#French u pin

[61below]

Fellow long-haired folks with sensory issues, let me show you this absolute gem for keeping your hair back without straining your scalp:

If your hair is long enough to twist around itself, it’s long enough for this U Pin to work. I don’t recommend trying to run a marathon in it, but it’s great because the hold is JUST strong enough to stay put under basic daily use, but without giving you a headache from the constant pull on your scalp.

[sykeboy]

Pin's character analysis (based on the TV series)

So we all know that Pin's canonical event was to experience her parents death at such a young age, wich left her feeling very lonely, but also defenseless

I think these 2 pictures summed it up pretty well, at such a young age children need the adults arround them to take charge of (them during) challenging events such as these so they can feel safe and protected

This also reflects the way in wich Pin goes about in regards to her dessires. She is quite shy in general, and she is pasive in this sense, she acts like this little kid that needs someone else to give her permision to express herself and take direct actions to get what she wants (class status plays a big role in this, since she's still a type of servant on the palace so she's not allowed to act as she pleases all the time, and that tends to keep her in her comfort zone)

In general Pin is very disconected from her dessires, wich I also associate with traditional gender roles and the fact that she feels super indebted to her aunt and the royal family that took her in after her parents died

And that's precisely the key to her character: she is loyal

In systemic therapy loyalty is very important, loyalty can give a person a sense of self, it can grant them a sense of belonging, allow them to feel protected as a part of a community, etc. And Pin, given her circumstances, deeply craves for all these things

But loyalty can also harm a person if it doesn't fall in line with the persons true dessires and values, becoming alienating since the person is not living in a genuine way

Pin, in her search for love (in all it's forms) and still on survival mode from the trauma that her parents death caussed her, turns to people pleassing, but, at some point, she's going to realize that it is not possible to please everyone and also remain true to yourself

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.

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PS: Her relationship with her aunt is particularly important for Pin's identity and her adherence to the rules, and her aunt is a very structured person. Also (spoiler alert) she is also gay but I think she had a bad experience so she's on survival mode as well, and has modeled that for her niece for a very long time

[superm4ks]

dorian pin getting pole + p2 in the f4 opener. i fear its never been more back for women.

🥲🥲🥲💘💘 that’s my girl bro fr like immediately forgiven for that f1a move because ik people are paying close attention and that’s all that matters

[stepintothelimelight]

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ HASN’T EVERY LITTLE CHRISTMAS WISH BEEN SENT?

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　° I hope the holiday

will find you well… ✧ ⁺

PART 2 of the Spitfire Saga

TRAILER: A blue Christmas in Monaco

(Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader (platonic), Sebastian Vettel x fem!driver!reader (platonic), 2017!f1 grid x fem!driver!reader)(SMAU + written work)

For more Spitfire content go to my account and it’s my pinned post since tumblr hates me and won’t let me link anything :)

WARNINGS: ANGST, family issues, mentions of death/ mourning, language maybe? fluff (a little), google translate french, sexism, slut shaming, complicated family relationships

fc: pinterest girls

Aaaaannnnd ACTION!

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yourusername just shared a story!

Caption: [skiing w my favs 🩶]

Replies:

yourbestfriend1: With the boys? yourusername: with the team!! 😜😜 yourbestfriend1: Oh right I forgot you’re a pro driver now and go on free ski trips with LEWIS HAMILTON yourusername: Lewis isn’t here ☹️ yourusername: i think he’s a little salty about merc replacing Bottas so soon yourbestfriend1: did he expect them to race a driver down? yourusername: 🤷‍♀️

charles_leclerc: Why no invite for me? yourusername: sorry i don’t associate with rookies charles_leclerc: you’re a rookie as well Chérie. yourusername: sorry i don’t associate with non race winners charles_leclerc: f1 changed you 😞 yourusername: i don’t mean it charlie 🫶 yourusername: next time me n u n artie can go 👍 charles_leclerc: liked a message

lewishamilton: Sorry I couldn’t make it. Hope you had fun! yourusername: I did! See you in Feb for preseason! 🩶

yourmominsta: A little jealous! yourusername: liked a message

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You cradle your phone in both hands and stare down at the little red heart. Double tapping your own mother’s message should not make you feel this gross and torn apart inside.

You stare at your instagram chat with her for a few more minutes than you’d like to admit, then shut off the phone altogether and lay it facedown on the bed next to you. 

You’re somewhere in the Swiss alps with your performance team, taking a few days to ski before the holidays. You, luckily, have your own room in the little hotel that is somehow associated with Mercedes as a whole. 

There’s a gnawing in your chest. Should you have responded to you mom with actual words? 

Things at home have been rocky lately. 

It started the week of Abu Dhabi. Since you were already F2 world champion, you had planned to pay the fine and skip the final race of the season, since it was thanksgiving.

In all honesty, you didn’t decide that. Your mother and father did, then held an hour long screaming match with you, which ended with your mother storming out and you in tears. 

“Don’t you love us? Don’t you want to be with your family?”

“No, of course not. To her, we’re nothing.”

They’re not nothing. You wish they were nothing, that what they thought didn’t mean anything to you.

But they aren’t nothing, and you still would move heaven and earth for your family’s approval, so you had decided to stay home for Thanksgiving, whether it jeopardized your career in motorsport or not. 

Until you got the call, they had won. You were going to miss the last race of the season, possibly the last race of your career for a family dinner. 

And then Toto called and you sprinted out of Calc, turned your car on and sped to the nearest airport, shooting a text to your mom on the way.

She had not been pleased.

A voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like Seb’s tells you that there shouldn’t be a world in which you make yourself sick worrying about what you mother is going to scream at you when you get home. 

You wish you could text him. Call him, tell him what’s wrong, but you can’t, or you won’t.

You don’t want to bother him, and you already have one set of parents that hate you, you don’t need him and Hanna to get fed up with you, too. 

You can’t, however, stomach yet another family dinner when your mother, father, aunt and uncle are all ragging on you for following you dream and being a little too busy. You know they all wish you were normal.

It’s not worth it, you decide. Going home is not worth it.

So you pick up your phone and tap on Charles’s contact, realizing only belatedly that your presence at their home would be an intrusion on their mourning.

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Christmas in Monaco is … everything you remember your childhood christmas to be. Unconditional love, laughter, light.

There are times, of course, that you all feel the lingering hole that is the absence of Herve, who was the patriarch of the family. 

Pascale, bless her soul, she does her best, and seems genuinely glad that you’ve come to celebrate with them. 

“Y/n, mon amor!” she exclaims as you walk through the door, Mercedes duffel bag thrown over your shoulder. “I was so happy when Charles told me that you were spending Christmas with us!”

She wraps you in a hug and you freeze up, willing the tears that are stinging your eyes away and easing into the embrace. There is t a time in your recent memory that your own mother hugged you like this.

Pascale snaps her fingers at Charles. 

“Charles, monte son sac dans la chambre.”

