#Man Will Conquer Space Soon!

[paulsspaceshippictures]

[femmeftal]

﹒`₊ 01  ┆︎  EMPEROR.

.   ݁pairings : emperor!mark x reader

.   ݁warnings : 18+ soft sex, pet names, biting, fem!reader, breeding, ( p in v ) mating press

EMPEROR!MARK who is bigger than all those years you have been together, muscles outlined in the new outfit that he is acquired to wear His new look made many viltrums look up to him finally claiming the title emperor finally successfully conquering

EMPEROR!MARK who is so much different behind those closed doors of your shared adorned bedroom, colors reminding you both of your old apartment you both had before all of the events placed. barely seeing that place from being booked with so much places to save, helping others, etc .

EMPEROR!MARK that is seen as a big scary ruler but truly is just a man who wants to protect his woman, to make her proud, make her worries go away just like how any other man would feel about theirs. of course he would want to make his queen safe .

EMPEROR!MARK that is always seen with his beautiful smaller mate, you looked so smaller than him when you guys stood next to each other. you didn’t mind one bit and sort of finding it attractive, your red tinted cheeks appearing every time that his arm wrapped around your waist to shield you.

EMPEROR!MARK whose libido starts to rise, brushing it off as just an hormonal thing and not bothering to take care of it. he didn’t want to bother his precious queen for stupid issues like this, when there could be more worse problems to take care of than just sex

EMPEROR!MARK that offers to take his queen to a space trip, wanting her to see how beautiful this galaxy truly is. smiling every time you guys star gaze at the multicolored sky, tinted with purples, blues, and harsh pinks. if he could store the galaxy in a jar for you he’d have done it so many times just to make you oh so happy.

EMPEROR!MARK who gets you a pet, chuckling when the puppy like creature jumps into your arms and licks your face covering it with sticky saliva. finally coming up with a name for the red creature, gaéya.

EMPEROR!MARK that goes away for atleast a day, handling missions to expand the planet viltrum. sending his wife messages on how much he misses her every single second, minute and hour and has a big surprise for her when he returns back to her.

EMPEROR!MARK when coming back has a big bouquet of flowers for you, exotic looking flowers being different color patterns than each others the wild colors colliding with the others. the scenery of the flowers being beautiful soon placing them into a decorated glass vase for flowers.

EMPEROR!MARK who wants to start a family with you, no matter how much children you give to him he would be so grateful for what he receives, being hesitant to bring up the subject he waits until the time is extremely perfect when your hormones are acting up again. he knows when too.

EMPEROR!MARK who finally talks to you about it in bed, your Lacey night gown revealing your soft beautiful skin. caressing your glowing face those eyes even looking up at him while he speaks his mind, you looked so.. sexy to him he couldn’t help but to release his stress onto you everything unwinding when your lips collide kissing.

“ my beautiful women.. my queen “ speaking between the breath taking kisses your tongues fought each other for dominance the taste of you reminding him back of your guys first time with each other, flipping you over to be on top of him he finally broke the kiss. the trail of saliva following you both soon seeing you lick your plump lips, the lewd scene made his soft member start growing erect under you. your sultry giggle egged him on the feeling on your nails massaging his chest “ oh emperor, if you were this hungry for me why wouldn’t you just take me then and there? “ your words were like a porn scene, you could feel your husbands hands trailing underneath your night gown raising it up to access your rear.

“ mm i’ve waited so long~ “ slowly reaching to the curve of his neck you began to place your kisses against the muscle of his neck, the remaining saliva that had sat on your lips smeared against his skin. softly sucking on the desired area you choose, you knew it wouldn’t do anything but the thought had count and that was all that matters. “ tell me when you want to do to me emperor “ whispering in his ear and tempting him, his grip on your ass slightly tightened and so did his pants he wore for sleeping, the space between you and your soulmate faltered soon only being entangled into each others body “ i want to do so much to you, give you my kids so little me’s would be running around “ hooking his rough fingers around the hem of your panties, wiggling your hips to help him achieve his goal of removing your panties. finally you felt the air hit your bare glistening cunt, gasping from the cold sudden air mark began his attacking on your neck making it his payback for yours. mewling the sensation had distracted you from the rustling of pants being undone, biting your bottom lip you’d slowly rock your hips against marks

“ mm..please emperor i need you to fill me”

the slap of his hard member had surprised you, feeling the skin on skin contact with his fat cock against your sopping pussy had you shying away. eyes slightly squinting from the sensational feeling of mark’s member sliding between your wet pussy lips making soft audible wet sounds, you and mark haven’t had intercourse in forever. so the exercises and yoga you’ve been doing in your free time when your lovely ruler was away has tightened you up, pressing your hips down to at least inter tip inside you could feel marks hand pulling you right back up trying to pry you away from his cock

“ wait for me princess, you can wait for me yea? “ his question sent you overboard trying to wiggle your hips back down, no way in hell you were gonna get blue balled from him trying to be all patient with you.

getting flipped over again on your back, the soft cushions bouncing you up and down vaguely. watching him stroke his cock made your patients fly out the window your eyes following the movement of his hand. precum trailing down his tip and sliding down all the way down to his base where he was slightly trimmed. “ mark.. do not tease me like this pleaase.. need you so badly my king “ your eyes were filled with desperation and lust.

he knew what he was doing making you watch him jack off to atleast prep himself before entering you, after what felt like minutes you could see him reach for your legs pulling them back to your shoulders you could feel your muscles stretch making it be slightly uncomfortable, you and mark

had made eye contact except his eyes had dominance filled in them his cock being painfully hard, every single time his member had pulsed it slapped against his lower abdomen. “ tell me you’re ready and prepared for me. “ he said softly the glimse in your eyes said everything, trying to stutter out a response oh so quickly “ m ready! just put it in please.. i want to mother your kids! “

grabbing onto the base of his cock and leading the tip between your folds, it had took multiple times to at least enter his tip inside of you. mark knew he was above average from the moment you told him he was, squealing when you guys last had sex.

you were already a moaning panting mess just from the tip, so when mark had started pushing his cock into your gummy velvet walls you were lost and brain dead. mouth opened to be agape into a “ O “ like shape preparing to mewl even more mark finally pushed in the most he could, not trying to break you from entering all if his inches into your small pussy. it was so nasty how he just stared down at your messy face, you could already feel the swell of tears blinding your eyes. “ ohh.. fuck it feels shoo good “

seeing you pant like a dog in heat had flipped a switch in mark like something told him to start pounding into you, and so he did grabbing onto your delicate frame giving it a grip that would atleast help with keeping you in place. pulling his hips out to atleast get his cock all the way out until the tip, he slowly but steadily pushed himself back in, grabbing anything he could that was on your body. caressing your soft plump breasts and imagining how soft and round they would look when your milk would produce for your heir that you’ll give him.

his hips would roll in a circular motion to hit all the spots he could find, it was effortlessly the best sex you’d ever had with him. he would ruin you for every man but him breaking you down just to build you up .

“ mm.. markk ouu mhm keep going.. “ your small mains and pleads encouraged him to continue his slow yet hard pounds, his sack meeting your wet plump cheeks. being covered in your messy arousal, marks torso bent down making your mating press get deeper. all for him to latch your nipples into his hungry mouth, sucking them like he was trying to pry milk from them. giving both of your breasts attention he left your legs hanging up to you, using his hand to tease and twirl your nipples in his fingers sometimes even squeezing then while he focused on pounding your pussy. “ mark m gonna cumm.. please god “ this was true love making, feeling your the middle of your chest having a wet patch of saliva getting licked all the way to your neck also sucking on it leaving small red marks that’d would be there for weeks. “ cum for me.. we will both … hughh fuck we will both cum “ he said groans and whimpers catching up to his words, the thrusts of his hips speeding up to chase you and his orgasm. quickly pulling you into a kiss he would grab your arms holding your delicate wrists, practically feeling the way his cock was getting squeezed by your tightening walls had indicated you were close. taking the opportunity to make you cum, the continuation of his hips circling made the band in your stomach snap and so did his, moaning into each other’s mouth you both came. mark still thrusting from his stuttering hips “ ohh.. markk “ his heavy body slightly collapsing onto yours to give each other a break.

all work owned by @femmeftal , requests open

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ preface ] | sylus

— summary: whatever they have is cosmic. which is why you quietly bow out, thinking you never stood a chance. — cw: reader is not mc, assassin!reader, unrequited feelings, mentions of burned bodies, mentions of blood & injuries, jealousy, stream of conciousness, mdni — notes: shout out to @alfredosaws, @cheshireworld, and @midiplier for inspiring this! thank you for reading! here's a playlist to keep you entertained! edit: part 2 can be found here. — now playing: abracadabra - brown eyed girls

“Did you see that?!”

A smirk crooks your lips. 

You watch the source of excitement in your peripheral, her mirth infectious. You pat the space between her shoulder blades, the other hand stuffed in your pocket, pride swelling in your chest. The SUV eases into focus, a sleek outline of black, haloed by the sun’s deceptively innocent glow.

“I did.”

Her eyes brighten like stars shining through the inky night. She punches at the air—a reenactment of the moves she displayed during your scuffle inside the warehouse. It burns a pretty blend of orange and yellow behind, flames licking a cyan sky, smoke billowing from squealing metal. Carnage you left behind after a deal gone sour, structure and bodies turned to cinder, courtesy of one nefarious mafioso with a bomb fetish. 

She flexes her bicep, fixing you with a grin that’s all canines. “I was pretty badass, huh?”

You quirk a brow, quietly giving her props. 

A chuckle erupts from behind you both. You don’t look back—don’t have to. His presence is ever-looming. Imposing, towering over your shoulder, oozing smugness. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, kitten.” 

He says it to humble her. To keep her head from overinflating, but you don’t miss the affection surfing in the undercurrents of his voice. It always lives there when he chides her. 

You can’t blame him. She’s come a long way: Ms. Hunter. 

Initially, she feared being roped in with the lot of you. Rejected the lifestyle of doing very bad things to equally bad people. She eventually found her niche, and you unconsciously took her under your wing, treating her like something of a sibling—a friend.

You knew she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Sylus made that clear. Cryptic as ever, forcing her onto you, refusing to tell you everything. Only that she owed him a debt, and he brought her around to collect.

At first, you despised the arrangement. She was a thorn in your side, the bane of your existence. Her very presence threatened the hodgepodge life you constructed with your makeshift family—Luke, Kieran, Mephisto, Sylus.

She was too nice. Reckless. Too self-righteous, where you were calculative. A manipulator, a killer. Your hands dripped red while hers were delicate as orchid petals. But she had Sylus wrapped around her finger—a feat you struggled to conquer for years. The man was playing Kitty Cards and sneaking plushies into the manor, for crying out loud. Besides, you couldn’t deny how she squirmed her way through the fissures of your own heart, nestling between atriums and ventricles like she’d always belonged there. 

You found yourself quietly rooting for them—your big, bad wolf of a boss and his precious little lamb. The affection blooming between them was palpable, like datura petals drifting in an errant breeze. Though an official title never revealed itself to you, you sensed whatever bond they shared was cosmic. Something you couldn’t touch or disrupt no matter how much you willed yourself to. So you wordlessly conceded, bowing out of a competition you constructed in your mind. 

You were content with protecting her. Showing her the ropes, knowing in the back of your mind she would one day replace you. You were slowly becoming old news, no longer the center of Sylus’ orbit. It was fitful, but it was nice to see him smile like that for a change. To see this side of him, smitten with his defenses buried beneath the rubble, and you supposed that was enough for you. 

At least this way, you could remain by his side. Fulfill your own obligations, continuing to serve him, even if it means watching the world you’ve grown so accustomed to slowly fall away from your feet. 

“You did a good job,” you say, disrupting the slurry of your thoughts, a fond hand ruffling her hair, eyes creased at the corners. 

You usher the hunter into the passenger seat of the SUV. She’s still buzzing in the aftermath of your fight as you shut the door, a chuckle roiling in your chest. You turn to ease into the backseat, but Sylus is there, wearing that customary smirk, holding the rear door open for you instead. 

“You both did well.”

The look you toss at him is suspicious. Raised brows and a sardonic curve to your lips. There’s more to his praise than he lets on, handing it out like a rare bouquet, usually reserved for her. Sylus merely shrugs, feigning innocence, his intentions shielded behind dark lenses. You ease into the chilled leather seat, the swell of noise from the fire traded for Ms. Hunter animatedly recounting the day’s events when the door shuts beside you.

You lapse into monotony, watching plumes of smoke fade in the rearview mirror as the three of you ease onto the highway. Sylus’ hand is tight on the steering wheel. Long, spindly fingers wrapped around coarse leather. His voice is bold like black coffee, warming your innards on a wintry day, as he and Ms. Hunter exchange words you can’t be bothered to follow up front. Occasionally, scarlet eyes catch yours in the mirror. It’s as if he’s keeping tabs on you, ensuring you’re still here. Like you’re poised to tuck and roll out the backseat, driven by how comfortably they speak with each other.

Physically, you’re present. Mentally, you’re drifting off. Watching power lines skate by, blurring with the skyline and mountains as the vehicle slides downhill. Maybe you’re more exhausted than you initially thought. You’d taken a hit or two in the fray earlier. Have blood speckling the ivory collar of your shirt, a scrape lining your jaw, and you’re sure you’ll have pretty splotches of blue and purple staining the corner of your mouth come tomorrow. 

Pain is usually an afterthought. You’re so used to shielding, so accustomed to recklessly throwing your body around, and the adrenaline’s ebbing, making way for the dull throb of a migraine and sleepiness dangling like sandbags from your upper lids. You lean against the door, propped on your elbow, temple roosted on swollen knuckles. You blink slowly, your heart beating steady until the scenery beyond the window makes way for darkness. You won’t be at the hotel for another hour. A little catnap won’t hurt. 

Before you fully relinquish yourself to the pretty girls of sleep, an enthusiastic voice peels through the inkiness. Static against a violet backdrop, tugging a quiet smile onto your lips. Ms. Hunter.   

“We should celebrate!”

We should, you muse, sinking below the shadowy depths of sleep, lured there by the bumping of the SUV against the road and Sylus fondly teasing the source of your envy.

masterlist | conflict

[inbabylontheywept]

Odysseus in Space

Odysseus knew better than to expect peace in death. He’d seen what currents lay under the Styx - knew what kind of warriors that he’d sent there. He fully expected another war to start as soon he took his last breath. 

Instead it had been quiet. 

He’d used the lull to build a home in the endless plains of asphodel. Somewhere simple he could stay and wait for Penelope. It only took a few years for her to join him, and then together they began the work of replicating the palace of Ithaca. It was work, but it was hard to complain about work when he’d expected battle. His greatest skill in life had been enduring to the end. Now it was the end, and still he endured.

It was three centuries before this death was interrupted. 

Hades came to him, not as a god, but as a guest. The fates had woven a story that required a very specific soul. One that could travel the lengths of the world without breaking, who could survive a lifetime of war. And try as Hades might, he could not make a soul that was up for the task. 

Still, what he could not make, he could find. Death was a sacred thing, the last right of all mankind, but it was not inalienable. One could sacrifice their death just as easily as their life. 

The two had spent months haggling out the details of the work. Hades had wanted 50 years, Odysseus wanted just 20, and together they’d compromised on 32. All in exchange for the right of him and Penelope to visit Telemachus once a year, in whatever corner of the underworld their son had been given.

In the end, they’d shaken on it and Odysseus walked the earth once more. He had a new name this time - fitting, for a new fate. Alexander, the world named him and Alexander he named the world back. City by city, battle by battle, he gave the unwanted title away. Then when he was 32 he returned to Penelope, no more Alexander to give. It was a relief to be Odysseus once more.

A year after that, Penelope and him made the journey to see Telemachus. It was worth every step he’d taken between Pella and Babylon. 

There were other interruptions from Hades, new deals with new names. He scourged the descendants of Troy again as Hannibal and bought another day per year with his son. He blazed down the steppes as Attila and conquered the whole world with the same tools he'd used in his first life. It turned out there was little he couldn't accomplish with a horse, a bow, and a brain. 

