and it’s just how she likes it. She finds your clit, applying minimal pressure, and even then your hips jump. You close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of Natasha as she starts with slow and light circles. “I’ve missed touching you. Feeling you. Smelling you.” Natasha nips gently at your exposed neck. Thank the heavens for whoever invented bobby pins and updos. “All I could think about on that plane was being inside of you and hearing you whine and moan for me.” As if on cue you do exactly as she says. Your voice is soft and airy as your hips follow her fingers for friction. “Shh, it’s okay, baby, I'll take care of you.”

Natasha doesn’t disappoint. She enters you in one quick movement, giving you no time to prepare, and you gasp loudly. Her thrusting starts off slow and deep. Her thumb flutters across your clit with every rock of your hips and you’re a goner. You don’t even have time to catch your breath before you’re coming with her name on your tongue. She leaves kisses along your neck and shoulder as you come down. Your head lolls to the side as you finally exhale.

“Good?” She asks and you nod.

“So good,” You turn to her to kiss her. You look over the tub to see how much water has spilled over the lip of the tub. “I get to have you all night?”

“For as long as you want,” Natasha promises.

You take it as a challenge.

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

It’s sometime later in the morning you awaken. You open your eyes to an empty bed and the sound of crying and noise from somewhere in the distance. The sheets are haphazardly thrown across the bed with you tangled in them. The duvet is on the floor and there’s no sign of Natasha. You look around to see she’s hung up your gown along with hers on one of the racks. You reach over to check the time on your phone. It’s nine am. You’re still feeling exhausted after several rounds of lovemaking. Maybe you can sneak in more sleep before the girls awaken. You’re just about to close your eyes when you hear the creak of the bedroom door.

Rose walks into the room first, dragging her sled behind her, with Grace and your two-year-old Shi Tzu, Mocha, seated next to her. You don’t utter a word as she drags both of them all the way to your side of the bed where she eventually stops. You sit up with wide eyes and an amused expression as you inspect all of them. Rose looks so proud of herself as she shows off her baby sister and the dog.

“Mornin’ Mommy,” Rose gives you a small wave. “I saw you on the tv last night. Happy Awards Day.”

“You did?” You smile. “That’s awesome and thank you.” You lean over to give her a kiss. “What are you doing?”

“Playing dress up, see?” Rose walks over to lift Gracie in her arms. She has a bit of a tough time as the five-month-old weighs practically a quarter of her own weight. Mocha doesn’t give her time to grab him either before he’s off to hide somewhere where she isn’t. Rose struggles to place her sister on the bed and you assist her before an accident happens. “I dressed her all by myself.”

“Whose clothes are these?” You ask. You inspect Grace who doesn’t seem a bit phased to be her sister’s doll. She has on a beanie, with a pink and yellow frilled top, along with pink polka-dotted pants that you’re sure are actually one of Rose’s dolls' outfits. “Why did you let your sister do this to you, Grace?” You ask and don’t get a response of course.

“No, Mommy, she likes it.” Rose climbs onto the bed. “She was real quiet too.” Though you think that’s a lie considering the amount of crying you just heard moments ago.

“Where’s your Mama?” You ask and as if on cue Natasha walks into the room with a platter of food.

“I’m here,” Natasha announces as she comes around to the other side of the bed. “I made breakfast.”

“I helped too,” Rose inserts herself into the conversation.

“Oh, yeah,” Natasha nods. “She’s really good at pouring juice. She didn't make a mess or anything.” You reach for a piece of bacon to share with Rose. “Grace is probably hungry too. I tried to give her a bottle of pumped milk but she wouldn't take it.”

“She likes Mommy’s boob better,” Rose seems to be the baby whisperer or something.

“Don’t we all?” Natasha quips and you nudge her with a warning look. You grab Grace and position her so that she can nurse while you eat your own breakfast. “So what’s on the agenda today?”

“What’s that?” Rose stuffs a grape into her mouth. Ever so often she’ll reach over and tap Grace’s hand to get her attention. This means in turn Grace will unlatch just to smile at her sister. This makes feeding time a bit longer than you’d like but you won’t complain.

“An agenda is like a list of things to do,” Natasha explains. “We could go to the park or maybe to the movies.”

“Nah,” Rose shakes her head. “We can go outside in the backyard. I can show you my flips, Mama.”

