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some-bunniii · 4 months

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Lucifer meeting an artist reader

・❥ The King of Hell admires your paintings

x: reader is g/n :) no use of pronouns or y/n

warnings: some raunchy details of your painting & mild swearing

When you arrived in Hell, the first thing you did was scream.

Where were you? Why was it so hot? What happened to your bed?!

“You’re in Hell, kid.” A blue bat-faced man had broke the news, as you stood helpless and confused on the street.

Hell? Like, demons and dark satanic magic kind of Hell?

That couldn’t be right. Were you that bad of a person to deserve such a fate? Did the few times you passed the Salvation Army donation bucket without dropping a coin damn you to this place?

Your death was fuzzy, a trail of shattered memories that could only give you bits and pieces of your final days. Did you go quickly in your sleep? Maybe, you hit your head so hard it caused you some kind of post-death amnesia?

Whatever had happened, you were here now with no way out.

During your first few days scouring for answers, you began to notice that Hell had an eerie similarity to life above ground. There were clubs, casinos, concerts. Heck, even TV! Sure, the things broadcasted were dark and sometimes disgusting.. but at least you had something to watch.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all? At least, compared to being thrown into dark, fiery pits for all of eternity like some cruel game of sink or swim.

Minus the people, of course. Most of them were pretty bad. Your first day watching a man get shot in the chest and lines of cocaine across tables in a diner made you decide to stay away from the streets of the city.

Which meant you had to get busy making a life for yourself. It started with working odd jobs as a bartender or a bell-hopper. You’d scrap together enough money to head to the nearest art supply store, and fill your bag with paints and charcoal pencils.

“You an artist or something?” The clerk had asked you as she scanned your items, taking note of your vast amount of diverse tools you were slowly collecting every time you stopped by.

“I usually paint, but yes, I used to do all kinds of mediums professionally when I was.. alive,” You had whispered that last part out with a pang of sadness, the reality of your situation still a fresh wound in your mind.

You had found an ad for an art studio, ran by a demon named Alexandre. You had showed him a few of your pieces, some pretty landscapes, a rendition of the Starry Night Sky which you had replaced the backdrop to be Pentagram city instead of whatever little village it was originally, and a self portrait.

“You got talent, i’ll give you that,” He had hummed, as his eyes scanned your paintings with intrigue, “But the subject? Not really what we’re looking for.”

“What do you mean?” You had asked, confusion evident in your voice.

“We’re in Hell, demons ain’t into pretty ponies and happy, little trees. They want more— eh how do i put this — sinful behavior?”

“Like…?”

“Like tits or anything that can be turned into a kink. They like blood and guts, and dead people splayed around. Dead angels too. Stuff like that.”

Tits? Dead people? You didn’t have much practice with that! At least not enough to make a career out of it.

But you had agreed anyway, this was your only shot. You stayed up late into the night, sometimes even into the early mornings, perfecting your skill when it came to much more risqué visuals. You would buy stacks of pornograohic magazines, flipping through for poses to memorize.

Slowly, you began to master the craft, and your time at the studio increased as you finally settled into life in Hell.

All you had to do was churn out painting after pastel after acrylic in the little cramped room you now called home. Alexandre would then take your pieces and sell them to the highest bidder. You’d get a percentage of the commission, using the money for whatever necessary.

Seeing as you could be mugged at literally any point in time, or anywhere for that matter, you made sure to keep a large sum of cash locked away in a double-bolted safe.

“You know Ozzie’s, that club down in the Lust Ring?” Alexandre had approached you one day, excitement in his eyes.

You shook your head as you sat behind the easel, your brush an inch from the canvas.

“Run by Asmodeus, one of the literal seven deadly sins?”

You shook your head once more.

“Fuck, you still have a lot to learn. Well, he really likes your art. He wants to buy a bunch of paintings for his club, and he’ll drop a shit ton of cash too. Ya think you can handle it?”

Your eyes had widened when he told you the exact price this sin guy was willing to pay. You had jumped from your seat, shaking his hand in profuse thanks, before scurrying off to gather more supplies.

And for a time, that’s how it went. You’d sell your steamiest paintings to Asmodeus, and other private commissions you took one after the other.

Apparently, your painting hung up in Ozzie’s was getting a lot of attention. Especially from a certain spider demon named Angel Dust.

After hearing Charlie’s decision to look for another member of their staff— someone who’d be in charge of decorating the premise with promises of love and tranquility up in Heaven— Angel Dust had taken a few snaps of your work with his phone, before showing it to Vaggie and Charlie. He had complimented your work, claiming it was ‘the best’ oil paintings he’d ever seen.

Although, in his line of work, he probably hadn’t seen many to compare yours so.

“ls this what we want in our hotel?" Vaggie had asked, motioning to a woman on the canvas that was drenched in sweat and white fluid, her private parts exposed to the audience as she posed suggestively on a stripper pole.

To which Charlie has responded, "I think it's... unique! You can definitely see she knows how to, um, really bring the scene to life! l'm sure she'll be open to creating our vision!"

Your phone had rung one night, with a voice on the other end begging you to come to her hotel and at least hear her offer for a new job.

Which lead you to the Hazbin Hotel, a slightly run down building that obviously needed more work. Inside and out.

“Oh my gosh! Hi there! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! it’s such a pleasure to meet you!”

“Thanks.. but I don’t see many guests around.” You had told her, your eyes darting around the lobby as you absorbed your surroundings.

“Well, we’re still trying to get our name out there. We’re not just any hotel, we’re a hotel set on redeeming sinners!” She exclaimed with pride.

“Redeem?” You had asked her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

She shook her head vigorously, “This hotel.. it’s going to be amazing! We’re going to turn Sinners into well.. non-sinners! They’ll be rehabilitated, and have morals! And honor! Heaven won’t be able to do anything but welcome them as angels!”

This idea had sounded a little far-fetched when you first heard it.

“You’ll be in charge of making art that reflects such views! Something that will make Sinners go, ‘Wow! Now that’s where I want to go!’”

“What’s in it for me?” You had asked.

“Well you’ll have your own room, and your own little studio too! I’m sure it’s much bigger than the one you already have. Plus we have a bar, and good company!”

You turned your head to the small crowd of demons a few feet away. A pornstar, a gambler, a snake guy with weird little walking eggs, and a really creepy man in a red coat that shot you a wide smile with eyes that seemed to stare right through your soul.

This was good company?

You contemplated her words, thinking deeply. Did you really need to leave the studio you were already a part of? You already had a room and place to paint, anyway.

Charlie must have noticed your hesitation to accept before quickly adding,

“Anddd you can sell your pieces here too! Plus, you can keep a hundred percent of the earnings.”

You perked up at that, the money made from your art would be... all yours? And, you’d get a breather from the drawing people having sex? That didn’t sound so bad after all!

“Deal!” You had reached out a hand, shaking hers with delight.

It had taken you a day or two to map out the interior of the hotel and figure out what could go where. You began to slowly brainstorm, what could make a sinner stare at a canvas and want to redeem themselves?

During your time on earth, you studied many artists through history. Most notably however, were those from the Renaissance. You remembered walking through the Sistine Chapel when you were younger,

staring at awe of the paintings of winged angels and heavenly skies.

You perked at that thought. That was it! The inspiration for your paintings, an ethereal perspective on what one would find in heaven. The feelings of bliss and care-free joy.

You spent your first few days in an undisturbed area of the hotel, it was a large room on the farthest side of the lobby. It must’ve been a guest room at one point, but other than a bed and few cushions that the ‘Radio Demon’ had placed for you, it was empty.

It was quiet enough that you could sit there, undisturbed, as you drew upon your memories and vast knowledge of histories in art as you slowly began to bring your ideas to life. Slowly, the room also took form into being yours, personal knick-knacks and stacks upon stacks of blank canvases waiting to bring your visions to life.

At the end of every day, you'd come out with your hands covered in charcoal and paint, your hard work on full display.

You had even grown closer to the other residents in the hotel, beginning to see them as more than their initial appearance. Even Alastor, who still kind of gave you the creeps, you had regarded as someone you could speak to without hesitation.

You’d sit on the couches with Angel Dust, drowning in popcorn as you watched whatever was on TV for the night. Sometimes, you’d sit with Husk at the bar as you listened to his stories from his days at the casino and as an Overlord.

It was there, when Charlie had summoned the courage to call her father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, to come visit the hotel and decide on getting her that meeting with the higher powers in Heaven.

Upon hearing about Lucifer's impending visit, you felta mixture of nerves and excitement. You've heardstories about him-his charisma, his power--but you never expected to meet him, let alone showcase your art to him. Would he even like them? He's no doubt seen much more beautiful sights.

As preparations for Lucifer's visit got more chaotic by the minute, you found yourself back in your Atelier, quickly cleaning up your room and berating yourself for any little mistakes you found in your paintings. Each stroke of the brush carried with it a sense of urgency, a desire to impress not just your friends at the hotel, but also the King of Hell himself.

The current piece you were working on was your most intense one yet. It depicted that of an almost nude man, flying high in the skies. His back was faced towards you, his face hidden from view. He was faced towards the sun, which bathed him in a warm glow. Arms outstretched, knees curled in, it seemed as if the angel was going to give the sun a large bear-hug.

It wasn’t until you heard loud commotion in the lobby did you realize Lucifer had arrived. Quickly dropping the brush you were holding, you sneaked down the stairs and quickly neared the archway of the lobby.

Peaking your head out, you canned the large room. Until your eyes locked in a pale figure. Lucifer.

He was beautiful, definitely held the looks of an angel that fell from heaven. His light blonde hair curled elegantly around his face. The candles from the chandelier above basked him in an ethereal glow, as though he could replace the sun itself. Just like the angel from your painting.

His eyes reminded you mostly of a snake. Calculating and cold, but holding so much wisdom and depth. There was a slight sadness there as well, as though itate at him slowly, consuming his soul. It was masked incredibly well though, and you only caught a glimpse before it disappeared.

His attitude toward his daughter made your heartmelt, it was obvious he cared about her in the way heacted and spoke to Charlie, even if his absence didn't speak so fondly of him.

As Lucifer and Alastor butted heads, you quickly scurried back to your room. You had hoped to finish your work-in-progress by the time he arrived, but the struggle to get those damn angel wings to be anatomically correct was a pain.

You hurriedly continued your work, trying to calm your nerves by busying yourself with the painting in front of you.

Charlie's voice broke you out of your concentration soon after, multiple footsteps closing in on where your room lay. You shot up from your seat, and stood up straight, ready to meet the man of the hour.

You couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation mixed with apprehension as they approached your make-shift gallery.

Charlie, Vaggie, and— wow, he looked so much better up close— Lucifer stepped through the doorway.

“Dad, this is the newest addition to our staff! They are in charge of helping to inspire our future guests through the power of art!" Charlie proclaimed with glee, pulling you by the arm towards her father.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty. I apologize for being so messy, I was just finishing up another painting." You had greeted him softly.

"Don't worry, you look great," He assured, a gleam in his eyes, "and the pleasure is all mine, anyone who is willing to help my little girl is someone worth meeting,"

You stood there for a moment. Unsure of where to go next, before you felt a slight nudge from Charlie that pulled you back to reality, "Why don't we take a look at your paintings? I promise you, Dad, they are amazing!" She squealed softly.

Beckoning Lucifer forward, you took him through each painting. You described your feelings for each piece, and what made you choose them for the hotel.

You rambled on and on, and Lucifer never said anything, he just listened as you spoke.

Which made you nervous, what was he thinking? Did he like them, or was he just waiting for you to stop talking so he could quickly escape to something of more interest to him? The thought made sweat dribble down your forehead.

To your surprise, Lucifer's reaction to your art was not what you expected. Instead of dismissing it as mere frivolity, he studied each piece with genuine interest, his expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He mostly stayed quiet, but once in awhile would throw in a joke here and there if he noticed anything of interest in the paintings.

His goofy nature that you caught onto watching him earlier was barely evident though, unlike when he was trying to impress his daughter.

After finishing the small tour, you turned to him in anticipation. Your hands nervously rubbing together, as you shot a glance to Charlie, and she gave you an uncertain look. You both held the same question in your gaze: What is he thinking?

"These paintings.." Lucifer began, his voice low and melodic, "Are different than most i've seen down here, not just some scandalous display, but with real meaning. They evoke emotions long buried, memories of a time before.. all this."

His words caught you off guard, and you found yourself nodding in agreement, unable to tear your gaze away from his intense eyes.

The one he was staring at in particular was a recreation of The Garden of Eden by Jan Breghal, a painting that depicted the place where humanity was birthed, and where it fell.

“Does it look like.. how you remembered?" You had asked slowly, if anyone could validate the truth in your work, it would be him.

"Actually, this is much prettier. The real deal doesn't do your painting justice," He replied, "It was so boring, just green on green."

Also," He added, "An unfortunate lack of ducks. Humanity should be grateful that I got them out of that forest, so they could see something actually worthwhile.. and with ducks."

You giggled softly at his words, have you ever met someone that seemed to love ducks as much as him?

As Lucifer continued to explore the room, you couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered on certain paintings, his fingers tracing the delicate lines with reverence. It was as if he saw something in your art that no one else did, something profound and personal.