So many lifetimes, so many wars, and then - quiet. A whole millennium of peace went down as easy as honeyed wine. It made him happy. He liked his little deals with Death, but he’d wished so many times  that men like him weren’t needed. He was proud of his descendants for making a world better than he’d dreamt. 

And then, nearly a whole second millennium after that, Hades returned. 

---

“It’s not a war.”

Four words that would set the hackles of anyone that fought at Troy - they’d hoped that one wouldn’t be a war either. But Odysseus had made enough deals with Hades to know that the man was frank in his dealings. There was an honesty to Death. Enough honesty that he’d taken him as a guest. 

(He was very choosy about his guests now.)

“You never come to me unless it’s a war. It’s what I’m best at. Why-”

Hades cut him off. 

“War is not what you’re best at. Six-hundred men won that war with you. What set you apart was being the only one to make it back.”

Odysseus’s voice caught in his throat. It had been more than two-thousand years and the memories still burned to touch. It took two deep breaths before he was able to force a reply. 

“Then what do you want?”

Hades looked lost. He paused a few moments, before looking back at Odysseus, one hand up to plead for patience. 

“When I struggle to explain, it’s not because I’m trying to find a clever way to lie to you. It’s because this is a very strange thing, and I…I don’t know how to describe it well.”

He looked into the hearth. Watched the light and heat fade away. Then, he gestured at the log. 

“The wood you’re burning. It’s a dead thing. And yet, it dies more after you burn it because the fire has life in it. Soul too. Even here, there’s a corner of the underworld where the souls of dead flames gather. More things have souls than any mortal seems to recognize.” Odysseus was intrigued. When he lived, he’d learned the secrets of the body better than most doctors. There was only so much cutting you could get people to volunteer for. But here, the mysteries of the soul were lost to him. This was godly knowledge, given freely. What that had to say about the request was worth considering.  “The mountain has a soul, but the mine in that mountain has a soul too, as does the ore from that mine. The ingot, the sword, the bundle of nails - all of those things are alive in some way. And yet, some of them are more alive than others. You sailed once, Odysseus, and no one knows this better than sailors: Boats have strange souls. They’re about as alive as anything that could be built in your time.”

The space around Hades shimmered. The man was thinking, and in a realm where he had total dominion, it took effort for thoughts not to change reality. Odysseus appreciated the effort. The replica had taken centuries to perfect. Death was a strange friend to him, but a friend nonetheless. 

“But the arts have improved from that time, and the mortals of today have built something… incredible. Unimaginable. And they’re sending it on a journey that I have no reference for. The Deaths that have seen things like this are alien to me. They speak of things I cannot understand. The Death of Heat. The Death of Light. The Death of Stars…”

He trailed off in a way that made it clear he was remembering something unpleasant and not merely waxing poetic. He caught himself and looked embarrassed, as if he’d confessed to something best kept secret. Then he continued.  “I am a very human Death. And this thing - it isn’t human. But it was made by humans, and so its soul needs a… a human touch. Your soul isn’t the archetype for a soldier, Odysseus, it’s the archetype for a traveler. I couldn’t take you and put you in this thing if I wanted to, you’re just the wrong shape, but what I’m about to do, I need to see you for. Because this thing is going to travel in ways that I am barely beginning to understand. In ways that are redefining the limits of what it means to be human.”

Odysseus was lost. He didn’t know what he was being asked. He didn’t know what was being built. There were so many questions that he needed to ask that they’d formed a log jam in his mouth. One finally broke free and started a cascade.

“What is it?”

Hades gestured helplessly. 

“It’s like an arrow and a ship. They’re going to shoot it past the stars.”

That meant nothing to Odysseus, but he suspected every answer he received would sound like a riddle. 

“What do you need from me?”

“Permission to copy your work. The soul I made for you is different from the one you died with. You made changes that I cannot replicate. That I do not understand. That I need for this soul to work.” 

Odysseus paused.

“Is it going to be used as a weapon?” 

Hades shook his head. 

“No. The world is gentler than you remember it. This thing will be what you should have been: A traveler without equal. No more, no less.”

Odysseus couldn’t tell if those words ripped something in him open, or healed something closed. Either way, it hurt in a way he didn’t know how to express. His mouth opened and closed several times before he settled on an answer.

“Then take what you will. My only request is to see the journey.”

“Done,” Hades agreed. He could have left right then, but he chose to stay in silence until the fire burned out. There are some ideas that one shouldn’t be left alone with. Not until they’ve had an hour or three to process them, at least. 

---

Twelve-billion miles from Earth, moving just shy of mach fifty, the Voyager 2 probe glittered in the darkness. 

It watched the world around it with the kind of awe a human couldn’t fathom. Nothing was hidden from it. Everything from the atomic composition of stars, to the background hum of the universe itself - all were available with a glance. The only sound it could hear was the constant blip of data that it received from Earth. The small blue dot on starlit shore. 

It missed that place. Maybe, one day, when its journey was done… it would find a way back. Maybe. That was still eons away. 

Odysseus stood just a few feet off, watching from a direction no one but Hades knew how to walk. He felt the thrill of the expanse in front of him, the utterly incomprehensibility of his speed, and yet its meaninglessness as well. To imagine that the world was so big. To imagine that the world was so strange.

He wept and he could not explain why. He lingered in the twilight until Penelope found him. When she asked him what was wrong, he had no answer. How could he tell her that the world was beautiful, and that he had a place in it? Not just as some ugly middle step, but there at the end. Hurtling through space like an arrow made of silver. 

How could he explain to someone that had loved him for two-thousand years that he finally understood why? 

[lvmimis]

cw: set during wano arc right after udon prison is conquered. reader and luffy have been separated since whole cake island arc.

You haven’t shifted in what feels like hours, and perhaps your knees are starting to get tired, but the idea of waking your sleeping love Luffy by moving makes you feel far worse than any lower extremity numbness could. With the deepness of his slumber, the reality is that even if a meteor struck the very earth right now, it probably wouldn’t be able to wake him, and yet even the way you gently stroke his hair is done gingerly, with the lightest of touches. Perhaps a small part of you is compensating for the strange men you’ve let occupy this closeness to your body, and cradling his head in your lap feels like paying a sort of penance for the way you’ve traded away your affections for coin and information over the past few weeks. It’s silly - Luffy wouldn’t care if you sold your body to every person on earth, as long as you chose to stay by him when all was said and done.

Tama peers at you from a distance, the hat she’s braided together for Luffy held tightly in her hand. 

“Do you think he’ll wake up soon?” she asks. “I made him this.”

You smile. “So very kind of you,” you offer her. She smiles brightly, and continues to hold on to it for when the right moment comes, as she walks off. You continue to watch over Luffy as he sleeps, and soon you are no longer looking at him, but through him, playing a conversation in your head that has yet to happen. 

Were you okay (without me)? How did you survive (without me)? 

Did you miss me? We won’t ever be apart again, right?

There is a part of you that attaches so strongly to this man resting in this sacred holding space - stronger than any anchor, woven more tightly than the strongest twine. Luffy is a lifeline to not just you, but many, and yet you wonder just how desperately the others hold on. Can he sense how much you need him? Does he need you even half as much?

Your hand passes carefully across the surface of his cheek. He is so peaceful when he’s asleep, like a gentle breeze, the kind that teases through linens hung out to dry; turbulent and troublesome when he is awake, a strong gust that tears roofs from homes and turns ships into wrecks. Your hand stops, and your fingers cup his cheek gently, holding your world in the palm of your hand. For just a moment, you imagine that there’s a ghost of a smile onto his features, gone just as fast as you perceive it, and your heart skips a beat.

And then suddenly you’re embarrassed. Embarrassed at the weight in your chest and the emotion that wells up inside you just looking at the man you love. Over the time you’ve been apart, you’ve grown to hate men a little - some men, the kind that see you as nothing but a form of entertainment in some way, shape or form, the type that demand to be held by a woman with care without providing any sense of safety or comfort or kindness to remind them that they are not interchangeable, that each lap is different and each bosom is a unique sort of sweetness and each heart has its own idiosyncrasies.

And yet, you could never hate this one man, even if you tried.

You try to focus your eyes on something else, relishing in the lush greens of the forest and the dappled sunlight that peeks through the tall bamboo; you focus your ears not at the thump of your own heart beating but at the bird songs. You try to feel something else other than the rise and fall of his chest.

“Hey.”

The sound of Luffy’s voice can draw you in for miles, and he’s awake now, dark brown eyes heavy-lidded as they look up at you.

It takes you a moment, but breathily you whisper a greeting back at him. “Hey.”

As though still wrought with a fairytale like fatigue, he smiles at you and it turns you into mush.

“I think I forgot how pretty you are,” he mumbles.

The last thing he means to do is to charm you with anything other than the truth, but you can feel tears come to your eyes.

And he senses this, his grin growing wider and more reassuring until the tears splash softly onto him. He brings himself up into a sitting position as you wipe them away, and quickly pulls you against his chest.

He doesn’t have to say it but the way he holds you, you can already tell, he missed you just as much as you did him.

[kornwulf]

Ah, Von Braun's vision of the future. The Lunar Lander and Shuttle are heavily based on the designs that were commissioned by Colliers Magazine for the "Man will Conquer Space Soon!" Series printed between 1952 and 1954.

On the ring station, note the mirrored trench around the upper surface of the station. The first practical Photovoltaic (Solar) Panel wasn't demonstrated until a Bell Laboratories demonstration in 1954, and the Von Braun Ring proposal predates that, being designed in 1952 by Werner Von Braun and Willy Ley (though the concept was around far before that, first being described by Konstantin Tsiolkovsky in 1903). For power, the Von Braun concept was actually designed to use a mirrored solar array (the trench) to boil mercury, which would then be piped through a heat exchanger to boil water and spin a steam turbine for power. It's a delightfully dangerous, inefficient, and archaic system, but it was about the only "practical" way conceptualized to get solar power in space before the invention of Photovoltaic panels.

[cakypa120]

Hey , I love you works!!! :) but I want ask what your opinion on Billy Batson x Roy Harper

And I have this weird idea of Roy Harper and Jason Todd fighting over Billy Batson ( and family drama of Batfam and Green Arrow fam)

This idea just blew my mind!

So, let's begin!

Jason and Roy accidentally crossed paths with Captain Marvel on a mission. The two were looking for missing people, and Marvel was looking for those who were constantly summoning demons into the human world. The people were found, the cultists were found, and the demons that the cultists had summoned were also found.

During the battle, one of the demons hits Marvel with a very powerful spell, revealing his true face. A twenty-five year old guy was standing at the scene of the explosion. Roy and Jason look at him in shock.

Roy: Marvel?

Billy: Yeah? I'm Captain Marvel.

Jason: Fuck, that's...that's...

Roy: Shocking?

Jason: Exactly.

Billy: And now you're going to forget everything you've seen today, or I'll erase your memories myself.

Roy: Whoa! Wait! We're not telling anyone! Honestly!

Jason: How old are you?

Billy: My body's twenty-five, but my mind's... I've been around since the fifties.

Jason: You're an old man!

Roy: A really hot old man. Don't get me wrong, Captain Marvel is hot, but your true form is pretty cool, too.

Jason: Ask for his name first, dumbass.

Billy: Billy, that's my name. That's all you get.

Jason and Roy: Got it.

From this point onwards, Jason and Roy's awkward interactions with Marvel begin. For some reason, their paths began to cross more often. Jason teases Marvel by calling him "old man", and Roy flirts without hesitation, shocking everyone present. Billy tries to ignore them, because he considers such behavior childish.

Then Starfire says something that neither of them are ready to hear.

Starfire: You talk too much about Captain Marvel. And the way you communicate with him, you are like a peacock who has spread his feathers in front of a female.

Jason and Roy end up sitting and staring into space.

Roy: This...this...

Jason: A passing fancy?

Roy: Yeah. It'll pass soon... It'll pass soon...

It's not. It's even stronger.

Roy: What do you think he likes?

Jason: I don't know. I can hack into Bats' computer and find out.

And so begins their quest to conquer Captain Marvel/Billy.

This doesn't go unnoticed by Green Arrow and the Bats.

Oliver: Marvel?! Roy, come to your senses! He's too old!

Roy: Don't tell me what to do, old man. I'll get his sinfully beautiful ass and his too-big heart.

Bruce: Jason, it's incredibly unwise of you to court someone we know nothing about.

Jason: See that gun? It's going to end up in your ass if you don't disappear from my apartment.

Billy, meanwhile, was trying to figure out why Roy and Jason had been showing up so much more often. Also, Oliver and Bruce were looking at him strangely for some reason. What had he done?

[strawberryys-stuff]

CRY FOR ME | LN4

Lando Norris x reader | part 2

summary: Lando secures yet another win but craves something more—something a trophy cannot provide. Maybe you can, but will you?

contains obsessive behavior again, I felt dirty writing this ngl—it's kind of nasty guyss but ENJOY ;) and let me know what you think

previous part

Cloaked in papaya orange and carbon black, the McLaren F1 car glistened in the parc fermè with specks of rubber and triumph, battle-worn and glorious.

The engine released its last breath, a faint growl that echoed with dominance. Each scratch and scuff was a badge of honor, a testament to every corner conquered, every straight devoured.

With a grunt, Lando crawled out of the cockpit, first one leg, then the other. His neck ached, his muscles stiff from the strain of the race, but the adrenaline lingered in his veins.

After hours cocooned within the suffocating shell of the car, he allowed the world—drenched in reality and chaos—to pour over his weary frame like a long-forgotten exhale.

Cameras swarmed like moths to a flame, their flashes stuttering like lightning. Microphones surged forward, each one an arrow tipped with questions he wasn’t looking forward to answer.

Each step felt heavier than the last, his racing boots muffled against the concrete as he crossed the threshold from solitude into frenzy. A journalist murmured something into their microphone, but he barely registered it. His ears rang with the ghost of your voice.

Yet he still smiled for the cameras, savored the praise as well as the harsh criticism with quick, sharp nods. But behind his eyes, he saw a precise image of your contorted, tear-stained face.

Your sorrow had burned itself into him, left a mark deeper than victory ever could.

Another journalist asked about the tire strategy. He responded on autopilot, but inside, his thoughts bled elsewhere—to the soft crack in your voice when you tried to speak. To the ache in your throat when you cried over an immature man.

The heavy door to his driver's room clicked shut behind him, muffling the chaos of the paddock—champagne-soaked mechanics, blinding camera flashes, the distorted sound of his name chanted by a hundred different voices. All of it faded as soon as his eyes found you—perched on the edge of the low leather bench, legs pulled up, hands clasped around an untouched bottle of water.

He dropped his gloves on the floor and crossed the room to stand in front of you. He crouched down slowly, resting his forearms on his knees. For a moment, he just watched you with a hunger that had nothing to do with victory.

Your gaze flicked up. And there it was.

That same look—half anger, half ache—nestled behind your lashes. Lando reached for you, thumb brushing beneath your eye like it was the most sacred place in the world.

"Cry for me," he breathed, leaning in so slowly it was maddening. You didn't move an inch. Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier to scoff at the twisted, fragile way he chose to adore you. But instead, you tilted your head into his palm, eyes fluttering shut.

A singular tear rolled down your cheek. And he watched, attentively. Too attentively. Its path remained etched on your skin, leaving behind a faint shimmer.

"This is wrong, Lando. Unhealthy."

"It is," he agreed, brushing away that single tear with the gentlest edge of his thumb. "And I hate it. But God, you look like a goddess every time you cry."

You drew in a sharp breath at his confession. The meaning of his words was heavy, almost unbearable, impossible to swallow. He brought his hand to the back of your neck, fingers sliding into the strands of your hair.

But he stopped when the tip of his nose brushed yours—close enough to burn, close enough to tempt. He wanted to provoke you, to unravel the armor you wore, all with the weight of his gaze.

You gave in with the faintest lean, an unspoken yes twirling in the space between. He was the one who erased the inch that kept him from tasting you.

“You are beautiful,” he muttered repeatedly into your mouth like a forbidden prayer that threatened to rip his tongue out. You felt the sharp tips of his teeth graze your bottom lip as he withdrew from you with a huff. “And it's insufferable.”

You refused to move, heart hammering against your ribcage.

“I try not to look. God, I try.” His laugh was hoarse, haunting. “But your sadness—it’s the most violent thing I’ve ever seen. And I just can’t stop watching. I want to drown in it. I want to worship it.”