“She has been taking gymnastics very seriously,” You say.

“Sounds like a plan then,” Natasha bites into her waffle. A day at home with her three favorite girls was all she would need.

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

You’re on the patio of your backyard, lounging around on one of the chairs, as Natasha runs around the backyard with the girls. You’re in a perfect bliss bubble as you relax for the day. Rose’s fits of laughter and even Grace’s shrieks of happiness are like music to your ears as you listen to them play. You join in from time to time. Your favorite is when Rose invites you inside her tiny doll house that is really only for children. You both squeeze in and play pretend for as long as Rose likes. Eventually, your energy is a bit drained and so you come to sit down and check some messages. Mostly you’re talking to your parents about how last night ended minus the intimate details. Your mother ended up going to a party with Loki where she met Ava Duvernay and a couple of other celebrities. Your dad had opted to stay home last night.

You switch over to Twitter and look through the notifications. There’s a sea of them but one of them is a constant that you’re noticing. You click on the page, recognizing the username as one of the bigger followers you have, and you like a couple of their posts congratulating you. You scroll down the girl’s page some more. Her entire Twitter page is dedicated to you. You’re no stranger to fan pages so you don’t find it super weird. You click to open up a few of her pictures. You’ve met her a few times it appears. Her face is a bit muddled in your head with the number of people you’ve encountered in your career. Though she seems persistent in her endeavors of meeting you. You admire the dedication and so without much thought, you send her a message to her open DMS.

Hello, I saw your tweets. Thank you so much for your continued support. I hope you are doing well xx.

The message is kind and to the point. It’s not very personalized but still it comes from you and you think she’d appreciate that much more than a few likes on her page. What results is several messages back though you’re not able to respond to them. Natasha comes to sit next to you effectively stealing your attention away.

“That girl is full of energy,” Natasha takes a few deep breaths.

“She gets it from you,” You set your phone down under you. “You know, she has a new hiding spot upstairs. Her bedroom has some sort of hideaway attic thing. Carla found someone to clean it out and paint it. She’s going to put pillows and decorations in there for her.”

“Cool,” Natasha moves so that your feet rest in her lap. She begins to give you a massage all the while keeping her eyes on the girls. “ I will check it out later tonight.” Natasha doesn’t speak for a few long moments. “Your new movie. How long is filming for that?” Natasha asks.

“About three months. Training starts in a couple of weeks though so I’d bump it up to four.” You don’t want to think about work right now. “Why?”

“I was thinking maybe after you wrap we could take a little break,” Natasha toys with the idea. “Rose and Grace are so young. We’re spending all of this time working. A lot of it is on opposite sides of the world. I want them to know me. To know us together. Maybe a few months of vacation. How does that sound?”

“It sounds lovely,” You sit up to kiss her.

“You’re okay with that? I mean I know you took a break towards the end of your pregnancy,” Natasha begins to ramble. “ You just wrapped up on your show and the movie is beginning. I just want us together.”

“Natasha, it’s fine, truly,” You caress her cheek so that she can look into your eyes. “I want us together too. Do I get to pick the place?”

“If you insist,” She rolls her eyes. You grin. This would be fun.

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

Natasha spends another night with you and the girls before it’s time for her to go back. You see her off with a kiss and hug goodbye. Rose has minimal tears though she does cling to Natasha before the redhead can leave.

“Mama, don’t go,” Rose pouts as she raises her arms for Natasha to pick her up. “Stay here please?”

“I’m only gone for a few more days and then I will be back,” Natasha promises. “Then we can play and cuddle and do everything you want to do.”

“But, I want to do that now,” Rose’s bottom lip pokes out even more. Her adorable raspy voice adds to the cute factor. Your heart breaks for her as you listen to their conversation. You bounce Grace in your arms and she’s none the wiser about what’s going on around her. “You have to stay with me and Mommy. What if the bad guys come?”

“The bad guys? What bad guys?” Alarm bells go off in both of your heads.

“My dreams,” Rose elaborates. “You always make it better.”

“Well, how about this,” Natasha breathes a sigh of relief and so do you. Usually Rose has referred to the paparazzi as bad guys. Often they need to be reminded not to get too close when you’re with the kids. Their way of harassment can scare the little girl. Which is why you try to keep her out of the spotlight as much as you can. She didn’t ask to be famous. She carries Rose over to her luggage where she pulls out a nearly empty bottle of her favorite perfume. “If you spray this in your closet and under your bed no bad guy can get you. It sends them all away and you’ll be able to sleep just fine.”

