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tidcl · 2 days

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Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)

CL — slip up and i call you baby

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3)

fc: faceless

word count: 5.1k

warnings: mild sexual references

a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)

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ynusername italy we are in u!!!

Amalfi Coast, Italy

You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.

There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.

For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.

It’s difficult to put into words.

So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.

Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.

Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.

You should know that by now.

Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.

He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.

It sucks. You hate him, you think.

Or you want to.

On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.

“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”

You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”

Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”

“I do not,” you answer too quickly.

Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.

“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”

Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”

“So.”

He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.

“Hi,” he replies.

He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.

“Are you heading back?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.

Ugh.

“I’ll come with you?”

“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”

You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.

“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.

He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”

You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.

You don’t see him watching you leave.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.

You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.

You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.

You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.

When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.

You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.

You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.

“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.

You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.

“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.

At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”

Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.

It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.

You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.

When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.

“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.

He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.

“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.

Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.

Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”

You nod, “Mmm.”

You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.

“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.

You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.

Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.

Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.

Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”

You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.

“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”

You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

You know he means it. It’s not that.

“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.

He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.

Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”

He’s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.

You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”

You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.

You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”

He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”

You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”

You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.

“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.

He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”

“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”

“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”

“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”

Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”

You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.

Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”

You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”

“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.

You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”

Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.

The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”

“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”

You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”

He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”

You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.

He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”

“Alright,” you say, “Good.”

As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.

For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.

It’s nice. He’s nice.

But you knew that already.

Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.

On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.

You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.

“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”

“You guess?”

He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”

He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.

“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.

He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”

“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.

“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.

You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.

The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.

You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.

Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.

He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”

“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.

You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.

He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”

You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”

“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.

You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”

🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE

taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)

#charles leclerc #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc smau #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x artist!reader #⭐️requests #⭐️asks

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p-taryn-dactyl · 2 days

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i bled for free, your wretched victory (1)

a/n: timeline? who's she, don't know her. i just wanted to get this idea out before i focused on my requests and WIPs lol, hopefully y'all like it! i might be beefing with marvel rn but my brain won't stop giving me ideas. also i apologize for how bad this is but it is something i want to post <3 word count: 1.3k warning(s): blood; injuries; i can't not put reader through hell sorry; really slow paced, sorry i want this to be a slowburn series prompt: when meeting a friend for coffee doesn't go to plan, you realize you've been caught up in a scheme much larger than you could ever have thought

Leaning against the wall, you listened to the footsteps behind you. Blood dripped in between your fingers as you clutched the wound at your side. The pain kept you focused, aware of your surroundings. You were tense as the footsteps passed you, the heavy falls of your attackers boots echoing through the hall. Sliding down the wall, you allowed yourself to breathe. Each breath sent shooting pain through your ribs, making you stifle your gasps with your fist. You couldn’t remember how you got here, how you went from the crowded streets of NYC to the cold sterile halls of this facility. All you remember was waiting for your friend Yelena, who you had met while serving drinks at a Christmas party, in a small cozy cafe. She wasn’t late, you were just early. You didn’t know if she ever showed up as your memory had gone blank. The gap filled with nothing opened in your memory to when you had woken up, surrounded by tubes, plastic and metal.

“She couldn’t have gotten far, keep looking.” A male voice echoed down the hall, sending shivers down your spine and freezing you in your spot. His voice haunted your mind, fear lacing through your thoughts. You couldn’t remember why but this man was dangerous. Waiting until you couldn’t hear any words, footsteps, or even breaths, you stood up again, staggering slightly from the pain. Something told you to follow the path to your right, running was a struggle, every part of you fighting against the action. You left bloody footprints for your captors to follow but you wouldn’t let yourself think about that. A door was in front of you. A door busted wide open, the metal bent and contorted, slash marks surrounding the frame. You could’ve cried with relief. But before you could take a step outside, you felt something graze your thigh then searing pain followed. Some words were called out, a name that brought back the fear. You could feel people surrounding you from behind, slowly advancing like one would a wounded animal.