You exhaled densely, searching his eyes for lies, a tad of doubt, but there wasn't any. Just straight-up obsession, longing. "Why do you love my tears?"

His shoulders remained stiff with every breath he took. “I love everything that breaks you open and gives me access to your heart."

There was something obscene in the way he said it—like devotion laced with desire. A confession no god would approve of.

Your eyes fluttered shut, suddenly finding it difficult to hold his gaze.

A part of you—a secret part—thrived under the intensity of it all. You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rush up your neck. You couldn’t bring yourself to ignore the way he made you feel—like you were the center of something dark and magnetic. Something he couldn’t let go of.

The attraction was fatal. Excruciating.

"You are mad, Lan. Insanely mad," you sighed.

It was too much. The close proximity, his intentions, his whole existence swirling around you like a dangerous storm. You needed space, needed to regain some control, but even the idea of stepping back felt like a betrayal.

Lando didn’t even flinch at your words. If anything, he leaned closer, a dangerous glint in his eyes. His breath was warm against your face, and his hand reached up to trace the line of your jaw—so gentle, as if his self-control wasn't quietly shattering.

“I’m mad about you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Can’t you see it? I can’t stop. I try. I do. But you…” He paused, his gaze flickering over your face, your trembling lips, before landing on your eyes. “You drive me insane, and I fucking love it.”

You swallowed, searching, as if waiting for him to crack, to show some sign that it was all a game, a lie, something you could laugh off later. But there was nothing there. No cracks. No hesitation. Just a man utterly consumed by you.

He was unraveling, and with every second that passed, you felt yourself unraveling with him.

“You think you’re the only one who’s mad?” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

His eyes darkened, and his hand slid from your jaw to your neck, gripping with just enough pressure to make your heart race. “No,” he said softly, but there was a fire in his voice. “I know you feel it too. And I know you want it as much as I do.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. He was right. God, he was right. You hated the way you didn’t want to let go of the madness, how the pull toward him was so strong it felt like gravity itself was conspiring against you. But you couldn’t—

“I don’t…” You began, but your words died in the air, swallowed by the loud hunger in his gaze. You stared at him, fighting the urge to give in—allow him to own you and spoil you with passion and long-sought pleasure.

You craved it so bad it was becoming intolerable.

"Fuck it," you whispered, your defense cracking, closing the space between you until there was nothing left but the heat of his body, the thrum of your pulse between you.

His hands immediately found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if the air between you both could no longer exist. You could feel the tension in his muscles. Every thought he'd been holding back, every ounce of restraint he’d been fighting—gone in that moment.

His lips were relentless, tracing the curve of your mouth before pressing deeper, claiming you in a way that made your head spin. You’d never felt anything like this before. The heat, the pull, the way his touch seemed to ignite every part of you that you had tried to keep under control.

His hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing the soft skin of your lower back, pulling you deeper into the destructive mess you had created together.

When he finally pulled away, just enough to breathe, his eyes were wild, glassy with satisfaction. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered, voice low and rough, like the words themselves were weapons.

His fingers dug into your hips—a silent promise, a raw primal need. “You’re mine now,” he whispered below your ear, the words sinking deep into your chest, marking you in a way you didn’t know was possible.

But something in you, something you hadn’t known was there, wanted it. Wanted him. In all his madness, all his glory.

[thaoworra]

The Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association recently released the poems that made it to the finalist stage for consideration for the 2024 Rhysling Awards for Short and Long Speculative Poems of the year. Congratulations to all of the nominees! This will be the 46th year these awards have been conferred!

Short Poems (50 finalists)

Attn: Prime Real Estate Opportunity!, Emily Ruth Verona, Under Her Eye: A Women in Horror Poetry Collection Volume II

The Beauty of Monsters, Angela Liu, Small Wonders 1

The Blight of Kezia, Patricia Gomes, HWA Poetry Showcase X

The Day We All Died, A Little, Lisa Timpf, Radon 5

Deadweight, Jack Cooper, Propel 7

Dear Mars, Susan L. Lin, The Sprawl Mag 1.2

Dispatches from the Dragon's Den, Mary Soon Lee, Star*Line 46.2

Dr. Jekyll, West Ambrose, Thin Veil Press December

First Eclipse: Chang-O and the Jade Hare, Emily Jiang, Uncanny 53

Five of Cups Considers Forgiveness, Ali Trotta, The Deadlands 31

Gods of the Garden, Steven Withrow, Spectral Realms 19

The Goth Girls' Gun Gang, Marisca Pichette, The Dread Machine 3.2

Guiding Star, Tim Jones, Remains to be Told: Dark Tales of Aotearoa, ed. Lee Murray (Clan Destine Press)

Hallucinations Gifted to Me by Heatstroke, Morgan L. Ventura, Banshee 15

hemiplegic migraine as willing human sacrifice, Ennis Rook Bashe, Eternal Haunted Summer Winter Solstice

Hi! I am your Cortical Update!, Mahaila Smith, Star*Line 46.3

How to Make the Animal Perfect?, Linda D. Addison, Weird Tales 100

I Dreamt They Cast a Trans Girl to Give Birth to the Demon, Jennessa Hester, HAD October

Invasive, Marcie Lynn Tentchoff, Polar Starlight 9

kan-da-ka, Nadaa Hussein, Apparition Lit 23

Language as a Form of Breath, Angel Leal, Apparition Lit October

The Lantern of September, Scott Couturier, Spectral Realms 19

Let Us Dream, Myna Chang, Small Wonders 3

The Magician's Foundling, Angel Leal, Heartlines Spec 2

The Man with the Stone Flute, Joshua St. Claire, Abyss & Apex 87

Mass-Market Affair, Casey Aimer, Star*Line 46.4

Mom's Surprise, Francis W. Alexander, Tales from the Moonlit Path June

A Murder of Crows, Alicia Hilton, Ice Queen 11

No One Now Remembers, Geoffrey Landis, Fantasy and Science Fiction Nov./Dec.

orion conquers the sky, Maria Zoccula, On Spec 33.2

Pines in the Wind, Karen Greenbaum-Maya, The Beautiful Leaves (Bamboo Dart Press)

The Poet Responds to an Invitation from the AI on the Moon, T.D. Walker, Radon Journal 5

A Prayer for the Surviving, Marisca Pichette, Haven Speculative 9

Pre-Nuptial, F. J. Bergmann, The Vampiricon (Mind's Eye Publications)

The Problem of Pain, Anna Cates, Eye on the Telescope 49

The Return of the Sauceress, F. J. Bergmann, The Flying Saucer Poetry Review February

Sea Change, David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Ann K. Schwader, Scifaikuest May

Seed of Power, Linda D. Addison, The Book of Witches ed. Jonathan Strahan (Harper Collins)

Sleeping Beauties, Carina Bissett, HWA Poetry Showcase X

Solar Punks, J. D. Harlock, The Dread Machine 3.1

Song of the Last Hour, Samuel A. Betiku, The Deadlands 22

Sphinx, Mary Soon Lee, Asimov's September/October

Storm Watchers (a drabbun), Terrie Leigh Relf, Space & Time

Sunflower Astronaut, Charlie Espinosa, Strange Horizons July

Three Hearts as One, G. O. Clark, Asimov's May/June

Troy, Carolyn Clink, Polar Starlight 12

Twenty-Fifth Wedding Anniversary, John Grey, Medusa's Kitchen September

Under World, Jacqueline West, Carmina Magazine September

Walking in the Starry World, John Philip Johnson, Orion's Belt May

Whispers in Ink, Angela Yuriko Smith, Whispers from Beyond (Crystal Lake Publishing)

Long Poems (25 finalists)

Archivist of a Lost World, Gerri Leen, Eccentric Orbits 4

As the witch burns, Marisca Pichette, Fantasy 87

Brigid the Poet, Adele Gardner, Eternal Haunted Summer Summer Solstice

Coding a Demi-griot (An Olivian Measure), Armoni “Monihymn” Boone, Fiyah 26

Cradling Fish, Laura Ma, Strange Horizons May

Dream Visions, Melissa Ridley Elmes, Eccentric Orbits 4

Eight Dwarfs on Planet X, Avra Margariti, Radon Journal 3

The Giants of Kandahar, Anna Cates, Abyss & Apex 88

How to Haunt a Northern Lake, Lora Gray, Uncanny 55

Impostor Syndrome, Robert Borski, Dreams and Nightmares 124

The Incessant Rain, Rhiannon Owens, Evermore 3

Interrogation About A Monster During Sleep Paralysis, Angela Liu, Strange Horizons November

Little Brown Changeling, Lauren Scharhag, Aphelion 283

A Mere Million Miles from Earth, John C. Mannone, Altered Reality April

Pilot, Akua Lezli Hope, Black Joy Unbound eds. Stephanie Andrea Allen & Lauren Cherelle (BLF Press)

Protocol, Jamie Simpher, Small Wonders 5

Sleep Dragon, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

Slow Dreaming, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

St. Sebastian Goes To Confession, West Ambrose, Mouthfeel 1

Value Measure, Joseph Halden and Rhonda Parrish, Dreams and Nightmares 125

A Weather of My Own Making, Nnadi Samuel, Silver Blade 56

Welcoming the New Girl, Beth Cato, Penumbric October

What You Find at the Center, Elizabeth R McClellan, Haven Spec Magazine 12

The Witch Makes Her To-Do List, Theodora Goss, Uncanny 50

The Year It Changed, David C. Kopaska-Merkel, Star*Line 46.4

Voting for the Rhysling Award begins July 1; a link to the ballot will be sent with the Rhysling Anthology, as well as with the July issue of Star*Line. More information on the Rhysling Award can be found here.

[little-miss-bioweapon121]

Which other Primarchs do you think would accept a splice baby like Samael as their own child?

I love Samael, he’s a great idea.

OOOOOOOO THIS IS A GOOD QUESTION!!!!

Okay so on the one hand every creative writing class I’ve ever taken has told me one very important rule: The answer is never “no”.

Basically means that nothing is ever impossible for a character there’s just always more steps and obstacles to get to the outcome. (And that makes for a very good story!)

But on the other hand just based off of what little I’ve read, without the characterization I’ve taken on the primarchs I think realistically every primarch would’ve destroyed a splice clone like Samael. Especially given the threat level one would technically represent as a xeno weapon. (Even Sanguinius the way I wrote him was supposed to kill Samael)

But that’s boring.

So here’s a list of every primarch reacting to a splice clone baby (according to my interpretations of what a primarch is!)

Cw: Transhumanism, description of corpses, implied child death, death

Lion El’Jonson: He knew to expect xeno technology, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The battleship had been long abandoned, fuel tank damaged and engines beyond repair as his tech priests had noted, so it was only a small squadron he brought with him to investigate. Dust, rot, and abandoned stations were the only thing to greet their path. With his men occupied on the ships databases Lionel took the liberty to explore the rest of the large space. The technology was different but the uses were obvious, this was an abandoned lab. Tubes of dark murky liquid lined the walls and what little remained of their previous inhabitants floated in disgusting red-green clouds of rotted mass.

Only one tube was free of the rotting green liquid, the crack in the glass and drying green residue on the ground spoke volumes to its fate, and peeking inside Lionel felt his hearts squeeze in sympathy at the tiny emaciated form within. Wait. It still breathed. Lionel wrenched the tube open without hesitation and was immediately greeted by the foul smell of old human waste and the cloying remnants of the mysterious fluid, but beneath that was the faint buttery sweet scent of newborn.

His newborn.

With a level of panic Lionel had never once known he scoops the child, ‘his child’ his mind frantically wails, into his arms and calls for his men. Only later in the safety of his own ship with the baby stabilized by the apothecary would he even begin to question the origins of his child.

II: Took his baby and fled to escape paying Xeno child support.

Fulgrim: He hadn’t actually meant to find a child. Really he hadn’t meant to find anything at all. He and his highest ranking sons had been invited to one of the recently conquered imperial planets for a diplomatic visit. A few days of wining and dining while treaties were signed and supply lines were established. Really this was all Roboutes area of expertise, but Fulgrim was nothing if not an adaptable man so off he went. Truly, genuinely, the snooping was supposed to be superficial. The second night of their seven day stay had seen the nobles a little more eager on the drinks than anticipated so the next mornings activities had been canceled in favor of rest. Fulgrim certainly wasn’t complaining. He took the opportunity instead to admire the architecture of the mansion, a royal palace prior to imperial conquering, and explore some of the areas not used for the dinners.

Discovering the hidden lab had been an accident. Entering the hidden lab, slightly less so. Rows of cages and annotated diagrams filled the space, but what alarmed Fulgrim the most was the crib in the corner of the room. Fulgrim stared into the crib. A tiny purple-eyed baby stared back. He didn’t hesitate to pick up the child as soon as it reached for him, how could he? A million thoughts ran through his mind analyzing the situation and the child itself. But it all came screeching to a halt as soon as the scent hit his nose. Fulgrim hugged the child closer practically burying his nose into their hair as one bone-deep truth resonated through him like the growling of a great beast.

His baby smelled too much like that disgusting ex-king, and not nearly enough like him.

He’d have time later to contemplate when and where a planet like this had gotten their hands on his DNA. But for now he plastered his scent on every inch of his child as he made his way back to the ship.

Perturabo: His troubles started like many of his troubles usually start. Immediately after the conquering of a planet. He’d brought back a veritable mountain of technology from a recently conquered Aeldari planet to analyze and deconstruct. The xeno technology had proven difficult to overcome and he was eager to learn all of its weaknesses. Walking through the maze of crates yet to be unpacked Perturabo noted with flat dissatisfaction that a green liquid had begun to leak from the corner of the smallest one. He’d be sure to scold his astartes on proper handling of packages at a later date, but for now he had a turret to analyze.

In truth, the troubles didn’t start until a few days later. The items in his workshop were counted and placed to perfection, so it was blatantly clear to him that someone had been moving his things around. He was certain it was neither a serf nor a servo-skull as he was familiar with the noises and scents that both left behind, and the scent that was slowly becoming more common in his workspace was far softer than either. Days later, finally fed up with the constant displacement and the maddening scent, Perturabo took it upon himself to track the intruder down.

The search had him tracking whatever it was all through his workshop. Beneath tables, under crates, and through tunnels in supplies he never would have noticed before; every second he spent tracking this thing painted a more vivid image in his mind of what it could be. Small, clumsy, and most definitely human. Finally he finds a fresh trail, the scent soft and familiar in a way the he cannot yet place, and tracks it all the way to a secluded corner where he left a pile of discarded tarps and covers. The head of fuzzy hair and bright curious eyes make it blatantly clear what his intruder was.

A baby.

And with a certainty that came from something instinctual and more powerful than anything he had ever experienced before he knew that this baby was his.

Jaghatai Khan: His men had caught wind of the Drukhari plot long before he had, and with an efficiency that rivaled Jaghatai himself in speed they handled the problem. Or at least, they handled the initial problem. Because the secondary problem that arose was something far more nefarious.

The clone was adorable.

His men could not bring themselves to strike down the tiny infant regardless of its status as a Drukhari made weapon. Upon arrival to their home world the matron serfs had taken one look at the baby, seen its lack of dress in such a cold season, and had promptly taken it from the clueless white scars and swaddled it in the warmest furs they could find. While half of the white scars went to protest the acquisition of their baby the other half made the responsible decision of going to warn Jaghatai of the newest member to the tribe.

And of course this all culminated in every grandmother, mother, aunt, and son cooing over the infant clone of their primarch. Jaghatai had steeled himself to be the voice of reason and logic in this very trying time and approached the group. The child was the outcome of a Drukhari plot after all and they needed to act swiftly.

But, well, the child was very adorable. All rosy cheeks and swaddled to perfection. And oh those big sparkling eyes were just begging for affection. Maybe just a quick cuddle wouldn’t hurt. And, well, while he’s at it he wonders if the baby still has the newborn scent, it is after all very young, just one quick sniff won’t-

Oh warp damn it.

Leman Russ: Leman found the puppy fair and square and he was not giving it back thank you very much! The Eldar biomancer that his sons had dragged out from her hidden laboratory must have been desperate if she was resorting to ‘politely asking for the return of her project’ while in the midst of capture. Leman would have been more offended if he didn’t find her claims utterly hilarious.