Rose inspects the bottle. “This is perfume?” She asks and you hide your snort. She’s smart.

“It is but it’s special perfume. It’s mine and they know I mean business.”

“Oh, okay,” Rose nods as if that makes sense. “How many sleeps when you get back?”

“Five sleeps until I’m back, Princessa,” Natasha promises. “Will you be a good girl for Mommy and protect your sister?”

“I’m always a good girl,” Rose raises a brow as if Natasha insinuates she is otherwise.

“I don’t know about always but you’ve come pretty close,” You point out. “Say bye to Mama so she can go.”

“Bye, Mama.” Rose wraps her little arms around Natasha’s neck and squeezes. “Be safe.”

“Okay, I will be safe.” Natasha kisses her cheek before letting her down. She steps over to you to give Grace a final kiss. Then she gives you one too before she’s off. You watch from the driveway as Johnny helps with her bags and drives her away.

Now it was back to your lives without her for just a while longer.

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

In the next few days, you’re a pretty busy bee. Carla takes care of the girls while you’re on the whirlwind press tour after your Emmy win. A lot of people want you on their talk show as you’re a hot topic right now. Ultimately you decide to go on Kelly Clarkson’s show first. She’s a long-time acquaintance and you’ve known her forever.

You’re backstage getting your hair and makeup done as you scroll through Twitter again. Grace and Rose are playing on the floor while Carla keeps them occupied. The Twitter app is again filled with notifications and it’s a bit intimidating. It’s the first time you’ve checked it in days. The previous fan page you checked out has come across your timeline again as a suggested person to follow. You don’t search your name ever so it’s quite interesting to see her outside of your notifications. You look through her posts again with genuine curiosity.

There’s a picture of you and Natasha at the after-Emmys interview with the caption “I just know they have great sex.” which creeps you out only a little. It’s the tamer version of what you have seen some people say. While it’s inappropriate you wouldn’t expect anything less from a fan page. You wonder how old this girl is exactly, scrolling back up to her bio to see she’s just turned nineteen. She’s young. Harmless.

You find that her name is Carissa and she lives in Los Angeles too. She’s a journalism student at USC and she has her head on straight. You’re going through her page a little more, only looking up when Darcy asks you to, as you read through some of her tweets out loud.

“I found this girl,” You inform them. “She’s a fan of mine and she has almost fifteen thousand followers.”

“Wow?”

“I think it’s just from being a fan of mine,” You show them the page. “She seems to know a lot about us. I mean an insane amount. How did she even know Natasha was flying back to London?”

“Girl, those pages watch you like a hawk,” Roxy says from her spot over on the couch. “Their methods are insane and sometimes even I don’t know how they’re getting out information.”

“Let me see?” Darcy asks you to tilt the phone so that she can see better. “Oh, I’ve met that girl before at a party. She kept bragging about how she snuck in and was waiting for you to come. She was a bit disappointed when you didn't show. She’s come to a few of your events. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was out there right now.“

“That’s interesting,” You’re not sure of the correct word to describe it. Growing up as a child star you’ve had your fair share of people that have taken a bit more extreme interest in you. Your parents were always there to protect you and keep you safe. Especially when you grew up in the same era as Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen. Your fame was a bit tamer. They kept you in a normal public school, you had extracurriculars, and you just so happened to be on tv. There was no multimillion-dollar company or a countdown until your eighteenth birthday. That you know of.

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and Roxy moves to answer it. Kelly Clarkson herself has come to say hi and introduce herself to you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Kelly greets you as she comes to give you a hug. “It’s so nice to see you. Look at you all dolled up. You look beautiful.”

“Oh, thank you, so do you,” You kiss her cheek. “I’m so happy to be here.”

“I’m excited to do this interview,” Kelly laughs with you. “Who are these two? Are these your kids?”

“Yes, this is Rose,” You introduce them. “And my youngest Grace.”

“Oh, hi, Rose, a flower name, I love those,” Kelly kneels to say hi. Rose, the extrovert, shakes Kelly’s hand. “It must be fun coming with your Mama to work right?”