He sighs and takes your duffel over one shoulder, ascending the stairs to the bedroom you will be sharing with him.

“Come,” Pascale orders you in English. “You must be starving!”

it’s a flush of hugs and chatter and drinks flowing, sitting around this table with the Leclercs. Enzo and Arthur don’t question your presence. You assume that Charles has told them you are constantly having issues with your family. 

Charles sits to your right. Pascale heads the table and Lorenzo sits across from Charles with Arthur to his right. Lorenzo asks you and Charles about the upcoming season, congratulates you in your win. 

“Charles will not stop talking about it!”

“It’s impressive!” Charles defends, his ears pinking. “She’s the youngest to ever win!”

You pat Charles’s shoulder. 

“It’s ok, Charlie. I know I’m just so amazing.”

He mutters something in French that you don’t catch, but Pascale slaps his shoulder.

“Do not use those words at my table!”

The entire table erupts in laughter and you look around. This is the first time in a long time that a family dinner has actually felt like family.

There is a mattress in Charles’s closet that you’ve slept on for hundreds of nights throughout your lifetime. It’s a little lumpy, but the trick is to lay down a comforter under the bottom sheet and that smooths out all the bumps. 

You’ve showered and changed into your pajamas while Charles makes up the makeshift bed at the foot of his own. 

He casts a dirty look at your black Mercedes t-shirt. 

“This is a Ferrari-only household,” he scolds you with no actual bite. 

“I don’t see you driving for Ferrari.”

He rolls his eyes at you and takes one of his pillows and sets it at the head of your bed. He’s pulled the sheets tight, just like he always used to.

“When was the last time you slept here?” He asks you, breaking the weird silence you’ve fallen into. 

“Um,” You set your clothes next to your duffel. “2015? I came and stayed to watch your first home F3 race?”

He was seventeen, you fifteen, and you’d been in the height of your awkwardness, and to make matter worse, he still hadn’t discovered deodorant. Altogether, not a fond experience.

He makes an affirming noise and lays down on his bed. 

You pull back your covers and he shuts off the light, and for a while it’s just the two of you breathing. He always tries to match your inhales and exhales.

“Your family,” he blurts into the dark. “Why aren’t you with them?”

Your heart squeezes. 

“I think they think I think I’m too good for them.”

He pauses.

“Repeat? slower?”

You laugh softly. Sometimes you forget his English isn’t the greatest. 

“They think that I think that I’m better than them. My mom, especially. When she was growing up I think she idolized her parents and I don’t idolize her in the same way. She’s really scared that she can’t control me like they controlled her.”

Charles mulls that over,

“And your father? “

You sigh into the darkness. 

“I don’t know. He’s always working and he doesn’t like that I have my own opinions and stuff, because he’s very … he needs to be right. 

“And then my brother, we get along when our parents are being crazy, but it’s not like we’re close. I was gone for most of our childhood and now he’s in school.”

There’s a shifting in Charles’s bed, the you hear his feet pattering on the floor. The mattress beside you dips, then he’s laying next to you, his shoulder touching yours.

“This is very uncomfortable.”

You scoff out a laugh.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is. My bed is much more comfortable.”

“Then go back and sleep there!” 

He shifts next to you, rolling on his side then back to his back. Lying here, next to him, it’s hot. You scoot over an inch so you can still feel him but you’re not touching. 

His breaths become slower and deeper.

“I’m sorry,” He tells you just as you’re drifting off to sleep. “That you feel like your family doesn’t want you, but… “

His hand pats yours three times. 

“I’m glad you’re here. Makes it more bearable.”

You fall asleep then, and wake up with you back to him. You sit up as the cold light streams through the blinds and look over at him. His face is smushed and a bead of drool pools on his pillow. 

“Charlie,” You whisper. “Charlie, wake up.”

He sits up like you just ran an electric shock through him. His hair is smashed to the side and he used the back of his hand to wipe the drool.

You giggle.

“C’mon, I smell breakfast.”

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twitter:

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charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: A bittersweet Christmas celebration. Will be missing you forever, Papa. x

tagged: arthur_leclerc, yourusername, lorenzotl

liked by max33verstappen and 56370 others 

view 72891 comments:

user1: Merry christmas, charles! 

user2: Repose en paix, Herve ❤️❤️

user3: The fact that Y/n spend Christmas with the Leclercs is 🤨🤨

↳ user4: fr i knew she and charles were close but … girl… he has a gf …

↳user5: Oh I bet his GF HATES her

↳user77: Yeah, AND it’s the Christmas right after they lost his father, like intruder who?

yourusername: ❤️❤️❤️

♡ by creator

↳ user65: HOMEWRECKER

↳user66: She’s actually such a skank. I don’t know why people put up with her.

user6: I know it’s been debunked a bunch of times but CharY/n would be so 😍😍

↳user7: he has a girlfriend and she’s always said he’s like a brother to her

↳ user6: if my bf had a friend as close as her I would end it

↳user7: the thing is that she has been seen out and about with Giada. They’re good friends 😳

user8: Doesn’t Y/n have her own family to spend Xmas with?

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As soon as you say ‘It’s fine’ you know you’re done for. ‘Fine’ is never fine.

He calls you, you try to avoid the question, but then he hits you with -

“Y/n.” In his disappointed/worried voice. And it works like it always does. You tell him everything - from when it started when you were in F3 to now, how you’ve driven your family away. He listens. He’s a good listener when he wants to be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks at the end. You take a shaking breath.

Because I didn’t want you to realize I’m no good. Because you would leave me, too. Because I can’t not love them and I don’t know why.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going home for the new year?”

You’ve been waiting on a text from your mom. That’s how it goes. Fight, spend a week in the silent treatment, one of you reaches out, you make up, then you fight again. You promised yourself that you’re not going to be the one to reach out this time.

“I don’t know.”

“If not, come to my house. We’re having a party.”

Your words catch in your throat.

“I don’t want to intrude-“

“You’re never intruding,” he assures you. “I’m your mentor, remember? I have to look out for you.”

My parents are supposed to look out for me.

“Okay,” you breathe out. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Seb.”

“Merry Christmas, Spitfire.”

Your mom texts you. She grovels. You get on a plane an hour later and go back home.

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yourusername

yourusername: gettin ready 💪💪

F1 2018 and last semester of hs here i come

liked by mercedesamgf1, yourbestfriend1 and 817279 others 

view 5389 comments

yourbestfriend1: okay miss influencer 😍

♡ by creator

user10: Y/n on twt: 😃👹🤡😼🧌 Y/n on insta: 🩵🌃🎹🫧⭐️🪞

↳yourusername: it’s called duality babes 💋

↳user10: OMG

↳user16: her addiction to memes though 🤣 she can’t even do an aesthetic post without one

gg_giada_gianni: jolie fille

↳yourusername: c’est tout toi ❤️

↳user80: Y/n and giada saw the romance rumors and said hold my beer

user20: Why didn’t you spend Christmas with your family??

leclerc_pascale: Wonderful to spend Christmas with you, darling

↳yourusername: awwww thanks for letting me crash your xmas 🫶🫶

↳arthur_leclerc: Don’t worry, she likes you more than she likes any of her actual children

↳ charles_leclerc: Sadly true

user11: Still can’t get over the fact that she’s still in school

user12: U don’t deserve that seat

susie_wolff: Such an inspiring young woman, Y/n!