Perhaps your choice of baby-faced angels, and ethereal landscapes brought back memories of his time in Heaven. Hopefully, that wasn't a bad thing.

When Lucifer finally turned to you, his gaze softened, a hint of something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. "You have a rare gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To create beauty in a place like this... it's truly remarkable."

He looked at you for a moment, before a smile crept onto his lips. He was Lucifer, he knew exactly what you meant. It's what drove him to manipulate Eve to eat from the Tree of Life in the first place.

Was he finally getting a glimpse of the good free will brought to humanity? Was there actually meaning in his past actions that sent him to the depths of Hell?

His gaze narrowed in on the canvas behind you, and he slipped past you. "What is this?" He asked with intrigue, pointing towards your unfinished painting.

“My final piece. I've been working on it for days, but I just can't get the wings right.. believe it or not, i've never actually seen angel wings in person." You said that last bit as a joke.

His smile sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For the King of Hell, it was surprisingly warm, and kind.

Then an idea struck you, but you tried to desperately to push it down. Except it seemed like the only time you could ask someone with angel wings to let you use them as a reference. How many fallen angels were in Hell, anyway?

"I'm so sorry if this is out of line, but. could I, um, borrow you for a little bit? I've just been having trouble drawing the wings correctly and you, well, have them?”

His eyes widened, and his chest puffed slightly at your question. He shot you a toothy grin, “Paint me? Why didn't you mention that earlier?! I have the perfect figure for such a thing.”

Behind him, Charlie rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips. You smiled too, you should've known he'd have no problem with it, he was the embodiment of pride after all.

He plopped down on a stool before you, and removed his overcoat. Beneath what seemed to be a red and white gatsby vest that hugged his frame perfectly. Jeez, he was almost too good looking.

He stretched out his large wings, folding the otherfour behind him, only revealing the two much largerones. They were breathtaking, truly. They looked so fluffy too!

You guided him on the exact position you needed them to be in, before making your way to the canvas and getting to work.

Assuring the group you only needed to get a visual on the canvas, the actual work you would do on your own. Slowly, you traced the frame of his wings, etching out the soft lines of his feathers and the curvatures of its form.

You could only imagine how soft those feathers were and what it would be like to curl around them like a pillo-

You shook your head to rid those thoughts. Why were you thinking such things about Lucifer like that? It's not like he would even want to let you go anywhere near him or his wings.

Would he?

You continued your painting, trying not to meet his gaze as you would occasionally peak your head from behind the large canvas to get another good look at his wings.

There was a moment when you two did lock eyes, and he sent a half-lidded smirk in your direction. Thankfully the large object between you two helped hide your growing blush. He was obviously just trying to get you worked up, you assured yourself. Just like he did with Alastor. In a different way, of course.

"This reminds me of when Charlie was younger" Lucifer began, filling the silence, "We sat for a good few hours trying to get a family portrait painted and she would just not sit still!”

“Dad.. please, not right now." Charlie growled out in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. Vaggie only smiled beside her, listening intently as Lucifer filled everyone in on her younger years.

“lt got to the point where I had to summon her favorite toy to get her to stop squirming, everything was smooth sailing after that.

"And what was her favorite toy?" You inquired softly behind the canvas

“A rubber duck! Like the ones you play with in the bath? She could not get enough of it whenever it squeaked. One time the squeaker broke, and I went to my workshop and crafted her a magical one that meowed instead! Haha!"

Okay, this family really has a thing for ducks!

“She hated it, but that only inspired me to keep making more. Sometimes, we'd sit together on the work bench, and I would just come up with ideas like confetti-spitting, or color changing ducks. She wasn't too good at speaking at that time, so every time she'd laugh that was my clue that she liked it!"

It was sweet, the way he rambled about his daughter. He never spoke of himself or his accomplishments, despite embodying the sin of pride. It was almost like his only pride was his best creation, Charlie.

He continued, the room full of jokes and laughter, even from Vaggie, regarding Charlie's life as a youngling. You listened intently to his stories, his voice dripping with amusement as he recounted story after story.

lt was so sappy and you loved it. Which made you grumble quietly to yourself, why did you have to have a thing for DILFS?! Concentrate on the painting!

After a moment, Lucifer's eyes turned back to the paintings around him, his gaze scanning each painting once more. "I've noticed that you seem to have a repetition in your work.. not that that's a bad thing!" He quickly corrected.

“But in all of your paintings featuring angels, there's always a swan swimming or resting nearby. Do they hold any significance, or are they just a passion for you?"

You looked up from the canvas, and also traced the angelic figures across the room. He was right, with the images of the divine beings also came the appearance of the large, white water fowl. Lying lazily beside the angels, or swimming across pools of water as the care-free beings danced and frolicked.

You contemplated for a moment, before speaking truthfully.

“I just think Swans are elegant and ethereal creatures. They embody the purest of souls, untouched by the taint of sin that consumes the world, just like how their feathers remain untouched from the waters they glide on"

Lucifer's eyes lit up slightly, drinking up your words.

“Plus," You continue, "they mate for life, and allow themselves to just.. decay once their significant other departs from the world. It's very romantic, and love is one of the purest emotions in the world."

Lucifer wasn't looking at you when your eyes met his again, his stare was far off. Past the room entirely, as your words echoed through him. There it was again, the glimpse of sadness that he tried to hide so painfully well.

“Does such love like that exist?," he murmured so softly you had to strain your ears.

There was a few moments of deathly silence before Charlie piped up, asking her father something about heaven. You tried to listen, but your mind was stuck on his words. Lucifer was in heaven once, and he still didn't fully believe in such things?

If there weren't others in the room, perhaps you would’ve asked him.

It took a few more minutes before you were able to wrap up fully, but you had no regrets of asking this man for help, the angel on the canvas actually looked like he had wings, not just stumps of white tuft.

You got up from your seat and walked towards him, noticing that Charlie and her girlfriend were not present anymore. It was just you and Lucifer in theroom now.

“Well, thank you, Your Majesty. You really helped me out here, and it'll go a long way to make the hotel look even better"

“Please, call me Lucifer. The formalities are only for subjects, not friends," he replied, "l did really enjoy getting to see your paintings, you are quite a phenomenal artist. I wasn't lying when I said your work was different from the rest. If only you were around for those family portraits."

You were so taken aback by his praise that you only shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. Even though, coming from the King of Hell, it was.

Glancing behind him, you saw Charlie and Vaggie whispering to each other in the hallway outside of the door. You assumed they probably wanted to finish up so they could get him to agree to the meeting with Heaven.

lgnoring his previous statement of formalities— he was the king, you thought, you weren't going to just pat him on the back and say 'see ya! —you lowered your head and bent down to curtsy, just like you were taught when you were younger, placing your hand slightly in front of you.

Usually, you'd use that hand to shake or grasp the other person's, but it felt wrong to treat this powerful angel like any other man.

Suddenly, you felt the soft touch of fingers gliding across your hand. In confusion, you looked up at those golden eyes and that charming smile. Trying to get a glimpse of what he was thinking.

His hand gripped yours gently, and with a bow of his own, lowered his lips, and pressed a soft kiss your knuckles.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you feared to blink, soaking in his beauty for as long as you could before he had the chance to pull away. You wanted to say something, but your tongue was refusing to work as your mouth opened and closed silently.

When he finally released your hand, he adjusted his hat and turned towards the door. Leaving you standing there, your face burning hot

He cleared his throat, and turned his head slightly, his eye catching yours. A playful smile dancing on his lips.

“l look forward to our next portrait together, hopefully where I am the motivation behind your strokes. Not just these dull wings."

And with his words hanging in the air, you were left alone, with the growing itch to press your face into a pillow and squeal.

——————

awww man, my first fic! I was trying to make this more dating-centric, but i couldn’t stop writing for their first meeting and it got too long haha! If y’all like this one enough, i’ll make a dating version!

let me know what you think 🙏 i reallyyyy appreciate all comments and criticisms!!

wonderful art i commissioned by DawnDrawnS on twitter! <3

#Hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hellverse #OOC Lucifer?#He just ain’t as goofy #But I HC he’s only like that around Charlie :)#fanfiction #writing

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cheriladycl01 · 18 days

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Billion Dollar Baby - Grid x Billionare! Reader x Lewis Hamilton (Rom) Part 1

Plot: Girlie loves Formula One, but she also loved Chaos and Drama so she offers the FIA/ the F1 Teams 300 million to do a race … for her under her rules!

Credit to ladygagasource

As a billionaire with a net worth of over 90 billion pounds to your name and your name alone and having multiple stable corporations and investments in loads of different sectors and having donated overly generous amounts to charity, you couldn't help but start to find more interesting ways to invest your money.

You had 7 homes, all around the world completely paid off with about double the amount of cars, whether they were super cars, vintage cars or personalized cars. A private jet, 3 vacation homes and an island.

You lived a lavish life but you worked extremely hard for it, there wasn't really a moment you weren't working.

But you had your hobbies, the theatre (specifically WestEnd), travelling (when you had time away from work) you'd been really getting into sport.

Particularly F1 was an interest of yours. You'd put forward money into McLaren and given them upgrades from your various companies both tech wise and team wear wise.

But you were so intrigued with the sport and the difference from F2.

In F2, the cars were pretty much all the same and it was fully on driver capability. Whereas in F1 you could be a cracking driver but depending on the team you were in you were in a shit box car.

And that's why you were now currently stood in the paddock at Silverstone.

You'd proposed ... to the FIA a race, where you'd pay for driver - team switches that you could choose and run it as a charity event so any tickets sold went to charities chosen by the drivers.

And everyone loved it. I mean why wouldn't they. It wasn't like the teams were loosing out on money because you were paying them to build another car and for the drivers it was just a bit of fun to experience another car.

So here you were, in front of 20 drivers, 10 team principles, some CEO's of the teams, some FIA representatives and some media personal.

"Hello everyone!" you smile awkwardly. Even though you'd done presentations in front of many many people this felt really daunting to you.

A chorus of mumbles and hello's back to you occurred before you stand there awkwardly. Someone was supposed to introduce you, that's what you were told when you first got here but no-one was attempting to come up on stage to help you so you just laugh.

"So apparently no one is coming up to introduce me... so erm if you don't know who i am I'm Y/N Y/L/N and I've proposed money to each of your teams and the FIA to create a charity race where I switch drivers into different cars... Formula 1 really intrigues me to see how you all are naturally talented drivers and that the car really does matter... and i think it will be really interesting for the fans. It's a great opportunity for the teams and drivers to make special merch and special helmets and I just think as drivers it will be a really great experience for all of you!" you grin and there was mumbles questions thrown at you till you PR manager came up next to you to calm everyone down.

"One at a time please!" he says in his gruff masculine voice.

"Are you choosing which teams we go to?" Lando asks first, and you nodded.

"Are teams making a different car? Or?" he asks and you shake you head.

"Teams will rebuild the exact car that they have now. It will just be other drivers inside the car. Do you guys want to hear where you'll be?" you ask and a chorus of agreement flows through the room.

"Okay, so first up our two Red Bull Drivers. Current Champions of both Constructor and Drivers. Max Verstappen, you will be going to Williams. And Sergio Perez you will be going to Haas!" you start and gasps surround.

"So we aren't staying with our current team mate?" Lewis asks looking over to George.

"Okay, as for the current Ferrari Drivers, Charles you will be going to McLaren and Carlos after your announcement of joining Nico in Sauber for 2025 i thought it would be fun to give you a ... test run so you are going to Sauber!" you cheer and they both nod.

"Okay then for my McLaren boys I got Oscar to Ferrari and Lando to ... Red Bull!" you grin and Lando looks down with a laugh and shake of his head. Being a McLaren sponsor meant you spent a lot of time around the paddock with the pair of them.

"Next our Mercedes men, Lewis will be joining Max in Williams" you smirk making Lewis shake his head, you'd always liked teasing Lewis having had a relationship at one point and ending on good terms due to work stresses and struggles.

"And George will be in Aston Martin!" you smile and he nods.

"As for Aston Martin, Fernando you'll be driving alongside Carlos as a Spanish Duo in Sauber and Lance well your dad offered me money to put you in Red Bull but thought that wasn't the spirt of the charity event so Alpine for you!" you grin and you can tell some of the drivers, including Lance are trying not to laugh.

"Visa Cash App Racing Bulls, fuck me that's a mouthful erm Dani Ric you my friend are going to ... Aston Martin nice one and my favrioute driver ... sorry Lando and Oscar but he's literally my son ... Yuki my love you'll be in Red Bull with Lando!" you smile and he fits the air happily before nodding at you in thanks.

"Nico, Kevin Haas hasn't actually been all that bad for you guys this year. You've had great drivers however ... Kevin to Mercedes and Nico to RB!" you smile.

"Williams duo. You guys will be moving up. Logan i think you'll really really suit Ferrari red and Alex you better like Papaya coz you'll be joining Charles in McLaren!" you smile and Logan's face lights up being in a top team. This was really his opportunity to prove himself and that he was a great driver.

"Alpine ... not been an easy season for you guys unfortunately ... Pierre you'll be joining Mercedes and Esteban you'll drive for Haas"

"And finally our Stake Sauber whatever your team name is called will be moving ... Zhou to Alpine and Valtteri to Racing Bulls!"