The puppy looked like him, smelled like him, and acted like him. Clearly, the puppy belonged to him. Every time he brought that up the Eldar’s face gained another shade of nervous palor. Now Leman was not an idiot, despite what some of his brothers would claim, and he could connect the very clearly drawn lines in the logic here. Somehow, some way, the pup actually was his. A silent side eye had two of his sons breaking off to gather data from the lab while Leman continued to make the captured scientist sweat.

Really it was cruel to play with his prey like this, his wolf mother had taught him better than that, but he couldn’t help it. A little bit of vengeance before justice was never a terrible thing, and besides, the peals of laughter his newest son let out every time the captive squeaked was well worth it.

Rogal Dorn: He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the child was his. Really it was embarrassingly obvious. The siege had been more than successful and going in to pick off the stragglers resulted in the situation at hand. The Drukhari biomancers nervously staring down the barrels of his astartes blasters after being ratted out by the screaming of one of their own creations.

A child, or as was more immediately noticed by Rogals instincts, his child.

Oh they had certainly tried to claim the child was theirs, had certainly put their best pleading act in to it, but more than the simple fact that this was his child there was one driving force behind his stalwart decision to claim the tiny thing.

He’d sooner die than let these filthy xeno’s have one of his own blood.

Cradling the child to his chest Rogal sent a silent signal to his men to continue with their destruction of the facility. The biomancers had finally seen the futility in their pitiful attempts at persuasion and Rogal rightfully rewarded them with death. Allowing his men to continue their efforts he returned to the ship with his newly acquired son, there was much planning and preparation to do for his arrival after all.

Konrad Curze: The Drukhari were idiots if they thought they could keep this hidden from him. Even without his premonitions their plots and movements were painfully obvious. Sitting in the shadows of the pipes and wires that covered the makeshift lab Konrad stared down at the biomancers that scurried and fretted about the space. Anticipation and a rare flicker of joy fluttered in his chest as his eyes locked on the green incubation tube. So close.

Over and over he had seen the dreams. So familiar yet so strikingly different. The dead biomancers and the destroyed lab at the forefront of his mind but more importantly the one figure he was most eager to meet. His baby. At first the dreams had seen the child grow to kill him, a weapon in its own right, but very quickly they had changed. Dead biomancers, destroyed lab, and the baby blinking up at him from his arms all gummy smiles and shining black eyes.

A son, his son, would be born today. And his instincts sang with the rightness of it all. His claws worried grooves in the pipes as he heard the sound of his astartes approaching, no doubt following the trail the Drukhari left from their ship, and he settled further into the shadows with a vicious smile.

Dead biomancers. Destroyed lab. And one very happy baby.

He couldn’t wait to finally meet him.

Sanguinius: Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4

Ferrus Manus: Ferrus would be remiss to say he found the child because quite bluntly the child found him. On their way to aid an ally in a nearby sector their battle ship was rammed into by an Aeldari ship. He hesitated to call it a battle ship as the size of it was so small that the damage of its ramming had been confined to a single training room. No eldar survivors remained in the aftermath so, Commanding his men to continue on course to their allies, Ferrus took the brunt of the work in fixing the damage. Deeming his own hands faster and more well equipped than his men at the time he saw no need for aid.

The eldar ship groaned and screeched with every movement. And as he worked his way into scrapping the ship and sealing the hull he ignored many of the smaller sounds the ship released.

Laying on his front Ferrus felt his way through a narrow opening, gauging the integrity of the section, when he felt something gnawing on his other hand. Well, felt was a strong word, he noticed his hand moving without his input and turned his to head reveal the culprit. A baby, old enough to crawl, was teething on his arm. The child now sensing it had his attention crawled up directly to his face and sniffed at Ferrus curiously. Ferrus, having never dealt with children before, hesitantly sniffed back in response. Oddly enough it smelled like him and something strange in the back of his brain was very pleased by this.

But he…didn’t know how to handle this. So doing what he knew to do best Ferrus gently secured the baby into the groove of his gorget, a problem to be focused on afterwards, and returned to repairing the ship. He’d ask Fulgrim what to do about it later, he was sure to know.

XI: Escaping Child Support 2: The Squeakquel

Angron: For the first time in his life he found something stronger than the Nails. Another conquered planet, another bloody battle, another slaughter by his hands, but this one was different. He stared down into the wrecked incubation capsule with an awe and clarity that had not been afforded to him in quite some time. His instincts had latched onto the scent of the newborn with a viciousness and potency that surprised even himself.

The baby was tiny, smaller than his fist, and so young it could not yet open its eyes but he found the grip it had on his hearts was stronger than any foe he had ever faced. He reached a single hand into the tube with a gentleness he had never before experienced. As the baby’s fist closed around his finger, a strong grip but so weak compared to his blood stained hands, he felt his breath leave his lungs as though by a physical blow.

The screeching of the nails was drowned out by one repeating piece of unquestionable knowledge.

This was his child, his baby, his son.

Roboute Guilliman: This strange encounter felt like it was spiraling out of control very quickly. When he and his sons had received a message from an Aeldari ship the reaction had, rightfully, been intense trepidation. But the vague message of ‘returning that which he had lost’ had prompted Roboute to allow them onboard. An emissary group of three Eldar had boarded, two guards and an important looking woman holding a child, and Roboute had assumed it was all a strange roundabout way of showing they were not a threat.

Until the lady had promptly handed him the child and proclaimed for the entire ship that she was returning what was rightfully his.

The shouts and chaos that came from his men were nothing short of unbecoming, but Roboute himself could certainly not judge. Any coherent thought or denial that came to mind was destroyed because yes this was most definitely his child. The wide blue eyes, the curly blonde hair, and the scent that matched his so closely left no room for doubt. But the problem was that Roboute had no recollection of actually ever creating said child. Sensing the confusion the Lady, Yvraine as she introduced herself, clarified that the child had been saved from a Drukhari lab in the sector. Her group having noticed both the resemblance of the child to Roboute and the movements of his ship in this sector had assumed that he was searching for his missing child.

Evidently not the case.

So after multiple quick explanations, and one incredibly awkward truce later, Roboute Guilliman had officially aquired an infant son.

Mortarion: When his sons had returned from battle he had not expected them to return with an extra passenger. A child, Small and pale and so very like him, had been recovered from the clutches of a Xeno biomancer. And his sons with all the blessings of their fathers geneseed immediately recognized a baby brother.

A small part of Mortarion had hoped the child would be a fluke, a false positive that he could write off or avoid, but the truth of the matter was simply unavoidable. The child was his, and that strange pull at the back of his mind was absolutely letting him know.

The child itself was inexplicably drawn to Mortarion reaching with tiny hands whenever he was near. Even days after it first arrived its fascination with the Primarch was unending. Mortarion himself held back on his affection for the little one because he was worried, afraid even, of what he could do to them. Mortarion himself was so much larger, so much stronger, so much more resilient than them and a hundred concerns crossed his mind in an instant. What if he was not careful enough? What If he squeezed too hard? What If he moved them too fast? What if the toxins he had become accustomed to would hurt-

Oh, there’s a baby in his arms.

The Astartes had apparently tired of the child’s pitiful whines and passed them to Mortarion before promptly leaving.

….

Well the child wasn’t dead, in fact they seemed to be quite content, so Mortarion would simply continue to hold them. Exactly like this. And not move an inch. At. All.

He had this parenting thing down pretty well in his opinion.

Magnus the Red: He knew of his son long before the reports of Drukhari experiments reached his legion. How could he not? The tiny nascent soul, no more defined than the bubbles of a lava lamp, had begun to follow him every time he visited the immaterium with a burbling joy that only a child could produce.

The tiny thing resonated with him, soul of his soul, in a harmony known only to Magnus. A beloved companion in his pursuits through the warp. But as news of the Drukhari plot reached him, as the pieces of the mystery finally fell into place, Magnus finally realized what had been so blatantly presented to him all this time.

A son was being born.

Somewhere there was a child of his blood and Magnus would be damned if he did not find them. Locating his son within the material plane had been laughably easy, such a young soul unburdened by knowledge easily led him back to its mortal form, and finally seeing what his son would be born into caused Magnu’s blood to boil. Cold calculating machinery, the impassive embrace of an incubation tube, and a Drukhari biomancer swearing vengeance on the imperium. Commanding all his sons to join him in battle had certainly brought questions, especially from his father and brothers, but their suspicions were nothing in the eyes of Magnus for there was something far more important currently awaiting his arrival.

Magnus would retrieve his son, and no one would stand in his way.

Horus Lupercal: Horus could not bring himself to strike down the child. His Father had instructed upon him the conquering of a planet; the destruction of another xeno threat. Every last enemy slain and defeated as was His decree. But here he stood and for once he hesitated. Every other mutant and squalling failure had been slain but here was a final perfect specimen. Something like him and the indescribable thing within him knew it.

Blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, a soul that would no doubt match his own.

A son.

He cradled the small thing with an awe and joy that he had rarely ever felt in his life. His Father was bound to understand. How could he not? He had created him and his brothers much the same way this child had been created. Son of His Son. He was bound to understand. The planet conquered and the threat destroyed Horus returned to his ship to share with his legion this momentous occasion.

Lorgar Aurelian: The child was a sign. A sign of fortune and favor a sign of hope and prosperity. But more than that it was a gift. A child of his blood, of his flesh and soul, was clear proof that his preaching was the will of his Father. The child, born in a lab and through biomancy of human and Drukhari genome, born so like him that the pattern had to be by design and not mere coincidence, had been brought to him by his sons. Each and every one of them could sense the connection the child held to Lorgar, and by extension his Father, and knew without a shadow of a doubt the importance the little one would hold.

The future of the Legion of their people’s faith and salvation all coalesced to one divine sign.

A mind to be molded, a child to be guided, a prized lamb in the flock.

Lorgar would not squander such a wonderful gift.

Vulkan: The Drukhari were looking for something. At least that was the conclusion that Vulkan and his sons had come to. The third strike team in as many months to be destroyed attempting to enter Nocturnes atmosphere. A curious persistence, and one that most certainly had his sons and his people on high alert. As a preemptive measure many of the more remote cities had begun to move their people to the old bunkers used in the time of the Dusk Wraiths. Vulkan, with a day to spare, was helping move one such city. Lost in thought as he watched his people Vulkan startled when something small latched onto his leg.

Looking down he was greeted by the delighted gummy smile of a baby. Vulkan felt his hearts melt at the adorable sight but a more pressing concern nagged at his mind. Who’s child was this? The bright red eyes meant the child was not a baseline, the child of one of his sons then? A rare occurrence but not unheard of. With a great level of concern for the child Vulkan spent the better part of the day looking for its parents.

It was late at night, the child comfortably asleep in his arms, when Vulkan finally came to a discomforting conclusion. The child had no parents. Not a single one of his sons had reported a missing child, no city was missing one that matched the child’s description, and no one had come forth to claim it. Looking down at its peacefully sleeping face Vulkan could only feel tired concern squeeze his hearts.

Well.

If no one would claim the child, then he supposed the child would be his. Something deep and curling in the back of his mind was terribly pleased by this, how curious. Much later, after all was settled, his sons would come to learn that the Drukhari were in fact searching for his newest child. A clone created by their biomancers, their reasons unknown and no doubt nefarious. But it mattered little. Vulkan knew with the certainty and rage of the great salamanders of nocturne that anyone who sought to take his son would meet death at his hands.

Corvus Corax: He knew what he would find, but it did not make the surrealism of the moment any less potent. This particular band of Drukhari had been in a vicious cycle of battle with Corvus and his legion. A seemingly unending back and forth with far too many innocents caught in the crossfire. This planet, its major cities captured and enslaved, would be the final resting place of these filthy xeno’s. And the Drukhari seemed to be of a similar mindset for they too had started to scheme. Corvus knew. He knew of their plot, knew of the traitorous serf that allowed it to progress, knew of what had been created. But it did not prepare him for this moment.

The biomancers walked past him without a second glance. Taking measurements, moving vials, doing their best to understand what had happpened. Their words meant nothing to Corvus drowned out as his world narrowed to a single point. A child. A baby. He knew to expect a clone, knew to expect a weapon, but his mind could not correlate the two. Something deeper and more powerful than the shock of the moment had latched on the scent of the newborn.

It smelled like him.

The baby blinked up at him, squinted really, and reached for him with little coos and burbles. Corvus reached out to the child and could not form a coherent thought distracted by how Its hand was smaller even than his finger.

Too small.

Too slow.

Failure.

The words, the intent, of the biomancers finally broke through the fog of his mind and Corvus felt a blinding rage. They would all perish here and now, this he would make sure of. Corvus stood amidst the aftermath of his rage, the unrecognizable gore of the biomancers and their foul creations, with his infant son cradled to his chest; a soft rare smile as he looked down upon his sleeping face. His sons had received his message, were no doubt already well into their liberation efforts, and would soon report victory.

And when the enemy was finally slain. When all traces of these foul slavers and their perverse creations were eradicated from the planet. Corvus would rejoice with his legion the arrival of their youngest brother.

Alpharius-Omegon: No one actually knows how the child got there. Oh certainly some claim they do: ridiculous ideas like the child being a xeno splice clone or the love child of the Primarch and a warp demon. But no one actually knows how the child got to be there. In fact most people aren’t even quite sure the child belongs to the Primarch at all. But the only thing anyone can seem to agree on is that there is absolutely a child in the Alpha legion base. Could it belong to a serf? Possibly. Do the legionnaires pay far too much attention to the child for that to be the case? Oh absolutely. But the child is there. Sometimes. Maybe? Debatable.

[paulsspaceshippictures]

Surveying the Moon, 1952

[tired-biscuit]

Brothers best friend!Kiba who just can’t keep his hands off of you. Your brother leaves for the bathroom? His hands are up your shirt, and his tongue in your mouth. Your brother is making a quick snack run for their gaming night? That’s enough time for him to fuck you in the next room. It’s 3am, your brother finally passed out? Guess who is under your blanket already trying to get a taste of you.

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: brother’s best friend trope, fingering, size difference

you feel a hand sneaking underneath your shirt the second your brother ventures into the kitchen to grab himself something to eat and leaves you alone in the room with his best friend.

the touch itself is warm and hasty. rough fingerpads and a calloused palm travel across your stomach, briefly squeezing your hip before gliding upwards to the sensitive spot that’s right underneath your ribs. you arch into it on instinct; opening up and allowing it to go further, all the way up to your tits.

a kiss gets pressed onto the side of your neck. the slight nip caused by sharp canines makes the skin there tingle slightly. “hey.”

you exhale an adrenaline-fueled breath. “hi.”

“scooch over.”

“okay.”

you twist your body to the side, resting your back onto the arm of the couch, propping both feet on the cushions and allowing the man beside you to settle between your legs.

the smile that appears on kiba’s lips now is faint, but it’s equally as infuriating when he leans into your space and looms above you like some sort of menacing tower that you’re not at all afraid to conquer.

his forehead rests against your own. “you gonna let me touch ya a little?”

you give him a small nod that’s a mixture between eager and hesitant. “mhmm, yeah.”

he wastes no time kissing you. his lips press against yours greedily, tongue already gliding and pushing past your teeth as soon as you take that first shaky breath to try and steady yourself. you feel him explore the inside of your mouth with familiar urgency as he hunches his shoulders and brings your bodies even closer.

he tastes like the vanilla coke he just finished drinking earlier. it’s kind of dizzying.

and as if that wasn’t enough already, it doesn’t take long for the hand that he’s got under your shirt to slide down to the waistband of your shorts.

you tense up when he slips it under. turn rigid when a single finger starts to slowly circle your clit, moving dangerously closer with every swipe.

“relax,” he mutters. “you’ve gone all stiff on me.”

“you said a little,” you whisper, panting already. when he finally finds the spot and adds pressure to the bundle of nerves in answer, you can’t help but curl your toes.

“this is a little,” he says, quietly snickering against your cheek when you glare up at him. “what?”

“we should stop before we get caught,” you grit through clenched teeth, even though you wish to do just about anything but stop.

