#but that doesn't always come across to YOU

[missglaskin]

“You’re such a perv!” 

Aka DC Superheroes as pervs; Dick, Jason, Tim, Roy, Wally

Please don't put a community label on this (it will only shadow ban it)

Surely your friend and confidant is not some peeping tom right?!

Warnings; SMUT, female reader, vigilante!reader, Perv shenanigans, panty stealing, masturbation, dirty thoughts, corruption kink, invasion of privacy

Dick Grayson has always been your closest friend; he's the leader, the guy that everyone either wants to be like or wants him for themselves. But the boy wonder had his eyes on you, his oblivious friend. He has always been there, aiding you in missions; always saving the day, or praising you for a job well done. So how could you ever possibly know of his intense desire just for you. Dick knows his actions are downright disgusting, that small voice inside his head filling him with guilt, but his desire is just stronger. 

Missions with you are the worst. Watching you be so confident and just kick ass has him feeling all sorts of ways. Trying to turn away from your line of sight so you won't see his hard-on, his cock rubbing uncomfortably against his suit. Dick will use any excuse to get away, jerking off on the side of a rooftop, a hand against a wall and another stroking his cock, while he imagines it was your hand instead, and that alone pushes him over the edge. 

He'll find a way to make you want him too, Dick knows you're not immune to his charms. Will it be too obvious that when he goes for a hug, it's a little too tight. Is it when he places a hand on your waist pretending to keep you in place, daring his fingers to go further down. Will you push away the hands that place themselves on your thighs to pretend he's comforting you. You won't. Just as you refuse to shove away the fingers that inch closer and closer between your legs. Is it really so bad if you want him too.

--------------

Jason Todd knows he's a sick fuck. What kind of friend is he to even think of such things. But they are just thoughts, right? As long as he doesn't do anything creepy that is. Surely anyone dreams of fucking their best friend-that is, imagining your lips wrapped around his dick while he fists your hair, forcing you to take all of him. The guilt returns when your voice reaches him, asking him if he heard you, interrupting his brief moment of fantasy. He's relieved that the mask doesn't allow you to see how intensely he's staring at you.

It becomes a line he knows he crossed. When Jason found himself staring at your apartment window - he didn't intend to, he was just patrolling and happened to come across your apartment. Knowing you were safe and well should have been his reason to leave, until you started undressing. Seeing your tits exposed made the blood rush to his cock and when you bent slightly to remove your panties, Jason was sure he could have come right on the spot. 

You went to take a shower as Jason entered your apartment. Surely you must know to keep your window locked. Finding himself creeping toward the bathroom as if you were beckoning him in, instead, he stopped and stood over the disregarded clothes; reaching for the panties. Jason would have beaten anyone to a bloody pulp if they had done that, but it was his own reflection staring at him. He is a sick fuck, he thinks as his finger brushes over the damp spot and how he shoves it into his pockets. He's not sure if he should return your panties later, given that he eagerly rubbed his cock with it, leaving it cum stained.

-----------

Tim Drake is a wolf in sheep's clothing; he is the one person you never suspect of thinking such perverted thoughts. Tim is aware he can never justify the things he's doing. He just tells himself that he merely lacks the courage to approach you, not that it's a good reason, but it's enough for him to maintain that tiny sliver of morality. There are moments when he wishes he could just concentrate on his patrolling to keep you off his mind, but you are always there, at the back of his mind. 

Tim realizes he just can't get off without thinking about you. Tim tries watching some porn, but he keeps imagining your face instead of the actress, and he hates how it helped him reach his orgasm. Or in the mornings, when his boner is becoming too much of an issue and he's in the shower trying to rid of it. His thoughts wander to picturing you in front of him, bare and wet, with your back against the glass walls and you moaning his name. 

If there was ever a time that Tim was made known that he was really sick was that day. Him laying in bed stroking his cock and seeing the phone ringing in the corner. It's you. He ought to have just let it ring or decline, but Tim didn't know what possessed him to answer the call. Your voice is heard as he bites his lip to not let his whimpers be heard, tasting copper on his tongue. Tim moves the phone further away when he reaches his high, cum covering his hands and stomach as he continues the conversation, hoping you don't hear his ragged breath.

-----------

Roy Harper was the one person you could always confide in. He had a way of cheering you up, your tears dried as your laugh echoed throughout the room. How you consider him to be your closest friend and best partner in crime as you speak to him, while Roy thinks of how the low cut of your shirt gives him a good view of your tits from an angle. When you call his name to get his attention, Roy gives you that smile of his as he uses an excuse to use the restroom. 

Roy loves taking pictures of you. You knew Roy had them, just never imagined he would have them in his sights while he jerked off. Pictures of you with a skirt had Roy fantasize about wearing em while he's railing you from behind. Your face pressed against the pillow while you bubble nonsense, too drunk on his cock. Pictures of you looking up, had him fantasizing of you staring at him with those eyes of yours as you use your mouth, bobbing up and down on his dick.

Unaware too Roy had 'private' photos, all thanks to a few hacking tricks. Roy was occasionally tempted to send you a nude photo of himself, see how you react, and cover it up by saying it was a 'mistake'. Would you perhaps return one or get jealous wondering who it was intended for. Roy gets up, cleaning himself as he’s planning to you meet you later that day. He eyes the slightly crooked tile above his ceiling, storing all the belongings he's taken from his visits to your place. Roy thinks when the two of you are official, he should hide it in a better place.

—-----------

Wally West had plenty of opportunities to hint at his feelings toward you. He liked making flirtatious comments, complaining when he wasn't paired with you during missions, and placing an arm over your shoulders. But you just assume it's Wally's typical self, not noticing his hurt look when you claimed to be "just friends". Then again you never noticed his hurried departure and quick return, where he avoided making eye contact at all costs.

Wally feels the guilt the most. He could have just confessed to you like a normal person. Guilt consumes him when he sees your gullible smile, unaware of the horrible things he did behind your back. It's not his fault really; he was invited to your place and was simply looking around until he found a certain drawer. Wally reassures himself it's not that bad if he only takes one. But it gets to a point where you're complaining to Wally about how your clothes disappear (not telling him which kind).

A point comes where Wally reaches his breaking point. The sneaky pictures, lying on your bed when you weren't around, face in the pillows to inhale your scent could do so little. As he stares at you speaking, Wally makes a move expecting to be rejected, but you kiss him back. He was in heaven, the dreams he had in every waking point coming true. He was where he wanted you to be, on top with you full of his cock, your eyes nearly blacked out as he slams his hips repeatedly into yours. Can you blame him for moving too fast when he has been holding back for so long. 

#dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #wally west x reader #roy harper x reader #dc comics x reader #yandere dc comics #yandere dc #dc x reader #dc smut #dc comics smut #smut #yandere smut #yandere x reader

[laneywrld]

things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton

part one

word count: 9.2k

warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.

There's no way for a friends-with-benefits agreement to fail when both parties understand the rules.

"Do you ever get tired?" 

Lewis turns his head to look at her inquisitively.

"What do you mean by that, Clem?" He chuckles.

Clem turns over onto her side, propping her head up in one hand.

"Do you think about having a life of your own without racing but with a family, a wife, and kids? Do you ever want to go home and stay home?"

Lewis stares Clementine in her dark eyes before he turns and looks back up at the blank ceiling.

"I don't know." He whispered into the air. "I don't have much time to think about things like that, serious relationships and such." He winces as he says the words.

"You're not hurting me, Lew, I know what this arrangement is. I was just curious." Clem chuckled, plopping back onto her back. She pulls the covers up to conceal her bare chest.

They lie in silence again, and Lewis is left to think about what she'd just asked him.

He spent a lot of his time in a serious relationship, and immediately after that ended, he was in his single bachelor phase; somehow, as the years went on, it never ended. That's how he's gotten Clementine in his bed.

Of all the girls he chose to spend his time with, Clementine was easily his favorite. She wasn't artificial or an ass-kisser to him; she was simply herself. And Lewis wasn't used to coming across women like that, given his status and all.

Clementine was actually the complete opposite of every other girl in his rotation. She was younger than him, yes, but she was also smart and had dreams she wanted to achieve on her own. He liked to joke that everything about her screamed old lady. Clementine liked that. 

What's cooler than an old lady? 

"I'm going to take that as a compliment. I can't wait to get old; there's beauty in knowing you've lived; I know I'm going to spend my life fulfilling my potential. It'd be cool to be an eccentric old lady, just happy and peaceful. Content with life."

It was entirely by chance that he ran into her at all that night two years ago. He had been taking a late-night walk in the streets of New York when he first saw her. 

Initially, her style caught his attention, but the closer he got to her, the more noticeable was her smile and then her voice. God, she had the voice of an angel. She had that classic American drawl, so sultry and sweet like she was straight out of the fifties but with a twist. 

Then he realizes that he's seen her before, and he stops in his tracks, trying to pinpoint where exactly he'd recognized her gorgeous face from.

"Do I know you?" Lewis questions confidently.

Clem halts, her lips puckering in as she squints at the unfamiliar man. "Sorry, Sir. I don't think so."

She surely doesn't recognize him.

And then it clicks, he snaps. "My photographer, Timothy McGurr!"

"Oh wow," she smiles. "I love Timmy. You said he's your photographer?" 

"Yes, for the last four years."

"Wow, four years." She marvels, "You model?"

"No." He laughs, shaking his head, "I race cars."

"Nascar?" She wonders, tilting her head to the side.

"Formula One." He corrects, and she hums, impressed.

"I've heard serious things about you guys over there. Anyhow, it was nice meeting you," she trails off, allowing him to introduce himself.

"Lewis." He sticks his hand out, "Lewis Hamilton."

As she shakes his hand, her phone lights up with a notification just as a black SUV pulls in. "That's me. It was a pleasure meeting you Mr, Hamilton." She smiles kindly, and then she slips into the vehicle and rides off into the night. 

Lewis stands there for a second. He doesn't know why, but he feels drawn to her for some reason.

The very next morning, he called his photographer for her details. Lewis has always been rather bold, so he isn't nervous when he dials her number. "Hi, Clementine?"

And the rest was history.

Lewis has learned one specific thing about Clem since their rendezvous began. She was an intense person. She liked to talk about any and everything. Lewis didn't mind it, though. It was nice to unpack with someone he knew wouldn't judge him.

She had a way of making anything she asked feel deep. Lewis was both enamored and intimidated by that.

Just as she was intuitive, she was equally as open. Lewis knew he could always bounce the question back to her, and she'd give him the most well-thought-out and theoretical answer. 

He loved listening to her talk just as much as he loved fucking her. 

"Do you ever get tired?" He ricochets.

"All of the time, and it's sad because I'm still so young, but I often wonder if any of this is even worth it. Is slaving away so hard going to be worth it in the future if I've spent my glory days basking in trying to find glory."

"I have faith in you, Clem. You're already lightyears ahead of the rest of us with that mind of yours."

She chuckles, and they bask in the comfortable silence for a while longer, both looking up at the ceiling of his New York penthouse like they're staring out into the galaxy.

"Do you feel like you have enough glory?"

"No," he answers honestly, "I won't be content until I reclaim my eighth." 

From the corner of his eye, he sees her head lull to the side and stare at him. Lewis doesn't get uncomfortable when Clem stares at him like he does when most people do. The idea of her reading into him is flattering more than unsettling.

"If you weren't a driver, what would you want to be?"

"A designer of all sorts, really. Music, fashion, you name it." He lists off, and she lets out an mhhm sound. 

"I can actually see that. You have a very creative mind." She praises.

"What about you? What would Clementine Russell be doing right now if she wasn't an actress?"

She chuckles, "Well, for starters, I wouldn't be naked in your bed. I'd probably be somewhere in the middle of nowhere, like Montana." She gasps, "Yeah, Montana! And I'd have a farm full of animals that I'd never eat, and I'd go out and sit and paint or write more stories that no one would ever see. If I could go back in time, I'd just write my stories, not play in them. I would hike the same mountain every day and watch the sunset. Yeah, I'd sit and watch the sunset every day and admire how beautiful everything becomes. "

For some reason, that statement holds a more significant sentiment than she intended.

"You sure do have a way with words."

"I try." 

Silence falls over that pair again until she breaks it.

"Do you think I'm annoying?"

"No, never." Lewis reveals, "I actually like having you here to talk to; why do you ask?"

"Sometimes I feel like I talk too much and ask too many questions."

"I think you make people feel seen when you ask questions the way you do." He hums. "Do people ask you questions?"

"No, not really." 

"Do you wish people asked you questions, Clem?"

"Yes."

That's when Lewis realizes that all that glimmers isn't gold. Clementine Walker had the life of a star. She could do anything she wanted at any given time. Yet she wasn't content with her life. She was actually rather lonely. 

"I write scripts for myself to act out when I want to talk about something." She chuckles dryly. "That's pathetic."

And suddenly, Lewis feels terrible for not asking the woman more questions. He feels like a shit person for receiving her and giving her nothing in return. Clementine was better than therapy for him; who gave therapy to her?

"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk? I consider you to be a friend Clem. I like listening to you. I like hearing about you, too."

"Okay."

"We can start now?"

"You first." She has a giddy smile on her face as she turns over to face him.

"Why do you think you feel everything so deeply?"

She hums, her eyes casting downward as she allows the question to ruminate. 

"I expect everything to be meaningful. I have a hard time seeing anything objectively. Everything has to mean something to me, and if it doesn't, what's the point? If it has no purpose, how am I supposed to accept it? I feel so deeply because every word, action, and situation has to mean something; there has to be a reason behind it. I've never had someone tell me that things weren't that deep; I wasn't taught to brush things off; I was taught to feel and to try to understand everything and everyone."

"I think that's beautiful. You're such a gracious being, you know that?"

She whispers a quiet thanks as she thinks over what to ask him.

"What's one thing you lost as a kid that you wish you could get back?"

"I had a remote-controlled big Homer car when I was a kid, and I used to drive it in the park every day. I got distracted one day and left without it; when I came back the next day, it was gone."

"Who gave it to you?" Clem inquires, and when Lewis turns onto his side to face her, she looks so intrigued by what he has to say. He doesn't think anyone has ever cared so much for what he has to say if it wasn't involving his career.

"My dad, for my sixth birthday. We were poor, so it meant a lot to me; I really cherished it. Felt like I took it for granted, I loved that car so much, but I left it. How could I forget something that important to me?"

Naturally, Lewis opens up to Clementine.

"You can love something and still lose it, which illustrates how much you adore it in the end. You never really know how much you appreciate something until you no longer have it." Clem enlightens.

Lewis wonders how her brain can process such complex thoughts in mere seconds.

"What have you lost?"

"A letter from my dad." Clem hums. "When he was in prison before things got bad with my mom and he stopped reaching out, I was turning eight, and he sent this beautiful card. It was Clementine orange, and when you opened it, a three-dimensional cake popped out with like a million yellow candles. I remember it saying these candles don't compare to the light you brought to the world on this day many years ago." Clem chuckles as she describes the elaborate birthday card. She picks at Lewis' sheets as she speaks.

He sees her lips pressed together, and she turns to face the ceiling again. She doesn't seem like she intends to keep talking.

"I'm listening, y'know. I'd love to hear more." Under the covers, his hand travels down until it catches hold of Clems. 