"I hope this interests you all and you are all excited for the race in two months!" you say and you stay behind talking to some of the drivers until one is left.

"Hey baby" you smirk at Lewis as he leans against the door frame.

"I don't think I'll ever get over you calling me baby" he smiles softly and you smile back.

"Of course you wont ... baby" you grin.

"I'm excited for this race but I can't believe you .. put me in a Williams!" he exclaims and you just laugh before flattening out the lapels of his blazer before looking up at him.

"Cant make it easy for you, I wanna see you fight. You've lost your spark Lew!" you sigh looking over him.

Yours and Lewis relationship came to and end in 2021, just after he'd lost the championship. Said he needed to be more focused on his career. Baring in mind you'd been dating for 5 years before that.

"I-I know, it's not been the same since ..." he trails off and you nod.

"Since Max won... I know!" he smile at him, rubbing his shoulder, but after hearing you he takes a step back.

"No, since we ended things!" he sighs and you look over him in confusion.

"Lew..." you start and he shakes his head.

"I know it was mutual, but you were it for me. You ... you still are Y/N. I want you back and I know you aren't ready right now but you are the one thing i will and always will continue to fight for, fuck another championship ... fuck even another race win. I want you back though and I promise you i'll prove it!" he says looking over you, tears filling in your eyes as he pulls you into his chest, hugging you while stroking your hair.

"Ohhhh Lewis, what are you doing to me..." you laugh, because if you don't you'll cry.

"I'll see you in two months Lew!" you smile and walk out the door. He looks a little gutted your leaving but you need him to prove that he'll try.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #lando norris #charles leclerc #lando norris imagine #charles lecrelc x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton #sir lewis hamilton #lh44 imagine #lh44 x reader #lh44 #lh44 smut

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miguelhugger2099 · 2 months

Text

Eye for an Eye

Summary: Miguel rescues you in an ugly way. A/N: my guilty pleasure is sometimes i wanna be saveddd Warnings: Brief suggestion to sexual harrassment/assault, a bit of violence.

Somehow in the year 2099, most people didn't understand that Spider-Man in this age didn't follow the famous "no killing" rule that the original Spider-Man upheld in the Heroic Age. Most people meaning criminals.

Spider-Man, even when saving people from falling from skyscrapers or punching Public Eye scum in the face, if pushed to his limits- he would kill. This was his rules, his timeline, his Nueva York and if some pesky criminal wouldn't understand that then he'd get rid of them by any means.

So where do you come in all this?

Despite your efforts at secrecy, in the dead of night Spider-Man would often escort you home after work or if you had gotten into trouble with some purse snatcher. Other times, he'd sneak in your apartment window after a long fight, wanting to see you and have you patch up the wounds that would take a little more time to heal.

Spider-Man had revealed to you that he was actually Miguel O'Hara, the handsome stranger that had seemingly bumped into you more and more often after your very first encounter with Spider-Man. Having already been in an established relationship, you felt your heart drop at this major secret.

A part of you was angry at him for not telling you. For revealing your feelings about Miguel to his alter ego Spider-Man and making a fool of yourself. For all the nights he cancelled seeing you without explanation-something that put a strain on your relationship for a while.

However the other half of you was drowned in worry. So all those times his masked covered face had come in to see you, bloody and bruised while you fixed him up, it was all him. He could die, you told him. Why would he do this to himself?

"I haven't been good all my life," He groaned while you pressed a damp cloth to his wound one night. "I think of all this as repentance for being a shocking moron in my earlier years."

"There are other ways to repent. Like donating to charity or some confession booth at a church. Not some...Not risking your life." You could barely look at him, tears brimming your eyes and threatening to fall while it clouded your vision.

"I'm not religious." Miguel replies. "It wouldn't mean anything with these in my body now. They'd probably still send me to Hell regardless." He lifts his hand, his talons auto extracting from his fingertips and he feels the bile from his stomach stir, an urge to vomit at the disgust of himself.

He forces his talons back into his fingertips so he could tilt your chin up to face him. His thumb caressed your cheek to wipe off a stray tear that had fallen. "I'm sorry I put this all on you." He whispers.

You shake your head. "You're stupid, I always knew that," You sniffle and Miguel bites his cheek so he doesn't smile. "But I could help you better now. I...I know who you are and everything makes sense now, we could-"

Miguel stops you by shushing you. "No, no, no. You're not helping me anymore." Your heart drops again.

"What do you mean?"

"This is the last time we'll see each other."

Your jaw drops this time. Eyes that widened in shock now turn to anger. "Shock, Miguel. I knew you were an asshole but breaking up with me after revealing your secret identity to me has got to be one of the lowest things you're doing."

You lean away from him, bloodied and dried cloth thrown at his chest. "I was useful when you could just pop in whenever? No strings attached–was it fun?" You scoff in hurt.

Miguel grits his teeth. "No, carajo, it's-it's me-"

"Don't bullshit me Miguel with that it's not you, it's me rhetoric." You cross your arms tightly to your chest.

"It's dangerous!" He barks back.

"Like it wasn't dangerous before?"

"It was! That's why I can't come back! I can't let myself lead them to you!" Miguel sits up and grabs onto your shoulders tightly and gives you a firm shake. His hands shake as he holds you, his head hanging. "This...this power of mine. I...it can lead so many of those assholes to you." He whispers. "I trusted you enough to come here, which I hate myself for. I should’ve never involved you in any of this.” Miguel’s hands fall from your shoulders and down your arms to grip your hands in his. “I’ve already put you in so much danger. If you got hurt, I don’t know what I’d do.”

The feeling of his talons pricking your skin and the sight of his fangs leaking a drop of his venom made you think maybe he did know what he’d do. He would just really want to avoid it.

“Miggy,” You say softly. “How about you let me make that choice? Now that I know, it doesn’t scare me. Do you know why?” You take your right hand out his grip to cup his cheek. His tired eyes look up to yours, nostril dried with blood and a scar on his forehead that surely needed bandages.

“Because I know you’ll protect me. You’re Spider-Man.” You lean in closer, Miguel under your spell. “Let me help you. That’s my decision. In return, if I’m ever a damsel in distress, I hope you’ll help me.” You give him a small smile and his hand covers yours on his cheek. He squeezes your fingers. “I promise.” He swears. Miguel always kept his promises even if he stumbled on the way. So when he went to visit you after his nightly patrol, he didn’t expect to see your entire apartment in disarray. His mask phases off his head, scarlet eyes wide and panicked. He gulps down his fear, muscles tense as he steps into your room. Blankets and pillows on the floor, some slashed and stuffing being poured out the seams. Your desk that held photos of you and your friends had also fallen to the floor, glass shattered and frames broken. Miguel takes another quiet step outside of your room. Your entire living room was a mess. Your couch had been moved and cut in half, lamps cracked and more photos on the floor. His heart stops when he sees blood in the kitchen. Some of the knives had been taken and another wave of fear splashes down his spine. It was clear there had been some sort of resistance with whoever took you. Whoever took you. Who took you? Miguel feels the fear morph into rage, his mask phasing back on his head. “Lyla. Scan this place.” He growls. His AI assistant glitches into existence, her eyes behind her pink heart shaped glasses full of worry. She begins phasing in and out of different places while Miguel lets the anger fester in his body. HIs talons on his fingers and feet itch to come out, to be sharpened for whatever poor soul’s flesh he’ll rip into. His fangs seep out his paralyzing venom, his tongue licking off the excess. Lyla appears in front of him, more meek and smaller compared to her usual upbeat and sarcastic nature. She knew there was a time and a place. “The blood isn’t hers. They most likely knocked her out since there’s no trace of her own blood around. Fingerprints on the knife handle are hers. No other DNA samples could be acquired.”

Miguel walks towards the entrance of your apartment. His hand grazes the door frame that had been split apart. Lyla appears next to him. “Forced entry, probably by foot. There’s some traces of wet soil–mainly seawater. I’ve tracked several fishing ports–most in Staten Island.” She displays holograms of different spots, standing tall by his side while he skims through. “Did you find a match on the blood?” His voice rumbles. “Negative, Miguel. None in the criminal database, including The Raft. Looks like this is the work of someone new.” Miguel grows furious. He roars as he punches his hand through the already destroyed couch. Some novice wants his attention so badly, he’s willing to piss him off for it. Miguel swings out of your place and searches the entirety of Staten Island’s fishing ports until he finds the one he was looking for. You don’t know where you are but you can feel everything. A sash was wrapped tightly around your eyes, some rope or zip ties held your wrists together and your ankles to the chair you sat on. You felt the pounding of a headache when you woke up. The last thing you remembered was one of the intruders lifting his gun and slamming the barrel down on your temple. They grew tired of you after reaching into the kitchen to protect yourself. You held them off well but you were still just one person. The sash had been lifted from your eyes and you groaned when a bright light of a lamp shined in your face. While you squinted, you could make out at least three people in front of you.

“I’m sorry about my men. They’re still a little new. You know how it is when you get trainees for a new job.” The one in the middle speaks, you noticed he also is the one that took off your sash. “What the hell was the point of all this? You just kidnap random people from their homes?” You glare up at the man and his two puppets. “Streets say you’re good friends with Spidey.” One of the smirks. “Had one of these guys watch him crawl in your window like some squashed bug.” You scoff softly, rolling your side to the side. “So what?”

The man in front shrugs. “Either you’re his whore or you know him. So which is it sweetheart?” He rests his hand on the back seat of your chair and leans in close to your face. “Who is Spider-Man?”

You licks your lips and stare back up at him, choking back the stretch his breath was. “I don’t know.”

He grins. “Hm. So you’re his whore. A special one at that. He doesn’t appear in just anyone’s home so what services do you offer him in exchange for some protection? Do they apply here? Baby, I can protect you too.”

He’s sick, your mind screamed. You struggled against your restraints.

“Shock you.” You spit on his shirt and he lands a hard slap across your cheek.

He mumbles a string of curses before grabbing your chin and forcing you to face him again. “Don’t forget who’s in the shocking chair, sweetheart. Your hero ain’t here so be a doll and shut the hell up.”

Your chest heaved up and down in deep breaths to calm your scared heart. You feel your cheek stinging and it didn’t help with this rotten man’s fingers digging into your skin.

Your silence pleases him and his other hand reaches down to your knee. “I don’t wanna hurt you, sweet thing. It’s just one simple question and I’ll let you go.” He lies. His hand rides up your thigh and your leg tries to kick him away from you but he just grips you tighter. “I don’t know.” You plead hoarsely. “I know, I know. So you say.” Out of the corner of your eye you see one of his men snatched into the darkness with a clawed hand around his mouth. Miguel. The guy in front of you digs his nails deeper in your skin and you can feel the scratch. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You whine at the pain, pursing your lips to keep yourself quiet. “See, Spidey’s head goes for millions of dollars–money you can’t even comprehend so if you could do your community a favor of just letting us in on some intel on the son of a bitch; that’d be great.” “You wanna kill him?” You ask breathlessly, looking to the other side to see another newbie being hindered, his neck tilted to the side while some teeth bite into his flesh. His body slowly lost consciousness and was also dragged into the darkness silently. “Most of Nueva York wants that guy dead. All the ones on top but I’m dirt poor, sweetie. It’d be a disservice for the hero to not let me kill him. Shouldn't he give to the poor and needy?” He sighs, letting go of your cheek so both his hands rests on your upper thighs. You feel your skin crawling and try to move away as far as you can in your seat. “But you don’t know anything do you? Then I’d be doing a disservice by throwing out some useful goods here, don't you think?” His grimy hands grip your hips, looping his fingers around your jean belt loops. Before you could even think, the man is instantly ripped off of you by his shirt. He’s thrown back on his side, skidding as he comes to a halt. Spider-Man towers in front of you, his back facing you. You could still see the rage oozing from his suit, shoulders and muscles tense and claws out. His chest rises and falls with each jagged breath, the only sound coming out of him.

“Spider-Man!” The man growls, stumbling to get back on his feet. His pistol had slipped from the back of his jeans, sliding away from him. “Dammit–Darrell! Fernando!” He calls to his two men but he freezes. On the floor are both his associates, one’s clothes ripped apart with claw marks on his chest, the other with his jaw slacked open and two puncture holes in his neck–a strange mixture of blood and another liquid oozing from the wound. He lets out a strangled scream as he looks back up at Spider-Man. His tall frame stalks over to him but the man crawls to find his gun. Before he could grab it, Miguel stomps on the man's arm, giving a satisfying crack to his bone which the man cries out painfully. While he writhes on the concrete ground, Miguel grabs onto his broken arm and lifts him up–he screams, trying to push Miguel away. “You wanted to kill me?” Miguel growls, his voice deep and menacing. The man pleads for his life and another set of footsteps come from behind. “Shoot him!” The man yells as Miguel looks back over his shoulder. The rest of the group comes up from behind Miguel, raising–what Miguel considers pathetic–guns up to his face. The eyes on Miguel’s mask squint slightly and just as quickly, he turns with the man in his hands and uses his body to protect himself from the onslaught of bullets. The man’s entire group fires and every single bullet pierces into his body, splattering blood on the ground and Miguel’s suit. Miguel makes sure that you weren’t hit at any moment. Miguel tosses the limp corpse to the side and pounces into the group, attaching his fangs into some man’s neck while his talons ripped along his arm to let go of the rifle he was holding. Chaos ensues and they all begin shooting at one another in hopes that one shot could land on Spider-Man. Miguel’s claws ripped apart limbs and skin, every single hand that raised against you was littered to the ground. He continues to swing and jump around, letting everyone get lost in the confusion before tearing through chests and stomachs. His rage knew no bounds at the moment. He had planned to just come in secretly while he still had a part of his mind. Get in, use his venom, take you and get out. But when he saw what that scum would’ve done to you, touching you, gripping onto you–he lost his mind. Even with Lyla’s brief protest, Miguel couldn’t help but want to tear him apart. So he did.