“Now, let’s not be dramatic-” That voice. He was behind you. A burning smell filled your nostrils as you spun around, screaming and throwing your arms in front of you. The man and his men flew backwards, hitting the walls with sickening cracks. Turning back towards the door, you ran out, ignoring the feeling of rocks and broken branches piercing your feet. You clung to your side, your eyesight blurring at the edges as your blood stained your hand. It felt like centuries had passed before you saw a road, the happiness overlooking the fact that armored cars blocked it off. Panic clawed at your throat. How far did his reach go? How far would you have to run before you could escape this nightmare? You thought about staying where you were, letting your body become one with the woods but something in you pulled you to a part of the forest where you couldn’t see the cars or the militarized camp. You couldn’t see anything special, making you wonder if the blood loss was finally making you go crazy. But then you saw the static. Looking up, your eyes followed the glitches towards the sky.

“Oh, I’m definitely going crazy.” You muttered to yourself, turning away from the wall of static, removing your hand from your side so you could hold your head in both hands, ignoring how you were getting blood on your face and in your hair. You sat on the ground in a slump, shaking your head as you continued to ignore your pain.

“Hey! What are you doing? Get out of the way! Are you okay?” A loud shout caused you to jolt backwards, your back hitting the wall of static. Before you were pulled in, you saw a woman with glasses running toward you and a FBI agent following her, their eyes full of horror.

—

Every part of your body cried out in pain, the feeling of being torn apart and being put back together adding to the disorientation. When it stopped, you found yourself in the middle of a road. Collapsing on your knees, you started to cry, no longer able to ignore the pain. It took a minute to realize the oddness of where you were. There was no color. Everything was black and white, like the reruns of shows you used to watch with your grandparents. But when you looked at your hands, you saw tendrils of color under your skin, weaving between your veins. Orange, pink, purple, glowed until it settled into the monochrome you found yourself in. A sense of danger lingered around you, furthering your tears.

“What the hell is happening to me?” You cried out between sobs, struggling to once more stand. Looking around, it hit you that you had nowhere to go. You had no idea where you were, no idea how long it had been since your last clear memory, you had no idea if you were even in the same state. The air around you was quiet, eerily so. You convinced yourself to start walking, heading towards the first house you saw. It looked old, it’s architecture one that you normally would admire, but now it just added to the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You headed up towards the door, your head pounding, eyes blurry with pain as you felt like your body was finally about to give out. Before you could pass out, you raised your hand to the door and knocked as loud and hard as you could. The door opened surprisingly fast, causing you to stumble backwards a bit. The woman in front of you had a look on her face you couldn’t describe, the only thought in your mind being your pain.

“Please,” you stuttered out, gasps of breath interrupting your words, “please help me, I don’t know what’s-”

Before you could finish what you were saying, your mind gave into the pain. Everything went dark as you collapsed. The last thing you saw before you closed your eyes was a cloud of purple wrapping around you.

—

Agatha felt the disturbance in the air before she heard the knocks on her door. She made her way up from her lair in the basement, her magic curling around her hands. It couldn’t be Wanda, she told herself, this felt like something else. Her magic sang as it felt power but quickly the excitement died down as she realized this wasn’t a magical power. This was something else, something she didn’t know. The loud knocking at her door shook her out of her confusion, but adding more to it. Surely Wanda couldn’t be making a storyline in her sleep, she couldn’t be that aware just yet. Agatha opened the door quickly, her eyes widening as she took in the image in front of her. A young woman stood barely holding herself together, blood staining her skin and matting her hair. She begged Agatha before falling to the ground, Agatha’s magic just barely catching her. Agatha brought the girl into the house, snapping her fingers bringing the two of them to the basement. Wanda wouldn’t be able to sense the disturbance here. Agatha watched as color came back to the girl's skin, gasping as tendrils of orange and pink mixed with her magic, working together to mend the injuries that riddled her skin. She knelt on the ground, pulling the young woman closer to her, watching as the wounds closed and healed. Agatha brushed her hand on the girl's face, magicking away the blood and tear tracks. A low humming noise filled the air, causing the witch to startle as she watched the runes protecting her basement thrum. They could sense the power but couldn’t contain it. Agatha’s eyes returned to the girl in her lap, running her hands through the tangled hair, an attempt to calm whatever storm she had brought into her home.