"I-um, He wrote his message in like really elegant cursive, and I was a kid at the time, so I had my grandpa read it to me over and over, like every day, until I had fully memorized it. I had never seen my dad in person. I had never heard his voice, not even over the phone. I had never even gotten a letter from him before. Still, the things he wrote in that letter were beautiful. I remember feeling a little less lonely as if he loved me unconditionally. There were dried tears embedded in the paper material. I knew he cried as he wrote it, and that made me feel like, damn, this is a man who means what he says, feels exactly what he writes. I don't know when I lost that letter or how I just knew when I went for it again. It was nowhere to be found. I'm forgetting the words he wrote to me."

"Have you heard from him since?"

"Once but not directly. When I turned fifteen, he was released. He felt like he wouldn't know how to be a father when he got out. Which I understood. I can't force anyone to have a relationship with me. It must’ve been hard going in when your child is an infant and coming out to her fully bloomed. He cried on the phone to my grandpa every time he argued with my mom. She'd say nasty things to him, like how he'd never be a father to me and how I was better off. I figured when you're locked in a cell, and all you can think about is going home to your child, it must’ve been hard to hear that you would never account for anything. I believe he gave up. Not everyone is strong enough to take on that kind of mental battle."

Even as Clementine describes how fucking sucky her childhood was, she is still showing grace to the people who ruined her innocence.

"He never asked to speak to me during these calls. My mother always kept him at a distance when he was in prison. If he had written more letters than the one he sent to my grandpa, like he wrote that he did, I never got them. She was good at telling him that she didn't want him in my life. I don't blame her either; neither of them was ready to be parents. I got a call on my eighteenth birthday. It was just breathing on the other side for a while. I had a feeling it was him, so I didn't hang up, but it was a gravely voice on the other end and he sounded a little choked up. Said the exact same line from my birthday card, I'm not sure if you like cake, but eat a lot of it today princess. Happy birthday. And then the call disconnected. Kind of fucked me up a little bit because I think I was just getting to a point where I was finally okay with not having parents."

"I'm sorry." Lewis solaces. 

"It's cool, builds character." She jokes dropping her elbow and lying completely on her side.

"I pride you on your gracefulness, truly."

"My grandpa always told me that if you can find grace in failings, life becomes more beautiful. If you can find grace in every situation, eventually, those graces will catch up to you. Everyone deserves to have grace; who am I to hold something above someone else because of how it made me feel? You never know what made someone act the way they did. In the end, it may have affected them more than me, but as long as I'm gracious and I consider these kind of things to be a possibility it makes it easier for me."

Lewis thinks back to all the times he handled situations without grace, when he allowed himself to blow up over small things, and how, in the end, it made situations worse than they needed to be. He internally hums at the realization.

"Shit." 

She is shuffling from his bed, sheets clutched tightly against his chest. 

She gracefully moves around his room, the sheets fitting her like a gown. Lewis props himself up on one arm, watching her gather her belongings. 

When she tosses the sheet back onto the bed, he watches as she pulls on her pants and steals his button-up to throw over her thin tank top.

She sits on the edge of his bed, throwing on her worn Adidas sambas. 

"It's been a blast, Sir Hamilton." She bows, and he softly launches a pillow at her. She catches it with a sweet grin and places it at his feet. "I have to be on set early tomorrow. My assistant sent a car for me."

"I'll call you when I'm back in town," he suggests, and she nods, letting out a noise of agreement as she saunters over to his bedroom door. 

"Be safe out there on the track." She blows him a kiss, and then she is gone, and he hears his front door close gently. 

Lewis likes spending time with Clem. She has a way of taking every ounce of stress from his bones.

Lewis wasn't a relationship kind of guy, and he liked that Clem understood that. She wasn't trying to force a relationship on him or was convinced she could change his mind. 

Clem was there for the great sex and the even better conversations. The two of them had made great friends out of each other, and they were both content with the status of their association.

Lewis never told Clementine this, but he liked watching her work. He liked how she could put out art, and he could resonate with it. Lewis thinks that Clem is the most emotionally intelligent person he's ever met, which is why everything she puts her hands on just works.

And it shows. Clementine is the kind of person whose words sound like they're straight from classic literature. She has a way of speaking that instantly captivates every person in her proximity.

Clementine was a Jill of trades. She liked to act, but she was an even better writer. This is why she was awarded co-director of her award-winning show after helping to direct only three episodes. He knew she had a knack for all things creative. She liked to draw, paint, and read, and she had a thing for tattoos just as much as he did.

Clementine was actually so fucking cool.

People loved her naturally; she only had to be herself, and it made people gravitate towards her. 

Being around Clem was like having the hands of an angel on you. It was impossible to feel troubled, even if you were going through the most unfortunate or stressful circumstances. If you had Clem, trust you'd feel nirvana.

Her words echo in his mind. I write scripts for myself to act out when I want to talk about something.

He switches on his television and clicks on the Netflix app. It's the first option under his 'continue watching' category, and he presses resume. 

Lewis loved her show, though he never admitted it. It was artsy and different than what was new and hot now. Clem channeled all of her favorites to make this show. He remembers her describing her obsession with Jim Carrey and The Truman Show. Her favorite movie of all time was Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, and her favorite character also shared her name. 

He knew that Clementine cried when she read Tuesdays with Morrie, just like she did when she watched Requiem for a Dream. She had an odd obsession with The Joker movie and was even more obsessed with the lore of how each Joker is portrayed differently. She always saw herself in Charlie, from the perks of being a wallflower.

She rewatched What's Eating Gilbert Grape at least once a week. If you asked her, Tim Burton was the best director in the world, and she had a special connection to Edward Scissorhands. She also loved anything with a narrator.

She was right. It makes you feel each character a little bit more to hear their every thought.

He now knows that she likes to narrate her own show because she likes to talk about what she feels. No one asks her how she feels.

Everything that Clem likes is so deep and complex, and it fits her perfectly. 

He must admit that he had never heard of any of these shows, movies, or books before meeting Clementine. But seeing how passionately she described them had him desperate to enlighten himself. He sees the inspiration of it all in her show. 

Every episode starts with a question. Clem appears facing away from the camera, an oversized Carhartt denim jacket adorning her frame. He sees that she is sitting on a mountain, a camera held to her face, taking pictures of the most scenic view he's ever seen.

Her voice emerges through the speaker, yet her mouth is unmoving.

"You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever, everything unchanged and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"

The camera is still panned out but moves to the side, where he views her relaxed frame from the side. As the camera zooms in she breaks the fourth wall, turning to face the camera. The sky is oddly vividly blue in the background and the clouds are all weirdly perfect. 

"Probably here."

As the sun sets, the sky adorned in perfect warm hues, she sets the camera beside her and folds her hands in her lap. She turns to face the beautiful view, and she looks more content with life than she's ever seen.

Her voice rings through the speaker again as the camera pans out, and her body begins to look smaller and smaller against the vast sky.

"You can still see the sunset even on the darkest of days.”

-

The next time Lewis sees Clem is at her the Cannes movie festival.

She is obviously the lady of the hour, and he's had a hard time catching up with her. 

When he finally does see her, his breath hitches as she maneuvers through the crowd and away from the red carpet in a very elaborate gown. She looks like a princess.

Like she can feel his eyes on her, her head turns and she sees Lewis standing amongst a group of other celebrities. 

There are three people surrounding her. Zeus, her bodyguard, SK her assistant and finally her publicist Nia.

She approaches him, ready to greet him with a wide grin; Lewis has a grin of his own covering his face as he steps ahead of the group.

"Lewis, Hi!" She pitches, raising her arms to hug him; he happily accepts her embrace, wrapping his own around her frame. 

"Can't wait to see you on the big screen." He boosts, and she smiles up at him, ready to reply, when a hand clamps down over her wrist and begins pulling her away, "Sorry, got to keep going, Clem."

She offers him a rushed smile, lifting her dress so that she can exit with speed. Lewis has never once felt like the fan in a situation until it came to Clem.

"So the movie is going to be about cannibalism?" His friend asks, looking through the pamphlet.

"No," Lewis combats. "I mean, yes, but it's deeper than that, the flesh represents..." and he drones on describing the lore of her new movie, Bones and All.

His description is almost word for word the way you described it to him after he asked the same exact question.

"So it's a movie about eating people?"

Clementine laughed, shaking her head, and moved to sit against his headboard. Her skin was still flushed from their previous actions, and her mouth was dry. 

"Cannibalism is just the placeholder for many different vices. Everyone has their vices. By using something that damn near everyone looks down on, the symbolism of just how serious these issues are get understood tenfold. Think of it like this, you get mental illness from one parent, and the other denies that you have it. They believe you're perfect, nothing is wrong, but deep inside, there is this illness growing in you and festering out of control that you can't get help for, that won't be accepted."

"Imagine being homosexual, imagine not being able to express that, especially in the eighties; it becomes a bliss you have to satisfy in private. Something you must keep a secret, or something bad will happen to you. Some vices are passed on, like alcoholism or addiction, and even trauma can be passed on, like mental illness; it's about how you have to hide it all, how it catches up to you, and how it ruins you. If you watch it, think about that, Lewis. Think about what each character represents. What is the flesh they're eating?"

Lewis cries during the movie. He sees that he is not the only one as the lights illuminate the cinema, and there are no dry eyes in sight. Lewis would never understand how Clem was able to have such a complex mind and also make it so simple and still artistic to the point where anyone could understand.

Lewis usually hates being forced to attend film festivals. He especially dreads the standing ovations that drag on and on. But he graciously stands for the entire seventeen minutes that her movie receives. 

He's always told Clem that, at a certain point, she'd have to let that humbleness go. Lewis was a humble person, there was nothing wrong with it, but he didn't like that Clem thought she didn't deserve praise for her work. He wanted her to know she was the shit. 

He feels his heart swell with pride as she marvels at the cheers, whoops, whistles, and applause. 

He places his fingers between his lips, letting out a whistle of his own. It dominates the space, and she turns to face him like she knows it is him.

Clementine's grin grows impossibly larger, and she lifts her arm to wave at Lewis. He spreads his arms out in front of him and bows at her.

Clementine chuckles, shaking her head at him. 

Although she attends the film festival every year, this was her first time presenting her work as a director. This was a huge deal to her. Not only was she the star actress in the film, but this was hers. Her work, her words, her art, and people loved it and understood.

As two more dreamy minutes pass on and the cinema falls into an air of collective chatter, she folds her hands over her heart and speaks to her fellow costars. 

"Holy fucking shit," Timothee curses, "do you understand that we just got a nineteen-minute standing ovation?" He places her head between his hands, pulling it towards him and placing a kiss in her hair. "Fuck, Clem. You're a fucking creative genius, you know that?"

-

When Clementine finally got used to people she realized that she actually does like parties. Here she was being celebrated by people, some she knew, some she didn't all the way in France. 

She is in a mansion in France, fresh off the red carpet, throwing back shots with every pat on the back. There is a thrill in being praised, and with each pat on the back or congratulatory kiss on the cheek she gets, she feels herself levitating.

When Clementine first got the idea for the movie, she stayed awake for twenty-four hours, holed up in her bedroom, typing away at her keyboard as she planned and created rough drafts of a proposal. 

If you asked Clem, she doesn't think that she's a creative genius like everyone else believes. She thinks that she materializes how she feels into forms of art that people will understand. She doesn't sit and think long and hard or even look for targeted things to express. She just knows. 

Clem wanted to write a movie for those she felt had been denying themselves. For the kids confused about their feelings and things they can't control. From alcoholism, sexual identity, mental illness, addiction, and all the way to feeling lonely and navigating life on your own. She wanted to make a movie that materialized how it feels to come of age without understanding the purpose of life. And she'd done it.

Clem wouldn't say she was particularly close to any of the people here at the afterparty, minus Timothee. They had grown very close since filming together. 

Clem actually wouldn't say she was close to many people at all other than her small, tight-knit group of friends and, of course, Lewis. Which is ironic because their entire relationship is built on the basis of sex. 

She can't lie; when she first met Lewis, she was instantly attracted to him. He had a certain kind of charm about him that just screamed, You're going to respect me.

Clem liked that Lewis stood ten toes behind what he believed, always. She liked that he was genuinely a kind person and not just pretending for the media. What he put out was actually who he was, and Clementine wasn't used to seeing that in the celebrity world. 

Lewis fully intended to be friends with Clementine when he called her that first night, but the longer they were in each other’s presence, the more obvious it was to sense the lingering sexual tension between them.

Clem wasn't offended when Lewis admitted that he wanted to sleep with her and keep her around without the formalities of a romantic relationship.

In fact, she was fine with it. 

She didn't judge him when he explained how he wasn't a relationship kind of guy. She listened intently when he described how demanding his job was, and she even hummed along in agreement when he concluded that sex can sometimes just be fun.

It'd been two years since she first met Lewis; she was older and more mature. More demanding of herself. 

She was learning to let things go as the days passed and let things come when the world felt. 

She feels like she's gotten to know herself better, and she owes a lot of that to the nearly 40-year-old driver who has taken the time to unravel parts of her that no one else bothered. 

So when she sees Lewis walk through the grand entrance now dressed in a far more casual outfit than the black Louis Vuitton tuxedo that adorned his frame earlier, she can't help the way her smile makes her eyes crinkle.

She rushes from the bar, slipping past the guests, crowding the home, and speeds up the stairs as fast as her heels can take her. 

She lets her dress fall at her feet as she tosses on her own less formal outfit and descends the stairs again in search of her friend.

He sees her first, perched on the stairs with a concentrated face, and he chuckles at just how focused she looks. Her eyes are scanning the crowd, and he waits patiently until her eyes catch his.

When they finally meet, he raises his hand in a cool wave, and she grins, skipping down the stairs. He raises his brows when she finally makes it to him after being stopped time and time again by other partygoers.

"Lady of the hour, huh?" He jokes, pulling her into him. 

"I don't even know these people," she whispers, smiling softly and offering a wave as a drunken man passes by and calls out her name. She turns back to Lewis with fogged eyes, "Timothee wanted to throw an afterparty, so here we are."

"You have been celebrating?"

"I've taken a few shots or so." She smiles, "Can we get out of here?"

Lewis nods, "Yeah, of course."

His hand travels down and takes her own, leading her from the full house. "Where do you want to go, love?"

"Anywhere is fine; just want to be far away from people." She sighs.

Lewis peers down at her, watching as she scours the long driveway.

He motions her to his car and she slips from his hold already pacing towards it. She hops into the passenger side when she hears the car unlock and he plops down into the drivers seat.

"Why are you here in France? You didn't tell me you'd be here." Clem inquires as Lewis places his phone into her lap so that she can play music. He always preferred her music taste when they rode in the car late at night.

"I wanted to see the movie and support my friend." He smirked.

"You have to be in Monaco tomorrow!" she gasps. " You can't do that, Lew. You need rest. When did you even get here?"

"I touched down today after qualifying."

"No." Clem disapproves, "I could’ve just gotten you tickets to the premier. You must be so tired." 

Lewis shakes his head, "M'fine. Besides, I wanted to be one of the first people to see it." Which was a lie because he was totally exhausted. 

"Early flight tomorrow, then?" Clem asks.

Lewis only nods, already knowing her eyes are set on him. Frank Ocean begins to play through his speakers, and he hums along to the song playing. It brings upon his next thought.

"I say you posting in the studio?" He eyes, "Let me find out Clemy girl about to be in the booth spitting."

She laughs shaking her head, "not even, I was just there with Tyler. Did record a few vocals for him though."

"Maybe one day you should, I don't know, release something of your own."