It wasn’t often Miguel had to be reduced to such measures but everyone had their limits. By the time it was over, he barely noticed how silent it had become. His ears were still ringing, he felt like he was underwater as he gulped in heaps of air. “Miguel!” He hears Lyla yell at him. He snaps his head to where he heard her voice, blind rage melting when he sees you still in the chair. He sees Lyla with her arms crossed, her little foot tapping angrily in mid-air. Lyla had done her best to cover your sight and hearing of the crime Miguel had done with holograms of whatever–surely it was much nicer than watching Miguel gnaw off a piece of someone’s throat. Miguel glances at his hands stained and dripping with blood. He wipes them on his legs, hoping to get it off him before you could see. He falls to his knees in front of you with a soft whine of your name and his mask phases off. “Lyla, blur the room.” Lyla does as told and lets you see him. Your eyes are concerned and scared. “Miggy…” You whisper, feeling the trauma set in. “I’m here, I’m here–I told you I’d protect you, yeah?” Miguel uses his talons to cut off the zip ties from your wrists and ankles that were digging in your skin. Once you were free, you wrapped your arms around his neck and jumped into his arms. Miguel fell back but made sure to hug you back, his arms going around your waist while his other arm went up to cradle your head. He buried himself in your shoulder, breathing in the mixture of your natural scent and the scent of the man. He growled and held you tighter. He’d do something about that smell.

“I was so scared–I didn’t know what to do–How did you find me?” You babbled as you finally felt safe enough to sob and cry. “Don’t worry about that. You’re safe. You’re okay.” Miguel reassures you, kissing your temple and cheek, pulling away gently to brush your messy hair away from your face. He wipes your tears with the back of his hand, unintentionally leaving a bloody mark. “Shit..” He mumbles, ashamed and pulls his hand away. You stop him, holding his hand back to your cheek. You just wanted to feel him, his warmth. You weren’t stupid. You knew what happened when Lyla put up holograms that blurred what you weren’t supposed to see. You didn’t care. May they rot. “Thank you.” You whimpered. “Thank you.” Miguel presses a kiss to your forehead. “Always. I’ll take you home.” “But, my apartment–” You try to speak as Miguel moves to hold your body in one hand while he swings on his web with the other. “Not your apartment. Mine. My penthouse. I’m never leaving you out of my sight again.” Your arms were securely around his neck. He was still tense but much less before. You tried to look back down but he squeezed you tighter– he didn’t want you to see.

For tonight, he’d take care of you just like all those nights you took care of him.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara imagine

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giuliettagaltieri · 3 months

Text

One Way Ticket

Pairing: President!Coriolanus Snow x Capitol!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Desired

Warning: doubts, emotions, angst

Word Count: 2605

2 of 7

Everything works in his favor.

Coriolnus had a past so devastating, he was certain he could withstand just about anything.

And then you pull this stunt.

It is upsetting to be rejected especially when one blurts a statement so confidently. So certain you would agree right that instant.

But he is Coriolanus Snow, and he knows how to be patient when he needs to be.

However, being patient does not equate to simply standing by.

No, your refusal itches at him deep like how one would have the desire to pick at a scab, not allowing the skin to fully mend.

So, he tries again.

And again.

Whatever sense of peace you know was thrown out a window as he always has an issue or crisis that needs your pretty little scheming head. You were astounded at the lengths he would go, even feigning ignorance at the obvious solutions and he smothers you with honeyed compliments. It was humiliating.

Try as he might to sound genuine, it was rather condescending coming from him.

And when you keep each other company in your offices, he tells you how good it would be for a young President, such as himself, to finally settle.

But you are not as easy. When that failed too, he started to adopt a new tactic.

A bolder one.

Romancing you.

It was the grand opening of a park he donated when he was still a starting politician and today, it was finally done. You stood beside him, smiling at the cameras and to those who came to celebrate with you.

You clap your gloved hands along with the others when he cuts the ribbons.

“Oh.” You gasp softly when Coriolanus sweeps to place a fleeting kiss on your lips and the crowd cheers. You stare at him in surprise but he smiles charmingly at you.

Why must he have to be so handsome. He makes it so easy for you to forgive him.

He wraps an arm around your waist and turns to the crowd. “Please excuse us. I will be stealing Miss Swansworth for a while. Enjoy.”

You let him steer you inside the vast park, there was a beautiful line of trees that casted a beautiful shade and rose bushes along the pathway that emit a fragrant scent.

“One of my projects back at the University.” He nods at the roses.

At a closer look, they seem different compared to ordinary roses. They seem to glimmer.

“They can survive under harsh weather, their scent is enhanced, and they won't wilt easily.” He says proudly and you smile admiringly at him. Your relationship with him has been difficult recently but you are glad he did not simply cast you away like you feared he would.

“You know, if you were not so deadest in taking control over Panem, I believe you would have made a good florist.”

His face twists. “Florist.” He spits like the word disgusts him, making it all the more comical.

“Well, you are so passionate about flowers.” You chuckle as you look at the light flow of your dress.

Coriolanus studies you closely for a while before looking ahead. He slips his hands in his pockets with his thumb jutting out. “I can be passionate about other things too.”

You watch his broad back as he walks ahead of you to lead you further in the park.

Eventually, you reach a pavilion, one hidden from view as tall topiary are purposefully placed around. There were more beautiful flowers perfuming the air. Pursing your lips, you let Coriolanus guide you to the table at the center of the pavilion and he pulls your chair for you as an act of chivalry.

“Thank you.” You say kindly as you sit down. He gives you one of his handsome smiles and sits across from you.

“Tea?” He asks but is already pouring you a cup. You eye the assortments of cakes and refreshments around the table. Steam rises from the cup he carefully pushes your way, it was prepared just recently. You scan the area discreetly, but there were no Avox around, you seem to be alone with him.

You take your cup and blow softly and then take a sip. Coriolanus does the same.

Gently, you set the cup down on the saucer with a quiet clatter and he follows suit.

You make an attempt to grab a macaron but he beats you to it and puts not one but three on your plate. His recently found habit of overindulging you is starting to surface once more. The smile is still on his face and you wonder how long he can keep that up. Choosing to play along, you smile back at him sweetly.

His chest visibly swells, so impressed with himself.

At the top of the dessert stand, a small opaque cloche rests.

Coriolanus thought he was being sleek but with the number of times he sprung a proposal on you, you can guess that a ring might be resting on a cupcake or something pretty in there.

But still, you choose not to say anything and just enjoy your panna cotta, purposefully not touching the macarons he gave you. And you enjoy how his eyes keep on flitting to them.

When you pour your attention to your food and not on him, Coriolanus shifts in his seat.

He has a feeling this might be it. There is a good amount of privacy, the atmosphere is romantic, and you seem to be in a good mood. Spending his money on these outrageously expensive desserts was a good decision.

It takes everything from you not to roll your eyes when he leaves his seat to stand next to you.

As you are still not looking at him, he clears his throat and you decide it was time to finally stop playing coy and meet his eyes.

“Y/N.” He sighs, air charged with his confidence. “I was not the sweetest nor am I the kindest man to you. But you have shown me just how much a man can change with the right woman and right affection.” He grabs the small plate from the top of the dessert stand.

He removes the cloche and reveals a smooth little Swedish princess cake and on top of it, the prettiest rosette icing.

And a ring sits on top of the tea cake and you look at him blankly.

It was an enormous ring! And he seems pretty impressed with himself.

It was very intricate, very detailed, and very heavy looking.

It was too much.

Coriolanus blows out a sigh.

This was difficult for him, not the proposal but what he is about to do next.

You tip your chin haughtily as he gets down on one knee. He was stiff as he did so. Looking very out of place at that height, even if it was for you. His knee burns under his weight as his tight suit restricts him from large movements.

But his brilliant smile captures your eyes once more and he lifts the cake up to you, making your nose crinkle just the slightest.

“Will you marry me?”

You look him in the eyes with a brow raised.

That’s the best he can do? That generic statement?

His smile falters under your mocking gaze.

“Corio.” You chuckle. “Really?”

Coriolanus scoffs, slamming the cake on the table and you hear the saucer crack. You purse your lips as you watch him stand abruptly with his back turned to you, he places his hands on his waist as he stares into the garden around the pavilion.

“Fuck it.” He mutters as he runs his hand on his mouth, bristling under the weight of your countless rejections. You see his cheekbones pinking and you stand to wrap your arms around him from behind. His back tenses when you rest your cheek against it.

“Do not be angry, Mr. President.” You spoke calmly. Trying to see how much you can push him is thrilling you to the core but you also cannot risk him being fed up with you.

Coriolanus does not acknowledge your actions but you feel his body relaxing under your touch.

“I just don’t understand.” He fumes, his hands gesturing around him and you chuckle in amusement. “I have done everything. I even bent the knee!” He pushes you off harshly and you pout as he steps away. You hate how you quickly miss his warmth. “What more do you want from me?” He demands as he steps dangerously close to you.

Your playfulness dissipates as he renders you speechless.

He brushes your fingers that tried to fiddle with his coat. “I just…”

“You what?” He spits and you throw your hands up in frustration.

“I don’t know!” You yell back with equal frustration before looking at him in defeat. “I just don’t know.”

He is silent as you draw further and further into yourself, eyes no longer able to meet him.

“I am very fond of you, Coriolanus.” You confess and he scans your face for lies but all he sees is naked vulnerability. “I am just not certain about this.”

“You don’t want to marry me.” He concludes, his patience stretched to its limit.

“That is not what I said.” You say with a hint of panic and exasperation.

“Gods, you’re making Livia Cardew’s temptations enticing.” The words spilled from his tongue without him thinking and the consequence was almost instant.

Your eyes harden like cold marbles, you are quick to move around him to grab your bag from the table.

“Y/N.” Coriolanus blocks your path from the steps of the pavilion, his regret now biting at him as he heard your contained sniffles. “Come on, darling. I did not mean it.”

You push past him as you start walking away, with him quickly following you.

He wanted to strangle himself after catching sight of your tears. Tears you are trying so hard to suppress.

Mentioning names of other women was insensitive for his part. Especially when he is aware of how deep your affections for him are.

He managed to grab your hand and you try to pull away but your strength is that of a child compared to his.

“Let go.” You say through gritted teeth, streaks of tears running down your cheeks.

“It was a foolish thing to say.” He admits but you are having none of it.

You turn your head to the side and look up to the sky to keep your tears from falling. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He pulls you to his chest and presses a lingering kiss on your temple.

Coriolanus looks at the emptiness in frustration. He worked so hard to build what you have today. Is one slip of tongue going to crumble it all to the ground?

Even the smartest of men are lost to the world of women.

“Go marry that witch.” You mutter. “See if I care.”

Coriolanus held you close, his lips pursing at the venom of your tone.

“I’m not marrying anyone else.” He says.

He does not know how long he held you in his arms, your pretty lips muttering antagonism against him but Coriolanus takes every insult as he keeps you trapped in his arms.

By the time the sun is about to set, you let him hold your hand and guide you away from the pavilion. You did not speak to him when he let you in his car, fingers frozen in your lap as your eyes were cast far away.

Coriolanus chooses not to say anything and simply buckles your seatbelt for you and he drives to your apartments. He walks you to your door and walks you inside. You are too drained to even do anything.

Why were you even rejecting his proposals? And like he said, what more did you want from him? You have embarrassed yourself, making a fit as soon as he mentioned another woman’s name. It was most unbecoming of you. You close your eyes tightly, regretting the weakness you showed him.

You are grateful that Coriolanus does not comment on it. He looks at your blank features as he gently pry your fingers from your bag to place it on your countertop. Your breath hitch when he gets down on his knees again, his hands sliding on your bare legs as he unclasps your heels.

Coriolanus guides your hand to his shoulder as he slips your feet from the tall shoes.

“Corio.” You say gently and he hums in response as he focuses on your other shoe. “I must ask you something.”

He removes the other shoe and looks up at you, awaiting. You inhale sharply, his eyes are the truest blue, reflecting the harsh glare of moonlight and the glow of the Capitol. You sit down, your dress splayed prettily around you and you lean on the countertop.

“Why do you want to marry me?”

You are scared. He can tell by the waver in your voice and the way you held yourself. Coriolanus sits next to you, wincing at the restrictive nature of his clothing.

For a moment you just look at the lit windows of the buildings opposite yours. And the moving gleams of headlights as cars drove on the street. Everything was silent aside from the muffled music played by the old couple next door.

“Remember how you asked what would make me happy?” He glances at the boutonnière by his coat and he plucks a delicate baby’s breath that frames a rose, he twirls it in his fingers. “I think marrying you would.”