“Who, or what, are you?” Agatha whispered, her mind racing for any explanation the Darkhold could give her. The book would’ve laughed in her face if it could, answerless as Agatha realized Westview was in more danger than she thought.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #wanda maximoff #wandavision #wandavision fanfic #wanda maximoff x reader

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nanamiwetrust · 3 days

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The Night Out Aftermath

Characters: Suguru Geto, Choso Kamo & Nanami Kento

Story: Your best friend is getting married. And you celebrated maybe a little too much

Warnings: Maybe a liiitle bit sad in the end in Suguru´s part.

Notes: Reupload. Merged post.

Suguru Geto

When you open the door to your apartment you are greeted with nothing but darkness. Everything is spinning, the floor under your feet is anything but stable. Using the walls as your guide you finally got into your bedroom. A deep sigh left your body when you sat down on the bed. Trying to get hold of yourself you concentrated on the view from your bedroom balcony. Head still throbbing from the loud music of the club. But after a moment you know it got better when you realize you can hear the deep breathing of your man laying in the middle of the bed hugging your pillow. You stand up as quietly as possible to get out of the dress you were wearing realizing that it would not be that easy. He was the one that helped you to zip you up, how are you supposed to do it by yourself?

"I can make it." You whisper, giving yourself a chance of a comfortable sleep without a bodycon dress as your sleepwear.

You reach with one hand, then with the other hand, even with both hands. Unsuccessfully. Within a second you've lost your balance and stumbled into your dresser, painfully hitting your back. The impact and pain left you weak and with a loud thumb, you fell on your knees.

"What the hell??!" A dark broad figure jumped out of the bed pulling you up. "Are you ok princess?!"

"I can not get out of this freaking dress." You whine. "And maybe I am a little bit drunk."

"A little?" Suguru grind.

Without saying anything else, he lays you on the bed and rolls you like a piece of meat so he can get to the zipper of your tight dress. After unzipping them he pulls them down from you in one swift move leaving you dressed only in your panties.

"Why did you not call me to pick you up when you are in this state?" Suguru grunts.

"I did nothing wrong baby! Do not be mad at me!" You turned to him.

"I am not mad at you!" He brushed his hair with his fingers as he sighed deeply. "Actually... I am. Do you realize what kind of people are out there? How easily that could have hurt you when you are like this?"

Suguru was always really charismatic, almost intimidating. It was never a concern of yours, because he handles you with such care no matter what you do. But tonight he felt… scary. You have never seen him mad at you. Maybe it was alcohol in your veins, tears filled your eyes and you could not stop it.

"Babyyy, I will not drink again, I swear. Just do not be mad." Your voice shaky as you reached for him.

"Do not be ridiculous." Suguru pushes your hand away so he can push you further on the bed, spreading your legs as he sits down between them, leaning over you. "Have as much fun as you want." Suguru whispers cupping your face with his big palms. "But never give anyone a chance to hurt you." He kisses you slowly on your lips repeatedly. "You have no idea how much evil is out there and I do not know how I would be able to stay here if something would happen to you. Do you understand that?" Suguru gets quiet just to shower you with another dose of soft kisses. "I would wipe out this whole continent if someone would hurt you. Just to go looking for you in the afterlife after that."

"Suguru… Is everything…" You mumble your words.

"Yes." He interrupts you. "But next time, I am here for you. Understand? No matter the time or distance. Is that clear?"