Clem scoffs, "I know you think I can do everything. We're not all great at everything."

"It's true, do you think you can do it all, besides I've heard you singing in the shower; sounds nice."

"So you wait outside of the bathroom listening to me, creep."

He smacks his teeth, removing one hand from the wheel to blindly mush her.

"I'm serious, though. I think you have a beautiful voice."

"Thank you. Maybe one day we'll both stop playing in the studio and do something together." She chortles, "So I guess what I'm saying is, I'll do it if you do."

Lewis smirked, nodding his head. "Deal."

Lewis takes her back to his hotel for the night. He smiles as he watches her from the living room. She is on the balcony, arms spread along the banister. 

He approaches her. Like she can sense his presence, she speaks up, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

He doesn't bother looking out to the view. He keeps his eyes on her. "Yeah, very beautiful."

Sometime in the night, the two of them ended up entangled in his bed, both on their sides, as Lewis thrust into her from behind. One of his arms is outstretched and serving as a pillow for her neck, and the other is wrapped around her waist, holding onto her hand as he moves deeper and deeper into her warmth. 

He knows that when she squeezes around him for that final time, he's as good as done for, sheathing himself as far as he can get; his mouth drops open as he releases himself in heavy spurts. Clem exhales as he finishes, her grip on his hand loosening slightly. 

Lewis doesn't bother to remove himself from her core; the arm nestled between the crook of her neck and shoulder bends until his hand is cupping her jaw and forcing her head back towards him, where he is leaning over her shoulder. He smashes his lips against hers in a searing peck, one after the other, until he holds his mouth against hers. She opens her mouth, and their tongues glide against each other in perfect harmony. 

Finally, they pull apart to breathe, and Lewis pulls out with a hiss. They both fall onto their backs, his taken arm still resting beneath her head and his free arm holding their conjoined hands against his chest.

"It gets better and better every time." She admits, and Lewis lets out his signature boyish laugh, turning to face Clem. She is taking the time to catch her breath, a happy, satisfied grin covering her face as she stares up at nothing.

It's like a scene from a movie. The curtains flowed gently against the wind, and the night sky of Cannes was illuminated by stars blazing through his open balcony doors. Clem's exquisite side profile is the main focus.

He reaches over, pulls his phone from the nightstand, and slyly takes a picture before dropping his phone beside him and reconnecting their hands. 

"I should go," Clem announces with a sigh. "You have an early morning ahead of you."

"You don't have to go." Lewis tested, "It's late."

"It's always late when we're together, Lewis." Clem reminds.

"I- Just stay the night. It doesn't have to be weird. We know what we're doing."

He feels her head turn against his head and knows that she's looking at him with those same endearing eyes. "Okay," she whispers into the air.

"Besides, we haven't talked." Lewis murmurs, and Clem smiles. "Can't break the ritual. You remember when I asked you where you would be if you weren't you, and you said Montana?"

Clem hums in agreement. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Think we should go one day, you and me. See those animals; climb that mountain."

Clem wills back the tears burning behind her eyes. That conversation occurred two months into their arrangement, and two and a half years later, here he was, bringing up small details to a dream she'd told him about briefly. 

"What?" Lewis murmurs, watching her grin.

"Nothing, just surprised you remembered that, is all."

"I remember everything you say to me, Clementine."

"I'd love to go to Montana with you," she whispers after a while. "It's the prettiest in spring." 

"Well, we'll go next spring then." Lewis declares.

Clem smiles against against his arm, placing a peck there. "Deal, if you're not sick of me by then, we'll climb that mountain in Montana."

Lewis turns back towards the celing hoping she can't tell that her simple actions had his face burning and had his blood rushing. 

"You know in eternal sunshine of the spotless mind when they're laying on the ice?"

"Yeah, Clem." Lewis chuckles. "We've watched it a million times."

"That's what it feels like laying here right now with you."

"Thank you." Lewis grins.

"Her hair was blue." Clem points out. "Her hair changed colors to represent their relationship. Why do you think it was blue?"

"They were starting over. Maybe she was still down about erasing him."

"Huh," Clem sighs, "that's a good take." 

"Shower?"

"With you?" She wonders.

"If you're okay with that."

 "I just let you fuck me into oblivion. Why not let you clean me up."

Much cleaning hadn't gone down in the shower. 

clementine

liked by lewishamilton, tchalamet, and 8,898,465 others

clementine the best week, the most perfect week.  

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lewishamilton Amazing movie 🙌🏽 such a deep message.

tchalamet And she's done it again people.

badgalriri Such a beautiful film, queen. ❤️

pharell, You're a literal artistic genius; I look forward to working with you in the future.

user Clemmy + Timmy. The duo we didn't know we needed.

-

As Lewis saunters around the hotel room quietly the next morning, he keeps a cautious eye on the girl in his bed. He trips over his discarded shoe as he focuses on not waking her up. He mentally facepalms himself as she begins to stir.

Clem sits up, dazed and groggy; she clutches the sheets to her chest as she peers at Lewis, who looks like a deer caught in headlights. 

"Good morning," he winces, "Sorry, I was packing my suitcase back up, didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine," she rasps, reaching over to grab her phone and checking the time. When she sees that it's seven in the morning, she internally groans but slides her legs off the side of the bed to get ready to pack herself up.

"Woah, hey-" Lewis is by her side in an instant. "Where you going, love?"

Clem pauses, still half asleep she examines him through puffy eyes. "Your flight is at 8:30, right? You're about to head out."

Lewis nods but lifts her legs back onto the bed. "Yeah, but checkout is not until twelve." 

When he realizes that she is still glancing at him in confusion, he sits on the bed beside her. "You can stay here, Clem; get some rest before you get on the road. I'll leave the room key with you. Just let them know you're checking out for the king suite."

He laughs as she furrows her brows. "Don't make it weird." he reiterates from last night. 

She lets her head fall back against the pillows, more than happy to return to her slumber.

"How long are you going to be in Monaco?"

"About a week." 

Clem tried not to think too deeply about his big palm spread over her thigh, his thumb caressing it so tenderly.

"Oh." She mutters, "and then Canada?"

Lewis chuckles, his hand coming up to hold her jaw tenderly, his thumb caressing her cheek. "Look at you," he chuckles, "got my schedule memorized, huh?"

Clem feels the familiar burning in her face as she suppresses her shy smile. "Oh, please." she scoffs. "We've been at this for two years. Of course, I remember the times you begged me to hop on your plane and fly to you so that you could get your rocks off."

Lewis smirks, "Look at that, caught a flight to you this time." And he's bending down and smearing his mouth against hers. He dominates the kiss, his large hand on her jaw keeping her in place for him to use her mouth as he pleases. "Mhmm." he groans pulling away. 

"Wanna stay with you here all day, Clem. But I've got a flight to catch." 

He is standing and bending over to press one last unexpected peck to her mouth and then her temple before he is at the end of the bed and latching onto his suitcase. 

"The keys on the table, okay? Go back to sleep, and order yourself some food for me when you wake up. And text me, okay?"

Clem sits up, still mind-boggled from the kiss, and nods her head. 

Lewis smiles, sending her a wave and easing out of the door.

Clementine nearly screams as the door clicks shut, and she hears his footsteps getting farther away.

Casually kissing wasn't a thing between them. Lewis was sweet, yes, but not once has he sat and caressed her and spoken so softly to her. She had never spent the night with him or fell asleep in his arms. And here he was, flipping her entire world upside down and telling her not to make it weird.

It's what she repeats to herself over and over throughout the day as the tender moments with Lewis replay in her head. 

He was just being a friend, of course he would show up to support her, right? Of course he wouldn't want her to be on the road late at night or extra early in the morning? And they've kissed before, only during sex but maybe he was wound up in the moment, they were friends with added benefits, did those benefits now include impromptu kisses?

She groans as she checks out from his room and hobbles into the waiting SUV where her assistant waits with her packed bags. "You had a time last night." SK teases as he takes in his boss' disheveled appearance. 

"Shut up." Clem grunts, buckling herself in. 

SK raises his hands in surrender and then gets back to typing away on his phone. Clem lets her forehead drop against the window as she drives through the beautiful French city. 

"Hey, SK?" When he lets out a noise to signal he's listening, she asks him for a favor. "If I asked you to find something for me and get it sent to Monaco, do you think you could get it there before the end of the week?"

SK smacks his teeth, "Girl, please, do you know who you're talking to? I could have it there tomorrow."

"You're the best, SK." she smiles.

"Don't I know it. What is it you need me to get my hands on."

-

Sure enough, the next morning, Lewis is interrupted by a knock on his door as he clips on his jewelry. 

He saunters over to the door his pants hung low and shirtless, swinging open the door to reveal the butler that the hotel provided. When his eyes travel south he see's the luxurious gift box in his hands.

"For you, Sir Hamilton. Delivered early today, pre-approved by your assistant."

Lewis thanks the man, motioning for him to hold still for a second as he rushes to retrieve some hefty bills from his wallet. 

He pulls the box from his outstretched hand and replaces it with the bills.

When Lewis closes the door and saunters over to the couch, he plops down and sets the box on the coffee table.

He pulls the stock card from underneath the black ribbon and smiles as he reads over it.

thank you for showing up for me, and congrats on yet another win.

- 🍊

He smiles and taps the card against the box a few times before deciding to open it. He lets out a surprised squawk as he lifts the lid and sees a packaged vintage Big Homer super buggy.

Lewis covers his mouth with his hands stuck between letting out a scream that would resemble a child on christmas day or a cry.

Clementine Russell, he thinks, the woman you are.

He pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of the gift, and sends it to her.

-

#lewis hamilton x black fem oc #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #poc reader #f1 #black reader #black reader friendly #black female oc

[somewhereincairparavel]

The fandom's bias and tendency to wanting to agressively associate EVERYTHING with Percy and getting upset when a character isn't associated with him really taints their view on actually significant relationships, and it ruins Percy's canon character tbh.

I came across a video edit appreciating Jason and Nico's friendship, and the comments were just filled with people raging on how Percy should've been included instead of Jason because he was "much closer friends" to Nico than Jason was. It's appalling how much ppl can turn to a blind eye when it comes to Jason.

People hate Jason SO much in this fandom that they literally refuse to admit that Nico canonically considered Jason as his first ever friend, not Percy (this is literally said in Tower of Nero, by the way)

My perspective on Percy and Nico is that, they were never really "close" to begin with and never ended up being close either, and that's okay. Percy tried his very best to be a brother to Nico, but they somehow always had tension with eachother because of Nico's internal turmoil of idolizing and crushing on Percy whilst simultaneously associating him with Bianca.

Sure, they talked it out a little in the end, but I'd like to think that some tension would always be there, because they started off at the wrong foot, and there was too much bitterness and resentment to come in their dynamic. And them never actually being close "brothers" makes their dynamic very significant and authentic. In the end, Nico acknowledged that Percy was a good person, and I like to think that's the farthest they've ever gone in their dynamic. They both are on amicable terms but the awkwardness still being there is very realistic, the weight of Bianca's death would always be associated with Percy to Nico, and it's neither of their faults.

Percy doesn't have to be close with everyone just because he's the main character, it really deprives him of actually meaningful connections. The fandom forcing him to be buddy buddy with everyone simply because they HAVE to associate Percy with anyone and everyone, and getting angry that Jason is closer to Nico than Percy is, is just really weird.

Why do people feel SO threatened about Jason all the time that they have to get all defensive and suppress his connections by dragging Percy into videos that doesn't even have to do anything with him? I swear y'all are creating this whole Jason/Percy rivalry thing because you cannot bear to see someone rival Percy, and you want Percy to be the only powerful/good person in the books.

Let other characters befriend eachother without trying to insert Percy in there all the time.

Percy and Nico would never be like Reyna and Nico, or Jason and Nico, and that's completely fine. I like them better that way. You can't be best friends with everyone. That's just how life works.

#I hope people don't come at me for this #Some parts of the Percy fanbase can be scarily defensive and aggressive so I won't be surprised if I get mean comments abt this lol #but I said what I said idc. Jason is canonically Nico's closest friend. You hating jason isn't going to change the fact that it's canon. #There's literally nothing wrong with Percy not being best friend with Nico #You can agree or disagree with me but pls be respectful #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackson #jason grace #pjo hoo #pjo series #pjo hoo toa #annabeth chase #piper mclean #leo valdez #frank zhang #hazel levesque #nico di angelo #reyna avila ramirez arellano #reyna ramirez arellano #heroes of olympus

[chosokamosbf]

(N)SFW JASON TODD / RED HOOD HCs.

☆ 18+ only/no minors.

WARNINGs: 18+, gn (gender non-implied)! reader, daddy/mommy kink, mentions of abuse (jason nor reader are doing it), minor mention of blood, sub/dom, pain play, fear play, "prey/predator," brat taming, reader is referred to as "prince(ss)" and "sweetheart" once.

WORD COUNT: 900-ish+

Based on canon, I firmly believe he's on the ace spectrum, specifically demisexual. And even then, he rarely experiences sexual attraction at all for his partners. This isn't because he doesn't love them (enough) or any other assumptions similar to that; it just doesn't happen much.

Furthermore, as much as he'll indulge you here and there if you do, (sexual) intimate moments with Jason would be far and few between, making them all the more important to him.

He's a switch, leaning on dom and top. Mostly because he likes the control and is more comfortable that way. Getting him to be submissive instead is a gradual endeavor. He doesn't hate it; it just takes a lot of patience and trust.

First and foremost on actual kinks, I think Jason has a thing for "daddy," both on the receiving and giving ends. He likes the title, and he's definitely the type to whisper something like, "C'mere, sweetheart. Give daddy a kiss." in even private, innocuous moments just to mess with you.

(Note: I don't think he'd have as much of a mommy kink because—y'know.)

Rough sex is a top favorite of his. This goes hand in hand with play wrestling as a form of foreplay, breathing heavily down on his partner just to continue that energy into bed with sweat-slick bodies. It's less about "winning," and more about being allowed to confide in someone in a way and the fun that can come with it. He wouldn't be against being the sub in this situation either, even if his partner is weaker than him, because he knows how important control can be in bed, so he'll let them win. Sometimes. He trusts you, and he wants you both to feel good.

Degradation/praise wise, he'll give either out depending on the moment. He's going to tease and utter dirty shit like, "C'mooon, prince(ss). You're sounding like a real whore for someone who didn't want it a couple minutes ago—" if you tried to struggle against. It depends more on the moment than position because he could be pounding into you and huffing out praise right next to your ear with what little air he's catching, to riding you, telling you to keep up while his head is already thrown back.

He enjoys pegging a lot, but as always, it's going to take some convincing to get him to comply.

Brat taming is another go-to of his, along with sub/dom. On the other end, it seems to be a near equal opposite—he's not into it, and it can get uncomfortable real fast. There's a few times he'll indulge himself, and they're all after more intense days to sort of solidify the trust he has in you. You're not going to hurt him; he's still in control in a way.

He doesn't seem like he'd like being on the receiving end of any sort of pain play. He already deals with chronic pain on a day-to-day basis. To have it overwhelm one of the few aspects of intimacy that he loves and simultaneously take his head off things for once just doesn't seem like it'd be enjoyable for him. No, on the giving end—

(Note: I'm not into pain play myself, nor do I even know what even makes it enjoyable for people, so I'll be segmenting this with fear play and "prey/predator.")