“Yeah,” Rose nods. “I can get makeup too?”

“We shall see,” You promise Rose.

“Well, I was just coming to check in on you,” Kelly smiles. “I like to make sure everything’s good before the show starts. How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling great,” You talk with Kelly a little bit longer. She even plays with the girls for a while before it’s time to take your place.

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

You put on your show smile when Kelly introduces you to her audience. You walk out with measure steps and even give her a hug. As if you hadn’t seen her twenty minutes prior. She talks about your show with you and everything else going on in your life. The questions have been prescreened to Roxy so there’s nothing inappropriate about the entire thing.

“So, I must say, I was an avid watcher of Taste of the Wilde,” Kelly seems in awe of you. “Every week you made something magical and I’m sure like me the rest of the world was cheering you on. You have some acting chops girl. Please tell me how you do it?”

“Well, lots of practice,” You think over your answer. “ The material was tough at first and it’s vastly different from what I did growing up and also the tv shows I’ve done in the past. The transition was a little rough for me but with my wife’s help and my acting coach, I was able to hone in on some of the skills I haven’t used in a long time. I had to dig really deep to learn and relate to my character so that it doesn’t seem like just some random chick acting on the screen.”

“You captured that essence of this character perfectly,” Kelly compliments. “And you know I was amazed I’m going to keep saying it. I was amazed. I’ve watched you grow up. We all watched you grow up. From that adorable little girl on the tv and in movies to this sexy bombshell of a woman who can hold her own. You can act your ass off and not many child stars have that.”

“You know you’re right,” You look over to the audience. “When you’re young, you rely on the cute factor. Casting directors want you to look good and make sure you’re able to recite and remember your lines. You can ride that wave of cuteness until you’re about sixteen.” You weigh the options. “Then you can kind of fizzle and burn out. The roles are more serious. It takes a lot of you to grow and show the world and let them know to take you seriously. I struggled a lot with that but I’m here now and it’s working for me.”

“It’s working quite well,” Kelly congratulates you on your win. “Now, I want people to see. The show I first saw you in. It was a nice sitcom back in the 90s with Sheryl Lee Ralph and a bunch of other 90s starlets. You played the adorable baby sister, Candy, can you tell me about that? Do you have memories of that age?” A picture appears of you as a little kid and the audience awws.

“N-no, not exactly,” You answer. “I remember bits and pieces. I was around six on that show. I think. We’ll have to ask my parents but I was around first-grade age. I remember a lot was happening and I didn’t think of it as work. It was my normal everyday job.”

“That’s great.” Kelly continues. “You know a lot of child stars say the same thing. How it was normal for them. How it was so fun. Then like you mentioned they reach a certain age where everything gets serious and maybe there are times when it's not so fun. I remember Jodie Sweetin talking about being younger and someone had followed her into a bathroom and that was a scary moment for her. Have you ever had something like that happen?”

“Hmm,” You think. “I wouldn’t say to that degree. There was a time I was in the mall. I was with my older sister and my dad. Someone, a man, asked to take a picture with me. Well with us both because my sister, Jennie, was also on a different sitcom for much longer than I was. So I remember we sit next to this man to take the picture or whatever. All of a sudden, he grabs me and like, poses me in the way he wants the picture to go. He didn’t mean any harm I don’t think but my dad was pissed. He could tell I was uncomfortable and so he kind of pulled us away and he gave this guy an earful. I mean an earful. I still remember it to this day because the guy was so apologetic and I think for the first time that’s when I knew as a ‘celebrity’ or a ‘star’ people don’t really see you as human. They form these parasocial relationships and they don’t think any of how they make you feel with what they say and do. Which is really dangerous at times, especially at six and even now at my current age.”

“That must have been scary,” Kelly sympathizes. “So I met your daughter. She’s such a star. I swear she’s a mini you. I only say this to inquire. Has she asked to be an actor? Or in the business at all? Has she shown an interest?”

“My daughter, Rose, she’s four,” You supply to the rest of the crowd. “She is a little diva. She is smart and quick thinking. She would be the perfect child actor. This may sound creepy but I only mean that she’s already like in the space of professionalism and sass and personality that casting directors look for. With that being said, Natasha and I have no interest in putting her in anything until she’s a little older and can understand a bit more. She’s asked. Trust me she has asked but I think right now we don’t want her or our youngest in the spotlight at all.”