"Yes!" You can not help yourself, but start another wave of tears. His sudden burst of such raw emotions left you weak.

Still holding your face, Geto wipes your eyes with both thumbs. Then he slips his arms under your back pulling you up to him and positioning you on your side of the bed. He lays down next to you, wrapping his hand around you with a face buried in your neck.

"Suguru… Baby… Are you ok?" You whisper into the darkness.

"If you need anything, just tell me, princess. Even if I would be asleep, ok?"

"Ok." You whisper confused.

"I love you." Geto mumbles.

"I love you too." You sigh, making a mental note to yourself to talk to him tomorrow before sleep drags you into its embrace.

Nanami Kento

After your long struggle to get your key into the lock, the door to your apartment suddenly opened.

“Need a hand?” Nanami smiles dressed only in his favorite pajama pants.

“I don't know why you changed the lock.” You whine while whispering for no reason.

“I didn't sweetheart.” He smiles, his eyes a little tired. “Why would I do that?”

You slowly come in, messily trying to get rid of your high heels. Your feet are beating with pain. Nanami helped you and took your shoes and coat from you, neatly putting them away where they belonged.

“I danced the whole night.” You lean your head on his shoulder when he is done.

“I can imagine. I have never seen anyone dance like you.” He pecks the top of your head with kisses. “I can watch you all night, my dear.”

You smile satisfied with his answer, eyes closed, body exhausted.

Nanami lifts you into his embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek sloppily at least a dozen times, making his face shine with a bright smile.

He slowly undresses you and places you into the bathtub. Carefully filling it up with water while adjusting it to the right temperature.

“I do not want to.” You protest.

“I know that you are tired, my dear, but you will feel much better in the morning, trust me.”

He sits down next to the bathtub, carefully washing you after he brushes your hair and puts it up in the hair clip. Nanami doesn't want it to take too long so hair wash can wait for tomorrow. His priority is to get u into bed as soon as possible. You lean on your back, he was right. It feels nice.

“I didn't want to wake you up.” You whisper on the edge of the sleep.

“You didn't. Do not worry. I was reading, waiting for you to come home. To me. So I can sleep well, knowing you are safe.”

Nanami takes you to the bed and kisses you for a good night's sleep. You are exhausted but his lips on yours make your body wake instantly. Goodnight kisses are changed into a needy dance of tongues. His hands tracing the curves of your body, cupping your breasts…

"Fuck." He grunts a little as he lays back on his side of the bed frustrated.

“What's wrong baby?” You moan.

“I shouldn't. You have had too many drinks. This is not right.”

“Kento.” You almost laugh. “I know what we are doing. I know who you are. It's ok.”

“Sweetheart.” He sighs deeply. “I hope you won't be upset, but I would rather wait until you are fully sober.”

“Kento.” You whine again, feeling needy. “I want my husband to…”

“I will. I will make it up to you a hundred times.” He pulls you onto his chest, kissing the top of your head as he brushes away stray hair from your face.

“Fine.” You grunt as a little child not getting what you wanted.

Not surprisingly, you fall asleep almost immediately without any warning.

But Nanami stays awake. How he is supposed to sleep with an aching throbbing cock thinking about your naked body in the bathtub, almost jealous at water hugging every single inch of your perfect body. Big tired eyes looking at him as he washed you, touched your soft skin. He imagined how he could massage lotion into it, taking care of you, his most prized possession. He tries to not be clingy and needy, but sometimes he feels almost crazy when he can't hold you, his perfect angel. Your hair, your face, your body, your love for him, his love for you...

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he grunts to himself.

How is he supposed to fall asleep when all he wants to do is to fuck you, worship you? Show you how much he needs you. Being a good guy is sometimes such a pain in the ass.

Choso Kamo

You are not sure if it's just a hallucination or is there really your boyfriend sitting on the floor leaning on your apartment door.