↳yourusername: Hi susie 😚

yourmominsta: So proud of you, ladybug!

↳ yourusername: ❤️

user13: why would they let a woman in the car?

↳ user14: she’s already driven it

↳ user15: and won her debut race ?

max33verstappen: Merry Christmas! I wouldn’t train too hard, since you’ll never beat me again! 😸

↳yourusername: 😺😺😾🔪

user17: I didn’t know she played piano?

↳user18: she plays off and on. Her youtube has a few videos of songs she’s covered and written

↳ user17: multitalented queen 👑

user19: Oh, to be eighteen and already signed to a top F1 team

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✧ ⁺ ⁺ oh, noel

oh, noel ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

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Aaannnnnnddd scene!

DIRECTOR’S CUT: a little short and bittersweet holiday special (in august 👻)

Want to join the taglist? drop a comment below or message my inbox

🏷️: @octavikravecell218

[chlmtsdoll]

hii I love ur stuff I have a request for reader getting her dream come true come to life which is modeling for alo like from your second fic !!

love u !!

You’re too kind 🥹 ily 🤍 this was supposed to be short n sweet but then I just couldn’t stop ! I decided instead of a blurb it’ll be part three to this series so thank u for the idea !! I hope you enjoy <3

PUSH YOU TO THE LIMITS

౨ৎ Pairing: Art Donaldson/Tashi Duncan x ballerina!reader

౨ৎ Summary: finally your dream of modeling for active wear besides your ideal model differences has come true, but the adoration and attention you pull leaves Art and Tashi wanting you just for themselves

౨ৎ Word count: 4k

౨ৎ Warnings: smut !, p in v (unprotected sex), oral (m) reviving, fingering, voyeurism, no use of y/n, sugar!baby reader, age gap (reader early 20’s), Art and Tashi dilf/milf age, lots of pinning, teasing, eventual filth, petite!reader, edging, praise and some degradation kink, pet names

౨ৎ part one | two | four

You couldn’t believe it, you finally made it.

Here in Florence. On your first modeling contract for Alo, you’d only dreamed of the day under a week ago.

You were bubbling with excitement from within, your perfectly manicured nails painted in a dainty French tip dug into the your skin of your wrists as you watched the sights beyond the SUV you were being driven in. You nibbled on your bottom lip to subtle the smile you just couldn’t hide away. It felt like you’ve completed life when it was all just beginning. And Tashi couldn’t have been more right, all the hard work you put in on your own, was worth the pay off.

You fidgeted with the sleeves of your cardigan in anticipation as you passed over a bridge, beautiful monument of the city ahead of you. Your cheeks heating up behind the glass of your window again in thrill, you then felt a warm hand set on your thigh.

“Are you cold, love ? Or is it too hot in here ?” Arts tone was gentle as he noticed your state, the corners of his lips turned up in a smile as his blue eyes met your glance.

“Could we get the ac down some ?” Tashi asked the driver as she hadn’t looked up from whatever paperwork she’d been examining in her lap.

“No, no. I’m fine.” You reassured with gratitude in your expression when you finally turned from your personal sight seeing to face the couple. “I’m just- so astounded. I can’t believe I’m here.”

“Well start to believe it. From ballerina, to tennis player.. to model.” Art had gave you an encouraging grin. “You’re unstoppable you know ?”

You couldn’t help but fall bashful under his words, flustering up all over again as you giggled coyly.

You were determined. Something you learned early on in your ballet days of always keeping your mindset forward and eyes on the prize. You hugged your legs to your chest as Art played with the ends of your softly kept hair.

You were over the moon by the fact Art wasn’t too busy with tennis that he’s able to accompany you and Tashi on your work trip. His wife encouraged he say back to rest up during his off season, but he insisted he’d be by his little ballerina gone model on her first job. It was a big moment.

“Ooh… can we stop and get pastries ?” You asked as you all passed by some of the most beautiful cafe’s you’d ever seen, eyes wide and almost drooling as you watched through the glass like a child.

“Later. They want you there early. We don’t even have much time to stop by the hotel.” Tashi replied as she finally brought her attention away from her work to glance out the window briefly, and Art just admired the way you looked at the environment like it was heaven. Always taken away by your joyous innocence for everything new around you.

You were adorable in his eyes.

Finally arriving, it was even more face paced than you anticipated. You were in hair and makeup as soon as you all had gotten inside the upscale building and your eyes tried to take in every inch of overly eloquent wainscotting that linned the walls as they could.

You couldn’t help but be ruled by intrigue any time you stepped foot in a new jaw dropping place with Art and Tashi. And soon enough there were people all around your tiny figure, trying to match up your foundation shade perfectly to your luminescent skin. Products being put into your loose locks to make it bounce and flow effortlessly for the cameras.

Tashi had rushed with part of the campaign team to run over your looks with a couple of stylists standby while Art stayed with you. Viewing as they made you look beyond picture perfect, which he would digress because you were everything above heavenly just as.

Before you knew it, you were dressed and ready in your first outfit on set. The fluorescent lights being adjusted to warm tones that made your skin glow in the five different lenses surrounding you.

Art and Tashi had only been a couple feet away as they observed from behind the cameras and rile of people all trying to capture you.

They caught sight of ever way your peachy yet plump lips sat as someone adjusted your gloss. Round doe eyes raised to the celling as they ran a camera test for you to settle comfortably. Your hair teased in the perfect way that made you look astonishingly elegant all while staying true to athletic.

You were everything above angelic in the couples eyes as your silhouette glowed. To everyone really.

No one on that set could take their staring eyes away from the way you naturally fell into posing. Having kept in mind when Tashi ran by you everything she picked up in her days of modeling, working fast but making sure to sell what you had been given. For the flawless way to grab the audience, make sure to tilt your head away from the camera just enough to dominate the spotlight.

And how you did just that in more.

Tashi rested a elbow in her hand as she viewed your stretches and high lounges when you twirled to let the camera capture you gracefully, her fingertip running over her tinted lips in thought, or more hesitation, as she waited for the moment to give you any notes. But as more time passed she just had to sit back and watch. You were leisurely making shot after shot for the crew of people snapping you.

The cameras adored your aura.

“She’s a fucking natural.” Art murmurs to Tashi as he stood by to observe the light that was you.

“Five two couldn’t stop her if she was turned down by the biggest company in the world.” The woman commented and Art let out a chuckle in agreement, they both couldn’t help but be in awe.