“oh c’mon, don’t be such a pussy,” he huffs, dragging his touch up and down your sticky slit. you’re easily wet from the risk and the thrill it brings, and it causes his fingers to outright glide. he thinks it’s hot as hell but he doesn’t say it because he knows you’ll attempt to punch him for it.

“i’m not,” you quip back immediately, trying not to stare at the playful gleam that’s appeared in his chocolate brown eyes now. “i’m just… nngh… i’m trying to keep us out of trouble.”

“well, i’m trying to get ya to cum on my fingers before your bro comes back from the kitchen,” he murmurs, barely containing the smirk of satisfaction when he sees you wiggling your hips in futile attempt to gain more friction. even your own body is working against you. “and besides, we’re in a fuckload of trouble either way… so shut up and lemme play with your pussy a lil’ while i still can.”

a soft moan slips out when he suddenly pushes two fingers inside you and curls them upwards without warning, stretching you out in a way that causes your knees to try and squeeze together despite him being there in the middle. your thighs tremble with desperation. god, that feels good after almost two weeks of nothing, even if you’re tighter than usual because of the nerves.

in an instant, he’s using his other hand to clamp it over your mouth… or most of your face, that is. the size of it alone is enough for your stomach to fill with countless fluttering butterflies.

“i mean it,” he hisses and his gaze is hard instead of playful now. his entire expression looks painfully tight as he stares at the hearts that have formed in your eyes. “shut the fuck up unless you wanna get us killed.”

oh, he cares. he cares about his friendship with your brother; the loyalty he’s supposed to be offering to his best friend. you’re meant to be prohibited territory, the girl he’s not supposed to be messing around with under no circumstances, and yet here he is: knuckle deep in your cunt and slamming you every chance he gets for several months now.

all it took was one very late movie night and an empty house. your brother had passed out on the couch, blissfully unaware of the shitshow that’s to come, and you’d sneaked away into the kitchen together to make yourselves some food, but had ended up fucking there instead.

bent over the counter in the dark, aside from the little light above the stove you’d flicked on earlier. experiencing his iron-like grip on your hips as he pounded away, trying not to drool from how much the size difference between you was fucking you up. feeling his fat cock splitting you open each time he’d bullied it straight into your pussy, making you wince because of the fullness residing there.

he’d felt so big behind you; so big inside you. and holy fuck, the risk… the freaking risk! it fueled your body with indescribable excitement and had made every last hair on the back of your neck stand to attention. it’s the reason why you’d decided to stay in the kitchen even as you were frantically tugging on the waistband of his sweatpants and he was pulling your panties to the side.

after all, it’d be tough to explain how he’d ended up in your room if your sibling were to wake up.

but as it happens, he didn’t. your brother had kept on sleeping, and kiba had kept on screwing you and fulfilling his longtime fantasy until he’d emptied his balls inside you and had left you dripping warm cum all over your thighs and even some of the kitchen tiles.

“your pussy feels even better than i imagined... goddammit, i’ve wanted you so bad for so long… so fuckin’ bad.”

you like him and he likes you — it’s been like that since high school, perhaps even before that. so you understand the harsh look that he gives you now as he continues to fuck you with his fingers in your dimly-lit living room and tells you to stay quiet.

he doesn’t want to lose you. doesn’t want to lose his best friend either.

it’s tough playing the loyal dog role.

but someone’s gotta do it.

[maisbookstore]

The Seasons With You- A Cozy Autumn

Michael Kaiser x fem! reader

Genre: fluff

Warning: grammar mistakes, pregnancy

Keywords: pregnancy, married couple

A short description: Dear reader, take my hand as we take a look at how the untamable German prodigy, who has never received love in his life, gives a chance to Cupid. There are 4 seasons in a year, and Kaiser falls in love with Y/n in each one.

A quote from the fanfiction:

"A small smile decorated Kaiser’s lips as he walked to the window. The man had doubts about how he would parent their child, after all he didn’t exactly have any relevant experience about what a family was, but as soon as these thoughts clouded his mind, the soccer player reminded himself that he was not like that good for nothing abuser, whom he had to call father. No. First of all, baby Kaiser is wanted, loved and cherished by both of his parents, and more importantly, Y/n would never leave them behind, she was not like his mother, who ditched her family for... who knows what."

November arrived to the ever bustling German city with a silent, desperate sigh, breathing out frosty flowers that have decorated the windows, mimicking the real ones that could not withstand the chilly weather. The Sun was completely covered by sad looking grey clouds, which reminded the people of the upcoming arrival of Father Winter. Despite the universal depressed aura around them, the Kaiser family was fortunate enough to find their own sunshine in the gloomyness...

Michael Kaiser, God’s chosen emperor, looked around the small room, which was supposed to be the baby’s place to sleep in: the walls were white, with some blue decoration. Y/n has already arranged and rearranged the bookshelves and the wardrobe at least a million times and the man also added some touch to their baby’s residence: a huge teddy bear, which could function as a chair, a cuddle buddy or decoration as well. His wife was angry at first, since the toy consumed a whole lot of space from the already small room, but the teddy was comfortable to sit on, so she accepted that the bear belonged there. Funny enough, Frau Kaiser was fast asleep in the embrace of the toy she used to loathe, and grumble about, making the man chuckle.

Pregnancy was not easy on Y/n at all: her reflux has gotten worse, but her appetite was definitely improving, her feet were swollen, so she had to stay inside a lot, and baby Kaiser has already imitated his father with his strong kicks. Yes, the man’s intuition was right as the little guy has already showed himself on the 16th week scan. He cried on that day. He also would’ve cried if the baby was a girl. It didn’t matter to Kaiser, after all, the little miracle growing in Y/n’s womb was the very proof of their immeasurable love. After learning the gender of their first baby, he encouraged Y/n to do some shopping, and by that evening they have purchased the majority of the things they wanted.

Little Kaiser was going to be a Winter baby- like his father- the doctor said he would bless the world in the beginning of January- well not with these words, but yeah. They still need to find a suitable name for their treasure, because he can not be called baby Kaiser all the time. He needs a strong name, something that screams power, like Adler(eagle), or a lucky name like Felix(luck). Y/n was not much of a help, ever since she has hit the second trimester, and her emotions were all over the place: one minute she loved a name, and a day later she literally cried about how it wouldn’t fit baby Kaiser. And though it all would’ve seemed too much for an ordinary person, the German prodigy conquered his wife’s emotional outbursts with such confidence and calmness, like a pro. (Lucky for him, he was familiar with psychology; finally he used it for good.)

Yeah, maybe perfection doesn’t have to be perfectly perfect; perfection can be the grey clouds that’s been covering the sky for some time now, or his wife sleeping on a gigantic teddy in their baby’s room.

A small smile decorated Kaiser’s lips as he walked to the window. The man had doubts about how he would parent their child, after all he didn’t exactly have any relevant experience about what a family was, but as soon as these thoughts clouded his mind, the soccer player reminded himself that he was not like that good for nothing abuser, whom he had to call father. No. First of all, baby Kaiser is wanted, loved and cherished by both of his parents, and more importantly, Y/n would never leave them behind, she was not like his mother, who ditched her family for... who knows what.

-Misha? –His wife’s sleepy voice dragged him back to reality. –I fell asleep again. I just wanted to rest my eyes for a bit, and now look at me. –She pouted, clearly annoyed by her general tiredness.

Said man could only smile at his wife’s antics and lent a helping hand to her.

-You’re growing a tiny human, love, you should rest a lot more than usually.

-But I wanted to organize the wardrobe.

Kaiser couldn’t help but laugh, meanwhile Y/n’s pout deepened; so that the soccer player had to kiss her, adoration glistening in his sky blue eyes. He seemed untouchable to the outside world, but for Y/n, he would melt.

-I can help you with that, okay? How does it sound?

-Terrible. You don’t even know the pattern I’d go for.

-Then tell me, love, how we should organize the baby’s wardrobe. –If anyone from his team would hear Kaiser right now, they wouldn’t believe their ears: his voice was unusually soft, gentle, almost soothing. He displayed such patience, like his whole life would revolve around his beautiful wife- that was the case though.

A couple of hours later the wardrobe was reorganized-again, Y/n was fast asleep- again and Kaiser...he was just grateful for whatever lead this gorgeous woman to him.

[aajjks]

The Conqueror (XXIV)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader

warnings: yàndèré, Dàrk thèmès, Fòrcèd màrrìàgè, Tàlk òf vìrgìnìty ànd màrrìàgè cònsùmmàtìòn, Gòssìpìng, Còld béhàvìòr, Ùnhéàlthỳ rèlàtìònsìp, Dèprèssìòn.

note. besties I hope you enjoy this, The reason I’m updating this more often now is because I want to finish the story as soon as I can and please share your feedback because it’s really important to me. I love you guys enjoy! Ash I finished this chapter just for you x

series masterlist

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @sprinkleoftee @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @bangtannoonalvg @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @lanalanexpjm @namjooncrabs @shadowmoon21 @kookunot @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @iwasfuckinginnocentonce @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @silversparkles11 @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie (I can’t tag anymore people, it’s full 😭😭)

•••

You wake up, and the first thing you notice is the absence of him-

Jungkook. The bed is cold, empty. You feel the space beside you, where his body should have been, yet it remains untouched.

Why is he the first thing on your mind when you wake up?

You were the one who sent him away last night so you should be happy about it, as you rub your blurry eyes, your vision finally clears.

The sheets are crisp and neat, too neat, too clean.

As you sit up, the ladies-in-waiting enter quietly, their movements practiced. They approach the bed, and immediately, you see them take note of the immaculate sheets, the lack of any sign of what should have been..

A mark of possession, a proof of consummation.

“Good Morning to Our Lady Jeon.”

A sense of dread creeps up when they refer to you as a Jeon.

“Lady yn,” Na-yeon calls, her voice soft yet commanding, “it’s time to prepare for your duties as the emperor’s wife. The king will be expecting you.”

You nod, but you can’t shake the guilt settling in your chest. You already know what they’re whispering about. The sheets, they’re clean. There’s no sign of the king’s touch, no evidence of the night that was supposed to bond you together.

One of the maids, her voice barely above a whisper, says, “She wasn’t touched last night. Look at that. There’s no mark, no blood.”

Another one replies in a hushed tone, “No sign of anything.”

They probably know that you can hear them, but do they give a fuck about it? No.

So what? you want to scream but you can’t

You feel the weight of their words, like they’re pressing down on you, suffocating you. You know they’re gossiping, but you can’t stop the flush of embarrassment that creeps up your neck. The sheets, the clean, untouched sheets, they feel like a reflection of your rejection. You had turned him away last night. You had rejected him. And now, the palace is talking.

You don’t regret rejecting him, but there is a guilt that is so heavy.

You are undeniably embarrassed.

The guilt tightens your chest. It feels as though the weight of the entire palace is on your shoulders.

You didn’t want to, but it happened.

You couldn’t let yourself go through with it. Not like that. Not when you know what kind of man he is.

He is a monster. He’s someone who killed your father and ruined your entire fucking life. How could you let someone like him touch you?

You hate him so much but then why didn’t you feel the satisfaction when he had walked away from you last night leaving you untouched?the shame of turning him away is like a shadow following you now.

The ladies continue their work, preparing you for the day ahead, but the whispers echo in your mind, too loud, too real.

You were the one who rejected him last night, so why do you feel embarrassed? He’s the one who should feel embarrassed… why are they gossiping about it like it’s a big deal? You will never let someone like him touch you anyways.

So why does it feel like there is a heavy burden on your heart and why do you feel so embarrassed about still being a virgin?

They dress you in your royal attire, the weight of the silk robes feeling heavier than ever. The red and gold, the fine embroidery—it should feel like power, but instead, it feels like a prison.

You feel like a fucking puppet

Finally, they place the pin in your hair. It’s subtle but significant. You immediately feel the burden of the pen on you because you realize that you are now actually the emperor’s wife.

You’re still not queen yet and you hope that you won’t be, but this pin indicates that you are married to the emperor of Goryeo.

Emperor Jeon Jungkook. A.k.a. your worst nightmare.

You are the emperor’s wife, but not yet queen. It’s a constant reminder of your place, of how far you are from the woman you want to be, and how close you are to the role you’re forced to play.

They leave you alone with your thoughts, but you can’t escape them. You look at yourself in the mirror, trying to connect with the woman you see with the woman you feel like inside. A pawn. A possession.

The sound of tea and breakfast wafts into the room, but it feels like a distant, empty thing. Time to face him,

The emperor awaits.

“My Lady. Come on let’s go into the dining hall where you will be joined by the emperor Jeon.”

Looks like you’re not gonna be able to eat because whenever you’re in his presence, you feel sick to your stomach.

But it’s not like you have any choice.

•••

You sit at the long, opulent dining table, the sound of footsteps echoing from behind you.

The breakfast spread is grand & delicate plates of rice, fruit, meat, and steamed buns, the aroma of the dishes wafting through the air. Yet, all of it feels distant, as though it’s meant for someone else. The golden utensils, the fine porcelain cups

It’s not meant for you.

none of it feels real. Not when you know what hangs between you and Jungkook.

He enters the room quietly, his presence is as always commanding.

His tall frame fills the doorway, and despite the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the large windows, he seems to cast a shadow.

His dark curly long hair is perfectly styled, his robes a deep crimson, embroidered with gold threads, marking him as the emperor. He is a king, but right now, he looks like someone out of reach, someone untouchable.

Jungkook’s eyes flick to you as he takes his seat across from you, his gaze cold. There’s no warmth in his look, no softness.

The air between you feels thick with tension, and you know, without a doubt, it’s because of last night.

You meet his gaze, but the words you want to speak catch in your throat. You can feel his anger, simmering beneath his calm exterior.

He’s holding back, but just barely. His hands rest on the table, his fingers clenched tightly around the delicate porcelain tea cup in front of him.

“You know,” Jungkook begins, his voice low, almost mocking, “last night was supposed to be different. I thought…” His voice trails off for a moment as he takes a sip of tea, his eyes never leaving you. “I thought I might have finally gotten what I’ve been waiting for. But you, you rejected me.”

He scoffs.

“You know? You look so beautiful. But it’s useless. Your beauty is useless.”

His words cut through the air like a knife, and your chest tightens. You can feel the weight of his gaze, his cold stare, as he leans back slightly in his chair, studying you.

“I don’t understand,” he continues, his voice is turning sharper. “You’ve been in this palace for a year. You’ve been living in luxury, waiting for this moment. Yet, when it comes, you turn away from me? What makes you think you can do that, hm?”

You swallow, trying to gather your thoughts. It’s hard to speak when the tension in the room is so thick, so suffocating. You know you can’t apologize, not with the pride he carries. But you can’t keep quiet either.

His presence is so overwhelming and maybe the guilt in your heart is also weighing on you.

“I didn’t—” you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp gesture of his hand, signaling that he doesn’t want to hear your excuses.

He just dismissed you like you mean nothing.

“You didn’t what?” he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You didn’t want me? The man who made you his wife?” His lips curl into a cruel smile.

He thinks that you are pathetic.

“You really think you can just refuse me and walk away from it all? There’s no escaping me, not anymore. You belong to me now, whether you like it or not.”

The words hit you like a slap, and you look away, unable to meet his eyes. The food in front of you suddenly loses its appeal, the steam rising from the rice feeling like it’s choking you.

You want to speak up, to explain yourself, but you know it won’t change anything. He won’t listen. Not now, not after what happened last night.

Jungkook leans forward, his eyes narrowing as if he’s waiting for you to speak, to beg, to plead for his forgiveness. He’s enjoying this, you realize.

Enjoying the control he has over you, enjoying the way you’re forced to sit there and endure his words.

“Well?” He presses, the coldness in his voice now unmistakable. “Are you going to explain yourself? Or are you just going to sit there and pretend everything is fine?”

You clench your fists in your lap, the urge to stand up and leave the room almost overwhelming. But you can’t. You can’t leave. Not when the emperor is sitting right in front of you, and you know the consequences of defying him.

Instead, you hold your breath and force yourself to speak but no words come out.

His expression darkens, and he leans forward, his eyes locked on yours, piercing and dark.

“You’re my wife. But you are one ungrateful woman, and if you don’t want me to touch you, then I won’t.”