You slowly come to the big figure and sit next to him.

“Babe!” The man almost jumps out filled with excitement.

“It is you!” You smile at him back. “ Why are you sitting here?”

“I can ask you the same question.” He frowns, eyes narrowed.

“I do not have energy for this.” You kiss him and start going through your purse in a pathetic attempt to find your keys.

“Let me!” Choso grabs your purse so suddenly, accidentally spilling all your stuff in the middle of the hallway.

“How many things can fit in there?” Choso laughs.

“Pssssss! Baby, you are too loud.” You frown as you grab your keys from the floor while he collects your scattered belongings. “How is it possible to be the responsible one with so much alcohol in my bloodstream?”

“You said something?” He asks when you finally get in.

“No.” You smile a little bit annoyed.

“Someone is grumpy.” Choso picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. “And needs to be cured!”

“Nooo! Baby, no cure for meee!” You try to fight him off as he spins with you. “I am gonna be sick!”

“Alexa!” Choso shouts. “Play Cure for Me!”

Your apartment is instantly filled with the melody of the song. No matter how hard you fought, Choso did not let you go. Attacking you with kisses all over your face, neck, and chest while jumping and dancing around your whole apartment. After a few seconds, you give up and wrap your hands around his neck while singing along to the song. The fear of waking up your neighbors was big, but the joy of the moment was bigger.

Until Choso stumbled on the corner of the carpet, falling to the ground through your glass living room table.

The second he stumbled, his protective instincts immediately kicked in, wrapping you tightly into his embrace and somehow turning so he ended up on the impact side, falling on his back.

“OH GOD!” You whimper.

“Are you ok babe?!” Choso jumps up still holding you.

You would swear he was walking on the glass without a flinch.

“Yes. Just put me…” You point at the sofa on the other side of the room.

Choso sits down next to you. As he tries to lean back, he hisses.

“What's wrong?” You ask even though you know the answer even before he says anything.

“I think I have glass stuck in my back.” He smiles through the pain to not make you worried. Unsuccessfully.

“Let me have a look.”

You help him undress as carefully as possible, preparing yourself for carnage and another night spent in the emergency room. You try to push away the thought of being there more frequently than in any bar or coffee shop since you met him, just not to chuckle in such a serious moment.

After further examination, you pull back down his shirt. “All clear!”

“Are you sure? You are drunk and maybe you have missed something. It hurts.” Choso almost whined.

“I am, but in comparison to you, I feel like the sober one.” You frown.

“You have already said that.” He mutters.

“You have heard me for the first time and still you asked me what I said? Why?”

“I do not know.” He turns to you with a smile filled with innocence. “Can you check again? Pretty please?”

“Sure.” You sigh. “But tell me one thing. Why were you waiting outside when you have keys to my apartment?”

“I wanted to be sure that you would find your doors. You know, when you people get too drunk it can get pretty difficult to find…”

“Choso! I would never get that wasted!” You almost burst into laughter. “But I have to admit that it is very sweet of you. My baby.” You lean to him and hug him as tightly as possible.

“Ouch!!!” Choso protests.

“Sorry! Sorry!” You pull away immediately.

You have spent a good amount of time checking his back for pieces of glass until you could not anymore. As you lay back on the sofa to rest for a few minutes, Choso turned to you, making himself comfortable while resting his head on your stomach with hands wrapped around your waist until you both fell asleep.

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seeker-of-stories19 · 1 day

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One I thing I have personally really appreciated about Bridgerton is seeing Violet interacting with her children in different ways and being portrayed differently in each season. I don’t mean for this to be a super negative post about her just that I think people tend to ignore the real disparities in how parents treat different children and usually when it is brought up it’s minimized to ‘having a favorite.’

But there’s so much depth in Bridgertons portrayal of Violets relationships with her individual children and how much they are affected deeply by society, trauma, her personal feelings etc. Parents are genuinely influenced by these things and it is unfortunately projected differently onto different kids, whether that is because of outside forces or clashing personalities or something else entirely it’s often glossed over or handled poorly in media.