And when you had stood to take a break for a moment, you shot the couple a honeyed little grin, sweetness pouring off of you, magnifying them like magic or something. You watched as Tashi stood up straighter in her chair and Art’s tongue darted out just shortly to wet his lip when you floated out of the back rooms with new attire.

Soft stretchy grey fabric stuck to the curves of your skin just snug as you made the leggings and sports bra set you wore look like it should be worth millions.

“Fuck,” Art cursed out breathily at the sight. Your legs looking longer and even more toned than ever now, you tried to act like you didn’t notice the way everyone’s demeanor changed when you walked back in the the room and entirely filled up space liked you’d been some higher being.

All you could think is they just wanted more of you.

Your blush soft but prominent as you started to pick up on exactly what you had put down. Sudden twist in the rapture.

Tashi took a swallow at the saliva forming in her mouth, the woman noted one of the directors come up to adjust the way you posed there waiting in obedience. Fidgeting with her rings. They came up to whisper in your ear, and she tried to see her very best over cameras as you nodded.

She noticed a hand going straight to your inner thigh as they tilted you in a soft Arabesque.

Being so used to being propped and toyed with till perfection from the ballet. It was like second nature for you being the muse. And you couldn’t quite deny the fact that you even enjoyed the likeness of being a doll on display for everyone’s amusement.

Something about it felt accommodating to you. Even now, with the way Art had been eyeing your posture down. lips slightly agape as he sucked in a breath to chew at his knuckle briefly in the sight of the way your ass made shape of the glorious leggings, your chest was upturned just at the right degree for his viewing. It sucked in a breath that could of inaccurately been a potential growl.

Your lips twitched as you tried not to let a sly smile take upon your lips. You were still being posed with hands gliding all over your body like molding work while Tashi and Art fought god’s gracious battle not to pull you off of that set.

It all kind of felt like a game to you. A fun little way of showing them they weren’t the only two who wanted you anymore.

Now, you were their craft that could be easily taken and made for others to touch at any given moment if you let them. Turned into an absolute masterpiece of what they created of you from the bottom, now rising to the top.

Quickly as they could have seen it coming, you were profitable it was clear, more beautiful, talented and ambitious than ever. Determined to get everyone to see you shine.

That thought absolutely mortified Tashi more than she anticipated.

An ache started to form deep within the former tennis player as she recognized the glint in your eye. A new spark of power that you stolen over the room. And for the first time in a while, fear had really been trying to break her overbearing wall of calm and collect.

She narrowed her eyes over at Art, he had glanced back at his wife in exchange of some other kind of language you hadn’t fully figured out yet. But they were completely knowing of what had just went up.

Usually having control over whatever happened in width of everything you were — this was the first time they weren’t behind the wheel, and everything about that terrified them.

The expansion of what you could become.

When the shoot with Alo had been a full out completion of shots of you just spoiling the cameras with your allure, you rued the moment when you’d come down from the high. The glamour of it all might of been too much for your little head and small former ballerina background to handle.

“Do you think you’ll spread out to more than just athletics ? Do a- I don’t know, Vogue cover or something ? You could.”

Your high pitched squeal bounced off the bathroom’s enclosure as you’d nearly jumped from the bathtub you had been basking in, hands going to reach for Arts when his words were exactly what made you tick. You’d even splashed some of your bath water on him and he couldn’t help but let out a loud laughing at your reaction, making you giggle along.

“Oh my god ! Could you imagine ? Like really.. me. On the cover of Vogue. No way, no way-” your eyelashes now bare and softly coated in the mist of the steaming bath water. Art grinned at the way you leaned on the side of the tub into his warmth, his own finger trailed through the bubbles surrounding you while he sat just above the water.

Smile plastered to the curve of your lips that was all too pretty for him.

Tashi hadn’t said much of a word to the two of you since you’d all been back at the hotel, but overhearing your conversation with her husband as she readied a towel from the sink area made the thread unravel.

“You love it don’t you ?” Her tone smoky where you couldn’t tell if it was genuine wonder or coming from a place of knowing. It was never clear when it came to the enticing woman. “Eyes not getting enough of you, preforming for everyone in the room as a collective but specifically to haunt each individual differently, hm ?”

Both you and Art were directed to her lean body standing by the tap, fingers tugged at the cuff of her simple cream colored sweater as her eyes locked on you. The towel resting in her hands stretched for your entry.

“Come.”

You rose from the tub beneath you at her word, droplets of water ran down your naked body as you stood and faced the cold air without hesitation. Pruning hands covered your chest and Art rose to help you step out from the bath.

It was nothing for the drips of water to meet the floor as you glided your way to Tashi. She wrapped you up snug in the balmy cloth, examining the way you turned for her to dry you off smooth and in an unhurried manner. You couldn’t help but think about the coldness that probably bored her hands from underneath the towel and the way it would feel to come in contact with your skin right then.

And just when you let your mind wander her flush finger just missed your bareness as it crept to lift your chin so you’d meet her eye-line. You swallowed quickly as you searched her brown peering into yours and your hands only instinctively gripped the hem of your cover up, she filled your senses up ever so quickly.

“I don’t want you forgetting who made you, where you belong.”

“I won’t. I couldn’t.” You were stunned you didn’t stutter from the way Tashi’s free hand has been briefing the completion of your exposed thigh. Yet you never looked away from her entrance, Arts eyes had dropped from where your lips had been so close to one another, to the way Tashi pushed on your towel to reveal harden nipples against glass like skin.

“You don’t act like it. You act like you want to be touched, so badly. Yearning for it in everything you do, from anyone.. you’re that desperate for it you don’t even think twice to hide it.” Tashi spoke sharply down to you and your bottom lip sunk between your teeth as her fingertips only made soft slow circles around your sensitive area just by your core.

You put up a battle not to let a gentle nose escape your lips.

“No,” you croaked out with uncertainty. Your hand going to reach the counter giving leverage to you as Tashi made one in your space.

“Yeah.” Her mouth went to grade the tender lobe of your ear, “I think you need to be reminded who you belong to. Get those whore thoughts out of your mind before they get you in trouble..”

You only whined out breathily before a yelp came from you as Tashi pinched down on the meat of your inner thigh and it stung, sending bolts throughout your body, but quickly soothed by the way the woman’s slender fingers found your slit and grazed the wetness just settled around your pussy.

“Spread those legs for us, pretty.” Tashi made sure she hoisted you up on the counter, you were light as a feather to her hands and she made sure to push your legs wide so you were on display for her and Arts sight only. Your chest heaved as your heart race increased as you didn’t know what would happen in response. Was she upset ? Pleased ?

You felt Arts presence embark you as his big hands went to push a few strands of hair from your delicate face that had gone up in temperature rather quickly. The way Tashi’s middle finger went to toy with your clit made you hiss,

“You’re just our little thing aren’t you ? You’re ours. So sweet for us on display. Say it.” Tashi had been staring you down, eyes burning into the way your expression scrunched up with exhilaration as her fingers found their place stroking your cunt, your head might as well been done with how light it was getting from the tangency being all too much.