It wouldn't be something he'd ever bring up, far from it, but if it's what you like, he'll gladly take a knife in a steady hand to softly trace it down from your stomach to your underwear. In a smile almost cruel, he'd drag it across just enough so a few drops could be licked back up if you asked nicely enough again.

Jason knows you're just asking for it if you're weaker than him and bring up the idea of a different kind of foreplay. He'd pick a place, somewhere with a lot of spots you could try to hide away and run to (an abandoned office of sorts is the best go; he's not going to risk infections).  Just for him to stalk, pin you down with ease. If the spot he found his little prey in isn't satisfactory (or clean) enough, he'd have no qualms settling you over his shoulder like a sack and manhandling you where he wants it.

He definitely isn't going to go too far, though. As well-trained as he is, he's going to be especially attentive after any scenes involving that. Sadism isn't a big one for him. He'll enjoy it in the moment but then feel real guilty afterwards, so, just as a reminder, aftercare goes both ways.

I don't know why some people think he's into "dark" (ex. pedo stuff such as ageplay and actual rape.) kinks when he's canonically and literally has hunted down murdered several (sexual) abusers before. If you try to break boundaries, he's going to be reconsidering the relationship, and quite possibly if he even knew you as a person.

On a lighter note, consent is a big thing for him, and he's also big on aftercare. A go-to would be a bath for the both of you (stuffing the sheets in the washer right before and bandaging any "scratches" if need be.), then cuddling. Depending on whether he has the energy, he'll pop something in the microwave real quick. (Takeout is usually a last resort because the last thing he wants while enjoying the afterglow with a partner is social interaction with a stranger.)

If you wear make-up and it gets ruined by the end, like in the latter part of the previous section, if he can, he's going to help you wipe off the mess and maybe help you reapply it as a form of care.

#i am so sorry . for the truck load of tags coming up #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gn reader #dc comics x reader #red hood x reader #red hood x gn reader #red hood dc #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #dc comcis #mine #daddy kink tw #fear play tw #abuse mention #gn reader

[bunnysbrainrot]

A Lesson in Manners

Relationship: Dean Winchester x f!Reader

Content: Romantic tension, protective Dean, alcohol consumption, a weird guy ft. the way Dean handles it.

Summary: After a long, exhausting day of hunting, Team Free Will unwinds with drinks at a nearby bar. You're enjoying your time until a stranger decides to pester you, but that won't go unnoticed by Dean.

The signature purr of the Impala faded as Dean turned off the ignition, releasing a heavy sigh, a defeated and tired noise. Whatever nasties they have down here in Georgia have been difficult. All signs in this case were pointing to a djinn, but without getting in closer, there was no way to be completely sure.

That risk was left to Sam and Dean, as they had told you yesterday, when the research finally fell into place.

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at his laptop screen, his brows twitching. He deadpanned and looked to his brother, "Djinn. How the hell didn't we think of that yet?"

Dean matched Sam's frustration with a scoff. He simply shook his head.

Djinn were unfamiliar to you still. Though you had done a fair bit of research, helpfully guided by Sam, and learned quite a lot. But, you also knew that research and experience were very, very different for a hunter.

"Awesome, so... what?" Dean inquired, raising a brow at Sam. You sat in the small armchair in the boys' motel room, looking between them. "We gonna go into blood-sucking paradise-dream-world again?"

Sam flashed a quick smile, "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that. Do we have any more lamb's blood?"

Dean's expression changed to annoyance, "Not after that dickbag Balthazar used it for that stupid parallel-universe crap." He crossed his arms over his chest and threw his head back in thought. "And where are we supposed to get it, anyway? We're in the middle of friggin' nowhere."

"Cas?"

"If we could even get a hold of him."

"I'm sure he's still listening, Dean. I know he's been here and there for a while, but-" Sam explained.

Whirling to face his brother, Dean countered, "'Here and there'? Sam, we basically wait three to five business days for him to give us anything. If he's so focused on Heaven right now, let him stay up there."

You had seen Dean's rising upset with his friend for a few weeks now, seeing the angel's presence less and less. Castiel didn't indulge any details, and kept recollections vague - but, the lack of transparency had been taking a toll on the group.

He’d been absent for two weeks now. Nothing.

Dean's lengthy sigh showed his stress. He brought a hand up to his brow; Sam rolled his head to stretch his neck in the passenger seat.

"I need a fuckin' beer," Dean breathed.

You laid a hand on his shoulder from the seat directly behind his - Sam was more conversational on long drives, so sitting on the left side gave good distraction in the long hours on the road. Dean craned his neck to you, looking to you expectantly.

Because as much as he didn't like to admit it, Dean craved the moments when you touched him.

You couldn’t tell if you spooked him, judging by the way Dean froze in his seat, eyes boring directly into yours. A grin spread across your face, "Let's get shitfaced."

Dean shook his head and pointed to you, "You don't wanna get to shitfaced level with me, sweetheart. Just a few beers. Plus, I’ve seen you get tipsy even after one."

Each of you started stepped out of the Impala, respectively stretching your achy legs, or arms, or backs or neck and everything else. No matter the hunt, the soreness remained the same. You released a groan as you lean backward, flexing your stiffened spine. Dean neared and landed a gentle pat between your shoulders to get you moving along.

You noticed how quickly Dean pushed ahead to open the front door, before you had the chance to lift a finger. He looked into the cracked door - an assessing glaze cast over his eyes. Always on the lookout for danger.

Who could keep you safer than Dean Winchester?

After all of his impressive feats so far, it’d be hard for someone not to admire Dean. Saving the world was easier on the drawing board, and with having been to hell and back, you couldn’t fathom the willpower he gained to push past it. Not a semblance of that traumatic experience showed in that handsome, stoic face.

Dean pressed the door ajar to make way for you and Sam. You scanned the tables and stools at the bar; patrons scattered around in clusters, each chattering and laughing amongst themselves.

The thick smell of liquor filled the air. You noticed the hints of whiskey, oddly reminding you of Dean, and the way that scent mixed with his cologne. You memorized that smell from his occasional hugs, or times where you’d sit together, and you’d wondered if he could hear your heart hammering in your chest.

Sam led the way toward a taller table in the corner of the joint, settling in a stool closest to the back emergency exit. You eyed the stool at the outer side, but a creeping feeling dawns on you - someone is staring. Settling into your stool, you took the chance to swivel around, looking for the source of that persistent feeling.

At the bar, a man with a scruffy beard had his eyes trained on yours, roving over your form in the chair. You exhaled, fighting back the feeling of disgust, and turned back to Sam, plastering on a terse smile.

“What is it?” Sam asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

You paled slightly, the man’s stare still honed in on your back, “Dude at the bar has a staring problem.”

Sam leaned casually to reach for his pocket, craning his head for a swift second. A glint in his eye told you he’d found the perpetrator. Footsteps approached from behind - a familiar pattern, one you’d heard every day, and without turning you’d known it was Dean. A careful brush of his hand between your shoulder blades eased you, a gentle reminder he was here.

“Bottoms up, buttercup,” Dean teased, placing a shot of amber liquor in front of you, himself, and then his brother.

Three lime wedges rested on a plate, along with a salt shaker. You glance at Dean with a ‘seriously?’ look, and he gave a signature Winchester grin. You did say you wanted to get shitfaced. And hell, it could help with that looming creep. You licked the back of your hand and sprinkled some salt.

“To figuring something out,” you proclaimed, raising the shot glass. The boys follow your lead before clinking them on the table, and tossing their heads back.

The tequila burns the back of your throat, but the lime helps you ignore it. Sam held a steady face while Dean grimaced at the burn.

You giggled softly, “Can’t handle tequila, Dean?”

He flashed a toothy grin, and a quick middle finger. Your giggle evolved into a bright laugh that drew one from Sam, too.

“Bet you couldn’t handle pool, though,” countered Dean.

Sam eyed you from the side and threw a knowing smirk. You’d never back down from a challenge, especially when it was Dean testing you. There was a desire to beat him at his own games, to show him you could match his skill and then some.

Then there was the chase of it - cycles of teasing comments and passing glances, but never a break in the tension.

Your voice lowers, “I’ll take you on any day, Winchester.”

The jest made Dean grin. The chase was on again.

Sam stayed behind when you and Dean claimed a vacant pool table, letting you set yourselves up for the perfect one-on-one.

Dean nodded to you and eyed the cue ball. You bend at the waist over the table, and felt the creeping feeling again. It radiated along your spine to the nape of your neck, as if your body was set ablaze under the stranger’s stare.

Until suddenly, you had company.

“Say, think you could spare me a game when you’re done, beautiful?”

The voice matched the face. It was nasally with a copious amount of douchery; another entitled asshole who got involved when he wasn’t wanted.

Across the table, Dean’s brow twitched.

“Listen bud, we’re just getting started here. Plenty of other folks in here who can play you,” the edge in Dean’s tone was a warning in and of itself.

You hitched a breath awaiting the man’s reaction.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted Sam sliding off his barstool, slowly making his way closer to your pool table. He idly looked at his phone, but kept a watchful glance.

“I’m sure you’ll have the time for another one, right, baby?” The stranger’s words slurred stupidly. He didn’t address Dean with meeting his stare, and instead fought to have yours. He closed the gap between you two further - the smell of alcohol lingered on him, thick and nauseating.

You bark, “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Oh…. hic… ten seconds ain’t enough for me, sweetheart..”

Dean’s voice was taunting, probably trying to pull the dickbag away from you, “It’s plenty for us.”

Finally, the man looked to Dean, straightening his posture at the height difference. He was lean, but couldn’t hold a firm stance, by the looks of it. The man scanned Dean top to bottom before turning back to you.

Before crossing a crucial line.

A foreign hand stroked your spine, making you recoil. Anger contorted your features as you warned him yourself.

“Try that again, fucker,” you spat with disgust. You could still feel the touch on your back. Gross.

The man’s lips tug into a smile, and the anger continued to brew. Of course, you were not the only one with that bubbling rage. Dean has closed the distance before you could register he’d moved at all.

Dean loomed over the man with a haunting glare. To add fuel to the fire, the man had the gall to grin at the threat, raising his hands to Dean’s chest.

“Come on, jus’ gavin’ a lil’ fun,” said the stranger.

In one swift motion, Dean collected the man’s wrists with one hand, and delivered a hook with the other.

The blow knocked his head to the side. Other patrons turned to the scene unfolding - some turned back to their drinks, some kept staring. You gasped when Dean landed another strike, sending the man tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Dean, that’s enough, he’s-“

He didn’t react to your objection.

Behind the commotion, Sam’s eyes widen with shock, though he smiles with satisfaction at the takedown.

A final shove put enough distance between you and the pathetic drunk. You turned to see the bartender giving Dean a stern look, but they return to filling a pint glass.

You panted softly while the stranger walked away, bracing his bloodied chin with his hand. You looked to Dean and found his attention back at the pool table, letting out a frustrated grunt. There wasn’t a way to thank him. No need. The man had made great strides in protecting you, enough to reassure that you didn’t have to offer thanks. It came naturally, protecting one another.

Sam made his way back to the table and returned to his stool, shaking his head in disbelief, a smile on his face.

What a night, right?

It was Dean’s voice that brought you back to your senses. That same voice that calmed you, that ignited your body to its core.

“Alright, sweetheart, you go first.”

——

“Dammit, whathefuck- that isn’t fair-“ you protested. You’d lost, but kept trying to knock the striped pool balls into the pockets, insisting that there was some sort of rule to let you go until you were fully done, including the cue ball.

Sam handed you a glass of water, which you sipped on immediately. Your fingertips slowly grew numb against the cold glass.

Dean chortled as he collected the pool balls, “Shitfaced and pool don’t mix well, do they?”

You let out a tipsy laugh and shake your head at him. The moment stilled, where the rest of the scene faded away. Dean scanned you over, and held a too-long look. A small spark lit behind his eyes.

“Let’s getcha home.”

Thank you for reading! I liked this idea, and I think it could easily have a second part. Vote in the poll or me know in the comments if you’d like to see where this goes!

#fanfiction #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #bunny writes #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Hi! Can I request Masky with a gn! reader that is stronger than he expected? Like, maybe they’re training or even roughhousing and he expects them to fold easily, but next thing he knows he’s on the floor? 😂 I always find this kind of funny, but do you think you could also make it a little spicy? (Also, I did this literally exactly at 2 for me, it’s always difficult to remember where has what time frame y’know?)

I know you said Masky, but I did write for specifically Tim, because my Masky would not have enjoyed this situation.

Tim is a pretty hefty guy. He's decently tall, and he's been working on bodybuilding for years, so he's definitely not lacking in strength. That's why when the two of you started training together, he wasn't exactly worried about losing. He's confident in his abilities, and it's not that he thinks you're weak, but he wasn't really thinking that you'd be able to take him down easily. You've obviously got some power and strength to you too to be able to be one of Slender's employees, but Tim is one of the leaders for a reason because he's one of the strongest in the mansion and he knows how to lead and fight. 

At least, that's what he tells himself as he goes into your training session. You seem oddly relaxed as you stand across from him, and it sets Tim on edge a bit to see you so calm, but he shakes it off, thinking it must be his imagination. He knows you're strong, so he doesn't hold back when he starts launching attacks at you. While he's not intentionally trying to cause you severe harm, it's clear he's trying to test you and see just how much you can handle. Perhaps Tim should have realized that you'd be doing the same to him. You take his strikes efficiently, letting him think he's got the upper hand before you counter one of his hits particularly well. It catches him off guard, and makes him stumble back, but doesn't do too much overall, at least in his mind. Tim clears his throat nervously as he watches you roll your shoulders and crack your neck before you resume your fighting stance once more. He takes a deep breath and launches back to fight you again, but he shouldn't have been so careless. It doesn't take long this time before you've got the upper hand, having memorized all of his moves, and soon Tim is on his back staring up at the ceiling, a gasp shooting out of him as all his air leaves him.

You have him effectively pinned, even pressing your foot into his chest to hold him there, and Tim can only stare up at you in shock and awe as his heart races and thumps beneath your pressure. His face soon begins to flush red, even the tips of his ears staining with the blush taking over him. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" You smirk as you taunt him, and it causes him to grow even more flustered. He opens his mouth to respond to your taunt, but nothing comes out of his mouth as he stares up at you, clearly affected by the situation the two of you are in. When you smile at him, giggling at the situation as you go to help him up, he finds himself feeling vulnerable in a way he hasn't before, and he takes your hand tenderly as you pull him up. Level with you once more, he finds himself staring at you with mixed emotions, but one thing is for sure in his mind; you should do that again. The words slip past his mouth before he can stop them, and they catch you off guard, causing you to laugh again as they settle into your mind. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your body flushes against his. When you whisper into his ear that you'd be quite happy to his body trembles against yours, his hands moving to grip your hips before he can stop them. Tim tells himself he's going to have to train with you more frequently as he eagerly presses his lips against yours, his heart racing for another reason now.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta semi-spicy #semi-spicy #tim wright semi-spicy #creepypasta x reader #tim wright #tim wright headcanon #tim wright headcanons #tim wright x reader #masky #masky headcanons #masky headcanon #masky x reader

[lilasamaaa]

In the crowd | Carlos Sainz x Reader

Genres | Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

Word count | 3.6K.

Warnings | Alcohol consumption, drugs, mentions of violence.

Summary | Reader's an engineer at Scuderia Ferrari in Maranello. While attending the season's launch party, her drink gets spiked.