“I’m not certain if we can find happiness in a political partnership.” You mutter to which he only laughs.

“For someone so sharp, you sure are missing the point, sweetheart.”

You look at him with your eyes puffy and tired, not having the energy to start a fight.

“I want to marry you. Your name and smarts are a bonus of course, but I want you.” He grins as he continues to play with the baby’s breath. “You make me feel things I shouldn’t. I thought it was just admiration and fondness, simply fleeting elation.” His voice cracks ever so slightly and your eyes wet again with tears.

“I was wrong.” His own eyes were glassy but he remained calm. “It was joy.” He grabs your hand and you turn to see him holding the baby’s breath now twirled to resemble a ring and your breath gets caught in your throat.

“Y/N Swansworth.” He sniffles, and then laughs lightly at how you can easily stir his emotions. “Can I persuade you to make an attempt to seize real happiness with me?”

You close your eyes, and tears pour to your cheeks as you nod, letting out a broken “Yes.”

Coriolanus felt overwhelmed with joy, some of it spilled out in a laugh, the tightness in his chest loosening, he never felt more alive. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he slips the poorly made ring to your finger. Oh, but it was beautiful. More beautiful than the forgotten ring by the pavilion. It was something his own hands have crafted only for you.

He kisses your palm and you cup his cheek.

“Thank you for being patient with me.” You say as you place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Resilience has always been my strongest suit.” He says and you laugh. He smiles fondly upon hearing the sweet melody. Yes, he prefers it so much more than your sobs. “My affections for you are not delicate.”

Quest for Happiness

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus x reader #young coriolanus snow #tbosas #the hunger games #coriolanus angst #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunt for glory #quest for happiness

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suzukiblu · 6 months

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Day twenty-nine of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon disassembles his sand castle back into the original pattern without looking, Tim experiences multiple internal crisises, and someone passes by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Tim, in self-defense, grabs a couple of the little crostini things on said tray and offers one to Kon, who looks pleased about it.

“I dunno, does this count as a party?” Kon asks, glancing around with a little grin before popping his hors d'oeuvre into his mouth. Tim does the same, then remembers this means that now he knows what Kon’s mouth tastes like again. Dammit.

Kon’s mouth currently tastes like ricotta and roasted grape, which isn’t even necessarily a taste that especially appeals to Tim, aside from the part where it’s how Kon’s mouth currently tastes. Why do people even roast grapes? Why is that even a thing?

Why does Kon look so attractive in slightly smudged eyeliner he put on for him and clothes he bought him? Like–Kon always looks attractive, it’s an incredibly unfortunate curse on the world, reflexively checking out his ass in spandex literally did get Tim thrown off a roof once, but this attractive? This is several new layers of “attractive” and Kon is wearing all of them like a second skin. A very tight and fitted and well-tailored second skin, to be specific. One with cutouts and short-shorts involved.

This metaphor may be getting away from him.

“Technically I think so, though maybe not the usual kind,” Tim says. “I mean, it’s sort of a party, it’s just mostly an event. Maybe they want donations or something, I don’t know. Museums usually do.”

He assumes that’s what the ticket money went to, or at least a fair chunk of it. They were pretty expensive tickets, considering, but since it’s an adults-only special event that isn't obviously themed in either a rogue-baiting or rogue-planned way he hadn't really questioned it. Getting overcharged by a probably-underfunded art museum isn't exactly enough to trot out his inner Bat or inner future supervillain for.

Well, as long as nobody on staff annoys or insults Kon, anyway. Because in that case he will be financially destroying this place. Like, obviously. It's a little early to be planning his supervillain calling cards, but “you know what you did” is an increasingly tempting option.

Anyway, that's just a contingency plan. Totally unnecessary as long as Kon has a good time.

“What’s over there?” Kon asks, peering towards another station. Tim wonders why he’s asking, since he assumes he can feel it, though in retrospect “feeling” whatever it is doesn’t necessarily explain the purpose or point of whatever it is.

“No idea,” Tim says. “Why, does it feel interesting?”

“Um.” Kon . . . hesitates, then glances back to him, looking oddly–embarrassed, almost? Weird, Tim thinks, repressing a frown. “It’s, uh . . . kinda, I guess. I dunno. Wanna check it out?”

“Sure,” Tim says, peering towards it. It looks like a series of boxes with holes in them all stacked on top of each other, though he can’t see what’s actually inside them–there’s curtains or something built into them. He’s not really sure what the whole setup’s supposed to be, honestly, but if Kon’s interested . . .

They head over, and it turns out the whole setup is basically the same theory as those haunted houses where they make you stick your hand in a box full of peeled grapes and cooked spaghetti and tell you they’re eyeballs and brains, although Tim is hoping peeled grapes and cooked spaghetti won’t actually be involved.

“So there’s literally zero surprises here for you, I’m guessing,” Tim says wryly. Kon looks sheepish.

“We can go do something else,” he says.

“I mean, I’ll be surprised,” Tim points out. “So up to you if you’re interested or not.”

“Okay, point, I guess,” Kon says, laughing a little and rubbing his arm self-consciously. “I dunno.”

“Tell me which one to try?” Tim suggests, smiling at him. Kon laughs again, ducking his head to hide a grin. That continues to not be as effective as he probably wants it to be, given their height difference, but Tim has no intention of pointing that out. He doesn’t want to make Kon more self-conscious, and also it’s fucking adorable.

Bastard.

“You sure about that?” Kon says, his grin turning sly as he glances back towards him. “You don’t know what’s in there, babe.”

“I’m willing to live a little dangerously,” Tim replies with an easy shrug. Kon laughs again.

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teases.

Tim quickly regrets letting Kon pick which boxes he should stick his hands in via trying said boxes, but also Kon just looks so fucking cute laughing at the different faces he makes for every one, so it’s hard to actually get annoyed about it. Also, Kon admittedly did warn him.

Although he might’ve rather put up with the peeled grapes and cooked spaghetti, honestly.

Seriously. Those are some textures, ugh.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young justice #young just us #rinfic #long post #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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writingoddess1125 · 8 months

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You and your Bestie are drunk and now hostages on Buggy's ship

Please donate to my Ko-Fi I'd love to pay my electric bill and not be homeless

DRUNK THOUGHTS 🍸 (+ Friend Amber we are both fucked rn)

We are scheduled for 8am since we probably gonna be out! I'll make it make sense later

• You and your bestie were out getting absolutely smashed- you know how they say that you should never mix dark and light alcohol- Well you through thay out the window 2 hours ago

• Absolutely getting fucked up you two stumble from the bar and see a bit ship on dock- Deciding to venture on you see circus shit.

• Run around like this was some sort of abandoned amusement park till seeing the infamous Buggy Captian.

• "Who the tell are you two?- And why are you on my ship?"

• "I wanna touch-" You declare and reach forward touching his nose gently

• "Honk Honk-" You say before you and yo bestie start to giggle and fall to the ground laughing. Ignoring angry guy

• Your bestie reached forward and grabs his tits and squeezes. "HONK HONK-!"

• Slaps both of you away from touching him forward, especially when your hand reaches to try and Honk below the belt.

• Thrown in brig of ship to sober up, But are just laughing like hyenas for the whole night cause fuck clown men

• Would Be DTF tho Mr. Clown Man 🤡

#x reader #one peice x reader #one peice live action #one piece #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader

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disabled-cat-in-a-cowboy-hat · 13 days

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ME, MY DISABLED PARTNER, AND OUR PETS ARE GOING TO DIE IF PEOPLE DO NOT START MAKING IMMEDIATE MEANINGFUL EFFORTS TO HELP US.

We need immediate emergency relief. But everyone pretends I don't Exist.

I am so. Tired. Of writing these posts. They never go anywhere. They never do any good. People never seem to care.

I have stopped writing posts because I am always too sick, now. I am too sick to get out of bed and I AM ACTIVELY DYING.

I LITERALLY HAVE SKIN CANCER AND A HERNIATED DISC IN MY NECK CAUSING SEIZURES AND THREATENING TO LEAVE ME PARALYZED AND I CANNOT EVEN GET PEOPLE TO DONATE ENOUGH TO FEED MYSELF OR AFFORD MY MEDICATION MUCH LESS GO TO THE DOCTOR OR PURSUE TREATMENT

I haven't been able to afford my medication since NOVEMBER and nobody cares except for 1 or 2 people who can only afford 20 here & there which doesn't cover my $1500.00/month medication & I am at the point of risking Death every single day.

I have done LITERALLY EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO HELP MYSELF AND IT ISN'T ENOUGH. Texas holds EVERY BAR deliberately out of reach of the disabled, trans, and mentally ill-- and I fall into every single category. I am fully disabled, handicapped, autistic, trans with suicidal dysphoria-- and I had my gender affirming care ~ripped away~, and own a uterus which is basically a death sentence in this state, now. The system is completely backed up, has been since Covid, all applications have been on hold for basically 3 years, now. And, yeah. People decided to Kill me.

PEOPLE ARE BEING STOLEN OFF THE STREETS, HERE.

But no one can seem to handle caring, reblogging my posts, offering advice that actually applies to my circumstances (most people spout some highly ignorant 'got mine' bullshit when I have clearly stated that I have already sought every possible government means and was basically told 'hurry up and die already'), or making an effort to proactively help me SEEK HELP from others.

I was thrown on the streets to die homeless in winter. I am HOMELESS, bouncing from place to place, and I have run out of places to bounce. I have NOWHERE to go. I have NO FRIENDS. I have NO FAMILY. I have NO support group. I have NO insurance. I have NO doctors. Yet

all people do is scroll.

Please. HELP ME.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW ABJECTLY TERRIFYING IT IS KNOWING THAT PEOPLE WHO HAVE THE MONEY FOR CANCER TREATMENT RARELY SURVIVE BUT YOU DON'T EVEN GET TO START TREATMENT BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS, FAMILY, SUPPORT GROUP, TRANSPORTATION, INSURANCE, OR MONEY???!?!

If you have ever liked a piece of art I've made, or a meme, or a video, or a stream, why do I not deserve to live????? Do you literally think I deserve to DIE-- literally DIE-- because I am disabled??? Because that is PRECISELY what my ableist & transphobic ex-friends & family have decided, and they are getting away with it. Why.............???

-> Ko-Fi | PayPal | Art Shop | Aether Adoptable

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in-sufficientdata · 10 months

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Why the Konmari method is pretty useless for people with genuine problems with hoarding and OCD, or OCD tendencies, at least without some caveats and definitions:

Hoarding is defined by a persistent emotional attachment to inanimate objects. Clutterers and hoarders often have an unconscious need to save items, whether for an imagined future ideal use, or just because otherwise they would end up in the landfill.

People with these issues often have difficulty discerning the difference between a truly useful item and something that should be given or thrown away because of their emotional attachment to the item.

They see themselves as the best curator of the items, which may range from useful items like craft supplies, display items, sentimental items, and stuff that is truly just junk.

"Sunk costs" is a term from economics that means that a cost that has already been incurred and cannot be recovered. Although the original term refers to finances, the sunk costs of the time and effort someone has put into an item can influence their decision to keep the item.

Therefore, another factor in this attachment is the sunk costs of money, effort, and time that a person has put into an item. A person may no longer be personally attached to an item, but will keep it because they have always meant to use it or simply because it's not yet ruined.

This is also a reason those with fewer economic advantage tend to be hoarders more than those with a comfortable financial situation. Someone like this realizing they've obtained two of an item will take on the responsibility of curating both instead of getting rid of one.

Because of all these factors, the expression that was translated as "sparks joy" in the English version is too easy for a clutterer to confuse or redefine in their own mind as they work to sort through their items.

In my case, for example, I had a situation where the basement, which was full of our excess saved items, needed to be cleared so the cracked foundation could be repaired. I had to decide what to save in the limited storage space we still had, and what to throw out or donate.

If Konmari had been in vogue at the time (this was in 2004) I'm certain I would have kept far more items than I should have. This language is too easy for a clutterer to massage and redefine in their own mind based on what the item is.

First, clutterers need to be clear-eyed about the fact that they suffer from excess emotional attachment to objects. Flylady's declutter method was in vogue at the time I engaged in this declutter session, and she has a whole checklist of questions to ask oneself about an object:

Do I love this item?

Have I used it in the past year?

Is it really garbage?

Do I have another one that is better?

Should I really keep two?

Does it have sentimental value that causes me to love it?

Or does it give me guilt and make me sad when I see the item?

This may seem needlessly complex to someone who is not a hoarder or clutterer but this addresses many of the reasons that a sufferer would keep an item that they shouldn't.

Another factor is that they are perfectionists. This seems at odds with the idea that they may have a huge mess in their home, but what happens is they often can't deal with their persistent need to have a perfectly clean home that matches their vision.

Because of this they put off starting on the project until it can be done perfectly.

This is why methods like Flylady and Unfuck Your Habitat (which is really just Flylady without the cutesy rhetoric) help these people so much, because people with differences such as ADHD become clutterers because they don't know how to regulate their own time or how to organize.

The emotional attachment to their possessions is, incidentally, why decluttering on behalf of your hoarder friend is a very bad idea. The person will need to work through this process on their own, in order for it to stick.

Getting rid of these items can be intensely emotional and difficult for someone with these tendencies.