“I’m yours, I’m- - mm, yours” you whimpered out as your mind went cloudy from Tashi’s soft circles around your heat and freehand gripping your thigh to stay nice and spread. Your eyes watched the way Art licked his lips slow, the blonde also holding you with grace as your sputtering noises filled his ears.

You couldn’t help but peer into his blues, asking, begging, needing his touch too. You wanted it bad.

You craved it.

Tashi had picked up on it like anything else, her breath hitched softly as you drew closer to the way he watched you trip up on your words around the way her digits play with you, just gripping his arm like a safety as you dripped with wetness that coated the womans fingers.

“You want to ride his cock don’t you, baby ?” Tashi cooed at the way you eyed her husband, knowing all the dirty ways you’d been thinking right then of what he could do to your poor little body.

All you could do was nod your head, damp curls bracing your shoulders and a soft hum came from you, Art had leaned a kiss to your neck smoothly.

“Gotta use your words, babydoll.”

Your eyes had fluttered shut and your body practically jolted off the counter when his caress braced your skin again. Making your little whimpers turn into a ordeal of moans, and you could of sworn you saw Tashi’s lips twitch into a surreal but small grin.

“Yes. Yes, I want to,” you panted out before losing the blondes touch once again as he backed away from your shape. He ended up sunken on the suave couches that were in the center of the lux bedroom, just outside of the bathroom.

You could see him sit back on the seat, manspread and arm lounging it as his finger tapped in calm but certain anticipation of when Tashi had been done with you.

His pupils dialed and filled up with sudden lust that couldn’t be tamed any other way but sinking into the sweetness of his blossom like girl. You.

And you felt your legs snap shut, pulsing with need as your wide submissive eyes couldn’t look away from the man now. Want for him to fill you the brim took you over completely.

Tashi’s hands had been holding you by the waist as she watched your posture be lifted with need, her eyes traveled down your petite body and back to your fawning face.

“Go.” Was all she said before easing up her hold on you, lips turned a content measure as she let you from the counter top to your feet, watching as you trotted your way out the room as to where her husband was. She’d leave him to have his way with you, and she would go back to handling whatever business the assistant would have readied for her.

Art viewed your heaven like shape embarking him, small but full on show smirk across his lips as you hover him briefly, legs on either side of his muscular body and tits on full showiness for him as you eased into his lap.

The blondes hands immediately went to grasp at what he could, your hips, the smooth skin of your ass, his peach colored lips meshed with the side of your neck and to your lips in a sloppy kiss. You smelled of the sweetest sent of vanilla and cherries, skin like the softest stroke of a rose petal in his hands. You were delicate and so open for him to take from, willing and needy for his rough way with you.

“I knew you’d be a good girl.. mmm-” he groaned into your mouth as you kissed him back with greed, lips colliding like how to sky meets the sun, your exposed front sunk into the prime of his chest as he held you, and you’d know just below where Tashi left you wet and clenching

He was fucking hard.

Jeans becoming unbearable as he groped what was there for him to touch of you and you moaned softly with high pitched tones much too heavenly for Art,

“Need you, Art, please..” you breathed out, practically hanging off of just his sent as the man tried his best to pull from your divinity to get his pants off and far away from him. Fastened hands unbuttoning the fabric and unzipping his fly all while you kissed and nibbled on his earlobe.

Art lifted himself and you to push down his boxers, dick springing out on instant and he held himself in wait of you,

“bounce on my cock, princess, you got it.” Art panted as he pressed in the small of your back to arch your position on top of him, your face colliding with his hair in a mess as you whimpered at just his words, hands rushing to grab hold of anything in reach as your whines turned into a strangled cry at the way the head of his cock slid into you.

You held his shoulders and moaned out like a slut at the way he was sliding through your folds. Wetness like a blanket to him as your walls were tight and stretched, you could feel Art curse against your skin when you sunk all the way down on him.

Softly calloused hands on your hips tight, he leaned his head back against the rim of the couch, a hazy smile on his face as you rode him, hips gliding against his own as almost pornographic moans escaped from you instantly.

You felt him deep, rocking and bouncing where it was like nothing you’d ever experienced before, Arts groans filled up the space as your hips took him somewhere else. You were moaning out his name whist the sounds of slapping from between the two of you echoing. You took in every inch of what he gave you in a plea.

It wasn’t long before he had his way with you on as many surfaces of that bedroom as he could, you’d been fucked in so many different ways in so little time you weren’t quite sure how you’d handled it all only still being new to being so sexually aroused and active.

“Oh… oh. fuck! Yes-” You cried out as you’d been on your back now against the Arm of the couch, Arts hips snapping into you as he grunted at the sight of your soaked precum filled cunt taking him pound after another.

Your head dizzy and hanging from the piece of furniture as your body shook with bliss. With the feeling of you potentially being printed on magazine’s all over in the future and being Art and Tashi’s play piece had you on feeling on top of the world, you could say it was enough climax for you alone if you hadn’t been coming a third time right then.

“Shit. I’m gonna cum, Art.. I’m cumming !” Your warnings were so girlish and penetrating to Art, which he just ate right up, trying not to cum himself hearing you yell his name out like that. He kept your thighs flush to him as he pumped you through it and your body trembled with a string of breathless moans when your release hit.

It was so much before the tennis player had felt his own load coming quick, he panted as his body stilled.

“On your knees, sweetheart.”

You did just as he told you, knowing what came next as the first time he came in your mouth. You got on your chiffon like knees, and your fanciful eyes met his with a soft bat of your lashes as Art placed himself on your slick tongue.

You sucked him in till your mouth was full and you groaned softly, Art palmed at your hair from just the sight of your soft lips around his member, biting down on his own as he observed you swallow him.

“hollow those cheeks just like I taught you, princess.”

You held back a gag as you sucked him, holding his base in your petite hand as you slid him through your mouth, only pulling out slowly when you feel his cock twitch inside your enclosure. Art groaned as pumps of his seed were left on your tongue, you couldn’t help but give him a mischievous smile as a string of spit collected with his soft erection from your tongue.

The way he watched you with a grin made you feel like his sweet obedient little girl. Taking all his cum wherever he wanted. It made you blush even after everything.

You could feel the puffiness of your pussy clench just at the sight of the last few drops of cum escaping his cock, and Art had then reached to lift you up from the floor.

Scooping you up in his arms, you couldn’t help but let out a giggle as he held you close under your thighs, shivering body now calm with the rush. You wrapped your arms around his neck tight, not letting go even when he set you down on the bed with him.

“Next time, I want you to have me in front of the window.”

“God, you little minx, what have I done to you ? You just never stop.”

A string of giggles left you as Art kissed your neck, his charming laugh too easy on your ears and he wasn’t wrong.