Author's Note | Hi all! After the longest time, I've felt the need to come back here for some silly writing. New blog because the last one got cringe. Let me know what you think!

One might think that after two years within the scuderia, the season’s launch parties would make her less uneasy. That after two years of being apart of the engineering team, she would finally be used to attending public gatherings. That after two years, she’d be a natural at walking in the open, feeling the glances slide over her figure. She is stunningly beautiful. Perhaps that's her burden. She doesn't realize it. 

When she walks across the paddock or the stands, she knows people are staring at her. She avoids meeting their gazes, feeling embarrassed. She thinks there must be something wrong with her outfit, with her gait. Why else would they stare for so long?

In Maranello, there’s a bakery at the corner of the HQ building where she stops every morning. The cashier always offers her something extra. A coffee. An additional pastry. She finds him polite, very customer-oriented. One morning, as she was freeing her croissant from the paper napkin it was wrapped in, she’d discovered a phone number scrawled in pen ink, with a hastily drawn smiley face. She’d stared at the napkin, perplexed, seated at her desk. He must have made a mistake, she thinks. It must have been meant for the customer before her. The one with the beautiful blonde curls and the Chanel perfume. She didn't call, didn't send a message. She continued to visit the bakery. The cashier never mentioned the number, proving her theory.

Someone brushing past her brings her back to earth. The party is in full swing, and she’s just not. She spots her colleagues bustling around the buffet and the bar, engrossed in lively conversations. While some don't even notice her, others wave their hands, encouraging her to join them. She forces a smiles, returns the wave. Then she tightens her grip around her clutch. Anything to make her feel like she’s in control. To make her forget that the music’s too loud, the lights too vibrant, the air too hot. 

She doesn't remember ever feeling comfortable in her body. Years of growing up in an unstable family where love was doled out sparingly do that to a person. 

"Hey," comes a familiar voice. She turns her head, her big eyes catching sight of Livio’s, one of her colleagues. "Are you not dancing?" he continues, a drink in hand. His whiskey breath hits her straight on. She discreetly glances at her watch, noting that it's barely nine.

"I haven't had enough to drink for that," she replies, trying to dodge the invitation.

"Let's go get you something then," Livio responds, grabbing her arm and heading towards the bar.

She's noticed that men always do that with her. Not just her colleagues, but people she doesn't know either. She's too kind, too gentle; she never raises her voice. So they grab her by the hips, the arms, the wrists. Anything is an excuse to touch her. She hates it.

"What do you want?" Livio asks.

Nothing, really, but she can't say that.

"Something sweet, please. I don't like strong alcohol," she replies. Livio seems to ponder her question for a second, his mouth pursed.

"I have something for you to try, wait," he continues, signaling to the bartender. "You're going to like it, don't worry."

A few seconds later, a glass of Plymouth is placed in front of her, and she looks up at Livio. Does he think I've never tasted gin in my life? she wonders, puzzled. She would like to refuse the drink, ask for the cherry liqueur she discovered last time indeed. But already, Livio has grabbed her glass and hands it to her with a big smile. "Salute," he exclaims, downing his own glass in one gulp.

Cries and applause suddenly echo in the large reception hall, causing her to turn her head. It takes her a few minutes to understand the reason for this sudden commotion. Until she sees them, a few meters away.

Charles and Carlos.

Her eyes can't seem to tear away from the two pilots making their way through the crowd to a small stage where a microphone is set up. It's tradition : to kick off the season in style, the entire team eagerly awaits the drivers' speeches. Everyone wants to hear their words, their encouragements, their hopes and goals for the season.

A friend once asked her if she knew Charles and Carlos personally. She can't really say yes. That would be a lie. She's exchanged words with each of the athletes before, giving them information about the race, their car, and the expected weather. These exchanges have always been brief and cordial. Professional. Nothing more.

Even though... No, she thinks, lightly shaking her head. That was nothing. But still...

It had happened just before the race in Singapore, last year.

A friend from engineering school had moved there at the beginning of the year, and they had agreed to meet for dinner at a fancy restaurant in the city. It was an opportunity to reminisce about the years spent at Polytechnique, studying (a bit), suffering (a lot), and getting drunk (a whole lot).

She had chosen a long emerald green silk dress, slit up to mid-thigh. The perfect balance between classy and sexy. She had no intention of charming her companion - notoriously attracted to men, anyway - but this meal was the perfect excuse to leave her eternal Ferrari jumpsuits for something more feminine.

In the long corridor leading to the elevator, she'd suddenly felt on a catwalk, letting herself get caught up in the moment and rolling her hips perhaps a tad too exaggeratedly. The person emerging from the corner at the far end of the corridor surprised her, but not enough to disrupt her stride, her heels clicking against the floor.

She had recognized him immediately, of course.

Dressed in a simple fitted black polo and a pair of dark jeans, his eyes had not left hers throughout their crossing. When the two had finally reached the same level, she'd breathed out a small "Good evening, Carlos," suddenly insecure about everything. Her outfit. Her gait. The messy bun revealing her neck. The cleavage leaving no room for a bra and showing the beginning of her breasts.

He had passed her, nodding in acknowledgment, and each had continued on their way. She was certain... No, almost certain, that she had dreamt the words that had followed.

"That's one lucky guy."

Yes, she was almost certain she had dreamt it. Watching the Spaniard in the distance take hold of the microphone and tap it gently to check the connections, she became increasingly convinced. There was no chance that this man, chiseled from marble, could have noticed her. Desired her.

His accent echoes throughout the room, and she instinctively closes her eyes, as if bathed in the gentle sun of Madrid. She's not listening - not really - only catching words here and there. "Truly an honor," "Very impressed by your efforts," "Promising changes." But her mind is elsewhere, between Maranello and Singapore, tethered to the memory that makes her lower abdomen tingle in the sweetest of ways.

"And now, it's time to celebrate!" Carlos says as the room erupts with joy and anticipation.

"Earth to you?" comes a much less pleasant voice than the one that has just quieted down.

"I'm sorry, what?" she says, returning her attention to Livio.

"Oh, wow, you've got to be kidding me. Is it just me, or are you completely absorbed by this guy?" Livio replies, his mouth twisted in a grimace.

"Who?" she asks, genuinely confused.

"Sainz. You were hanging on his every word."

"I just think it's nice that they're giving an encouraging speech. Both of them," she explains, avoiding the Italian's gaze.

"Yeah, okay. Should we get another drink?" he asks, taking hold of her arm again.

She wants to protest. She can still taste the gin at the back of her mouth. It can't have been more than twenty minutes since her first drink. But Livio is already almost dragging her behind him, clearly determined not to let her escape tonight. And once again, that hand locks around her arm. Firm. Not open to discussion. She feels something almost territorial in the gesture, something that strongly displeases her, so she vows to mention it to Livio. Someday. Not tonight.

This time, he doesn't even pretend to care about what she wants to drink, ordering two whiskies straight away. She hates it. The taste, the look, what this alcohol does to her mind and body. But Livio has already slipped two bills to the bartender, and a moment later, the amber liqueur lands in her right hand.

While her drinking companion is already tilting his head back, clearly unaware that this type of alcohol is to be savored and not downed in one go, she observes the glass, intrigued by the few bubbles that are forming on the surface. I had no idea whiskey could do that, she thinks before bringing the liquid to her lips.

A few minutes later, she's managed to shake off Livio by claiming she needed to use the restroom. She crosses paths with Carlos walking in the other direction, maybe three people ahead of her, but he doesn't notice her.

In front of the restroom mirror, touching up her lipstick, her focus changes as she sees a drop of sweat trickle down her temple and slide slowly onto her cheek. I'm rather cold, though, she thinks, almost suppressing a shiver. Her head suddenly feels very light. She blames the alcohol. Putting her lipstick back in her clutch and tucking a strand of hair that threatened to escape from her bun, she pushes the restroom door open again, bracing herself to face the social world once more.

Passing by the buffet, a wave of nausea washes over her, forcing her to stop for a few seconds, leaning against the table and closing her eyes.

"I thought it was you," echoes the sunny accent in her ears. With her eyes still closed, she wishes their new encounter, one that she'd admit she's dreamed about, had happened differently. At a better time. A time when she wasn't battling a fierce urge to throw up.

"Are you okay?" Carlos inquires, raising his hand as if to support her but stopping halfway.

She takes a few seconds to push the unpleasant sensations from her body as far away as possible before lifting her head, opening her eyes, and being rewarded with the exquisite sight of his luscious hair and amber eyes.

"Hi," she manages to utter in a faint voice. "Great speech," she continues, still leaning against the table.

"You look pale," the driver responds, looking concerned.

The words escape her lips before they even reach her brain. She regrets them instantly. Something inside her just give way, like a dam.

"Sorry. I must have looked better in Singapore," she says.

Carlos widens his eyes, surprised, before letting out an awkward laugh.

"Sorry for staring at you like that, that night. You were... Well, you are...," he continues, seeming to search for his words.

She would so love to hear the rest, to know what he was going to say. But dizziness seizes her, and she feels herself tipping against the table. Well, almost, because suddenly, an arm wraps around her waist, pressing her against a chest that, yes, she's also dreamed about several times. But not like this. Not in this state.

"Hey," Carlos says, his voice tinged with worry.

"I'm so sorry, this never happens to me. I must have had one drink too many, I—"

"I saw you at the bar not even ten minutes ago," the Spaniard continues. "No alcohol hits you that fast. Not even shots."

"I'm fine," she says, and the pilot understands that she's saying it not only to reassure him but herself as well. And, as if the words had commanded it, the fog in her mind dissipates a bit. Enough for her to gently detach herself from the pilot, finding her balance on her own two feet again. She'd like to take advantage of this newfound clarity to keep the Spaniard close to her. Him, that she never crosses paths with, whom she never speaks to, and yet who appeals to her so much.

But Charles arrives. He smiles at her, asks if she's okay, if she's enjoying the evening, and oh, "I'll borrow him for a moment, I'm so sorry, sponsors, you know," and oh, once again, she finds herself alone at the buffet, watching the two men walk away, Carlos still watching her as he reluctantly retreats.

"I was beginning to think he'd never leave," Livio says, leaning against the buffet, his hip brushing against hers.

She wants to scream. Oh, how badly she wants to.

Sensing that she's not going to respond, the Italian tries his luck again.

"Should we dance? You seem intoxicated enough, now."

She doesn't even have time to respond before her colleagues guides her onto the dance floor, eagerly pressing his body against hers. His breath, previously tinged with whiskey, now betrays hints of tequila. The guy never has enough, she thinks, twirling reluctantly.

And there it goes again. The nausea, the queasiness. Spinning her around like a puppet doesn't help, she tells herself. She comes to a halt, cutting off Livio's momentum, causing some dancing couples to narrowly avoid colliding with them. Feeling vulnerable, she tries to get away, to seek refuge elsewhere. But her wrist is once again trapped.

"You don't look well. Come on, let's get you some fresh air," Livio says, heading towards one of the large glass doors.

She's often been described as naive by her loved ones. She believes that the whole world means well towards her, never suspects anyone of ill intentions. She would even say about herself that she has no instincts, let alone survival instincts. No sense of danger. Yet, perhaps for the first time in her life, something deep inside her is screaming not to follow the man. Her signals are on alert. Everything is flashing red in her mind. For her, it's a first. So, without thinking, without worrying about offending her colleague, she acts.

"I don't need to go outside," she says, trying to free herself from his grasp. She's sweating. She feels the unpleasant sensation of a thin layer of dampness creeping over her neck, her back, her hands.

Her feeble resistance is no match for Livio's strength, as he pulls her outside despite her protests. The music is too loud for anyone to hear their altercation. Divided between the buffet, the bar, and the dance floor, no one pays attention to this mismatched couple, to the determined man dragging a struggling woman behind him.

The door closes heavily behind them, stifling the sounds of the party, captured on the other side. It's cold outside, she feels it because her whole body shivers. But she, who was cold just a short while ago, feels like she's boiling. She raises her hand to her forehead, wiping away another bead of sweat that's formed between her eyebrows. What's happening to me? she thinks internally, troubled. Alcohol has never put her in such a state before.

"I'm so glad I ran into you tonight," Livio begins, either oblivious or indifferent to the young woman's condition.

She doesn't respond, feeling her head spinning, leaning against the wall behind her, gasping to try to catch her breath. Trying to control the burning heat that's engulfing her body.

"You look really beautiful tonight. Quite a change from the work overalls, huh!" the man continues.

She's not exactly sure at what moment he slipped between her legs, facing her, just a few centimeters from her face. But he's there, too close, forcing her to turn her head to the side to avoid his gaze - and his alcohol-laden breath.

"I said, you look really beautiful tonight," Livio says. "Are you not going to say anything?"

"What do you expect me to say to that?" she says, jaw clenched.

"Do you find me attractive?" the man asks, meeting her gaze.

The warning signals reappear along with the nausea. She barely has time to push the man away and lean to the side before emptying her stomach inches away from his feet. The naivety stops there. The pieces of the puzzle fall into place, realization hitting her painfully.

"What did you do to me?" she asks, her knees giving way under her weight, sending her crashing to the ground. He sneers, rolling his eyes, as she crawls a few meters, trying to put some distance between them. She's now sitting on the ground, her back to the wall.

"What? What are you talking about?" the Italian replies, offended.

"Did you put something in my drink?" she asks again.

"Come on, now. I've been helping you ever since you said you weren't feeling well. What kind of monster do you think I am?"

For a moment, her colleague's wounded look makes her seriously doubt herself. Maybe it really is just the alcohol, she thinks, trying to calm her racing mind. After all, why would someone deliberately choose to harm her? Why jump to that conclusion? Livio has always been charming. A bit clingy, but charming.

"I'm sorry for implying that. I'm gonna head back inside," she says, trying to stand up.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Livio answers, pushing her back down.

"What? why?" she asks, surprised.

"It wouldn't be very wise to parade in front of your colleagues and superiors in such a poor state," the Italian begins, his tone almost mocking. "It really doesn't give a good impression of you. It's not very professional."

"I haven't done anything, just had a few drinks," she responds, annoyed. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"You're so wasted you can't even stand. At a work event. Do you want to get fired or something?"

She opens her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but no words come out. She can't seem to figure out if Livio is with her or against her anymore. His words are harsh, aggressive, but deep down, the engineer probably isn't wrong. She struggled to secure a position here, at Ferrari. Even though she believes herself to be fairly skilled at her job and puts in long hours, there are hundreds of others doing the same work as her every day. And hundreds more who could replace her if the need arose.

She's not indispensable. She's not even that good at speaking Italian, having always had more ease in English or in French, even though she spends the majority of her evenings reading books in the language. She's just a tiny cog in the machine. She thinks about Carlos, too. What would he think, seeing me stumbling in the middle of the dance floor like a mad woman?

"Let me drive you home," Livio says, extending his hand. "Spare you the embarrassment."

She hadn't realized how tired she was. The offer is rather tempting. Getting back to her apartment, her cat, her bed. Above all, escaping the crowd. Forgetting this evening. Forgetting whatever she thought there was with Carlos, too, while she's at it. As a stronger wave of sleep washes over her, she temporarily closes her eyes.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get you in the car."

After her brain, her legs refuse to cooperate too. Her body barricades itself, trying to keep her firmly sheltered. Losing patience, Livio hoists her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She wants to protest against the position she finds herself in. That's so unladylike. Her last few connected neurons grapple over strange thoughts. I hope nobody sees my underwear, she thinks before her brain disconnects once again.