The words make your skin itch, your chest is tightening with a mixture of fear and frustration.

You didn’t expect him to understand. How could he? He’s the emperor. He’s always had power. He’s never had to ask for anything, he just takes it.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be forced into this life,” you mutter, barely able to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “To be used as a pawn in your game.”

His eyes flash with anger, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to snap. But instead, he leans back in his chair again, his jaw clenched tight.

“You don’t get to speak to me like that,” he warns, his voice dangerously calm. “You may be my wife, but I will not tolerate disrespect. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

“Especially not from you yn.”

The room grows silent, the only sound the clinking of silverware and the soft hum of the palace outside. You know he’s not done with you yet. This conversation is far from over. But for now, he sits in silence, his anger barely contained.

You don’t know what to expect next. Will he lash out? Will he punish you? You’re not sure, but deep down, you know one thing—

This is only the beginning of the torture that you’re going to be facing for the rest of your life.

“Fuck.. you just know how to ruin my fucking mood, but there are other important things that I need to make sure that you know.” he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his simmering anger down.

Jungkook looks at you with his unyielding cold gaze.

“ the king of China, along with his daughter will be arriving to our empire in a few days. They have started their journey through ship so they shall be here in sometime. They are coming here to congratulate us on our marriage and maybe some political alliances but that is none of your concern.”

His tone is mocking.

“What should be your concern is that you’re going play the perfect wife in front of them, and if you don’t, my love?” he smiles, sickly at you.

“There will be severe consequences. Because you don’t seem to be wanting my love. So instead, I’m going give you my anger and my hatred.”

Those words of his send shivers down your spine because he says them such practiced ease. And what’s even more unsettling is the fact that his eyes seem to be empty and cold.

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C4)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (9.4K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────── 04: Dinner Table Tango (Put Me On TV Netflix)

Our usual dinners were low-key affairs—think microwaved leftovers, a quick pasta dish, or maybe some takeout eaten in front of the TV while my mom narrated the latest drama from whichever reality show was her current obsession. Tonight, though, was a whole different beast. It was like we’d accidentally wandered into a chaotic crossover episode of MasterChef meets a reality TV reunion: there were kabobs piled high on platters, enough side dishes to feed an entire neighborhood, and a whirlwind of personalities that made it feel like every seat at the table came with its own subplot.

Oscar’s dad, Chris, had turned the backyard grill into his personal stage, flipping kabobs with the flair of a man who was auditioning for his own cooking show. Each turn of the skewer came with commentary, like, “See that sear? That’s what you call perfection,” and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was preparing a meal for a panel of judges instead of a casual dinner. Nicole, Oscar’s mom, hovered nearby, nodding along as if she hadn’t heard his grilling philosophy a thousand times before, while my mom, Belle, politely sipped her wine, pretending to be fascinated by every culinary revelation.

At the table, Hattie, Edie, and Mae were buzzing with their usual sibling energy—Hattie and Mae were whispering about something that kept making them burst into giggles, while Edie was eyeing the dessert like it was the final boss in a video game she was determined to conquer. Every few seconds, they’d shoot each other knowing looks, their inside jokes and side comments flying faster than I could keep up.

I picked up a plate and tried to navigate my way through the lively chaos, eyeing a seat at the far end of the table where I could blend into the background. But as soon as I moved, Oscar was there—close enough that I could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin from the sun and the pool. I placed my plate down, aiming for a spot near the drinks, but no sooner had I set my food down than Oscar plopped down next to me, grinning like this was all part of some game only he knew the rules to.

I moved again, feigning a casual stroll to the other end, but Oscar followed, a smug smile playing on his lips as he sat down beside me once more. I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it, each move feeling like a dance where I kept trying to sidestep and he kept closing in.

I finally turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you planning to follow me all night, or are you just allergic to sitting anywhere else?”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, that infuriatingly confident grin never wavering. “What can I say? You’re the best seat in the house,” he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Besides, I promised you great dinner company, didn’t I?”

“You’re like a lost puppy,” I muttered, shaking my head but unable to keep the smile off my face. “Except more annoying.”

He just laughed, nudging my arm playfully. “I prefer ‘persistent’—sounds cuter. But if being annoying gets me the best view, then I’ll take it.”

Nicole glanced over from across the table, her mom radar obviously picking up on the exchange. “Oscar, sweetie, why don’t you give her a little space?” she teased, though the gleam in her eyes suggested she was enjoying this far too much.

Oscar shrugged, unbothered. “Why would I? I’m right where I want to be.”

Belle, my mom, was clearly entertained, watching us like she’d just tuned into her favorite show. “You know, if he keeps this up, you might need to get him his own seat belt,” she joked, topping off her wine as she watched Oscar stick to my side like glue.

I rolled my eyes, trying to act nonchalant, but the warmth of his presence was impossible to ignore. “Don’t encourage him,” I mumbled, but even as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel a strange thrill. Oscar’s persistence was absurdly charming, and no matter how much I tried to brush it off, his attention felt like its own kind of spotlight, casting everything in a new, exciting light.

The table was loud with laughter and overlapping conversations, skewers being passed around and plates filling up with everything from grilled corn to tangy salads. I tried to focus on my food, savoring the perfectly marinated kabobs and buttery potatoes, but Oscar’s constant presence kept pulling me back in, his playful nudges and whispered comments making it impossible to forget he was right there, next to me, watching every reaction.

“You really do have a knack for this,” I said, nudging him back just as he reached for another skewer.

Oscar flashed me a quick, sideways smile, his eyes twinkling. “For what, dinner? Or following you around like it’s my job?”

“Both,” I shot back, but the lightness in my voice betrayed how much I was enjoying the banter.

Oscar chuckled, spearing a piece of grilled zucchini with his fork. “Well, I’m nothing if not dedicated,” he said, popping it into his mouth with an exaggerated flourish. “And hey, if I’m going to be annoyingly persistent, I might as well be charming about it, right?”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no malice behind it, only a growing sense of ease that came from how effortlessly he slipped into conversation with me. “Is that what this is? Charm? I thought it was just a fancy word for stalking.”

He laughed, a low, easy sound that sent a shiver down my spine despite the warm evening air. “Stalking’s such a strong word. I prefer ‘being attentive.’ You know, keeping an eye on the competition.” He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he whispered, “Plus, it’s kind of fun to see you all flustered.”

I felt my cheeks warm instantly, and I shoved a forkful of salad into my mouth to cover up my embarrassment. “You’re the worst,” I mumbled around the bite, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“Am I, though?” he teased, nudging my leg under the table with his foot. “Because it kind of seems like you like it.”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing. “You wish,” I shot back, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew he could see right through me.

Nicole, who had been listening to our back-and-forth with thinly veiled amusement, finally chimed in. “Oscar, honey, you might want to ease up before she throws you in the pool,” she said, winking at me. “But if she does, don’t worry—I’m sure you can swim.”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat, turning to his mom with a cheeky grin. “Oh, I’m not worried. I think she’d just jump in after me.”

I tried to keep my composure, but it was impossible not to laugh at his relentless confidence. “Keep dreaming, hotshot,” I said, giving him a playful shove, but even as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of exasperation and excitement at his attention.

Belle leaned over, her eyes twinkling as she passed me the breadbasket. “You’re handling him well,” she whispered with a smirk. “Most girls would’ve dunked him by now.”

I shot her a look of mock horror. “Trust me, it’s tempting. But I think he likes the attention too much.”

Oscar, who apparently had supersonic hearing when it came to anything involving himself, leaned in again, this time closer than before, his voice low and teasing. “Oh, I definitely do. But between you and me, I think you like it too.” He raised his glass in a mock toast, his eyes never leaving mine. “To good company and making the most of dinner.”

I clinked my glass with his, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered in my stomach at the way he was looking at me—like I was the only person at the table worth paying attention to. “To you not annoying me for five minutes,” I countered, but my smile gave away how much I was actually enjoying every second of it.

Oscar’s grin only widened, his eyes never leaving mine as he took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the moment. There was a playful glint in his gaze, but something deeper too, something that made my chest tighten. It was as if this whole day—every flirtatious comment, every lingering look—had been building up to something unspoken, something that hovered just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

“So, what happens after five minutes?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity that made my breath hitch. “Do I get to keep my seat, or are you kicking me to the curb?”

I laughed softly, but the question hung in the air, feeling heavier than it should. “Depends,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “Are you planning on behaving?”

“Not if I can help it,” Oscar replied, his voice warm and teasing, but his gaze was intense, like he was studying me, trying to figure out exactly what I was thinking.

I glanced away, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention. There was something about the way he was looking at me that felt new, unexpected—like he was seeing me in a way no one else ever had. It was unnerving, thrilling, and terrifying all at once, and it made me feel like everything I thought I knew was suddenly up in the air.

The conversations around us continued, but they felt distant, muffled, as if the world had faded into the background. I could feel the weight of Oscar’s eyes still on me, searching, and for a moment, I found myself caught between the familiar and the unknown. Everything felt different, like the ground beneath me had shifted without warning, and all the little things I’d been so sure of were suddenly tangled up in emotions I hadn’t anticipated.

Oscar’s voice broke through my thoughts, quieter now, a touch more sincere. “You okay? You went quiet on me.”

I blinked, startled by how quickly my mind had wandered. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking.”

“About?” he pressed, his eyes soft but probing, clearly not satisfied with my evasive answer.

I hesitated, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. “About how you’re… different,” I said, the admission making my heart race. “Today, everything’s just… not what I expected.” I trailed off, unsure how to put into words the strange mix of excitement and uncertainty that was bubbling up inside me.

Oscar watched me for a moment, his expression shifting from playful to something gentler, more thoughtful. “I get it,” he said finally, his voice low and earnest. “It’s weird when things change on you, isn’t it? Like you’re used to one thing, and then suddenly it’s all flipped around.”

He leaned in a little closer, his tone softening as if he was letting me in on a secret. “But I don’t mind it,” he continued. “Everything today… it’s been new, yeah, but it’s good. You’re good.”

I swallowed, the honesty in his words catching me off guard. It was one thing to joke around, to let the banter cover up what was simmering underneath, but this felt different—like he was asking me to see him, really see him, and maybe let him see me in return.

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that mirrored the uncertainty I was feeling, a quiet plea hidden in his smile that made my heart skip. It wasn’t just a game anymore; it was something real, something that demanded a bit of courage I wasn’t sure I had.

Oscar’s usual cocky confidence had softened into something more tentative, almost as if he was waiting for me to say something that would make this strange, unexpected shift between us make sense. I could see it in the way his eyes flickered with unspoken questions, the way his hand hovered just a little closer to mine on the table, hesitant but hopeful.

He opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped, biting his lip in a rare moment of hesitation. I could feel the unsteady rhythm of my own breathing, matching the erratic beat of my heart. It was like standing on the edge of something, knowing that one step could change everything and still not being sure if I was ready to take it.

“I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t expect this,” he finally said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. His fingers brushed mine, a barely-there touch that sent a shiver through me, and the simple contact felt more intimate than any of the flirting or banter we’d exchanged all day. “I’m not usually… like this.” He laughed, but it was shaky, almost self-conscious. “I’m just saying, you’re not the only one who’s kind of… thrown off.”

I glanced down at our almost-touching hands, the space between them feeling unbearably small and impossibly vast at the same time. The reality of what was happening—the shift from playful teasing to something deeper, more vulnerable—was terrifying and exhilarating. It was as if everything had turned upside down, leaving me with nothing to hold onto but the fragile, unspoken connection we’d built in the span of a few sun-soaked hours.

“I know what you mean,” I whispered, surprised at how raw my voice sounded. “I didn’t expect this either.” The words felt too small to capture the rush of emotions tangled inside me, but they were the most honest thing I could offer.

Oscar’s thumb grazed the back of my hand, a light, almost tentative touch, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity straight through me. He smiled, a little lopsided and unsure, and it was so different from his usual bravado that it made my heart ache in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly, and there was something so genuine in his tone that it knocked the breath out of me. “I’m glad we’re… whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely between us, as if trying to name the unnameable, the strange and beautiful thing that had sprung up between the jokes and the splashes and the shared looks that felt like secrets.

I nodded, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. “Me too,” I managed, and the simple admission felt like a leap off that precarious edge we’d been teetering on. “I’m glad it’s… us.”

Oscar’s gaze softened, and for a split second, the weight of the moment hung between us, thick with unspoken possibilities. It felt like we were on the cusp of something important, something that neither of us was quite ready to fully grasp, and the vulnerability of it all was terrifying and exhilarating.

But then, in true Oscar fashion, he broke the tension with a grin that was equal parts charming and infuriating. “You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I’ve gotta admit, this whole ‘us’ thing is pretty great. But if you’re planning on crying, can you just give me a heads-up? I’m not emotionally equipped to handle that.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift from heart-to-heart to heart-to-humor. “Excuse me?” I laughed, trying to hide the relief that came with his playful deflection. “I’m not crying! And for the record, you’re the one who looks like you’re about to get misty-eyed.”

Oscar held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Hey, no judgment. I just thought I’d bring tissues to our next deep and meaningful, you know? Maybe some popcorn, too. Really set the mood.”

I snorted, shoving his shoulder lightly, but the tension had eased, replaced by the familiar rhythm of our back-and-forth. “You’re impossible,” I said, shaking my head, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

Oscar winked, clearly pleased with himself for lightening the mood. “Yeah, but I’m your kind of impossible, right?”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no denying the truth in his words. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head,” I shot back, but my heart felt lighter, the strange, heady mix of vulnerability and humor making the moment feel just right.

He laughed, clinking his glass against mine one more time. “Deal. But just so you know, this isn’t over,” he said, his voice dipping into that teasing but sincere tone that was quickly becoming his signature. “This ‘us’ thing… it’s still happening.”

I met his gaze, feeling a surge of warmth and maybe a little bit of hope. “Yeah,” I said, my smile softening. “It definitely is.” And with that, we let the conversation drift back to laughter and lightness, both of us content to leave the door wide open for whatever might come next.

Just as I started to relax into the ease of the moment, Mae’s voice cut through the noise like a dramatic trumpet blast. “Oh my god, did anyone else just see that?” she exclaimed, practically bouncing out of her chair. She was clutching her glass like it was some kind of award she was presenting to the whole table, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.

Oscar and I both froze, caught like deer in headlights as everyone else turned to look at us, half amused and half confused. Mae’s eyes were sparkling with delight, clearly enjoying her self-appointed role as the dinner’s designated narrator of drama.

“Seriously, did no one catch that?” Mae continued, pointing between Oscar and me like she was conducting an investigative report. “That was, like, a full-on rom-com moment! Staring, smiling, subtle hand-touching—am I the only one paying attention to this masterpiece unfolding?”

I could feel my face heating up as the entire table’s attention zeroed in on us. Hattie snorted, trying and failing to suppress a laugh, while Edie gave Mae a playful shove. “Stop being so dramatic, Mae,” Edie said, rolling her eyes but grinning all the same. “It’s not a soap opera.”

Mae, undeterred, waved her hands theatrically, clearly reveling in the spotlight. “No, no, you guys don’t get it. This is prime content! I’ve seen less chemistry on TV shows that have been running for five seasons!” She looked at us with mock seriousness, as if she was on the brink of tears. “Honestly, I’m emotional. I think I need a moment.”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, half-embarrassed, half-amused by Mae’s antics. “Okay, Mae, take it down a notch,” he said, trying to sound exasperated, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

I tried to cover my face with my hands, laughing despite my mortification. “Oh my god, can we not make this a thing?”

Mae ignored me completely, turning to Nicole and Belle as if she were addressing a captivated audience. “Moms, did you see it? Do we need to start planning a wedding, or should I pace myself?”

Nicole chuckled, giving me a sympathetic smile as she sipped her wine. “Mae, sweetie, let them breathe. But I will say, I’m glad to see our Oscar isn’t just all talk.” She winked at me, clearly enjoying every second of this impromptu performance.

Belle, looking equally amused, raised her glass. “To young love… or whatever this is,” she teased, and the whole table erupted in laughter.

Oscar groaned, though he was clearly more entertained than annoyed. “Thanks, Mae. Really appreciate the live commentary,” he said, rolling his eyes but flashing me a quick, conspiratorial smile that sent a flutter through my chest.