Time limits, routines, consistency, and persistence are the best tools for someone who needs to declutter. Don't try to do this all in an afternoon. Not only is it a difficult process, it should become a consistent habit.

For resources and further reading please check out Squalor Survivors (archive.org link).

#mine #please feel free to ask me questions about this i am an old hand #squalor survivors #hoarding #ocd #obsessive compulsive disorder #ocd tendencies #konmari #konmari method #marie kondo #reposting everything from my twitter feed #i'm about to delete everything so get it while it's hot #tweet: 2019

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lightlyblooming · 9 months

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Caving In

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Natasha visits Reader's apartment and she gives in.

Words: 956

You wished that you had never opened the door.

Natasha stood on the other side of the threshold, highlighted by the yellow glow of the sparse lights that dotted the hallway. Her red hair rested on her shoulders, not a single strand out of place. Her green eyes were clear and bright.

“So?” Natasha prompted, holding up the plastic bag in her hand. The smell of delicious fried food filled the air. “Are you going to let me in?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to slam the door in her face. She was a page in your life that you wanted to rip out and throw away. Her hair, her eyes, her body, those lips. They were part of a life that you no longer lived, that you never wanted to revisit.

And yet, you found yourself stepping aside.

She entered your apartment and went straight into the kitchen, her deep and rich perfume washing over you as she passed. You sucked on your teeth, reigned in a sigh, then closed the door.

She knew exactly what she was doing. That scent, the warm presence of it, permeated the wall that you had spent the last few months trying to build. It elicited memories of humid evenings huddled in a rundown barn on the side of a rural road, long nights tangled in the silk sheets of a 5-star hotel, hours crouched on the top of a roof in the pouring rain, long evenings of sitting in the dark stitching up deep painful wounds.

You followed Natasha into the dimly-lit kitchen. She pulled two plates out of one of the cupboards then opened a drawer and rummaged through the cutlery you’d thrown into it. She gathered a knife and two forks.

You hadn’t bothered organizing your kitchen. It was the only part of the apartment you hadn’t renovated yet, though it definitely needed it. You doubted it had been touched since the 1960’s. It had pale blue paint that occasionally flaked into your food or drinks and the most horrendous red tile countertops that were so cracked you could hardly tell where one tile ended and another began.

Natasha was wholly unbothered by it. You didn’t think she would be, considering the state of the places you and her had stayed in, but it still came as a slight shock. She suited a Central Park penthouse better than this.

“I heard you were in Paris,” Natasha said as she transferred the food from the containers onto plates.

You crossed your arms and shrugged. “And?”

“You hate Paris.”

“It’s better than Manhattan.”

Natasha hummed and grabbed the plates. She made her way into the living room and sat on the couch, setting the plates onto the coffee table. “Why did you come back so soon?”

You didn’t bother answering; Natasha already knew the answer. The Avengers only let you drift so far and for so long. They wanted you close in case the sky split open again. At least, that’s what they said. You were certain that Natasha had meddled in that agreement more than she admitted. She was, after all, the one that had convinced Tony Stark that you weren’t a threat to America despite very much being one. She had even managed to have him to give you an apartment and a very healthy allowance on top of it.

“Why are you here?” you asked as Natasha started to eat the fries from her plate.

She had her eyes pinned to you as she ate. You steeled yourself and stared right back.

You knew you would give in. You always did. You always let her in, you always gave way to her desires. If she invited you to a hotel or out to drinks at a dive bar, it would only be a matter of time before you caved and agreed, no matter how hard you fought against it.

You didn’t even know why you tried to resist anymore. At first it was a way to separate your past life from this one, then it was punishment for all you had done. You had caused so much pain, so much suffering. You had dedicated your life to repenting for all you had done. You did whatever the Avengers asked of you, volunteered at soup kitchens, donated what extra money you had.

Now, you had settled into a life sequestered away in your apartment, renovating the same rooms over and over again. When you weren’t stuck painting or decorating or polishing your floors, you were in high-end boutiques and designer stores, spending that very generous allowance on fine clothes and handbags.

Yet not even a fifty-thousand-dollar Hermès bag could ease your pain. Not in the way Natasha did.

Natasha finished her mouthful and patted the couch beside her. “Eat before your food gets cold.”

You opened your mouth, ready to find an excuse, and then she smiled. Her warm, radiant smile. The smile that washed away your worries again and again. The smile that reminded you that the world wasn’t all sharp edges and cold blades. The smile that filled your empty chest with passion.

You let out a breath and allowed your arms to fall to your side. You took in a deep breath, steadied yourself, then settled onto the couch.

“I thought you were supposed to be in Denver,” you said and picked up your plate.

“I leave in the morning,” Natasha said. “I wanted to see you before I left.”

You couldn’t help the smile that sprouted on your lips. You hid it by taking a bite of food, but that did nothing to hide the blush that crept along your cheeks when Natasha placed her hand on your thigh.

#natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #natasha romanoff #avengers #avengers fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha x reader #avengers x reader #avengers fic #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff fanfic

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adore-laur · 7 months

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FOXTAIL

— two lovers being blissfully domestic while living in the countryside of france 🪴

——

LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE

The melodic humming of his wife faintly echoes throughout the greenhouse kitchen, her voice hidden under the more pronounced noises of glass jars clinking together and the faucet running.

As Harry hunches over the granite countertop and gingerly trims the miniature bonsai tree he proudly grew himself, his ears tune into Nadine's movements. He's acutely aware of the soft padding of her slippers against the tiles and the slight graze of her robe against his sweater vest whenever she passes by. It's as if she's some soundless angel who doesn't like to make her presence known yet can't help but enthrall everyone with her heavenly poise.

He will often glance up while snipping away with his garden shears and follow her figure as she gracefully floats around the kitchen and pickles various vegetables that will eventually be donated to the orphanage on the outskirts of town. The cucumber she's currently slicing is from one of his many gardens on the property. They are Harry's pride and joy. He plants abundant seeds every season, then tends to the soil and sprouts until he can harvest them. Their primary use is to be thrown into either jars or on dinner plates, resulting in whatever his wife wishes to cleverly concoct.

"Nadi, can you please fill this up for me?" Harry asks, fidgeting with the fragile pump of the plant mister in his hand.

In a second, she's by his side, carefully taking the empty glass bottle from his grasp. "Hot or cold water?"

He smiles dotingly at her lack of knowledge about succulent maintenance. She has more expertise relating to culinary uses for fruits, vegetables, herbs, and spices, while he takes care of the botanical aspect.

"Lukewarm since we've had sunny weather lately," he replies as he checks how dry the compacted soil in the pot is. "Thank you."

She nods and heads to the sink, turning the handle to the left. Harry pauses what he's doing and admires how her smooth, bronzed skin and silky black hair glimmer in the natural light pouring through the greenhouse panels. He often finds himself wanting to splay his hands on every part of her warm body and let his ceaseless love seep into her, sweet and absorbent like caramel drizzle on a dessert. Whenever she innately reacts to his touch, it melts him into a puddle of molasses the same color as the deep pools of her irises. And when the sun hits her brown eyes just right, he becomes entranced. She's his saccharine daydream.

Once Harry is satisfied with the trimming of his beloved bonsai, he moves on to the second task he planned to finish this morning. A woven basket sits beside him on the floor, holding a bundle of eucalyptus and myrtle leaves he broke off from the trees in the front yard. He had already cut a piece of gold wire to form the brittle blades around it, but he didn't know where to go from there. He wants to make a leaf crown for Nadine. However, he's never attempted a crown with leaves before, only with the lily of the valley and jasmine flowers he grows by the windowsill in their bedroom. The two white blossoms represent femininity and sensuality, a perfect blend of his wife's soul.

"You are standing so still, lover," Nadine says, setting down the filled plant mister. "What are you doing? What are those leaves for?"

"You ask too many questions," he teases with a prolonged kiss on her forehead.

She frowns halfheartedly. "Laisse-moi entrer dans ton jardin de secrets."

Harry's neck flushes from the way she effortlessly switched languages. "Seulement si tu me laisses entrer dans ton pot de secrets," he murmurs against her temple, jerking his chin toward her glass jars all neat in a row.

"I'm making pickled cucumber and carrot salad for lunch since I have leftover scraps," she says enthusiastically.

Running his fingertips through her hair, he twirls the short strands and says, "I'm making a leaf crown for you."

"Why?"

"Why not? Are you worried it won't be as good as the ones the kids make you at the orphanage?"

Nadine doesn't answer and just stands on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him down for a slow kiss. Harry exhales blissfully and relaxes in her hold, placing his hands on her waist and moving his mouth against hers. He could kiss her lychee-colored lips for eternity if possible.

When she separates her lips from his with a wet pop, Harry begins swaying her to the mellifluous lullaby from the summer birds and wind chimes outside the greenhouse. He grabs her left hand and interlocks his fingers with hers, his other hand tenderly cupping her cheek. A sunrise dance happens frequently, whether it's in the kitchen, bedroom, or garden. Most of the time, they don't even involve music or the ambiance of nature, simply their hushed voices and synchronized heartbeats filling the space.

"Are you planting anything new today?" Nadine asks quietly.

Harry smears another kiss on her lips. "Just some arugula and parsley."

What she doesn't know is that yesterday while she took a trip down to the valley by herself, he planted her a bed of foxtail lilies in a concealed flower bed behind the tall grape trellises. He precisely calculated when they would bloom into tapered pink and yellow spikes so they could be her birthday surprise when late spring rolled around.

Nadine tilts her head to the side and smiles dreamily. "Can I watch you do it?"

"I'll let you if you smoke with me in the bath later."

She raises her thick eyebrows. "You want to get high before noon?"

"My body will be aching from crouching, and I want to relax before your family visits tomorrow."

"Of course, mon chéri."

Harry hums contently and strokes the pad of his thumb across her plump bottom lip. "Let me finish your crown, and then you can ogle at me in the garden, oui?"

——

"Sacré bleu, Nadi!" Harry shouts dramatically when she walks through the patio door completely nude.

Her curves and soft skin look ravishing under the European sky, and the sunbeams gloriously cast upon every stretch mark and blemish. He notices she's wearing his misshapen leaf crown from where he sits naked in the outdoor bathtub, reading yesterday's newspaper with a lit joint perched between his fingertips. Thankfully, no neighbors can see them in their vulnerable state since the backyard is closed off with a high wooden fence shaded by clustering chestnut and poplar trees.

Nadine gasps and kneels next to the tub, stealing the joint from him and taking a quick hit. She beautifully exhales two rings of smoke before saying, "You started without me."

"Pardonne-moi, ma reine," Harry says lowly as he flings the newspaper onto the grass and grabs her wrist to help her into the warm water. He plucked some red petals off the nearby rose bush to let float on the surface, and also brought out some bars of natural soaps Nadine handmade with excess fruit peels and herbs. She's craftier than him, but he thinks they make a good pair. He grows the plants, and she makes use of them.

Nadine's back meets his bare chest, and every muscle in his body instantly eases with the pure and healing touch of her skin. He spent hours in the sunlit garden planting autumn seeds and sneakily tending to the foxtail lilies, so the tendons in his shoulder blades feel inflamed, and his hands are decorated with new calluses. The dirt under his fingernails had been scrubbed clean while he waited for Nadine, yet there were still scrapes and aching muscles he wanted her to take care of. He's not embarrassed to admit that he likes to be babied by her.

"I brought your razor and shaving cream," Nadine tells him, setting the two objects on the edge of the tub.

Harry's lips downturn with confusion. "For you or for me?"

She turns in his arms to face him, bending her legs crisscross applesauce style. "You, miteux."

"Translation, please."

"Scruffy," she whispers like it's confidential.

A whiny laugh escapes his mouth. "Thought you liked it," he drawls, stroking circles onto her hips.

"Too itchy when you kiss me." She takes another hit before passing the joint over to him.

"Like this?" he asks before leaning forward to rub his cheek against hers and puckering multiple kisses against her skin, making a high-pitched laugh bless his ears.

"Oui, like that!" she expresses through giggles and a wide smile.

He lightly nips her jaw and murmurs, "What do I get in return for letting you shave my face?"

Nadine chews on the inside of her cheek, her dark eyes dancing over his entire body. "I think," she says while placing a wet rose petal on his collarbone, "you know exactly what I'll give you."

Harry swallows, his eyes fluttering shut. "Is that right, my darling?"

"That's right. You need to behave right now, though, or I might nick you."

"What a shame that would be, hmm?" His hands flex on her hips. "Can't go ruining my pretty face."

She cups water in her palms and pours it over the petal on his skin until it delicately falls off. "Your reflection in the bathwater is turning you into Narcissus."

"That's funny, considering your crown makes you look like Echo," he says, tucking a loose eucalyptus leaf under the wire. Are you going to start repeating everything I say?"

"No, but I'm obsessed with you like she was.

Who knew mythology could be so erotic? Harry feels his cock throb and harden as he softly kisses her neck and mumbles, "Such a sweet girl."

Nadine has an amount of self-control beyond comprehension because she suddenly scoots back and picks up the razor and container of shaving cream without another word. She begins applying a layer of the foamy cream on his scruff, spreading it on his neck and Adam's apple.