She's so far gone, yet the next words sound crystal-clear in her ears.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

Sounds like Carlos, she thinks, delirious.

"What does it look like to you? I'm bringing her home. She's wasted," she hears, and she thinks it might be Livio, because she feels his body shaking with each words.

"There's no way I'm letting you leave with her. Put her down."

"Yeah? So you can have your way with her?"

"No, so I can punch you in the fucking face," the accent-thick voice shouts.

She must have passed out for good because she doesn't remember anything else. When she wakes up next, which feels like an eternity later, she's sitting against a wall, this time indoors, wrapped in a golden emergency blanket. There's no more music. Opening one eye, then the next, she's met with Carlos' brown ones. She tries to speak but her mouth feels dry. The Spaniard hands her a glass of water, helping her bring it to her lips.

"I somehow managed to look even worse," she jokes, reminiscing their earlier encounter.

"The paramedics have just arrived. They're going to take you to the hospital for a check-up," he says and she nods.

"Thank you, Carlos," she replies.

"I haven't done the half of what I would have wanted," he says, regret filling his voice.

"What do you mean?"

"This has to be the worst timing ever, but I... I actually wanted to ask you out, before Charles interrupted us and before, well... this," he says, gesturing around them.

He doesn't see it, but hidden under the blanket, she pinches her arm. Hard. Just to make sure she won't wake up a second time. Seeing that nothing changes, she lets out a little laugh.

"If you wanted me to wear that silky green dress, I'm so sorry, but I ruined it in the washer."

"You can wear a garbage bag for all I care," Carlos replies, looking at her fondly. "You'll still stand out in the crowd."

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 imagine #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #formula1 #f1 2024 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you

[radiance1]

Hmmm Phantom Planet compliant except I had a random idea about the 4th version of Vlad in the 'Ten Years Later' section on the wiki (Listen I forget stuff a lot so if it's there I use it alright-)

Okay so Vlad, gets flung out to space and flies away from earth, then gets captured and turned into a slave by aliens and because he was the strongest among them, he's used both for work and sport. Where am I going with this? Easy, when Vlad was a slave he unfortunately (in his mind) gets attached to other slaves from other races who could either be adults or children your pick, I guess? So, when he breaks out and escapes, he doesn't do so alone.

This results in Vlad wandering around space with his new 'crew' doing... well, honestly I have no clue? Maaaybe trying to return members who still have a family (and a home) to return to back to them or whatever. Perhaps even because Vlad still doesn't have a good (he's a business man what did you expect?) moral compass, he kinda also steals from a few other planets or something.

Also taking the thing from the V4 where Vlad doesn't remove his shackles despite changing clothes because he wants to remind himself where and how far he came. Because boy do I actually like that.

So basically, space nomad Vlad with a not very good moral compass who regularly steal tech and other such things from planets while doing business with others along with the few members of his crew he's got left with a giant ship that he stole from his captors and also upgraded because he simply could.

Then he pulls up to Earth after a full ten years of being gone in Earth time, finally caving in because his crew wanted to see where exactly he hailed from and that he should totally have the opportunity to go back like he gave the others.

He does not expect for Earth to have changed one bit in his time away, he does expect something to happen when he enters Earth because you know, giant spaceship?

He does not expect to come across Earth after it had recently been invaded by another race.

He also did not expect to come face to face with this 'Justice League' that he's been hearing whispers of in space. He's known of them, of course, but he always thought that they were from another planet.

Not his homeworld.

(Meanwhile, Danny is just kind of there in the background, having faded since the Justice League was formed and they combated against multiple world ending threats. Which is exactly how he likes it, honestly. Normal life hooray!)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover

[nalyra-dreaming]

Holy shit?!

src

“Louis is still fighting to get to something, to unlock the memories that have curiously evaded him. "The pursuit of memory and truth is the driving force this season. It motivates Louis to get to where we're going to get to by the end of it," said Zaman. "Season 1 proved that his memory's completely shot in lots of ways, but who, or what, did that — that's the question I think we're going to have to answer."…

“It all begins with Louis, a textbook unreliable narrator, though Jones and Anderson both bristle a bit at the term. "One self delusion knits itself to the rest of your life," Jones said. He argued that Louis' memory might be "80-90 percent" correct, though it only takes one mistaken detail to muddle a timeline and cancel someone out entirely. "To unwind that, you call into question all this stuff. It doesn't mean that all this stuff isn't right. It's just this thing has altered it a little bit."

…

To Anderson, Louis' unreliability matters less than the vivid reality of his feelings. "It's not necessarily that Louis is a quote-unquote unreliable narrator," he said. "He is, because what he's saying is completely subjective. But I think it has just as much to do with how something felt, the feeling of a person or the feeling of an experience, than it is him actively trying to deceive anybody." That comes out most strongly in Dubai, particularly in the second season. "He's really, genuinely trying to find the closest thing to an objective recalling of events that he possibly can."…

“I like writing for Sam Reid, and I think in terms of how this thing is structured and what's going on in this headspace, it wasn't a big leap to go, 'Oh, he's haunting. He's inside Louis,'" Jones said. When we see Lestat at the beginning of the season, he manifests as what Anderson and Reid referred to as "dream Lestat" — not quite himself, not quite a ghost, not quite a memory, but some blend of all three, filtered through Louis' guilt and grief.

…

"Who is Louis remembering, and how is Louis remembering [Lestat] is always on my mind," said Reid when we first spoke at the Television Critics Association winter press tour in February. "I'm always thinking about it, and I'm always talking about it, much to the chagrin of pretty much everyone." (From across the table we were crowded around, Anderson heckled, "I can vouch for that.") Later, when we met one on one over Zoom, Reid elaborated, "Louis is speaking to himself, so he speaks like Louis. But he's also speaking to Lestat, and he's choosing to speak to Lestat when he's speaking to himself." The first time we see Lestat in Season 2, he materializes before Louis as a gory vision during a moment of mental deterioration, vengeful and overbearingly loving all at once. What was already a blurry line between the ex-lovers has now become indistinguishable.“…

“With dream Lestat assuming a number of dispositions, all dictated by Louis' headspace, separating dream Lestat from the real Lestat was crucial to Reid. "It's clear that Louis is putting the words into his mouth," Reid said. "Who's the guy that he's forced to see looking back at him, saying the words that he thinks he should be saying?" The presence of dream Lestat means that the state of the real Lestat is unclear when the season opens, but becoming this slightly unreal version of his character built on the groundwork Reid had already been laying. Going back to the first season, he often rejected Anderson's impulse to play their scenes together as if they were true. "I know this is not how this happened," he said of Louis' version of events, "which allowed me to kind of lean into the more sow's ear version of Lestat in specific moments, because I knew that we might be revisiting them."…

“For Claudia, Lestat's influence will always linger. "That's his daughter," Hayles said simply. "He doesn't need to be a ghost. He's in her." Louis and Claudia know each other inside and out, and Louis' love for Claudia is all-encompassing, but she sees the writing on the wall the moment he meets Armand: What happened with Lestat will happen again as Louis chooses another man over her.“

(much more behind the link!!)

UPDATE: link to the author’s tweet, Allison Picurro

#tv guide #interview #sam reid #jacob anderson #delainey hayles #assad zaman #eric bogosian #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #iwtv amc #rolin jones

[solitary-traveler]

Ascent to Oblivion part 1 - airborne embrace

The heart imposes how one should act. How they should feel. So how can a puppet constructed without a heart exhibit such distinct qualities?

Notes: This one is very self-indulgent. I swear I wish there was an option to catch him during this scene—

Warning: reader is not traveler btw, slight angst?

A heart is regarded as a mirror that reflects someone’s soul. A sovereign ruler that ordains decrees that the body is meant to follow. 

The heart imposes how one should act. How they should feel.

So how can a puppet constructed without a heart exhibit such distinct qualities?

He doesn't have a soul, nor a heart for that matter. Yet Scaramouche doesn’t fail to display the epitome of humanity. The emotions he claims are cursed act as a substitute; an artificial heart that ushers him in the direction of the deepest desires that he sought after. It spreads within his body like a burning infection, leaving a bitter taste of rage and fury that will never be quelled. Come hell or high water, his resolve never wavers. His ambition to prove to everyone that he is destined for more perseveres. He sprints to his goal like a marathon. To conclude his journey and prove to his mother that he has always been worthy of the gnosis.

That was your understanding of the 6th Harbinger, the Balladeer.

You stand beside the Traveler, along with the Archon of Wisdom you had liberated earlier. You encounter the rising "god" of Sumeru—the existence of who you know as Scaramouche—as he presents himself as the Shouki no Kami, the Prodigal, Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom. A long drawn-out battle that persisted 168 loops before you and the Traveler snatch victory from the harbinger.

You were tired and on the verge of collapsing. Bruises and scars are scattered across every nook and cranny of your skin. Yet despite everything—every word, every truth, every lie—you can't bring yourself to hate him. 

You wanted to hate him.

But why couldn't you?

Was it because you felt pity? Because the solicitude of his sorrows softened the fortification encircling your heart? 

Or was it because sympathized with him? Maybe you too knew how it felt when the cruel jaws of life gnaw on the strings that control destiny, only to give birth to nothing but misery and hatred toward the world?

As you looked up, you saw the electro gnosis in Nahida's possession. The puppet yells, an anguished wail of cries as every word laced with desperation begs to have the gnosis back.

"No! Anything but the gnosis!"

"That's mine!"

It was strange. Watching someone like Scaramouche throw away their pride and dignity, just for one measly gnosis. A gnosis that shaped his entire identity. An item he's been promised when he was fabricated, a promise the Raiden Shogun never kept. 

Your heart throbs. Was this the one you were supposed to hate? A misguided child who grew up hating himself and everyone around him because of accidents he interpreted as his fault?

Scaramouche's slender arms extend to seize the gnosis, to grasp the adhesive that was holding up his fragmented individuality. One by one, the tubes embedded in him fracture. Pink liquid sloshed out like waves, smearing pigments on the platform. But he couldn't care less. He wanted the gnosis. He needed it. With a hushed click, your eyes widened.

He fell.

And you jumped.

Despite the burning sensation of the wounds you had accumulated from the puppet, you rise without hesitation as the overwhelming urge to catch him coursed through your veins. You create a whirlwind that propels you in his direction, with the aid of your anemo vision. Time itself decelerates as you can only hope to reach him. You were praying to any go out there that you haven't miscalculated.

One.

Your arms wrap around Scaramouche, cradling him closely to you. You caught him. Thank the archons you caught him. 

Two.

You were to land swiftly on the ground—but having exerted the last of your energy—your touchdown wasn't as smooth or graceful as you had hoped. Your feet slipped, causing you and the harbinger in your arms to skid towards the rubble of rocks. Even then, you squeezed him tightly, not wanting to let go.

Three.

A deafening crash resounds in the domain as you smash into the massive debris. But your clutch doesn't waver. You held the puppet in your arms, a testament of your newfound will to protect him. To keep him safe. You could no longer watch him be cheated out of everything good. He deserves some peace, a tranquility you were willing to give. In spite of your best efforts to remain awake and asses how Scaramouche was faring, your brain started to deprive you of your consciousness.

Four.

A hand clutches your clothes firmly, as you feel the cold porcelain pressed against your skin. Before you collapse into an unconscious state, you overhear a broken sob. A sound only those with a shattered soul can let out.

Taglist for part 2 is open btw!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact fanfic #scaramouche #scara fanfic #the balladeer #genshin scara #scara x reader #scara x y/n #scaramouche x reader #gender nuetral reader #genshin x reader #wanderer genshin #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer #wanderer x y/n #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact wanderer #scaramouche fanfic #wanderer fanfic #scaramouche brainrot #i just want to catch him #hoyoverse please

[luvring]

i was thinking about oikawa and i just KNOW that he LOVES to be babied. that's just him, yk? like that's totally him and i would love to read about 30 year old professional volleyball player oikawa tooru being babied by his wife

(timeskip, fem!reader) he's just like me fr. i actually wrote something different but there wasn't enough babying so here u go 🥹🙆🏻‍♀️

tooru is one of if not the hardest worker you know, never losing sight of his ambitions and passion. determination lines his veins, and late nights of practice and analysis have seeped into the cartilage between his bones, gluing together what makes tooru oikawa, #17, setter for club athletico san juan.

but it's not oikawa, it's tooru, the boy you met in high school who stumbled down the steps after using a cheesy pick-up line on you and whines when you try to leave his arms for the washroom, who's your husband.

"long day?"

tooru groans and buries himself deeper into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped snug around your middle. he didn't really need to answer—the lit street lights and dim sky outside were answer enough.

holding back a laugh, you comb your fingers through his hair, the familiar scent of jasmine and vanilla dancing its way to you. "proud of you, baby."

your husband's voice is quiet, "thank you."

"you want me to run a bath for you?"

"...maybe later?"

"m'kay. you wanna stay here for a while?"

"yeah." his fingers trace hearts across your back, and when he pouts, you feel it against your skin. "i'm so tired."

pouting too in response, you press a kiss to his head and rub his back. "i know, baby, at least you're home now."

"but then i have to leave you tomorrow."

"and then you come back to me again tomorrow."

"but then i leave again—oh my god, what kind of sick world do we live in?" he whines, letting out a noise that could be described as a choked sob.

and this time, you let yourself laugh. "aw, my poor tooru,"—you cradle his head against you —"the horrors of a job have caught you."

"what if we worked somewhere together?" he lifts his head to look at you.

you raise a brow. "i love you, you're the light of my life, but you are not getting me on that court."

he gapes. "betrayal from my own wife?"

"okay, then come to my job."

"...well—"

"betrayal from my own husband?" you gasp and tooru pouts again—though at this point you're not sure if the original pout ever left to begin with.

it's still just as endearing, and your expression softens. "you'll be fine, 'ru. i'll baby you as much as you want every time you come home."

his pout pulls even more at his lips, and you mirror it. bringing your hands up, you hold his face and squish his cheeks with your words— "i, tooru oikawa, love my wife and my job, and i'm a strong, independent guy who can do anything."

"d'you rilly hafta hol' m'face?"

"it's for the effect and affirmations," you tease, before your amusement softens to something else. "how long are you out tomorrow?"

tooru's jaw drops as much as it can with you holding him in place. "why would you—9 hours!"

and before the dread of leaving you can fully take hold, you kiss his forehead. the apple of his left cheek, the right, his brows then his eyes, his nose, both sides of his jaw, his lips—all with a resounding mwah!

tooru's arms cling tighter, and he leans into each kiss, always chasing your affection though he doesn't have to. you smile at the flush dappled across his face. "see? a kiss for each hour."

he opens his mouth to answer, but then the pout comes back. "each half hour at least. each 15 minutes—"

"tooru." you snort. "what is that, like, 36 kisses?"

"okay, a kiss for each minute."

"babe—"

"you know how hard i train, i know you watched my interview."

and you really don't think you'll make it to 100, much less 500 kisses, but you'll try anyway, even if after the first one, tooru says, "one."

you snicker as you place the next four, and he counts them before pointing out, "you know, kissing your husband is way easier than doing rdl's."

"yes, yes, i know, honey." you softly laugh and press another to the spot between his brows. "i'm not complaining."

he counts again—six, seven, eight, nine—and you remember the determination and patience of oikawa was never separate from tooru, especially not when it came to you.