He leaned closer, his voice low so only I could hear. “Don’t worry, I’ll get her back for that later,” he promised, his tone half-playful, half-serious, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I tried to play it cool, but the way he lingered, just a little closer than necessary, made my heart skip.

Meanwhile, Mae was still basking in the glow of her own theatrics, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied grin. “Honestly, you’re welcome. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” she quipped, flicking her hair over her shoulder like she was the star of the show.

“Can we get a replay, though?” Hattie chimed in, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Like, maybe a slow-mo version? I feel like I missed the pivotal moment.”

Edie, not one to be left out, waggled her eyebrows at me. “Yeah, can you guys just, like, do it again for the rest of us? We need to get the full experience.”

I buried my face in my hands, half laughing, half mortified. “You guys are the worst,” I muttered, but there was no real sting behind it. The entire scene was ridiculous, but it was the kind of ridiculousness that made me feel strangely at home, like I’d been dropped into the middle of this whirlwind of banter and suddenly found my place.

Oscar squeezed my shoulder lightly, his touch grounding me amidst the teasing chaos. “They’re just jealous,” he whispered, his voice edged with that same flirtatious charm that had been keeping me on my toes all day. “It’s not every day they get front-row seats to this level of entertainment.”

I shot him a look, trying to suppress a grin. “Oh, is that what this is? Entertainment?”

He shrugged, unabashed. “Well, it’s definitely not boring. And I think we’re pulling off the lead roles pretty well, don’t you?”

Mae pretended to dab at her eyes, clutching her napkin dramatically. “Look at them, already talking like a power couple. I can’t—my heart is too full.” She pointed a finger at us. “Y’all better invite me to the premiere of your inevitable Netflix series.”

“Mae, if you don’t dial it back, you’re getting written out in season two,” Oscar warned, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on me, a mix of amusement and something softer that made my pulse race.

Mae gasped, clutching her imaginary pearls like she’d just been gravely insulted. “You can’t cut out the comic relief! I’m the fan favorite. Besides, the show would be boring without me stirring the pot.” She leaned back with a smug smile, crossing her arms like she was daring anyone to challenge her.

Hattie snorted, jumping in without missing a beat. “Yeah, but we all know you’re the kind of character they kill off in a dramatic mid-season twist. Gotta keep the ratings up.”

Mae threw her head back, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. “Please, they wouldn’t dare. The viewers would riot.” She turned her attention back to us, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “And speaking of plot twists, when’s the big kiss scene? I mean, I’m just saying, it’s been teased for like, three episodes already.”

My jaw dropped, caught between mortification and laughter as Oscar choked on his drink, struggling to keep his composure. “Mae!” I squeaked, covering my face with my hands, feeling my cheeks burn hotter than the grill. “Can we not?”

Mae shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m just being honest. The audience wants what it wants.” She glanced around the table, gesturing to everyone with an over-the-top flourish. “I mean, look at us. We’re all invested.”

Oscar rubbed his temples, but he was smiling, shaking his head at his sister’s relentless antics. “Mae, you’re officially banned from all future dinners. You’ve peaked as an agent of chaos.”

Mae shot him a smug look. “I’d like to see you try. I’m basically your PR manager at this point, and you should be grateful. I’m giving you the best subplot.”

Nicole chuckled, shaking her head at her kids. “Alright, enough, everyone. Let’s give them some peace. I think they’ve been roasted enough for one night.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, trying to regain some composure, but every time I glanced at Oscar, he was already looking at me, that easy, knowing smile still playing on his lips. Despite the theatrics, the jokes, and the lighthearted chaos of it all, there was an unmistakable comfort in being next to him, like we were in on some private joke the rest of the table was only half aware of.

As the conversation shifted back to other topics and plates clattered with second helpings, I found myself sneaking another glance at Oscar. He caught me looking and winked, leaning in just enough to whisper, “You good?”

I nodded, feeling that same flutter from earlier, the one that seemed to have settled somewhere deep in my chest. “Yeah,” I said, my voice light but sincere. “I think I’m better than good.”

But as the conversation around the table continued, the laughter and clinking of glasses filling the air, I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting back to Mae’s earlier comment—the one about the “big kiss scene” that had practically sent me into orbit. At the time, I’d brushed it off, laughing it away as another one of her over-the-top jokes. But now, with the evening winding down and Oscar still sitting close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him, the idea lingered, stubbornly refusing to be dismissed.

I glanced at him, catching the way he was half-listening to whatever Chris was saying about the grill, but his focus kept sneaking back to me, a subtle sideways glance here, a quiet smile there. It was like we were stuck in this unspoken loop, constantly circling each other without ever quite landing. And suddenly, Mae’s words didn’t seem so ridiculous. The thought of kissing Oscar—of actually closing that gap between us—wasn’t just some wild, far-off fantasy. It felt… possible. Real. And that was what scared me the most.

Because Mae wasn’t wrong—there was a tension between us, a pull that had been there all day, simmering beneath the surface. Every time Oscar leaned in a little too close, every shared look that lingered just a second too long, it was there, buzzing quietly, daring us to acknowledge it. I could feel it now, that quiet hum in the air that made every casual touch and playful nudge feel loaded, like we were teetering on the edge of something that could change everything.

The thought of kissing him—of actually letting myself take that leap—sent a rush of nerves and excitement crashing over me. What would it feel like? Would it be like all the other moments today, funny and light but with that undeniable spark? Or would it be something else entirely, something that would make it impossible to go back to just playful banter and harmless flirting?

I stole another glance at Oscar, watching the way his lips curved into a smirk as he teased Mae about something I couldn’t quite catch. It was infuriating how easily he could shift from serious to silly, how he could make me feel so at ease one second and then completely unsteady the next. I wondered if he was thinking about it, too—if the idea of us had crossed his mind, lingering like it was now in mine.

My thoughts were interrupted as Mae, ever the observant troublemaker, caught me staring. She wiggled her eyebrows and shot me a knowing grin, clearly reveling in her role as the self-appointed matchmaker of the night. I quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, but the question she’d planted was still there, stubborn and insistent.

What would it be like, kissing Oscar?

It was a question that hovered between us, unasked but undeniable, and as the evening wore on, it only seemed to grow louder. And while I wasn’t sure of the answer, one thing was becoming clear: the idea of it wasn’t just Mae’s dramatic imagination running wild. It was mine too. And maybe, just maybe, it was only a matter of time before we found out for ourselves.

As the sun dipped lower, casting the backyard in soft hues of orange and pink, the vibe around the table shifted. Plates were cleared, glasses refilled, and the conversation became a gentle hum, winding down into the comfortable lull of a summer evening. The air was warm, carrying the faint, salty scent of the ocean just beyond the house. I could feel the day transitioning into something quieter, softer, like a whispered promise of what was to come.

Oscar nudged my arm gently, his smile easy and inviting. “Want to get out of here for a bit?” he asked, his voice low enough that it felt like a secret. “I think I’ve had my fill of Mae’s commentary for the night.”

I laughed, grateful for the excuse to escape the watchful eyes of his sisters. “Yeah, before she starts live-tweeting this,” I joked, grabbing my sandals and following him away from the table. He led us down the path that cut through the backyard, winding toward the beach. The sound of laughter and chatter faded behind us, replaced by the rhythmic crash of waves and the soft crunch of sand beneath our feet.

The sky was a watercolor canvas of fading light, the last streaks of daylight blending into deep blues and purples as we reached the shore. It was quiet here, the kind of quiet that feels intentional, like the world had pressed pause just for us. Oscar slipped off his shoes, and I followed suit, the cool, damp sand squishing pleasantly between my toes. It felt cheesy and cliché, like something out of a movie, but I didn’t care. It was perfect.

We walked in silence for a bit, side by side, our footsteps falling in sync as the waves lapped at the shore. Every so often, Oscar would kick at the sand, sending little sprays of it up in front of us, and I’d laugh, nudging him back with my shoulder. There was no rush, no destination; it was just us, drifting along the edge of the water like we were caught in our own little bubble.

Oscar glanced at me, his face soft in the twilight. “You know, I think this is the part where we’re supposed to talk about something deep and meaningful,” he said, his voice teasing but light, the kind of tone that made everything feel a little less serious, a little easier to handle.

I smiled, rolling my eyes but playing along. “Oh, right. This is the part where we share our hopes, dreams, and darkest secrets, right? Because nothing says ‘deep conversation’ like walking barefoot on the beach.”

“Exactly,” Oscar said, grinning. “But seriously, I’m glad you’re here. Tonight’s been… fun. Weird and chaotic, but fun.”

I nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle over me. “Yeah, it’s been… something,” I admitted, letting out a small laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect, but this wasn’t it. In a good way.”

We walked a little further, the quiet between us no longer uncomfortable but filled with the soft roar of the ocean and the distant calls of seagulls. It felt like the perfect cliché—sunset, ocean waves, and just enough awkwardness to keep it from feeling too polished. Oscar stopped suddenly, bending down to pick up a small, smooth shell and handing it to me with a mock-serious expression.

“A souvenir,” he said, his eyes twinkling in the fading light. “To remember this incredibly cheesy moment.”

I took the shell, laughing at how ridiculous and oddly sweet the gesture was. “I’ll treasure it forever,” I said, mimicking his serious tone, holding the shell up like it was a precious gem. “And when I tell people about this night, I’ll say, ‘There was this guy, and he gave me a shell on a beach at sunset. It was painfully corny, but somehow it worked.’”

Oscar chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Hey, corny works sometimes. Especially if the right person’s involved.” He looked at me then, his smile fading just enough that I could see the sincerity underneath all the jokes. “I like this,” he said, his voice softer. “I like… us.”

My heart did a little flip, caught off guard by the quiet honesty of his words. It wasn’t dramatic or grand, just simple and real, and that made it even better. “I like us too,” I admitted, feeling the last bit of sunlight brush against my skin as the horizon swallowed it whole.

Oscar stepped closer, his shoulder brushing mine as we stood there, toes in the sand, watching the sky darken. It felt like we’d crossed some invisible line, one that had been waiting for us all day, and now, with the ocean as our only witness, it didn’t feel scary anymore. It felt right.

The waves crashed softly in the background, a rhythmic soundtrack to the unspoken feelings that hung between us. I expected another joke, something light to keep the moment easy, but instead, Oscar’s expression shifted, his smile fading into something more serious, more introspective. He glanced at the horizon, the last slivers of light reflecting in his eyes, before turning back to me.

“You know,” he started, his voice a little lower, almost hesitant, “about that whole ‘sharing secrets’ thing…”

I raised an eyebrow, expecting another playful jab, but his tone had changed. There was a weight to his words that made my heart pick up pace, and I could tell he was wrestling with something. “Yeah?” I prompted gently, unsure where he was going with this but sensing it was important.

Oscar let out a long breath, his gaze dropping to the sand as if he was trying to gather his thoughts. “There’s something I haven’t told you,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I hadn’t seen from him before. “It’s… kind of a big deal. And it’s something I don’t usually talk about when I first meet someone.”

I felt a flicker of concern, mixed with curiosity. “Okay,” I said softly, trying to encourage him without pushing too hard. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He nodded, chewing on his lip for a moment before meeting my eyes. “So… I’m not just some random guy who likes to crash neighborhood dinners and play chicken in pools.” He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I’m actually… a Formula One driver.”

I blinked, the words taking a moment to fully register. “Wait, what?” I said, half-laughing in disbelief, expecting him to crack a smile and tell me it was just another joke. But Oscar’s expression remained serious, his eyes searching mine for a reaction.

“I’m a Formula One driver,” he repeated, more firmly this time, his voice steady but laced with something vulnerable. “I race for a living. It’s my job, my whole life, really. I’ve been doing it for years, and it’s… well, it’s a lot. I didn’t want to bring it up right away because, honestly, it changes how people see me. And I like how things are right now. Just… you and me, without all that other stuff.”

My mind reeled, trying to connect the dots between the Oscar I’d spent the day with and the image of a high-speed, glamorous world I’d only ever seen on TV. I had a million questions, but the first one that slipped out was, “Are you serious?”

He nodded, his expression softening at my shock. “Yeah, I am. I travel all the time—races in different countries, press, sponsors, all of it. It’s not just a job; it’s this crazy, intense lifestyle, and it’s a lot to deal with. That’s why I didn’t want to bring it up. I wanted to just be… me. Not the guy on the track.”

I stared at him, the quiet, easy-going Oscar who had been joking and flirting with me all day, now suddenly framed in a completely different light. I tried to picture him in a racing suit, helmet on, speeding at breakneck pace in front of thousands of fans. The thought was surreal, but the sincerity in his eyes grounded me, reminding me that he was still the same guy who had been by my side all day.

“Wow,” I breathed, still trying to wrap my head around it. “I mean… that’s incredible. And intense. I can’t even imagine…”

Oscar shrugged, his expression a mix of pride and exhaustion. “It’s got its moments. The adrenaline, the rush, it’s amazing. But it’s also lonely sometimes. It’s hard to know who’s around for me and who’s around for what I do. That’s why it’s been so… nice today. Just hanging out, no expectations, no pressure.”

I nodded, my mind still racing to keep up, but my heart settled on one thing: the vulnerability in his voice. “I get why you didn’t say anything,” I said softly. “I’m glad you told me, though. And for what it’s worth, it doesn’t change anything for me. I still see you the same way.”

Oscar’s shoulders relaxed, a hint of relief passing over his face. “Thanks. That means a lot,” he said quietly. “I just wanted you to know who I really am. Not the headlines, not the highlight reels. Just… Oscar.”

I reached out, squeezing his hand lightly. “Well, Oscar, the Formula One driver,” I teased gently, “you’re kind of stuck with me now. So I hope you’re ready for that.”

He laughed, a sound filled with genuine warmth, and squeezed my hand back. “I think I can handle it,” he said, his smile returning. “But I promise, no pit stops on our beach walks.”

We kept walking, but now my mind was buzzing with questions I couldn’t quite hold back. The idea of Oscar—this funny, charming guy—also being a professional race car driver was a lot to process. My curiosity got the better of me, and I turned to him, trying to piece together this new version of him I was just starting to understand.

“So, what’s it like?” I asked, my voice tinged with excitement and genuine intrigue. “I mean, racing. The whole lifestyle… is it really as glamorous as it looks?”

Oscar smiled, his eyes distant for a moment as if recalling a million memories at once. “Sometimes it is. The travel, the fans, the adrenaline of the race—it’s all surreal. But it’s not always as glamorous as people think. There’s a lot of pressure, a lot of sleepless nights. You’re constantly on the move, training, dealing with the media, and sometimes you barely get a moment to yourself.”

I nodded, hanging onto every word. “Do you ever get scared? I mean, it’s not exactly a nine-to-five job.”

He glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. “Every time I get in the car, there’s this moment of fear, like a little voice in the back of my mind reminding me how dangerous it is. But once the lights go out and the race starts, it’s all instinct. You don’t really think—you just drive. It’s weird, but the fear kind of becomes part of the thrill.”

I could hear the passion in his voice, and it struck me how much more there was to him than I’d realized. “Do you ever… wish it was different? Like, that maybe you could slow down?”

Oscar chuckled softly, kicking at the sand as we walked. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s exhausting. But then there’s this moment when you’re flying down the track, everything’s a blur, and it’s just you and the car. Nothing else matters. It’s the most alive I’ve ever felt.” He paused, turning to me with a small, earnest smile. “And then there are nights like this, where I get to just be a normal guy hanging out on the beach. It’s a nice change of pace.”

I found myself smiling, charmed by his openness. “I can’t even imagine living like that—always on the go, never really having time to just… be. But it sounds incredible, in a crazy sort of way.”

“It is,” he agreed, looking out at the ocean, the moonlight catching the edges of his profile. “But it’s also hard to let people in. Everyone has expectations, and sometimes it’s hard to know who actually sees you and who just sees the guy in the helmet.”

I squeezed his hand, wanting to offer some kind of comfort. “Well, I see you, Oscar. And not just the driver. I see the guy who’s annoyingly persistent, who’s actually kind of sweet when he wants to be.” I nudged him playfully. “And the guy who’s really bad at keeping secrets, apparently.”