After inhaling from the joint, Harry blows the smoke toward the afternoon sky and casually rests his arms on the tub's edge as his wife shaves the stubble above his lips. She looks adorable with a concentrated furrow to her eyebrows and her tongue poking out slightly. Her body leans close to him, the curve of her breasts touching his chest and the tip of her nose grazing his own every so often. Her unoccupied hand tilts his chin to the side so she can work on his cheek. The soothing nature of her movements and the warm water engulfing his sore body feel more delightful than the weed that permeates his lungs and senses.

"Don't fall asleep on me, moonflower."

Harry's eyes blink open and blearily focus on her. He didn't realize he nodded off. A lazy smile makes its way onto his face when he sees her eyes rimmed with red from the joint she apparently took for herself while he wasn't paying attention.

"Tu me rends le bon genre de somnolent," he replies with a slur of impeding tiredness.

Nadine washes off the remnants of shaving cream on the right side of his freshly smoothed cheek. "You ramble such nonsense when you're high," she says, quickly finishing shaving the rest of his face. "Excusez moi. I'm not high… yet."

"You are. Know how I can tell?"

Harry settles his hands on her thighs. "Humor me, sunflower."

"I know because you are hard, and I haven't even done anything yet," Nadine whispers in his ear.

She's not Echo; she's the goddess of love. His Aphrodite, ironically surrounded by rose petals and wearing a crown adorned with myrtle leaves, sets the razor in a safe place under the tub and then straddles his thighs. She knows exactly how to make him weak putty in her hands.

Extinguishing the lit end of the joint in the water, Harry flips his palms up in invitation and says, "Do your worst, dove."

——

The euphoric high reaches Harry's fingertips as he touches the blades of grass he lies on. To the touch, they feel as soft as a cloud. To the eye, they are feathery and verdant.

The blue and white striped shirt he put on after the bath warps due to his spinning mind, the lines bending and blurring until they make his eyes cross. He and Nadine went through three joints each. Maybe four. Either way, the aftermath of sex while high and then proceeding to get higher has Harry feeling like he's levitating outside of his body. Although he can't complain when Nadine lies beside him, laughing infectiously over something he doesn't remember saying mere seconds ago.

"What did I do?" he asks, his speech slower and more drawled from the weed that passed his tongue.

"You were going on about" — she pauses for a moment to regain her breath — "about your dream that you had last night."

"Oh." He rubs his eyes and begins giggling over whatever is making her so happy. "Where did I… what part did I leave off at?"

"The part where, apparently, our thirty nonexistent children were blooming in the garden, and they were all wailing so much, but the only way to get them to stop was to water them."

"Shit, that's right. What a bizarre dream."

Nadine reaches over and pinches his stomach. "Could you imagine having to take care of thirty children? Oh, mon dieu!"

"We could do it," he says with faux confidence. "Babies are sort of like plants, right?"

She snorts and replies, "I would rethink that statement."

He's thinking ahead and can't stop the thought from crawling across the crevices of his brain like scandent stems. "One day, we'll have little snap peas running around the garden," he muses, the words sounding far away when he speaks them.

"Snap peas, like… bébés?" Nadine asks for clarity.

Harry looks over at her, his heart melting like candle wax at the innocence that laces her question. "Oui. Tant de bébés."

"Where is my say in this?" she asks with a prod to his sock-covered foot.

He smirks, rubbing his eyes again. "You have all the say in the world, dove. Just tell me when, and I'll drop everything for you."

"When what?"

"When you're ready for bébés."

He sees it. He wants it. He needs it. He feels a deep yearning for the possibility of them having Nadine's eyes of maple syrup and heart of sweet honey. If they'll laugh in three caught breaths like her and have her lustrous hair, or if they'll cackle obnoxiously like him and inherit his wild curls. He'd like either outcome. He'd like it a lot.

"I think I will be ready in the spring," Nadine says. "I do not want to be pregnant in the winter."

"How come?" Harry murmurs, dizzily rolling over and nuzzling his face into the velvety skin of her stomach, which is exposed below her cropped tank top.

"I don't thrive in the cold, so it would be a living nightmare for me," she says, tilting his face upwards. "And I wouldn't be able to show off my baby bump if it was cold all the time."

"Nadi baby," he says while letting her poke his dimples, "do you realize that if you get pregnant in the spring, you'll be ready to pop during wintertime?"

"I can't do math when I'm high. Too many months." She uses her strength to switch positions and lay on top of him, squishing his cheeks, her favorite thing to do. "But you have to promise me a bébé in the spring."

He hooks his right pinky with hers and says, "The foxtail lilies should be in full bloom by then. They'll be our good luck charm."

He didn't mean to say that out loud, and now he just utterly ruined the surprise. Damn those three or four joints.

"Hmm? Foxtail?" Nadine bemuses, tracing the slope of his nose with her pointer finger.

Sighing to himself, he knows there's no faultless way to dig himself out of the hole he created. "For you," Harry says shyly. "I planted a bed of foxtail lilies for you that will hopefully bloom in time for your birthday."

She goes silent, spreading her hand on his cheek and parting her lips. Harry wishes he could have kept the details of his romantic gesture locked away in his conscious mind, but the way she's looking at him right now makes the mistake worth it.

"My heart," she whispers sweetly, pressing a long and tender kiss to his lips. "My love. You did that for me?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says with cheeks the color of the peonies by the patio.

"Hey, listen. Don't fret about it, all right?"

"Okay. Oui."

Nadine rests her head on his chest. "Oui."

"Oui oui oui," he repeats with a ticklish breath in her ear during each staccato syllable.

"T'es chiant," she grumbles, pushing his face away.

Harry cradles the back of her head, resting his chin on top of it and soaking in her presence she graciously allows him to cherish. What a wonder to be able to hold a daydream in his arms.

Idyllic paintings could be inspired by her ethereal face and figure, especially when accented by her smile in the sunshine. She could be sculpted and hidden at the back of the most grandiose museum, yet Harry would always find her under the spotlight. She bears fruits of devotion that are seductive and sweet between his teeth, seeds from pomegranates and nectarines coated in aphrodisiacs.

His goddess of love will soon be surrounded by a bountiful bed of foxtails, and if the spring season is kind to him, little snap peas will grow alongside it.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #foxtail

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Note

i've missed the gallery, so here's a question. how would the gallery gang be with a nightguard/frequent visitor reader who's an aspiring artist? i've seen people talk about going to actual galleries for inspo or just sketching the paintings, and was wondering if the art pieces would be honored to be models or something. i dunno man this is my first ask im not sure how this stuff works lol

(I've done this as individual hcs - hope you don't mind!)

The Scavenger

"Draw, please..." "You want me to draw a candy wrapper?" "Draw."

If you want inspiration, Scavenger has got you covered. They'll pull out their finest stole goods for your seeing eyes alone - necklaces, vintage toys - and pretty much anything that catches their eye or isn't nailed to a wall. Most nights they just hold up a pocket mirror and tell you to draw what you see, because it's the best thing in the gallery. If you give them your sketches, don't be surprised if they just shove them in their mouth and return to their painting without another word. Something this precious must be kept on their person at all times.

The Painter

Gasp. A future master in their presence? Well, the only correct course of action is for two geniuses to put their heads together, and create gorgeous works of art together that will bring tears to the eyes of any manner of creature. If you are a painter like them, they create a palette for you out of their own flesh and blood. Hm, as perfect as their colors are - something feels missing. As, yes. Red. That other guard has lots, and is being selfish by hogging it all. Not to worry, dear - your muse is on the case! Sir, sir! Stop running - your sacrifice is needed for greatness!

The Lady in Red

How charming.... Will you sketch her something to put on the walls of her cabin while you are away? She'll let you go for the evening if you do. Leaving old sketches around when there are others on site will also secure their safety as she'll drop everything to have a piece of you. Draw a picture of her and she'll be the wailing ghost of the eve.

The Faceless Angel

Monitors your location and makes sure nothing disturbs you. If you ask them to sit down they will start to hum to fill the silence, stopping if you look their way. Even if you ask to sketch them, the angel is surprised when you show them the finished work. Ah, they've gone and ruined it with their tears. If they are allowed to be greedy, could you draw what you imagine their face to look like?

RoseBud

It's only logical a gallery would attract an artist. Rosebud points out the flowers that are in this season for you to warm up, and tells you to come when you're ready to draw the finishing piece. Their babes are extra yippy tonight, but they are just as excited as them and unable to contain it like their greater half. Give it directly to Rose or they will eat it, but unlike the Scavenger they feel bad and start to cry. Rosebud has some artistic skills of their own and will ask to draw you some nights

Soleil

You want to draw them? Oh, but their gears haven't been polished in ages - their casing could use a shine as well. Don't even get them started on their dials. Give them a few nights to spruce themselves up and they'll be the perfect model for you to sketch and adore

Anri

You draw? How cool! They'd love to draw with you, but they don't have the same talent as you. Would you still mind if they doodled a bit in your book anyway? Maybe when you get off work you can hit up a coffee shop and give them a few pointers.... Oh.

Julian

Outright steals your notebook and tells you to give up before you get ahead. Realizes he's doing the same as his parents and gets it back... with a few sketches thrown in the back. They're all of you in different parts of the gallery doing your job... Except for one. Why did he draw you sleeping? And why does he know the color of your bedsheets

The Director

How fun! The gallery is always open to new donations. He'd love if you drew him, or one of the many stories he has to tell. He has a perfect tale about a painter who got lost in the woods and tricked by a power beyond their understanding. Why won't you come up to his floor and let him watch you work your magic as he tells it to you? Kick back and relax. Stress is the last thing that should be on an creative's mind. Get comfortable...stay as long as you want.

#Night gallery #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere x reader #yandere oc #female yandere #yandere teratophilia #yandere

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sensei-venus · 11 months

Text

(Unedited)(Cobra Kai a/b/o, Alpha!Hawk, Omega!Reader, Smut, Mention of weird version of wall fucking but not really?, Anon Sex?, Pregnancy, Talk of Breeding, Donation Clinic/Sperm Bank but a/b/o style, Hawk is a broke karate sensei but not Johnny level broke💀) (I'll make a Banner/Header for this bitch at some point) ( @gemini-sensei )

(Part two | Part three tba)

Had this idea about Alpha! Hawk being hard for cash. He recently moved and had a lot of out-of-savings expenses and it was overall just a lot to deal with. He has money from his work at the dojo with Daniel and Johnny but its just not cutting it. He won't be back to his original savings goal for another few months with the way things are going.

One day he is out with some of his alpha friends hanging out. Demetri, Miguel, Tory, and Robby. It's just a little get-together because they have all noticed the way he has been acting, all moody and upset. It's just a bit more than they are used to with him and his moods. They are all sitting around talking when one of them finally just tells him to fess up and tell them what's going on. He gets all pissy but admits that he's borderline broke.

He's hard for cash and things aren't going his way. Everyone is kinda quiet because they get it, Robby and Tory definitely do.

In a last-ditch effort to clear the air and lighten the mood Tory makes a half-ass statement.

“Well if it's that bad why not try one of those donation matting clinics? I heard they pay pretty well for “donations” I heard that if you go to one of the fancy ones, they actually let you fuck the omega recipient ~”

It's a stupid comment but it gets the wheels going in his head.

That would be perfect!

Those places pay out the as for a donation, and in most cases he wouldn't even have to give away his identity.

In the back of his mind he is upset that he won't ever get to meet the possible pup or pups he may help sire. But times are hard and he desperately needs the money. This might be one of his only options to get his bank account right.

That following week he ends up going down the path of donation centers. At first, he's extremely nervous. Mostly with his health background screening because even though he has nothing to his knowledge bad in his medical history, he still has the past with his lip. He fears that that will automatically get him thrown from possible donations.

He's actually surprised when a few days later he gets a call back that he's been accepted and that they already have an omega looking for an alpha donor and picked him, or well his genetic profile out of a huge book of donors. They scheduled him to come to a new facility, a big one at that.

A few days later he shows up and they explain the steps that they will be following during the scheduled event. They make him sign paperwork and so on before anything starts.

They sit him down and explain how things will work.

The omega in question has requested an interactive donation. Wanting a simi-full impregnation environment and feel. The omega will be put on a table that is embedded in a wall, one part of her body is stuck out to his side and the other on the other side. They won't ever have to see each other so it's still anonymous. They have injected the omega with the right hormones to make sure she has the best chance of being impregnated from the donation. He will simply perform the act and then leave, a few weeks later they will test the omega and see if she is pregnant. If so they will call him to come in and pick up his payment and work out the final details.

To Hawk this sounds perfect.

They get him all ready and send him into the completely empty room. The door closes behind him and he feels himself start to get nervous. That is until a plump little lower body slides through the hole in the wall. His eyes are big and his dick is already starting to get hard just from staring. He walks over to get a better look at the omega, or at least a better look at the omega's lower half.

She's soft and thick, nice legs and fat things with a cute little chubby belly that quivers as she Heath's on the other side of the wall. He notices the way she jerks a little every now and then, waiting for something, anything to happen now. He can't help but let his nerves melt a little bit at the sight.

She was probably just as nervous as he was. But in her case she actually really wanted this, she paid to get his donation so she could have a pup. He slowly ran his hand up her leg and over her thighs, his fingers helping to pry her legs apart. Smirking he looked down at her.