#luvring.txt #haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #🧾nia.answers #<3 anon #maybe i'll edit and post the other one later bc i think it was cute #.. will have 2 edit quite a bit. #bc i reused stuff so itd just be. repetitive BDHSJDJ #guys i have no idea what scents are good i pulled that jasmine and vanilla out of nothing. #if that smells like shit. um. dont tell me. actually tell me. and then tell me what hed smell like. #not sure if this version has enough babying either now that im reading it. well.!!!

[penelope-potter]

Smudged Lipstick~♡

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! Owl Hybrid! Reader

Summary: You are an Owl Hybrid Demon, who's power is to see the memories of sinners past life's. Out of fear that others might take your power for their own good, Angel came up with the idea of presenting you as a porn star with love powers instead- to avoid trouble. Alastor who grew fond of you, offer his help...

Warnings: No one it just gets a little hot in here doesn't it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the sofa in the hotel lobby, your head leaned against the palm of your hand, while you listened to the groups discussion about how to come up with a lie to protect your new found powers. You adored the fact that the group of sinners you grew close with actually trying to help you out with your problem, just like you did it with theirs. You had the ability to see the memories of the past life's from sinners, so you were a great part for the team of the whole redemption thing Charlie is so excited about. You offered your powers to Angel first, which he agreed on, and what ended up in an emotional puddle for both of you.

Therefore it was just more than obvious he wanted to help you too. So he came up with the amazing idea to push the hint out of peoples eyes that you have such powers, to replace it with another. Your head rose up. "I should be what?!" You asked, all eyes on you. "A love demon, seriously Angel?" Asked Husk with a sceptic glance. He was kind of protective of you, so when Angel came up with something like this, surely made his nerves go wild. "What? She already looks like some sort of love demon I mean just look at her!" He pointed at you. "Also whats the matter? Porn is always a good way to put a spell on peoples heads..." Angel winked at you as you glanced over to Alastor who sat on the other side of the room in his armchair. Legs crossed and his smile plastered on his face like always, although now it looks somehow more forced than before. His eyes hiding a slight bit of annoyance.

You knew that he wasn't very fond of the way Angel constantly flirts with anybody including him. Or any sexual themes in general so you suddenly felt embarrassed about it. Maybe it was the fact that you developed a crush on the Radio demon, or the whole idea of you doing things what would normally only Angel would do, brought you more cringe than anything. "They will never believe that I'm...well-" You started, heat rushed up to your cheeks. "Oh come on toots, you'll be amazing just look at you! Heart shaped antlers, cute lil' heart spots on your wings... your whole appearance screams for love!" He teased and came to you only to squish your face between his hands. "...you look so innocent, the people will go wild when they see that the little bird becomes an eagle..."

"I don't think (Y/N) is very comfortable with the idea of doing such nasty things like you Angel..." All heads turned around to look at Alastor who just looked in your direction, the others long forgotten. His position bever changed, but his hands firmly gribbed his cane in a more aggressive way than before. Angel's head turned to him, a smile spread across his features. "Oh oh big scary demon thinking someone will take his girl?~" Alastor's grin tighten and his head titles to the side. You could see the anger boiling up inside him so you just tried to brush it off. "It's alright Al, we have to do something that the other sinners won't get any clues. Even if that means doing something like this. It's just photos." The demon looked at you, his eyes still holding the war between grabbing Angel and smash him against the nearest wall or to actually pay attention to what you were saying. "I won't do anything that's above my boundaries..." You assured him, and finally his gaze softened. Like always when he interacts with you. You liked that you have such an impact on him and felt kind of honored for the special treatment he gave you. So you didn't wanted to make him uncomfortable in any way. "Oh come on now sugar cheeks, you don't have to promise him anything he don't owns you!" Angel said with furrowed brows and looked directly at him. "I know that Angel, he's just trying to remind me that I don't have to do this." You smiled at Alastor before you stood up infront of Angel. "So you two are gonna do this for real?" Husk asked again. "Yep. Maybe it won't even work, but we should have tried out everything." Angel nodded, the anger of the deer in the room long forgotten. "Well I'm happy you two found something to start with!" Cheered Charlie, a bit unsure about the situation as well. "When you two need help with something-" "Oh we don't need help but thanks Charlie. She will learn everything she needs to know from me." He grinned and grabbed you by the arms. "Let's go!" "Wait, now?" "Of course! The sinners won't wait an enternity for you! Let's get you dressed up, we're taking pictures!"

The enthusiasm he has for this left you shook your head. "I don't know Angel, I think I will mess this up." You said as you picked up a bright pink puff sleeved crop top which looked like it could pnly fit Fat Nuggets. You even wonder how Angel ever managed to get into that thing. "Of course you can, I'll be with you so don't worry. We'll just let them think theres a new star on the Angels lap. He was so excited about it. You were not. "Don't say that like this. Nevermind, tell me what should I wear?" He grinned and turned to his closet, almost throwing everything on the inside out so let out a chuckle while trying to catch some of the things. "Wow I never saw you in one of these..." You hold up a black skin tight leather jacket. "Well it's because not for everyone to enjoy!" He said grabbed it back. After a while he picked something for you, something that was fitting you in his words. Now you are standing there with a rainbow choker around your neck, a white crop top and your hair messed up on the top of your head. "Is this really necessary?" You asked once again as the spider cursed under his breath while doing your eyeliner. "Hold still and yes this is necessary. You want them to eat this shit up don't ya?" "Fucks Sake...." you muttered as he turned you around for you to look in the mirror. You let out an exciting gasp. "Wow Angel you did amazing! I look so..." You started. "Amazing?" He finished for you smiling. "Thanks toots, got me a while to get it right." He said. You turned your head in every angle, admiring your eyeshadow with the heart symbols and your eyeliner. The colors were fitting your wing color and your cheeks looked a lot more reddish than before. Your nose also had a nice sparkle on it. He even put on lipstick which was shimmering red like blood. "Let's do this!" Angel grabbed a camera from his bed and turned around. Your smile dropped. Oh lord...

Getting the pictures to look like you ACTUALLY know what you were doing was a lot harder than thought. You lost track of how long you two needed to have atleast five to six photos to fill with every week to post. You were quite confused and ashamed for not getting it right, even then Angel showed you more than once how to pose. His constant laughing made it only worse. "Fuck it, I quit! You said angrily. Sweat covered your forehead and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller than before. "I'm sorry sweet cheeks, it's just pure comedy that you've actually no idea of how a hot mess looks like, don't you?" You sighed. "No Angel I don't." He titled his head. "Never caught by a hot made out session?" You blushed. "No!" "Aww". "Shut up, I think we have enough pictures for today." You walked to the door and swung it open finally breathing the chill air inside and let your hot cheeks cool down. Angel followed you. "Alright we will find a solution. When imagine the whole thing won't work out, then I might just kiss you by suprise..."

You stopped abruptly and turned around. "No!" "But either way you won't deliver it the right way!" "Noy absolutely no- you are like a brother to me Angel please." You said almost desperate, only for you to see that Alastor was standing right beside you two.

Great.

You felt your head burning as you suddenly felt very aware of the minimalist amount of clothes you wore and tried to ignore him. "Okay that's sweet of you but that won't stop me." He said and his shit eating grin never left his face. Angel reached out for your lips with his thumb. "What are you doing?!" "Smudging your lipstick so that it at least looks like you just got caught in a hot make out session." You already started to protest as Alastor walked closer standing right next to you. "Well hello dear. I overheard a little. Seems like you could use a hand!" His smiled widened. "How could you from all of hell help her?" Angel asked and furrowed a brow. "Hmm I think I'm quite good to let a face looks like a mess." He said and glanced over to the spider who just scrunched at his choose of words. Alastors eyes darted back at you, his hand slipped up to your upper back and rested right between you shoulder blades. The touch send shivers down your spine as you tried to remain realxed. "Uh sure. I don't think we will need your-" "I think it's worth a shot don't you think? Because for me it seems like you two are somewhere stuck in the progress..." Alastor said, his hand wandered to your side, pulling you closer. Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden touch from him. It was normal for you that he invades your personal space but not like this and not for that long.

Angel looked over at you, silently asking for your permission. "Uh yes why not let him help!" Seriously you don't even know what you're saying at this point. You were too flustered and you head was filled with nothing as his smell. Freaking feelings. "Maybe we can make it quick with the photo." You said ignoring the fact that your heart was louder than the words you spoke. "Okaay...well when anything happens I'm in my room. Waiting for you." Angel said but his eyes followed every movement from the deer next to you. He knows that you're in love with him, he found it out as you two were sitting in the kitchen and caught you staring at the demon from across the room. He teased you about it of course just in a funny way, but he is also protective of you because he doesn't trust Alastor one bit. He just don't want you to get hurt. Although you and him are somehow very good friends. You nodded as the spider walked away slowly one last look in your direction as he left around the corner. You sighed. "You know you don't have to do this." He looked at you confused. "Whatever do you mean dear?" He looked a lot more calm now, his statue more relaxed as he swirled his cane between his fingers. "Helping me out with this. I know you don't like that kind of stuff and me neither. You can't imagine how desperate I looked like while taking the pictures." You laughed in hopes that he will turn on his heels and left. Instead he closed his tooth grin to a relaxed smile which always seemed to you like it was truly genuine. "Oh don't break your pretty little head about this songbird. I know you are far too sweet for something like...this."

His gaze lowered to your top and you already felt the heat rushed into your head. Oh how he loved seeing you so flushed because of him. Suddenly the distance of you and him grew smaller from second to second as he towered over you, gently grabbing your hand in his while rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. "I must say darling, this color suits you unbelievable good, I wonder how it will look smudged..." He pulled you closer with his other hand now on your lower back. Your bodies pressed against each other he lowered his head so you had to look up just to see his crimson eyes half lidded. "You...know you don't have to act." You said breathless. "Who said I'm acting, cher?" His smile grew even softer and it almost looked like it was fading as he let go of your hand just to slide his sharp claw over your bottom lip, careful not to hurt you. Goosebumps running down your neck and you could only stare at him as he cupped your cheeks in his hands and came impossible closer to your face. You grabbed his collar out of excitment, what caused the deer to let out a quiete huff. His lips brushing over yours like a feather as he spoke. "If anyone tries to harm you in any way after this picture...I will rip their ridiculous organs out of their bodies..." He whispered against your lips. "...you are far too pure to be resembled as some sort of toy..." "Al-" You whispered, shaking.

He finally broke the last few inches and pressed his lips against yours. You gasped suprisingly. It was not a peck it was more than a good friend should be doing. Thousand questions raced through your brain but you couldn't care less. Instead you became braver and grabbed his neck running your fingers up to his undercut. His hips molded into yours as he pulled you even closer so you could feel his racing heartbeat against your chest. The tip of his tongue silently asked for permission on your bottom lip as you opened your mouth a bit. His claws digged into your hair and a soft groan escaped him. You felt the heat in your head and you bei you looked like his crimson suit for sure. What seemed like an enternity the two of you let go of each other, for you to breathe and for him to pepper your neck with sharp kisses. His lips were now tinted in the same red color as yours, the messy red scattered around his lips and smushed over the edges. He looked even hotter in this messy state you realized, his cheeks suddenly also a bit reddish. You wanted to say something but you already heard steps coming from the floor.

"Toots, Smiles where are you for fucks sake? Messing something up can't take this long..." Your heart dropped to the floor in an instant as you tried to free yourself from his grip only for him to still hold you close. He could easily aviod this drama to be seen. He could just miracle the lipstick stains away but he didn't moved. You're standing there, the red color still on his lips and Angel would obviously see what you two were doing but he didn't seemed to mind.

He finds your flustered state adorebal, really. "He-he will see us..." You started your last attempt to let go of him before it's too late but he only chuckled and pulled you closer to his chest, his face again close to yours. "Let him~"

"What. The. Fucking. Hell?!" Angel stood there, his jaw dropped on the floor. "Oh you are back! Well it seemed like I could helped a little. It was very exciting I must say!" His eyes followed back to yours and his smile grew wider. Angel would tease you forever for this. "Well I think our friend is left speechless dear. It was a pleasure." He grabbed your chin. "Don't be so shy little songbird. I like that smudged image of yours..." His eyes gazed to your lips again before he leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek close to your mouth.

"Well then, I hope this helps for your little shooting! I will see you later." He said- only to you it seemed as he turned and left, the lipstick still over his face.

"What is even happening?!"

Angel shouted out and laughed unsure.

"I- I don't"

"Oh Husk will love this!"

"You shut up about this!"

"No way. But at least you had a hot made out session when I look at your face..."

"ANGEL!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh gosh I did it! I hope you enjoyed it!

Still in love with the lipstick trope~

#alastor x reader #hazbin x reader #alastor #hazbin x you #alastor x you #fanfiction #omg I hope you like it I'm so nervous #penelope write's

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

Alastor's reaction to "Bitch, what's for dinner?!"

There is no way in Heaven or Hell this man is every saying this to you. He'd be terrified of his Mama hearing him from Heaven and coming down to reinstill the fear of God into him. Wooden spoons and switches hurt when wielded by a righteously angry woman. Not that his mother hit him often (his father did more than enough).

And you value your life and your relationship with him to try it. In fact, it probably doesn't even cross your mind to test it.

You're not even sure why it's trending. It is a really sweet video and highlights the lingering effects of abuse, but for people to recreate the video is odd to you. I mean, maybe not, because you see a lot of cosplay under the sound, and you'd be lying if you didn't agree with some of the ships being perfect for this audio. But like, you don't want to recreate it with Alastor.

So how would it come up?

Well, you and Alastor are sitting together, it's later in the evening, he's reading his paper and listening to radio and you are sitting quietly beside him, phone volume and brightness on low so you can watch a few videos, the compromise you made with Alastor about technology being near him.

The sound comes across your feed paired with yet another couple re-enacting it and from the corner of your eyes you see Alastor's ear twitch as the door slams on the video and the man shouts at his girlfriend.

The second she responds with the timid "grilled cheese" his head snaps towards your phone, the video glitches, and your phone shuts off (at least he's stopped breaking them).

"How distateful. And to be comfortable with others seeing him behave so brutishly. Clearly, men today need to be taught manners, their poor mothers. What an embarrassment to have your child turn out so disappointing."

You lean against him and pat his arm.

"If you'd have waited until the end, you'd see it's just a trend. People yell this at their partners to see how they'll react, if they take that abuse or not, and if they do, they always reassure them to never let anyone speak to them that way. I think it's supposed to be cute and supportive."

Alastor rolls his eyes, muttering about how nonsensical that is. You get your phone working again and decide to put on a true crime podcast to listen to before getting up. It's your turn to make dinner, so Alastor's your helper and dishwasher tonight. You wait for him to finish his page, set his paper aside and stand, his arm going gently aroind your waist as you two stroll to the kitchen.

He stops in the entryway and turns to you.

"For the record, I should hope I would never stoop so low as to treat you that way, but if I do, or if something I say or do truly upsets you or harms you....please do not refrain from telling me."

You laugh and kiss his cheek. "Just telling you? Usually those videos end with their parnters granting permission for their partner to slap them."

Alastor chuckles. "If you feel it's necessary. Though I'd prefer we just talk."

"I'd prefer that too. And same goes for you, always tell me if I've crossed a line."

"Of course, my dear. Now, I'll demonstrate the proper way to phrase that question."

He takes your hand dramatically, lifts it to kiss the back of it, and guides you fully into the kitchen. "What are we making for dinner, mon cher?"