[samrsgyi]

Premium Rody Lamoree Smut Headcannons

Note: So these are more advanced smut Headcannons for our French Puppy Rody and part 2 because in the last one y'all were going wild in the comments ( send help- ) so here ya go.

He's into Rimming ( Receiving) and Cunnulingus ( Giving ). It's just the way u Lick, Suck, and# Kiss his butthole and make-out with it. It's just the way you lick it makes his legs give out. He will jerk off too so that he could come quick and if he does he'll moan loudly that you'll have to calm him down after and tell him it's ok. For Cunnilingus, when eating you out he likes to go for the clit since it's the sensitive part of the vagina , and likes to lick and swirl his tongue around it just to hear you moan his name. Rody will even rub ur sweet bud to watch you fall apart.

When he gets home from work he loves to show you how much he missed you by pinning you against the wall and kiss your neck or even leave hickeys and love bites that trail down your shoulder or kiss your chest leaving small bites. He's into fingering as well and once you say ur gonna cum he's gonna say , " That's it just fall apart for me," and ur fluids would spray all over his fingers ruining the sheets leaving you a puddle

When he thrusts up into he'll say something like , " Your taking me so well," and if he's about to come, to not wake up the neighbor's he'll kiss you and moan in ur mouth. He loves to call you names like " Lovebug," " Pretty Baby," "Sweet Cheeks," or " Mon Amour." Mon Amour is his most favorite to call u because it shows how he can use his language ( French ) through showing his love and affection for u. If you guys are laying in bed and it's the orange hour Rody will compliment you by saying, " You're beautiful," and push your hair back behind your hair and giggle softly. He would get on top of you and make-out with you while slipping his tongue inside your mouth with soft groans following

He loves seeing you in his clothes, so please if he catches you in his clothing just know you are gonna get punched with softness. If at any point u guys are laying in bed and it's an orange hour after you guys had sex and ur just both staring at each other Rody will randomly say, " You're Beautiful, Mon Amour," and swipe a piece of hair out of ur face and put it behind ur ear and giggle softly. At random times at home He would also get on top of you and cup ur cheeks and kiss you then it would form a saliva string.

When you guys have a make-out session Rody likes to pull u closer to him run his fingers through ur hair gripping it softly as you slide ur tongue in his mouth making him moan

He admires how you wear Luminous makeup on that makes you look Ethereal and Have a Radiant Glow. He loves ur skin, and how smooth it is. He would kiss your skin and loves the feel of how soft it is. At home he'll ask you if he can touch your breast which you'll say yes to and he's gonna say, " You're so soft and warm." He loves the clothes that you wear cuz they're beautiful and slightly revealing which makes him a red tomato, but it doesn't bother him that much

I hope you guys enjoyed these advanced smut Headcannons of Rody so that you guys can stop your feral-ness. The reason I chose a female s/o is because when i was reading about his sexuality and how he was bisexual it said that, " He leans more on the women side," so yeah 👍.

[granddaughterogg]

You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned. 

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard. 

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers. 

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm. 

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling. 

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight. 

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked." 

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute." 

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards. 

"Did you just say that I look like shit?" 

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time. 

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath. 

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant. 

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size. 

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush. 

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins: 

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices." 

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle. 

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled. 

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

[teaxeee]

What about zb1 legal line reaction to fucking their s/o after a fight ? <3

They probabily will manhandle you so bad :3

I purposely didn't answer this so I can think of what to write, also honorable mention to @cowsidfk for Zhang Hao cause I wouldn't have thought anything without ma boo <33

ZB1 Reaction: Fucking their s/o after a fight

Jiwoong would know just the thing to do after you two fight, when you're unaware he grabs you and pins you against the wall, then proceeds to fuck you nice and well while he watches you fall apart on his cock, he'd say "look at you, falling apart just from my cock..." all while smirking as he starts to mark up your neck with hickeys

Zhang Hao would still be in a salty mood after the fight, so expect him to push you on the dining table, fingering you agressively as he calls you his whore IN CHINESE. U can't convince me that he wouldn't speak chinese in front of you when he goddamn will, all while saying "this pussy's mine.."

Hanbin would get sad and try to make it up to you as he eats you out, watching you fall apart on his tongue as he smirks and keeps licking at your clit desperately, wanting to make you cum a few times on his tongue befoe he fucks you and fills you up nicely

Matthew would fuck you right then and there as he watches you moan and fall apart on his cock, you still being mad at him as he thrusts into your cunt fast, all while wrapping his hand around your neck and choking you lightly as he whispers in your ear "you thought I'd let you get away with this?" later on he'd call you his cute lik slut in French AND THAT'S JUST ROMANTIC ASF

Taerae would also get upset as he later finds you in your shared room as you watch a movie on the TV, him getting between your legs and eating you out as a sorry while you moan his name desperately gets him so hard that he fucks you nice n full of his cum

Ricky would try and make it up to you by starting to leave marks on your neck as you slowly calm down from the heated fight you had with him, later on he gets to fuck you so well and fill you up with his cum that you don't complain at all

[tonberry-yoda]

AHHH IDK IF UR REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN BUT I GOT THIS IDEA FOR SANJI FROM THE ASK I ASKED U

Sanji reacting to his crush calling him pretty boy :D fem or male reader

If they are closed feel free to ignore this-!-

Calling Sanji "Pretty Boy"

notes - I KID YOU NOT I HAD IT ALL WRITTEN OUT AND IT ALL DELETED SO I HAD TO RESTART IM SO PISSED RN GRR IT WAS SO GOOD TOO AHHHHH Well nonetheless, I love this request and I may have made it a bit suggestive tee hee. Thanks for the amazing Sanji requests, I can't wait for more! Lots of love! <3

"pretty boy~"

he would stare at you as blush slowly spreads across his face and a line of blood goes down his nose

he wipes the blood and just stares at you again

"wh-what?"

you just smirk and run your finger under his chin, your lips inches away from his "you heard me~"

you killed him

good job, y/n

he would BEG that you call him that more often

B E G

like when you call him that, you catch him off guard sm and he doesnt even care that he just dies, he NEEDS it

and it doesnt matter where you are after that (if he's cooking or with the crew), the moment you call him that, he will sweep you away to anywhere private and lay shaky kisses all over you while whispering sweet nothings in your ear (accidently sputtering some in french too)