Cute fat pussy was leaking and making a mess of the sanitized white table below her. Her hole drooled onto the table top and made a small puddle. Her folds were sloppy and warm covered in her own juices. Even her clit twitched in excitement.

Clearly what every they gave her was making her insides go into hyperdrive.

For a split second he wondered if she could hear him. If the doctors and made it a goal to soundproof the wall or something.

“Hey, it's ok to calm down, just relax and let me make you feel good. I'll do my best to get you what you want, all-round and full with a pup you clearly want. Don't freak yourself out. It's new to both of us.” his mental question was answered when the omega relaxed under his touch and went limp. Taking a deep breath he realised that he could also smell her. She wasn't in heat but that didn't stop him from being able to smell her natural sweet scent. It wafted in from the decently sized gaps between her body and the wall. Clearly put there so that she didn't get stuck or get rubbed too much during the thing act.

It really doesn't take too long for things to start getting heavy between the two.

It's only minutes before he's completely hard and he's done prepping her with his fingers. He would have happily eaten her out but the doctors advised him against it do the saliva factor and sperm.

His dick is hard and weeping once he pulls it out. He marvels at how quickly he was able to get hard after being so nervous but with the smell of the omega and her cute little body, he understands how. Her cunt is prepped and stretched nicely, he takes a moment to suck his fingers clean which has his eyes tooling for a moment. Quickly he goes back to it and spreads her legs. The table is short and at an angle that lets him slide her down just a little bit to allow him to get her in a clear position. It's almost on instinct that her legs spread and wrap around him. He grins a little as his cock rubs into her wet folds in a warm hug. He lubes himself up and slowly enters her.

She's tight and warm around him and it makes his head spin. His belly tights as he presses into her and the sounds she's making on the other side are a bit muffled but only spur him on. Her heels dig into his back once she finally bottoms out. His hips meet her fat mound and her thighs clench around him.

Before long he's fucking into her fast and strong.

It's wet and messy as their cum mixes together with every new thrust. His dick is covered in a thick layer of their cream every time he picks out. Wrapped around him like a vice trying to milk him dry. Grunts and groans fill the air along with high-pitched chirps. His hips drive into hers with wet smacks that fill his ears. His brain is fuzzy as time ticks on and he gets closer and closer.

He never wants this feeling to stop.

But he can feel the way she's clenching and shivering and he knows she's close but so is he.

He also feels the way she tenses in another way, not out of pleasure like he is but out of some other feeling. Something deep down is causing her to hold back.

“Fuck-fuck hold my hand! Just hold my hand omega- let me put this pup in you. Make you a pretty little chubby mama!” his hand grips her fluffy belly, pinching at her rolls. Soon enough they would be gone and replaced by a bump.

At least that's what he was hoping for.

Get her nice and round with a pup.

Suddenly a hand reaches from the hope shaking but reaching out and looking for his. He's quick to hold it, their fingers lacing as she holds into him. Her fingers shake as she tenses up one more time. He can hear her sharp squeal and her pussy clench one more time around him. Her hand shakes and squeezes his own.

Her cumming sends him over the edge as well as he thrusts one more time and his inflated knot pops in and locks them together. Every second a new batch of cum fills her up. Rope after rope pouting out into her womb. His fat knot keeping it all in.

The sound of their heavy breathing echoes through both rooms.

It's less than an hour later when his knot finally deflates and he has to pull out.

It's only seconds later when her hand is forcibly removed from his and she is being pulled from the hole from the other side. All he hears is her small overstimulated whimper as she is rolled out on another table. He wants to climb through that stupid hole and go after her, but he knows he can't.

He's left with his dick out soft and covered in their cream.

After that day he spends hours thinking about what happened. He knows it's stupid.

He had sex with a omega to donate his sperm anonymously.

He wasn't supposed to get attached.

It was just random sex, a one-time thing right? Nothing more nothing less? He didn't even see her face, didn't even know her?

He spends the next few weeks over thinking about what happened. It plays in his head over and over again. He thinks about her hands on his and the way she whimpered under him. The way she gripped at him and clung to him. The way she smelled and how soft and sweet her scent was. It tickled his nose just right.

Those feelings and thoughts don't change for weeks.

That is until one day after his last class of the day at the dojo when he gets a phone call.

It was the clinic.

Telling him to come by and pick up his payment.

He doesn't know what gets into him but he drops everything he's doing after work to get in his car and drive to the clinic. His fingers best on the steering wheel the whole way there.

When he gets there he is ushered back to a small office with the original doctor from before. The woman smiles at him the whole time and gives him a few forms, most of which just talk about his payment and payment method. He signs them but as he finished up he can't help but stay seated.

“So it took? The omega...”

“Yes of course Mr, Moskowitz. You wouldn't be receiving payment if it didn't. We would have called you and told you it didn't so that you knew not to expect the final payment.”

He chews his lip a little.

“Is it- are they healthy?”

The doctor blinks at him, a brow raised.

“You know I can't release that kind of information-”

“Please I- I just want to know that both of them are healthy. Please just tell me that.”

The doctor sighs and pulls out a pack of paperwork from a folder on her desk. She looks it over, eyes scanning over the typed up papers. She sets it down and closes the it.

“All of them are completely fine, the pregnancy looks like it will be completely viable so far.”

For a moment Hawk thinks over the words that he just heard her say.

“What does that mean “all of them”??”

She flicks at the folder for a second before looking back up at him. Her eyes are a bit lazy as she leaves him with one last statement.

“Because the client wished for a natural insemination we didn't have any control over what would naturally happen in her womb, we couldn't exactly level the count of what could have happened during the process.”

It was silent for a moment.

“It's twins.”

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rowyn-writes · 8 months

Text

Cinnamon and Sugar

Chapter Four

Warnings: None

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Characters: Dean, Jo, Reader, Benny Laffite (mentioned only)

Word count: 1.5k

You looked around your nearly empty apartment. Pretty much everything was packed up, and what wasn't was going to be thrown away. You still had a few days until you had to move, but today was moving day. The truck was going to be there in four hours, and there was still things to be done.

You had searched for days on end for another apartment, not wanting to impose on Dean. When nothing came up, you finally decided to take Dean up on his offer. Dean was very sweet about the entire thing. He already had a spare bedroom set up, and even a cat bed for Storm. Hell, he even offered to help you move, to which you declined politely. He had already done so much for you and he barely knew you.

Normally, you would find the entire situation strange, but there was something about Dean, like he would never hurt you.

"Alright, Storm." You said, looking around. "Are you ready to go to your new home?" Your cat gave a sad meow. "No, silly, I meant a new home with me. I'm not leaving you behind." Storm began purring as he weaved between your legs. "God, you're a weird cat."

Not only were you stressed about having to move out, but you also had midterms in three days. But then you had Christmas break; four weeks off of school where you could just sit around in your pajamas and watch Christmas movies.

"Knock knock." A voice said, opening the door. "It's your favorite person!"

You rolled your eyes as you looked at the blonde girl. "Since when are you my favorite person, Jo?"

"Since we were ten, duh. Besides, I have to be your favorite, I'm here to help you finish packing and move your stuff into Dean's house." Jo said, grabbing a stack of books and neatly placing them in a box. "Even though I offered to let you stay at my place."

"Jo," You sighed. "I told you, if your landlord caught me living at your apartment, then you would be kicked out and neither of us would have a place to live."

"I know, It's just. . . You barely know Dean. He could be a serial killer."

"And that would be an upgrade from the last guy I lived with, so. . ."

"Y/N," Jo shook her head.

"Jo."

"Are you okay?" She asked gently. "You haven't really talked about Michael all that much and-"

"It's because I don't want to talk about it." You stopped her. "When I'm ready to tell you what happened, I will. But right now, I'm nowhere near ready to discuss it. No matter how much you and Jack badger me about it."

"We badger you because we care, Y/N/N." Jo objected.

"I know you do, but sometimes it's best to just give me some time. I promise I'll talk to you guys about it soon. Just give me a little more time."

Jo gave you a worried look but said nothing else. "So, what are you doing for Christmas?"

You made a face at your best friend. She was jumping from one touchy subject to the next. "I don't know. . . If Jack doesn't come home from Duke, I might go visit him. You could come too. Make a road trip out of it."

"That's a sixteen hour drive, Y/N. If we were to visit Jack, we would be taking a plane." Jo said as she packed up a few band t-shirts.

"Do you have money for a ticket?" You arched an eyebrow. "Cuz I sure as hell don't."

"Touché."

You decided to play some music while the two of you continued to pack up your apartment. Listening to music was the only way to make you unwind. You loved to her the loud beat of the drums and the hum of the guitar. The two of you danced around as you tossed things into boxes.

"Aren't your neighbors doing to report this?" Jo asked loudly over the music.

"What are they gonna do? Kick me out?" You responded, jumping around.

"This is why I love you!" Jo giggled.

Two hours later, you had everything packed up, and the stuff that wasn't was sorted into two piles: Throw away, and donate.

You and Jo fell back onto the couch, both of you out of breath. "I am exhausted." You wheezed.

"You're telling me." Jo agreed. "Hey, you wanna get some pizza?"

"If you're buying."

———

"So," You said, after taking a bite out of your pizza. "Why didn't you want to pursue anything with Dean again?"

"I mean, it's not that I didn't. He's a nice guy, super hot, pretty smart, but it just didn't seem right." Jo explained. "It's almost like I was stealing him from someone. I could tell that he didn't belong with me."

"Huh," You furrowed your eyebrows. "I've literally never heard someone say that about having sex before." You laughed.

"Oh shut up!" Jo growled. "You make it out to sound like I'm crazy."

"I mean. . ."

Jo glared at you from across the table. "I will hit you with something."

"I'd like to see you try. Your aim sucks." You challenged. Jo hurriedly got up and picked up a pillow from on the couch and chucked it at your head. "Hey!"

"Well, would you look at that, I guess my aim doesn't suck after all." Jo smirked.

"You little -" You picked up the pillow she threw at you and aimed for her stomach.

There was a knock at the door, which interrupted the fight that you were having with Jo.

You opened the door to see Dean on the other side. "Dean, hey! What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to help you move." He said simply.

"Dean I-"

"Nope, you can't stop me." He chuckled as he lifted a box into his arms. "Whatever doesn't fit in the moving van I can put in my car."

You and Jo watched as he carried three boxes out the door. "God he is so sexy." Jo mumbled.

"I thought you said chasing after Dean would be like stealing something from someone?" You inquired, a light grin on your face.

"Doesn't mean I can't admire his great ass." You rolled your eyes and flicked Jo's ear.

"Perv." You mumbled as you grabbed a box and followed Dean out the door. Within twenty minutes, everything had been loaded onto the van.

"Well, that's everything." You huffed, resting your hands on your hips. "Okay, so, Jo and I are going to follow you in our cars, and we'll see you at your house."

You picked up Storm's carrier and put him in the back seat. He was sound asleep, as you slipped a Benadryl in his food earlier because it put him to sleep easily. Storm hated car rides with a burning passion.

It was about a twenty minute drive from your apartment to Dean's place, which was a good thing; you weren't too far away from the coffee shop. His house seemed to be in a good neighborhood.

Jo parked the moving van beside Dean's car. Dean hopped out of his car and began grabbing boxes, taking them inside the house. After several trips back to the car, you finally had all of your boxes in the house. You crouch down and let Storm out of his carrier, and he darts into a corner, glaring at you. "Aaand now he's pissed." You chuckle softly.

"Ah, he'll get over it, sweetheart. Especially when he becomes hungry." Dean comments as he starts helping you unpack.

"Well, it looks like y'all have this handled. I'm gonna go, it's way too crowded in here anyways." Jo says, giving you a hug before leaving.

You and Dean worked in silence for a while as you unpacked. It wasn't an excessive amount of stuff, mostly things for your room. "I'll unpack the clothes, you don't have to worry about that." You tell Dean as he brings in a box labeled 'clothes'. "Thanks for letting me live with you, Dean. I didn't know what I was gonna do. . ." You say quietly.

"Nah, don't worry about it sweetheart, I look at it as a win-win situation. You have a place to stay and I have good company." He gives you a boyish grin.

"Still, I really owe you one. . . I'll have rent to you the first of the month and we can go half on the utilities." You say as you unpack your clothes, putting them in your dresser.

"Don't stress too much on that, sweetheart. I know times are tough, just pitch in when you can, okay?" He gives you a reassuring smile, gently squeezing your shoulder. "I'll leave you to get settled in. I'll order us some Chinese food."

"Oooh, that sounds really good right now." You sigh happily. "Marry me?"

Dean snorts as he looks at his phone. "You're starting to sound like Benny, there, sugar."

"What can I say, it runs in the family." You joke. Dean left to go pick up the food and you were left alone in you thoughts. It was strange to be living somewhere other than your apartment, especially with this man that you met not even three weeks ago. But you trusted Dean, there was just something about his personality that just made you feel safe and secure. Storm jumped on the bed, looking up at you.

"Hey there buddy. . . I know, tell me about it, this whole thing is strange. . ." You sigh as you gently pet him. "Everything's gonna be okay. . ." You weren't sure if you were trying to convince your cat or yourself.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Cinnamon and Sugar Tags:

@vicmc624 @supernatural-jackles @laycblack @casdeancrowleys-blog @my-proof-is-you

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