Coming from a loving family doesn’t necessarily say much about what someone went through growing up and often love is only a small part of the equation. Despite Violet loving all her children they have had very different lives and experiences related to her parenting and you can clearly see that with each one of them.

First you have Daphne who is generally taken with the whole idea of being a debutante and the idea of romance which is very relatable to Violets character and their relationship (from what I remember) paints a generally idyllic picture of the family.

Then you have Anthony who is at the other end of the spectrum entirely, he has gone through extreme trauma and been neglected, abandoned, and parentified to an intense degree. We see him struggle with poor self esteem, anxiety, and imposter syndrome as he tries to step up during the worst time of his life. He has to bear the weight of Violets grief as well as his own and raise his siblings and handle the estate meaning that he has had an incredibly different parental relationship with her.

Benedict and Colin both seem to receive some light chastisement and a bit of meddling from Violet about their choices and finding a match but are generally not bothered by it and both seem to be relatively content in their relationships with her which again is very different to what some of the siblings experience.

Eloise also struggles with her relationship with Violet, albeit in a very different way to Anthony and for very different reasons, but it’s coming from a place of not wanting to disappoint Violet while also not wanting to be someone she’s not. I think Violet generally handles this as well as she’s able within the confines of the time period and despite hurting Eloise she seems to be coming from a place of trying to help her find her place within a framework that already exists but still in a way that’s authentic.

Francesca also seems to have a primarily positive relationship with Violet but there is some pain surrounding their differences and how Violet and her siblings fail to understand her or meet her where she is at, leaving her as the outlier of her family and struggling with loneliness because of it.

I don’t think I’ve seen enough with Gregory and Hyacinth to see get a very good idea of those relationships but they seem happy and content, they also haven’t really gone through the trauma of losing a parent the way their siblings have which was a very pivotal moment for the rest of the family. Whereas Violet and Anthony are the only parents they ever really know.

The point of all of this is just that I think this is so important to the storylines and really lends the Bridgerton family a lot of depth that makes them much more realistic together and individually compared to how families usually work. The siblings are different people who all have very different relationships with their mother and are treated in observably different ways, for better or for worse, and from my personal experience this is much more realistic than the average dynamics portrayed on TV.

#bridgerton #bridgerton meta #violet bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #parenting #parentification #relationship exploration #mother child relationships

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queerly-done · 1 day

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So my opinions on all the Dead Boy Detective/DBDA Characters

All of these are opinions as someone who has watched the show a few times now and also the Doom Patrol episode and I’ll give my opinions on the Doom Patrol versions at the end.

Spoilers for Dead Boy Detectives Show. And Doom Patrol season 3 ep. 3 and that episode alone

Charles Rowland

- Charles is such a sweetheart I love him. He’s always looking out for his friends and literally went to hell for Edwin, and kicked the Night Nurse for him. I just love him so much.

- I felt so bad for him in episode one when he says his dad, “wasn’t the nicest guy,” and in episode three when we see him break being forced to see a father k!ll his family over. I was actually crying with him saying he doesn’t “want to be a bad guy”! It broke me so badly, the abuse he went through and the fear he’ll become like his abusers is a very real thing and to see a character go through that makes the story feel more real, and makes me more sad. He could use some therapy.

- Him being the “brawn” of the team is pretty funny to me but thats most because if you watch the cast interactions you’ll see what I mean.

- All in all, I love him. He is loving, protective, loyal and has golden retriever with attachment issues energy mixed with scary dog privilege but the dog isn’t scary unless provoked.

Edwin Paine/Payne

- Adorable, get him some therapy please! He needs it! Man was so repressed for the first part of this show I thought I’d die before he confessed. But I don’t blame him honestly, his death was traumatic and being called a “Mary Ann” whilst being sacrificed likely would put a bad taste in your mouth about the idea of you being queer in any way shape or form. I am so proud of him good job!