“That’s completely understandable,” Kelly says. Much of the interview goes like this until you’re on to the game segment. Kelly talks about how you recorded an album as a teen and you almost die of embarrassment. She even asks you to sing and you do pretty well.

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

Before you know it everything is over and you’re on your way out of the door. Rose, who has skipped her nap, has opted to be in your arms for the rest of this leg of the day. As always, there are fans waiting outside and you’re about to say no to them but you figure you can sign for a few of them.

“Rosie, do you want to let Mommy say hi to everyone?” Rose shakes her head no. “Okay, um, let’s try this.” You walk over to the crowd with your bodyguard, Draco, standing by. “Hi guys,” You wave to everyone, and Rose tucks her face into your neck at the loud noise. When they notice how tired she is they have the decency to quiet down. “I have to get her down for a nap so I want to do a couple real quick.” You sign with one hand all the while listening to each person as they talk to you about any and everything. It’s a bit hard to keep up but you’re doing your best.

You get down to one fan with dark hair and blue eyes. They seem pretty familiar and you’re about to question it when she speaks.

“Hi, y/n, hi Rose,” She greets and Rose is elated that there’s someone here speaking to her directly. The young girl talks as if she knows both of you as she asks you about your day.

“I’m fine, thank you,” You smile gently. “Have we met somewhere before?”

“I’m wildelover04” She beams when she realizes you know who she is. “We've dmed back and forth a couple of times. My name is Carissa.”

“Oh, right, Carissa, so lovely to meet you in person,” You hand Rose over to Draco, and this time she doesn’t protest. She simply closes her eyes and falls asleep as you pose for a few pictures with Carissa and the rest of the fans. They’re all mindful of Rose and not getting her in the pictures. “Okay, guys, I have to go but it was so lovely meeting all of you.” You wave despite their boos. They were having so much fun with you and a lot of fun with them.

“Bye! See you soon!” Carissa’s voice stands out to you as she shouts your name.

She seemed normal for the most part but her presence has definitely stuck in your head. You climb into the car and help Rose into her car seat. Grace is already inside of her seat and fast asleep as the car starts. Today was a good day.

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

Later that night, you’re in bed with Rose by your side as you speak with Natasha over facetime. The time difference is six hours and you know it’s late for Natasha. Even still she would never miss a time to speak to her daughter.

“Are you sleeping in bed with Mommy tonight?” Natasha questions. Rose nods excitedly as she flips her plushie over in her hands. “You’re all nice and snug. I wish I was there with you to kiss you three goodnight.”

“Me too,” You say.

“Mama, I met Kelly Starkson,” Rose mispronounces the woman’s name.

“You did?” Natasha chuckles.

“Kelly Clarkson,” You correct her. “She was so polite and used her manners.”

“Ohhh, I’m so proud of you Solnyshko,” Natasha praises. “Now, I’m going to go on to bed. I have an early call time but I just wanted to say goodnight to my girls and be safe.”

“We will and we love you,” You prompt Rose to say goodnight. “Say goodnight to Mama.”

“Night night, Mama, love you all the way to the moon,” Rose exaggerates with her hands.

“And back, i love you three, goodnight.” Natasha says before hanging up the phone.

You set it on your nightstand, opting on cuddling with Rose while she falls asleep. You get up when she’s dead asleep to go and grab a glass of water. You check the security cameras before walking into the kitchen for a glass of water. You drink half before you spot the many gifts that had been delivered to your door by Roxy. She’d brought them earlier from her office where she received all of your personal mail from other celebrities or coworkers you know. You sift through the mail and packages, making a mental list of who to thank before you come across one that has you questioning everything.

A package from Wildelover04. Fan mail is usually funneled and inspected before it ever comes across your eyes so you wonder how this one made it through. It’s a single rose along with a teddy bear. You find it quite cute and so you travel with it back upstairs to your bedroom where you take a few pictures with it to thank her. You make a public tweet and tag her in it. You also send a text to Roxy to question how it made it through.

Overall, you push Carissa to the back of your mind as you think about your family and the rest of your busy week.

She’s just a superfan and you’re just a star. Nothing out of the ordinary.

----> part 2

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you #angst

101 notes · View notes