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter Two: The Wastes

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: As you trudge through the wastes looking for the doctor, you and the ghoul decide to set up camp. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.2k

Navigating the barren wastes was never a task for the faint-hearted. The scorching sun beat down relentlessly, the dry air sucked the moisture from your pores, and the ever-present radiation kept you on edge. Easy work for that damn ghoul, you thought. A sense of unease always lingered in these parts despite all the years you’ve done this.

The ghoul maintained a steady pace ahead of you, with the dog forging an even greater distance in front as she diligently followed the trail of her missing owner. Doctors have always been a sought-after commodity, but the substantial reward offered for this one hinted at something deeper. So far you’ve seen a ghoul, a knight of the Brotherhood of Steel, and a vault dweller mixed up in all of this. Who else is after this man?

The mangled remains of an old Soviet satellite loomed into sight as the dog bounded towards it, barking excitedly. Upon reaching the ruins, you spotted a pair of legs emerging from the debris, followed by a torso. But to your surprise, that was all that seemed to be present seeing as the head seemed to be sawed off.

"Oh, shit," you whispered as the ghoul knelt down to examine the body. The dog sniffed around, whining softly before resting her head on the lap of the headless corpse. It appeared that the doctor hadn't gotten far, evident from the unsettling sight of a bloody metal foot attached to one of his legs.

The ghoul starts to cough and wheeze violently, a sight that has become all too familiar to you from past experiences. Without hesitation, he retrieves a vial from his satchel resembling the one you had previously shown him and inserts it into an inhaler. Inhaling deeply, he lets out a long sigh of relief. "How many of those you got left?" You quip.

"I keep forgettin' you’re here, you’re so damn quiet," the ghoul complains, slightly annoyed by your presence.

You raise an eyebrow, undeterred by his irritation. "Answer the question."

Grimacing, he carefully places the inhaler back inside his satchel. "Enough to get me through. Besides, you bribed me with a vial, so I’m assumin’ you got more. Don’t know why I ain’t just shoot you now and take it," he mutters, frustration evident in his voice.

"I'd make sure to break the shit before you even draw your gun." With a smug smile you take a seat next to the doctor’s corpse. “We’ve been walking for almost a full day now. Wanna rest?”

The ghoul looks at you wearily, his eyes scanning the desolate surroundings. "That vault dweller won't make it too far, so I suppose we can hunker down here for the night."

As the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow across the desolate landscape, the small fire you managed create dancing aflame, providing a small comfort in the darkness. Sticks of iguana meat, graciously hunted down by the dog, roast over the flames.

The ghoul lies flat on his back, his body weary from the day's journey, patiently waiting for the food to be ready. In this moment of stillness, you take the opportunity to observe him more closely. Despite the absence of a nose and the scars that mar his skin, you realize that, all things considered, he doesn't look too bad for a ghoul. There's a certain resilience in his eyes and a hint of humanity that shines through the decay.

"What're you staring at, smoothie?" His gruff voice cuts through the silence, abruptly pulling you out of your thoughts.

Startled, you quickly avert your gaze, hoping he doesn't notice the slight blush that creeps onto your face. "Nothing!" you hastily reply, trying to regain your composure. "So, uh, what's your name?"

"No," he curtly responds, his expression guarded.

"Okay..." you exhale, not wanting to push him any further. Sensing a need to shift the focus away from his guarded demeanor, you dig through your pack and retrieve a Pip-Boy. With a few flicks and taps, you check on your radiation levels, noting that they are not alarmingly high but still present. 

As you glance up from the Pip-Boy, you notice the ghoul looking at you curiously. His gaze lingers on the device, and you can tell there is a spark of interest in his eyes.

"Scavenged a vault a long time ago," you casually remark, hoping to initiate a conversation. The ghoul nods, his gaze returning to the night sky above. Not a big talker, you think to yourself as you grab the cooked sticks of meat from the fire and toss one towards him.

He catches the meat with a swift motion, his eyes momentarily softening with gratitude before he takes a bite. The flavors of the wasteland dance on your tongues as you both savor the nourishment.

As the night sky envelops you in its dark embrace, you settle into a companionable silence once more. The crackling of the fire and the occasional sound of chewing provide a comforting soundtrack to your temporary respite. The dog rests her head on your lap as you eat the rest of the meal, saving a bite for her even though you watched her eat an entire radroach earlier.

As you offer her the morsel, a glint of appreciation shines in her eyes. She gently takes it from your hand, savoring the treat as she curls up beside you. You take a moment to observe her, the flickering firelight casts a warm glow on her fur, accentuating the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

You reach out to stroke her fur, offering a comforting touch. The dog looks up at you with eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and longing. It's as if she understands the weight of her loss, yet finds solace in the companionship she has found with you.

Unbeknownst to you, the ghoul has been silently observing your interaction with the dog. A flicker of emotion passes across his face, a brief but genuine smile that hints at a hidden softness beneath his hardened exterior. He turns on his side, settling in for the night, and offers a simple instruction.

"Make sure to put out the fire, smoothie," he says gruffly.

Looking up at his back turned to you, a small smile creeps onto your face. You rise from your spot and take a moment to extinguish the crackling fire, ensuring that all remnants of its warmth and light are gone.

Returning to your makeshift bedroll, you lay down next to the dog, who has already settled in for the night. The quietness of the surroundings wraps around you like a peaceful embrace. Gazing up at the stars, their brilliance shining through the vast expanse of the night sky.

As you lay there, the tranquility of the night begins to lull you into a peaceful state, coaxing your eyelids to grow heavy. The wastelands may be ravaged and unforgiving, but for now… there is a quiet peace shared among you, a ghoul, a dog, and a headless corpse.

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123

#here is chapter twooo #I'll upload chapter 3 in a couple days :) it's also muuuch longer #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #fallout #Smoothie and The Ghoul #the ghoul #cooper howard

[thedeathlysallows]

Is It Over Now? (13)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon; Aegon Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon

Summary: My hand was the one you reached for

Warnings: canon typical Targaryen incest. Stockholm Syndrome, infidelity, manipulative Aegon, discussion of character death. Smut, fingering, using murder as dirty talk, hand job, public sex.

Aemma's coin has finally flipped, but where will it land? Greatness or madness?

Tag list: @callsignwidow

You aren't sure how or when it happened, but it's as though something inside you snapped, slowly but surely shifted your love and loyalty from your mother to Aegon. All your plans, all the playing pretend melted away until it became your reality. When did that happen? When did you become so pathetic? Was it the abject horror of seeing Aemond loving another woman in Harrenhal? Or were you always this weak?

"You seem deep in thought." Aegon looks down at you, head tilted slightly so that the rubies of the Conqueror's crown glitter in the sunlight.

"I suppose," you respond dully.

He hums in annoyance before looking away abruptly. You aren't sure why he insists on walking with you through the gardens, but it was the one reprieve he allowed after your escape. You're kept under a smothering watch at all times now except for when Aegon fetches you for your daily walk. He never lets you go with guards. It has to be him, and you just don't understand it.

Annoyance rises in you, bitter and dark. "I don't understand!"

"What don't you understand?"

Lots of things. You don't understand lots of things, but you don't want to discuss the complicated relationship between the two of you, so you say, "You told Aemond to seduce the witch. Why? Why would you do that?"

Aegon tosses his head back and laughs. "Is that what the bastard told you? And he says I'm the degenerate one."

"Aegon, this isn't the time for jokes. I want the truth." You turn to him fully and he's struck suddenly by the fire in your eyes. It's been so long since he's seen it he thought you'd given up your spark completely.

But of course not.

Of course your fire is still there because his is still there.

Aegon still burns every second of every day for you. The two of you are the last flickering twin flames of Old Valeyria, meant to merge together and raze down everything standing in its way. He loves you, desires you, needs you more than Aemond possibly could.

"You want the truth, my little dragon?" He steps closer to you, following as you move away from him. "I'll give you the truth, but I want you to remember that it was I to do so... not Aemond."

You suck in a deep breath, overwhelmed by Aegon's presence crowding you against a tree. Rough bark bites into your exposed back and arms. Suddenly, the gauzy dress you chose this morning doesn't feel like it covers enough.

"Aemond would never lie to me," you eventually say.

"I see. Is that why he blamed me? All I told him was to keep the witch loyal to us. I don't give a single fuck about her happiness or comfort... but Aemond does, doesn't he?" Aegon traces his thumb across your bottom lip before continuing.

"Let me guess: he told you not to worry and that she could never compare. I've told Helaena the same about my whores. I suppose, in a round about way, it's the truth. She's kinder than them, more of a proper lady. She deserves better."

You want to strike out at Aegon, your palm itches for it, but you stay still. He pets you so gently, running his hands over your body in a comforting way that brings tears to your eyes. You want to ask him why he doesn't give her better if she deserves it, but you already know the answer.

You.

Aegon has spent years pining over you, spiraling when you were taken away like some sort of toy. He's a spoiled brat. You love him anyway... but you love Aemond as well.

"Is love enough?" Your voice comes out as barely a whisper.

"Enough for what?"

"Anything." For Aemond to be loyal, but you don't say it out loud.

Aegon knows what you want to say, but won't say. He knows you better than anyone. Maybe even better than you know yourself. "Love is enough for us if you'll allow it."

Your lips curl up in a wry smile. "You're being awfully sweet today, Your Majesty."

"Maybe it's because I see where my brother is failing and I decided I need to take this chance."

"Failing on your orders."

"Not my orders. I never told him to fuck her, but we both know that's what he's doing." Aegon presses his lips to yours, hot and persistent. "Don't you want revenge, little dragon?"

Yes.

Yes, you do want revenge.

You want blood and revenge and for this foreign anger inside you to end.

Aegon's lips trail from your lips to the column of your neck, teeth sinking into your skin every so often while his hands grip your waist. He grinds into you and you feel the delicious drag of his hard cock between your thighs. "I have plenty of information from the witch. So much that her life means nothing to me now. You could kill her if you wanted."

Kill her?

"H-have you ever killed anyone?" The idea makes you nervous, but it's hard to concentrate on those nerves when Aegon's hands are slowly bunching your dress around your waist.

"Yes. Would you like to hear about it?" He nips at your ear, chuckling darkly when you yelp. Two of his fingers circle your clit before dipping into your cunt and he moans when he finds you absolutely soaking wet.

You nod, letting out a little whimper. "Yes... please..."

"Mmm, good girl." Aegon pumps his fingers in and out of you at a punishing pace. "It's better than any drunken high, any fuck... it's... ah, fuck, yes..."

Aegon's head falls to your shoulder when your hand slips inside his trousers to stroke his length. You wrap a leg around his waist, silently begging him to go deeper.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes against your skin. "Such a good little whore for me. D'you like this? Like me fucking you in public?"

You do. You really, really do.

"Say it," he demands, wrapping a hand around your throat. "Say how much you like it."

"Aegon... please... I love it."

"Say you love me."

You nod. "I love you!"

Aegon's grin is almost terrifying when he says, "I want to watch you kill Alys Rivers."

The pleasure that had been building in the pit of your stomach crests and washes over the rest of you, leaving you to spasm around Aegon's thick fingers. He kisses you all over as he reaches his own orgasm, spilling into your hand.

"Good girl," Aegon whispers into your hair. "Fuck, you're so good for me. We need to remind Aemond how good you are, yeah?"

That's all you really want, you think to yourself. You just want to be good for the people who love you. That's all you ever wanted.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you

[tipsyleaf]

Leon’s wife is the type of wife to pick at her husbands face and back all day. He’d be watching TV in the living room and suddenly she’s sitting on his lap plucking his eyebrows because she’s bored. All while he complains that it hurts. (That man was been beat to death yet can’t even sit still while getting his eyebrows plucked. 🙄)

Or she’d make him do some stupid silly skincare. He’d get a silly headband to push his hair back of course, he’d just be half asleep as she gently spread the clay mask across his face.

Violet and Lia would probably mess around with his face too. They’d drag him over to Violet’s room and make him go to their “Salon.” A place where they literally torture him with girly things.

They’d put his hair up in little pigtails, probably beat his face to the gods too. He’d come out of Violets room looking like a pretty princess. His left eye filled with dark colored eyeshadow from Violet and his right with pretty colors and pastels.

- Anon! 🎀

Suggestive Moment Below Cut

No literally she'd be an absolute menace with grooming him. He has no idea why she loves it so much.

"Ow!" He flinches as you rip another long hair from his brow.

"Oh it doesn't hurt that bad you big baby." His grip on your waist tightening as you lean back to assess your work so far, not wanting you to fall back and crack your head on the coffee table like last time.

"You're not the one having hair ripped o- ow! I thought I married a scientist not a beautician..." He huffs as you giggle at his pain, putting the tweezers back into the small brow kit on your lap.

"I'm a woman of many talents." You reach in pulling out the brow scissors, grabbing your wrist he stares at them.

"What are these for?"

"To shape, relax I'm not gonna cut your eyebrow off." He stares, raising his freshly plucked brow, you sigh. Leaning into his ear to whisper.

"If you let me use the scissors I'll let you do that thing you like." Your tone is teasing, his head turns to you.

"As long as I want?"

"Mmhm, and I won't even complain." He lets go of your wrist immediately, leaning back like he's in a professional chair ready for someone to do their worst to him. You smirk, going to shape his brows. His arms pull you closer as he watches you work through slightly cracked eyes.

"For the record, I like when you complain. Makes me know I'm doing it right." You flick him in the chin making him chuckle as you continue to work carefully.

You sit back, nodding to yourself.

"Oooh, we have twins!" You gasp staring at him.

"What! What!?" Your voice is barely above a whisper as you lean back in.

"You have grays in your beard..." You immediately reach for the tweezers, he pushes them onto the couch.

"No! It's bedtime!" Standing up, he lifts you into his arms, making his way towards the stairs.

As for the mask thing I personally think Leon has sensory issues when it comes to stuff on his face, when clay is chunky it makes him think of... the past.

But I could see him being okay with those sheet or charcoal masks that peel. But you'd always fight him on doing the peeling because let's be real it's gross but super satisfying. An it's always funny watching him cringe at how nasty his pores were.

Putting the little creams on him after is his favorite part! Because that means you use a jade roller over his face. He loves that thing. Wishes they came in the size of a paint roller for his back. Every time that little roller touches his face he melts. He'd almost be purring it feels so good to him.

Not only is he getting to do a routine with his adorable wife but that damn roller nearly makes him fall asleep standing up at their his and hers sinks. You'd kiss his chin once he's nice and clean, pull off the cute little tabby cat headband off his head.

"We're done?" He looks so sad. But you always end up having him cuddled up to your side by the end of the night, using a wooden rolling hand massager on his back. He'd be out like a light, snoring away in 20 minutes tops.

But the skincare routine definitely started after his girls loved playing salon with him (not mommy because daddy always listens to the kid gossip and gives the best feedback)

Violet's talking about her 2 friends arguing over who gets to play with her at recess or sit with her at lunch while putting his hair up in tons of tiny pigtails with different colored hair ties. All while Lia would be just clipping on any little beret or cute clip she could find from her collection to his bangs.

Leon would walk out of there and into the kitchen while you're doing the dishes. You look at him and grin.

"Rough day Leona?" You joke, making him groan as you laugh. "You look like that doll from the Rugrats if she got into a fist fight."

"The girls thought I looked beautiful!"

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy #🏡 domestic life with leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #🌿 ivy writes #🌿 ivy replies