please keep calling him this and treat him like the pretty boy he is tee hee

~~~~~

one piece masterlist | pinned post | ko-fi

2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

[leclsrc]

hi auds!! it's my birthday today ;) i never send reqs i know you get a whole ton of them but if you ever got around to this- i think the f1 fic world has a very worrying lack of aus. so could i get a band!charles au drabble where he writes a song about reader and she hears it on the radio? any song you like. reader could be driver or something or connected to f1 if thats cool !!! thank you sm!! i love you

knee socks – cl16

There’s a certain inevitability that comes with having sex with a misaligned, conceited lead guitarist of a band. You aren’t aware of this fact until it hits you in-between your brows with the force of an 18-wheeler truck, at 8AM, through the radio in your car.

genre: drabble... lots of smutty allusions

auds here... happy birthday anon, one month and then some later! to be completely honest i almost deleted this... but through some twist of fate, it was the only thing i could bully into completion lol (aside frm long form fics that i'm still working on) this is 1000% for u and i hope u accept it as a belated bday gift :) i agree btw! id love to see more au fics but it is still nice reading the canon compliant type ones hahah. also the song in this and its and title is of course from this

It was surprising enough to hear an announcement of a new single by The Incident, one that seemingly sprouted out of nowhere, sans promotion. The morning BBC show clobbered the song with theories before finally letting the drawled-out, sticky guitar filter through and into your car. That in itself was odd, sure. Maybe shocking a little. But you leaned into the leather seat and remained quiet.

When you were fifteen, you were convinced the lyrics to Hall & Oates’ “Rich Girl” pinned up perfectly to your (insufferable) personality of the time. Raised in a big family and working in a career of refined prestige, your budding skill and already-cemented name in the modeling industry were just two small indicators of your parents’ massive wealth. Of course, neither Hall nor Oates were actually sitting and writing songs and singing about you—you just found it made sense in one way or another.

That was three years before you met Charles three years ago, at a pub in Soho. His band had only just spilled out of the confines of Soundcloud and seedy managers; they’d broken five million monthly listeners and the throng of people were there to watch them live. You were at the pub for a pint with another friend and left him with your number, a slip of paper tinged with beer; he fished out the nearest surface you could write on from a nearby bowl. Do I Wanna Know? it read in rushed cursive. It was a song request that went unfulfilled.

Rumors flew in your circle. Your father soured at the idea of you seeing somebody he wasn’t actively doing business with, but he failed to realize how limited your dating pool would be if you followed his wishes. Your interactions with the Formula One men he sponsored or worked with, however few and far between, were rancid and impolite. The drivers wore expensive brands, ones that didn’t even fall familiar on people’s ears, but refused to tip beyond three pounds. It came as both a shock and no surprise that the nouveau rich rock singer treated you with more decency than any of them did.

He was shy about it first, knowing how filthy rich you were. He made jokes about how his flat could fit in your kitchen twice over. He spoke what little French he remembered from childhood to impress you, paid for takeout, wore Lacoste when he came over to drink—then fuck—because it was, at the time, the most decent brand he owned. It’d been January when he came over, caught a sight of you at the foyer with all your expensive coats hung up. Your tongue was blue with a lozenge. It was the only thing he could look at while fucking you.

He wore a light blue variant once, fit and snug on him. You wrestled it off him in-between hot, sweet kisses, kept it on your bed so it’d be the first thing you tugged on in the morning before a shoot for a brand you can no longer place.

The last time you saw him he’d shown you lyrics, sang them aloud, drummed the beat he thought of on the skin of your thigh. His accent disappeared into rasp and notes. You told him to perform it live and he fucked you splayed up against your door, bent over your counter, then with your knees pressed to your chest on your white sheets, warm from the laundry. S’good for me, aren’t you, princess? All for me. My filthy girl.

Two hours later: I’m going on tour, sweetheart, he’d said while he cleaned you up.

’Til? Or… like, for long? Naked, you wrapped your blanket around your frame.

Ah, oui. For a while. 

You failed to answer amicably, your eyebrows twisting. You didn’t think to tell me? Just up and leave then? No number, no text, no announcement, just— You exhaled tightly. You knew he didn’t owe you anything of the sort; the sex, you guessed, the company had been so good you’d deluded yourself into thinking so.

Kitten—

Don’t call me that, you huffed, angrier now. Petulant. You got up and crowded him ’til you got to the door. Get the fuck out.

You watched him leave, brown leather jacket and black tee disappearing into London, and wrenched memories of him from the depths of your brain, the two years of your back and forth rendezvous. You wondered why you didn’t get a song in that time, after his ascent to fame, after the release of other hit singles inspired by his bandmates’ gossip rags and measly shags.

So a year later, when the memories have just begun to purge themselves—when the lyrics, which already have sent a swoop through your stomach, progress into the line When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste… and your knee socks, you effectively choke on your a.m. cappucino. It’s like “Rich Girl” all over again, but this is overt, it’s targeted. Like whoever wrote it must’ve known you’d be listening right now, en route to a shoot at eight in the morning.

“All good, miss?” Ed, your chauffeur, meets your eyes in the rearview, concerned.

“Perf—” your voice cracks. “Perfect.”

You screw your eyes shut and try to collect yourself, zeroing in on the lyrics that’d been foggy before.

Curing his January blues—the month you two started sleeping together.The fact that he’d had your number, a famous stranger, before you had his. Every beat, every word, every deep-voiced lyric traces back to you (unless, of course, he’s busying himself shagging any other girl in London on rainy Tuesdays and letting her wear his now-old polos. The thought sends a pang of jealousy through you.)

But you know better. You know you’re the only one.

Because your phone’s the only one buzzing late into the damp night—when the zeroes line up on the clock by your bed, the one he fixed up for you—with a number you’ve removed the name of, blocked at some point, but can still memorize in his absence.

Maybe tonight you’ll pick up.

[pookiebearmick]

Laughing/smiling into kisses; pulling away and looking at each other with softened smiles !

this one is so cute!!! i'm doing a little bday moment for ian <3

The last thing Ian expected to wake up to on his birthday was an empty bed. He rolled over to find that his husband was gone, which was definitely out of the ordinary because Ian always had to coax Mickey out of bed after their multiple alarms let them know it was time to get up and ready for work.

Ian checked the time, 7:52AM, earlier than their usual 8AM alarm. This made it even stranger that Mickey wasn't in bed with him. He listened closely to see if he could hear anything to signal that Mickey was moving around somewhere in their small apartment. Strangely, he felt like he could hear a pin drop.

"Mick?" he called out to what seemed to be an empty apartment.

No reply. He rolled back to his other side and reached out for his phone, pulling up his messages to shoot Mickey a quick "where tf r u" text. It was Thursday, after all. They needed to be ready to leave their apartment by 9:30 to get to the growhouse for their first pickup of the day, and Ian was really hoping to have some lazy birthday sex before hopping in the shower.

He gave himself a couple more minutes in bed, scrolling on Instagram and responding to some "Happy Birthday Ian!!" text messages from his siblings, before he decided that it was time for him to get up and start some coffee. Fiona had sent him a french press and some coffee grounds from her favorite local shop in Florida for his birthday, and Ian was enjoying his fancy new kitchen gadget.