- Honestly he just makes me so happy, and I love how he interacts with everyone and grows!

Crystal Palace

- I love her she is so bad ass and I hope wish the best for her

- She needs better taste in men, my suggestion date women

- I want to see a little more of her Nepo baby side of her past cause clearly that was a thing

Niko Sasaki

- Sweetie! I miss her! She was the only other person other than Charles to get Edwin out of his shell and it hurts me so much to see her be gone. Her death will forever haunt me.

Cat King

- I love him so much, he is my favourite kind of not evil but not good guy the kind that plays a game with people by flirting! Ahhh I love him! I don’t love that he falls for Edwin(I’ll make a separate post on this issue)

- Anywho I still love him he gives off chaotic gender neutral vibes and the song Sex With a Ghost was made for him, I just love him!

Monty the Crow

- Monty I love you but don’t kiss people without consent!

- Honestly he was very important, and sweet he didn’t deserve all the pain he’s been through, may better things come his way.

Jenny the Butcher

- Badass. I love everything about her. Her style, the way she gives advice, yes I just love her so much. I want to see more of her.

- Her episode made me so sad for her ;-;

Esther Finch

- Honestly I love her as a villain she was so evil, and a genuine threat. She is also so hot and scary I just love her.

David the Demon

- A creep I didn’t like him, I don’t know what else you want?

Doom Patrol versions!

Charles Rowland

- He was so funny in this, I loved him. I love how the show conveyed a mutual interest from him to Edwin they are both just too dense to say anything about it. I also love that it seems the only thing he knows about America is that they like baseball.

- They did have to go off and hurt me with the fear of water scene, but he was so sweet protecting Edwin from the Night Nurse(who in this is just 10 times scarier)

Edwin Paine

- Him not getting anything about modern times and brushing off his feelings for Edwin was so well done! I love how he tells Larry he “isn’t like him” saying he isn’t queer and that if he were that would be bad, he says this all in a very rude and brash tone and then proceeds to comfort Charles in the nicest to he is capable of.

- Beautiful 10/10

Crystal Palace

- Boss ass Bitch, girl boss. 8/10 I love her but no real opinions yet that is I may go back one day and edit this for her

I hope you liked this dumb post :3

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alice-after-dark · 19 hours

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One Day I'll Do a Proper Ship Meme But for Now Here Have My Vox Agenda

Thoughts/headcanons/rambles under cut

TW for abusive StaticMoth and Vox having been a bitch to Sir Pentious.

Alastor/Vox - Do I really need to explain this one? Are you new here? I'll just direct you to search "radiostatic" on my blog. I̸͎̝͛́ ̷͙̲̊̄͐l̴̮̲̭̍͌͆ȏ̶̜v̵̞́̑͒̆e̷̡̡͉̰̍̽́ ̷̇͝ͅt̶̡̛̬̖͓̆h̴̠͎̞͕̑e̵͕̼̜̘͆̈́̃̔m̷̤̜̒

Valentino/Vox - Again, unless you're new here, you'll pretty much know my thoughts on them. Check out my "staticmoth" tag and you'll understand.

Charlie - I see so many parallels between these two and I desperately want them to officially interact in season 2. They're on completely opposite ends of the spectrum and aaaahhhhh I just want to see Vox's cynicism clashing with Charlie's idealism and it could be so good you guys. So good. I do also really like the idea of Charlie being the catalyst to Vox realizing just how much he's changed since arriving in Hell (like he used to enjoy the TV scene for the pure creativity of it and now that's all been replaced by the cold corporate greed).

Vaggie - Honestly, I just think it would be interesting. Also I really hope Vaggie doesn't have a carbon-copy reaction to him like she did Alastor. As I mentioned in a previous post, while yes, she might be cautious, she has less of a reason to be so hostile towards him. Plus their mutual dislike of Alastor would be a bonding moment, but also presents an opportunity for Vaggie to find out more about Alastor (albeit from a biased party).