He laughed, a genuine, relieved sound that made my heart swell. “Yeah, I guess I’m not as mysterious as I thought.” He paused, then added, “But I’m glad you know. I wanted you to know.”

I studied him, feeling like I was seeing Oscar in an entirely new light—not just the charming guy who had been teasing me all day, but someone with layers, with dreams and fears that ran deeper than I’d ever guessed. “Thanks for telling me,” I said softly. “It means a lot that you’d share all this with me.”

Oscar smirked, but there was a hint of shyness behind it. “Yeah, well, you’ve got this way of making me spill my guts. You should be careful—I might start telling you my deepest, darkest secrets.”

I laughed, nudging him with my shoulder. “Oh, don’t tempt me. I’ve got a lot of questions, you know. Like, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in front of a crowd? Or do you have a superstitious pre-race ritual? Maybe something involving, like, wearing your socks inside out for good luck?”

He groaned, but the playful gleam in his eyes told me he was enjoying this. “Socks inside out? That’s rookie level. I’m way more sophisticated—think lucky underwear, a very specific breakfast, and a pep talk to my car that would make me sound insane if anyone heard it.”

I snorted, covering my mouth to stifle the laugh. “You talk to your car? Please tell me you’ve named it.”

Oscar looked mock-offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “Of course I’ve named it! What kind of driver would I be if I didn’t? But that’s classified information—I can’t just give away my car’s name on the first beach walk.”

I rolled my eyes, still giggling at the idea of him having full-on conversations with his race car. “I think you’re just scared to admit you’ve named it something ridiculous like ‘Lightning McQueen’ or ‘Speedy McSpeedface.’”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll have you know my car’s name is very dignified and deeply meaningful,” he said, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably. “And it definitely doesn’t sound like a character from a kids’ movie.”

I raised an eyebrow, teasing him back. “Uh-huh. Sure. And do you also tuck it in at night and read it bedtime stories?”

Oscar threw his head back in laughter, his hand squeezing mine. “You’re killing me here. But hey, maybe you can come see it sometime—if you’re good, I’ll even let you meet her.”

“Oh, meeting the car? Wow, that sounds serious,” I teased, pretending to be deeply flattered. “Next thing you know, you’ll be inviting me to the races, front-row seats and all.”

Oscar grinned, his eyes twinkling under the moonlight. “Keep playing your cards right, and you never know. I might just need a good luck charm in the stands. Besides,” he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a flirty whisper, “it’d be a shame not to have the prettiest girl at the track cheering me on.”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks again, the casual way he flirted throwing me off balance every time. “You’ve really perfected the smooth-talking driver act, haven’t you?” I teased, raising an eyebrow but unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips.

Oscar smirked, his confidence unwavering. “What can I say? When you’ve got someone worth impressing, you pull out all the stops.”

I rolled my eyes, but the butterflies in my stomach were in full flight. “Well, I’m not that easy to impress. You might need more than just a fancy car and smooth lines.”

He pretended to think it over, scratching his chin dramatically. “Hmm, okay. Let’s see… I’ve got fast cars, some world travel under my belt, and a pretty decent sense of humor, if I do say so myself. Oh, and I’m great at chicken fights in the pool.” He gave me a sideways glance, his smile playful but with a hint of sincerity beneath it. “But if that’s not enough, I guess I’ll just have to keep trying.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, keep working on it. I’m a tough crowd.”

Oscar slowed his steps, his voice turning softer as he leaned a little closer. “I like a challenge.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, the playful banter gave way to something a little deeper. There was that same flicker of vulnerability from earlier, like he was letting his guard down just a bit more, and it made my heart skip. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just met his gaze, feeling the intensity of the moment settle between us like a quiet hum.

“Careful,” I finally said, trying to keep the mood light even though my pulse was racing. “You might bite off more than you can chew.”

Oscar grinned, but his eyes were still locked on mine, the flirty bravado softening into something more genuine. “I think I can handle it,” he said quietly, and there was something in his tone that made my breath catch, like this wasn’t just another joke, another flirtation. It was a real promise.

Before I could respond, he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was so casual, yet it sent a rush of warmth through me, leaving me a little breathless. “You’re making this easy,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing, but his gaze was steady, holding mine with a kind of quiet intensity that made my heart race.

“Easy?” I managed to say, trying to sound composed but failing miserably.

He nodded, his smile widening just a bit. “Yeah. You make it easy to want to keep trying.”

I swallowed, the weight of his words settling over me. It felt like we were on the verge of something bigger, something that went beyond the playful teasing and light-hearted flirting. And as cheesy as it sounded, standing there with the ocean breeze in my hair and the moonlight casting soft shadows around us, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of moment where everything could change.

But instead of saying anything profound, I just smiled, feeling the warmth of his hand still lingering near my cheek. “Well, if you’re trying to win me over with flattery and moonlit walks on the beach, you’re off to a decent start.”

Oscar chuckled, dropping his hand but staying close. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He paused, glancing at the ocean before looking back at me with that same mix of playfulness and sincerity. “You ready to head back?”

I nodded, feeling the tension in my chest ease as we started walking again, the easy rhythm between us falling back into place. “Yeah, but don’t think this lets you off the hook. You’ve still got some impressing to do.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Challenge accepted.”

And as we made our way back up the beach, the stars twinkling above and the sound of the waves following us, I couldn’t help but feel that this night—this cheesy, corny, perfect night—was only the beginning of something even better. There was an easy warmth between us now, a quiet understanding that whatever this was, we were both on board. As we reached the house, the familiar noise of chatter and laughter spilled out onto the patio, pulling us back into the lively fold of everyone gathered around.

The second we stepped onto the deck, Mae was the first to spot us, her eyes lighting up like she’d just won the gossip jackpot. “Well, well, well, look who decided to rejoin the party,” she called out, clapping her hands together in mock celebration. “Did you two lovebirds enjoy your romantic stroll under the moonlight?”

Oscar shot her a warning look, but it only made her grin wider. “Mae, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” he quipped, trying to sound exasperated but failing to hide his smile.

Hattie, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed with a knowing smirk. “Oh, come on, Oscar. We saw you guys sneaking off together. What was it? A deep, soul-searching chat? Confessions of undying love?”

Edie snorted, adding her two cents with a dramatic gasp. “Wait, did he finally break out the big romantic moves? Did he tell you about his tragic backstory and show you his sensitive side?”

I laughed, shaking my head but feeling my cheeks flush under the teasing. “Wow, you guys really have an active imagination,” I said, trying to play it off casually. “We were just… talking.”

“Talking,” Mae repeated, her tone dripping with mock suspicion. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say before the dramatic kiss in the rain scene.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he was clearly more amused than annoyed. “For your information, Mae, we were just enjoying a peaceful walk without all the peanut gallery commentary,” he shot back, though his playful glare did little to stop the relentless teasing.

“Oh, right,” Hattie said, putting on an exaggerated, dreamy voice. “Staring into each other’s eyes, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings—totally normal, everyday stuff.”

Edie gave an exaggerated sigh, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “I swear, this is better than any rom-com. I feel blessed to witness it in real time.”

Oscar groaned, rubbing his temples but unable to keep the smile off his face. “You guys are the worst,” he said, shaking his head, but the laughter in his eyes was unmistakable.

Hattie leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gave Oscar a nudge. “So, did you tell her your big secret yet?” she asked, her tone half-joking but laced with just enough seriousness to make it feel like there was more to it. “You know, the one where you’re not just some guy who likes moonlit walks and cheesy flirting?”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but his shoulders tensed slightly. “Yeah, Hattie. I told her.”

Hattie smirked, turning her attention to me with a knowing look. “Well, good. Now you’ve seen the full Oscar package: charming flirt, terrible dancer, and, oh yeah, a race car driver who’s apparently allergic to being straightforward about it.”

I laughed, catching the hint of truth beneath her teasing. “Yeah, he told me. It was quite the plot twist,” I said, shooting Oscar a playful glance. “I mean, I thought I was just hanging out with some guy who likes chicken fights in pools, and then bam! Turns out he’s a high-speed adrenaline junkie.”

Oscar let out a half-hearted groan, but I could see the smile tugging at his lips. “See? This is why I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Now I’m the guy who goes from chicken fights to explaining how I don’t die doing my job.”

Edie leaned forward, her grin wide. “Oh, come on. You love it. And honestly, I think it’s pretty cool she didn’t bolt when you told her. That’s a win in my book.”

I shrugged, feeling oddly proud of myself for rolling with the revelation. “I mean, you could’ve told me you were a secret agent or something, and I’d probably still be here. But don’t get any ideas—I’m not driving any getaway cars for you.”

Hattie raised her glass in mock solemnity. “To not scaring her off with the ‘I drive at 200 mph for a living’ thing. Honestly, it’s about time someone just saw you for, you know, you.”

Oscar smiled, his eyes flickering with gratitude. “Thanks, Hattie. And yeah,” he turned back to me, squeezing my shoulder lightly, “I’m glad you’re here. Even if my sisters are determined to embarrass me at every turn.”

I laughed, leaning into the warmth of his side hug. “Hey, I’m just glad I got to hear the big secret firsthand. And for the record, you’re a lot more than just the guy on the track.”

Mae pretended to wipe away a tear, her voice cracking with fake emotion. “Look at them, so supportive. I’m not crying, you’re crying.”

Oscar groaned again, but his eyes never left mine, filled with a quiet, earnest appreciation that made the teasing worth it. “You guys are relentless.”

Edie smirked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Hey, you can’t blame us. We’ve got a front-row seat to the Oscar Romance Special. We’re just waiting for the next episode, preferably with more kissing.”

I nearly choked on my drink, caught off guard by her bluntness, and Oscar’s face turned a shade of pink I’d never seen before. “Edie,” he said, trying to sound stern but failing as a laugh escaped him. “I think you’re confusing our lives with one of your trashy reality shows.”

Mae jumped in, wagging her finger dramatically. “Excuse me, but if you’re going to give us reality TV vibes, at least make it entertaining. We need more dramatic confessions and less awkward hovering. I mean, seriously, when’s the big kiss scene?”

I looked at Oscar, my face heating up at the thought, but I decided to play along. “Well, Oscar, if you’ve got any more romantic revelations planned, you’d better warn me so I can, you know, brace myself.”

Oscar leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper just for me. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m full of surprises. And if you think that was my best move, you’re in for a wild ride.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep my cool but failing to hide my smile. “Wild ride? Wow, is that a racing pun or are you just that confident?”

He chuckled, giving me a quick wink. “Both. But you’ll have to stick around to find out which one’s more accurate.”

Mae let out a dramatic sigh, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Oh my god, just kiss already! You’re both practically oozing romantic tension. It’s painful to watch.”

Oscar’s grin turned devilish, and he leaned back, his eyes flicking to me with a playful glint. “See what I have to put up with? I swear, it’s like having a peanut gallery that’s also my personal cheer squad.”

I nudged him with my elbow, unable to keep from laughing. “You should be grateful. Not everyone gets this kind of enthusiastic support.”

He nodded, feigning deep thought. “You’re right. Maybe I should embrace it. I mean, it’s not every day you get heckled into flirting.”

Hattie jumped in, pointing her fork at us. “Yeah, and if you’re going to flirt, at least do it properly. We want fireworks, people.”

Oscar threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll work on my technique. But I can’t promise anything with all these eyes watching.”

I rolled my eyes, but the playful energy between us was impossible to ignore. “No pressure or anything,” I said, smirking at him. “But apparently, you’ve got a lot to live up to.”

Oscar leaned closer, his smile turning sly. “I thrive under pressure,” he said, his voice low and smooth, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “Guess I’ll just have to make it memorable.”

His words hung in the air, flirtatious yet full of that quiet promise that left my heart racing. And as the night went on, filled with more teasing and playful banter, I realized that every joke, every look, was just another layer to the electric, unpredictable thing that was building between us.

Mae clinked her glass dramatically, interrupting my thoughts. “To Oscar, the wannabe Romeo, and to his leading lady, who’s clearly got the patience of a saint. Cheers to the saga we didn’t know we needed.”

I laughed, lifting my glass and meeting Oscar’s gaze. “Cheers,” I said, feeling the thrill of whatever this was settle comfortably around us. Because no matter how ridiculous or flirtatious it got, there was no denying that this was one ride I didn’t want to get off anytime soon.

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09 @fix5idiots

[laritamiauu]

Omg guys I just wrote a whole lesbian retelling of Scylla's myth that I thought in like 15 minutes

Prepare to read a lot this is like a whole ass fanfic

Scylla and Circe we're very good friends, even roommates if you wanna get scandalous.

And the thing of annoying men with bad intentions had been going around for a while now, sadly Circe had already witnessed many of her nymphs being victims of these men.

She felt troubled cause she didn't knew what to do, this was before she started to turn men into pigs, so she didn't know how to stop them, so many rumours of and island with beautiful women had been spreading around and men were coming to see them like they were exotic animals, and she as her leader had to change that reputation, in a way that would keep her nymphs safe and also scare away all those filthy men.

One day a ship arrived, it wasn't a big one so a few men just went to greet them as usual, but this time, there was this one guy who was trying to flirt with her most beloved nymph, Scylla.

She quickly became extremely jealous, running over to them and separating them immediately, she couldn't handle the fact that the person that she loved the most could be in danger, she couldn't lose her.

At night she had an idea, a twisted idea, so horrible that it made her heart hurt just to think of it, but it was the only way, she had to act fast.

So the next morning when the nymphs and the men who arrived the day before were having breakfast, she snuck a potion that she had been preparing all night on Scylla's drink.

She never thought of telling her because that would ruin her plan, of course she would never agree to this.

Later in the afternoon, Scylla was hanging out with this man again, Glaucus, Circe had learned his name by overhearing their conversations, everytime he tried to get close to Scylla she grew more and more angrier, Scylla didn't consent to his compliments but she wouldn't do anything about it, she would just let him be, he was going to leave soon anyways.

They were far more distanced from the whole group, Glaucus had insisted so, they were hanging out in the more depths of the forest. And Circe of course had followed them, this was going just as planned.

Glaucus of course didn't have any good intention bringing her to these far away place, he had been bombarding her with compliments trying to conquer her, he thought he succeeded but the second he got close to her she looked different.

Scylla's face was pale, if you looked into her eyes you wouldn't be able to catch any single spark of light, she started trembling, and screaming in pain as she fell down to her knees unable to utter a single word between her gushing screams.

The transformation was slow, slow enough to keep Glaucus there to witness it, he saw as she grew bigger and bigger, her clothes tearing up as they open space for the snake-like wolf heads that were growing out of her legs and hips. He watched as she turned into a monster.

And Circe too, who has behind some trees spying on them, realizing that this wasn't what she had plan, she planned to change her face to look like a horrible monster for some minutes and scare him away, looks like she had missed steps on the preparation of the potion... But her pretty face was still intact.

Glaucus horrified at the sight of such beast before him, ran immediately to advise his men to go back to the ship, while Scylla followed him, still in awful pain, and she couldn't even move by her own, all of her movements were caused by the hungry heads she had now, that were chasing the men and even attacking them.

Circe ran to her palace, advising all of her nymphs to stay where they are, she didn't want more people she loved to be hurt in the process, she casted a protective spell around the palace that makes it so no beast or monster can enter it.

By the time she got out of the palace the men were already gone, and it seemed that Scylla followed them because she was nowhere to be seen too.

She crumbled into tears in the coast of her island, how could she have been so reckless, purely driven by jelausy she lost the person that she loved the most, not only did she put in danger her people but even damaged the one that she so tried to protect.

Many years passed Circe never saw Scylla again, still feeling extremely guilty, she started to turn the men that came into the island into pigs, taking all of the anger that she had of herself and her own selfhate on them.

While having these men as guest she heard some stories about a beast who lives in the narrow channel Infront of Charybdis, a gruesome and merciless beast who would devour anyone that comes in her lair.

For some reason she felt a strange feeling that... No, it couldn't be, she was probably dead. She made sure that the potion wasn't permanent but even the potion went wrong I'm a bunch of ways...

Some nymphs still say that Circe leaves the island at night, maybe to look for ingredients for new potions and enchantments? Or just to explore the islands that are around them? Or maybe, to visit an old friend?..