Angel - I've brought up inklings of these two before, but I think them having a very complicated relationship due to their mutual connection and experiences with Valentino would be interesting, especially in regards to how they both handle it in similar yet different ways. They both bury their pain, Angel by leaning into the sexuality, drugs, and alcohol to forget how much he hates it and Vox by refusing to even acknowledge that he's in pain at all. And Vox's refusal to acknowledge it also makes him complicit in Angel's pain as well. He could do something, could try to stop it, but he doesn't to protect himself. I think seeing the two of them try to heal side by side, both from their issues with Valentino and the issues between each other, would be fascinating.

Husk - Knew each other from back when Vox and Alastor were still friends. Husk calls him "kid" (Vox was in his 30s when he died in the 1950s while Husk was in his 60s when he died in the 1970s) which annoys Vox as he doesn't think he's that much younger than Husk to warrant being called a kid. Vox knew him as an Overlord and was very shocked and kind of sad when he found out about Husk losing his soul to Alastor some time after their falling out (just one more thing to embitter him towards the Radio Demon).

Niffty - Anyone who has been on my blog when I started posting about Hazbin Hotel knows it started with these two. I think a dynamic between them would be fun and interesting to explore. Like Husk, she knew him from back when he was friends with Alastor. I like to think that Vox was literally there when Alastor brought her home with him ("What is that?" / "I'm calling her Niffty! Isn't she precious?" / "She is actively biting your arm." / "What a darling little thing!"). He was a little weirded out by her at first, but has since grown to care for her as much as Alastor does. Despite her size and lack of power, Vox fully trusts in her ability to take care of herself...he's seen things that can't be unseen.

Rosie - Vox definitely respects her for her ability to keep such tight control of a horde of bloodthirsty cannibals and actually turn them into a polite society. Despite not being very physically strong, her charisma and drive keep her on top and well respected. I like the idea that he met her through Alastor when they were still friends and though he hasn't really engaged with her too much since the fallout, he does still hold respect for her and frankly won't tolerate anyone disrespecting her. She is the only one outside of the Vees who knows about Vox practicing using his electrokinesis to heal.

Mimzy - They're not exactly friends, but she will not hesitate to approach him if she sees him. It's Mimzy so she absolutely expects special treatment. She's way more up front with him about wanting something than she is with Alastor simply because she knows Vox operates differently than the deer demon. If she wants something, she's gotta be prepared to pay up in some capacity, but Vox is usually willing to be flexible in terms of payment because she has her uses.

Sir Pentious - Okay, so I know this one is a bit awkward cause it would involve Vox actually apologizing to Sir Pentious for the cruel things he said and telling him to unalive himself, but I really think they'd be interesting. They're both innovators and creators and the two of them combining their skills would be both awesome and terrifying. I do think that Sir Pentious, while he does think all the Vees are incredible, idolizes Vox specifically for these exact reasons.

Velvette - They're both bitches, but they love the other for it. Can snark at each other for hours. They're the two who get shit done, even if Velvette can sometimes take her bitchsona a bit too far and Vox has to reign her in. Politics aren't her strong suit, but he can always count on her to take care of the business side of things.

Zestial - Based on my recent post about them, I like the idea that Vox has a respect for Zestial that he doesn't give to most other Overlords (Rosie being the other exception). Sure, he'll play nice and professional with them, but he doesn't truly respect them like he does Zestial and Rosie. I honestly see them having a mutual respect for each other (though Zestial wouldn't say he approves of Vox's choice in colleagues) and we do see in that Zestial can be a little sassy so I 100% believe if Vox had been present during the Overlord meeting in episode 3, Zestial literally would have ignored Velvette entirely to speak to Vox about the angel's death instead (and we all know how much Velvette would have just loved that).

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