Mickey still hadn't responded to his text, so Ian started calling him as he measured out the grounds. He listened to the line ring two or three times before hearing jingling of keys and the unlocking of their apartment door.

"Where'd you go off to before 8 in the morning?" Ian asked, glancing over at the door as it opened before ending his phone call and grabbing the kettle to fill up with water.

"Well," Mickey started, shuffling out of his boots and moving into the kitchen, "I was hoping to surprise you with some breakfast from that café you're always talking about, but it seems the cat's outta the bag on that one."

Ian chuckled softly, setting the kettle on the burner and cranking it to high heat. "I told you you didn't have to do anything for my birthday, Mick. Getting together with the family for dinner and cake feels like a celebration enough for me."

He turned to face his husband, who was standing next to their small table with a soft smile and eyebrows raised. Mickey had just set down two styrofoam boxes of take out on the table, but still had a small bouquet of blue flowers in his hand.

"Wanted to," he said quickly to Ian, stepping forward and closing the gap between them.

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey's waist and leaned down to kiss him, pulling Mickey in closer as he slotted their lips together.

He pulled back and looked at the flowers in Mickey's hand. "Sap," he teased with a small giggle, before leaning in and kissing Mickey again.

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey grumbled. "Your birthday's so close to Mother's Day that all the shops had flowers on sale. Couldn't fuckin' get out of there without someone putting flowers in my face." Despite the grumbling, Mickey was smiling softly up at Ian.

Ian absolutely loved that his husband was sweet and loving with him like this, getting up early to get him flowers and a special breakfast for his birthday. "Sure, Mick," he said sweetly, smiling back at Mickey. He leaned down and kissed Mickey once more through a big smile.

"Happy Birthday, lover," Mickey spoke softly, smiling sweetly back at Ian and meeting his gaze.

[writingbyshiloh]

Cautious yet Optimistic and Graceful Part 2

Part 1 & Part 3

CW: Morally gray reader, F!Reader, John Wick-type universe (ie, killing, the reader thinks about past injuries from fights. training not descriptive). Not smut but suggestive thinking from both Vincent and the reader, mutual pinning, and worldbuilding but no description of the reader. Smoking, a nonsexual cigarette burn on the reader, brief drinking. MAYBE OCs (Fictional staff for the fictional hotel). NO BETA

Summary: The Marquis de Gramont still annoys you. But he needs help from you(r hotel). Like a good manager, you help. 

AN: PART 2 everyone!!! Thank u for the likes/comments/reblogs! This takes place a few months after part 1. IDEK if this is ooc the man had like 30 minutes of screen time overall and I’ve been writing this for a week. I read it a few times for spelling but something got messed up copy and pasting and a para or 2 got dropped. Part 3 will be out ???? soon(ish)

Something about today had his words bouncing around in your head. Out of all the ways to describe someone, he narrowed it down to three (well technically he used six). 

Cautious. Sure, you can see that. Out of a love of being alive, you tried not to take any unnecessary risks in your fighting days. You also tried to avoid having a marker whenever you could. There was one in existence with your blood on it. A favour for someone you thought was a friend. You held up your end, the bloody fingerprint stored in the New York Continental as proof. 

Optimistic. That also makes sense. You actually enjoy what you do, loving being part of the criminal underworld before and now. You haven't been the manager for too long but would already die for this hotel. 

The part that was throwing you was graceful. You didn't think you were that graceful physically. You have scars to prove that you've taken a hit, slash, or burn many times. Did he mean gracefully with people? Camille did so much for the hotel, you just deal with regular hotel things (like getting Monument Historique status for a collection of French weapons, take that, Vincent). The other part was implanting rules from the high table. Maybe just being graceful and polite when you were resisting the urge to claw your eyes out. 

It could also be flirting. You felt he wasn't the type to hit on someone out of the blue. Sure he was smart and confident, but it seemed like too big a risk for him to take. Unless he is just a playboy, which is something you find yourself tempted to google twice a day. 

You would rather die than admit it, but you almost like when he called you Mademoiselle. Almost. It was like a nickname, plus it brought out his accent more. When you found yourself enjoying.

To make things worse Camielle caught on to your crush immediately. While embarrassing, it did show how clever she was and you were glad she was the concierge. Her knowing also gave you an excuse to just tell Vincent your direct number, so Camille would stop reminding you how frequently he called.

You love the bar in the hotel. It is beautiful, decorated in an Art Nouveau style, with large windows allowing for the sun to filter in during the day. You were almost pleased that Vincent asked to meet you there, allowing you to subtly show off your business. 

Finding him at the bar wasn’t hard, no one else was wearing a dark green three-piece suit, complete with a complexly tied tie and their coat of arms pin. He looks good but tense, one long leg crossed over the other. Plus, you could see Chidi and another guard in their gray suits keeping an eye. You were thankful that you took extra time this morning on your outfit. 

You slid into the chair next to him, after shaking a few hands with other big names down in the bar for a late-night drink. 

“I hear you have a problem.” You say, while not knowing the full details, just that he wanted to meet you in the bar and something was wrong. It kicked your heartbeat up, even if you only told yourself it was the stress of him being here. 

“Correct.”. 

“I’m sure you know because of your love of rules, but I can only help those who are using the hotel services.” 

You didn't care that much, and would absolutely bend the rules to do him a favour, but couldn't resist a chance to get a dig in.

The Marquis pulls out two gold coins and slides them across to the bartender. He orders a top-shelf spirit before his eyes cut to you. Now he's buying you a drink in your own hotel. You would want him to buy you a drink in a different situation but at least he didn't order for you. That may cause you to actually kill him.  

Clearing your throat you order your usual, quietly thanking the bartender when the drink was placed in front of you. 

The bar wasn't loud, but he dropped his head towards you so you could hear him better and to give the conversation some privacy. 

“You have a cartographer here, no?”

You nodded. The cartographer is excellent. He had blueprints for buildings past and present, as well as the catacombs. He also had knowledge and keys to abandoned buildings if something had to be desponded and not be found. 

“How soon do you need him?” While one of the best, he was away for his daughter's wedding

“Tonight.” 

You took a small sip of your drink. You could probably get the information he was looking but you wouldn't be as efficient. 

“While we do have a cartographer, he's gone to a family event. If your plans are that urgent I can try my best to fill in.” 

Content with your answers, Vincent leaned back into his seat taking a swig of his drink. You took the finishing sip of yours before pushing out of your chair. 

“I have spare keys in my office. I’ll meet you back here in five.” 

For how commanding and prideful he is, you never expected him to need the services from your hotel.

The maps room was fairly boring. Three out of the four walls were filled with lockboxes to various maps. Blueprints, and documents for France and even some other countries nearby. 

“Are these your beloved catacombs?” The Marquis asks, studying the paper taped to the wall. You asked the map maker for more information and for ideas on what you could do with them. 

You hum in agreement, deep down thrilled that he remembered such a small part of your conversation ages ago. 

Your eyes jump over the numbered lock boxes in front of you, trying to find the one he needs. 

You half expected him to help you pull out maps and building plans, a blend of chivalry, showing off his height, and getting under your skin. He didn’t, letting you struggle with the lock instead. 

Vincent knew he should help you, but the way your back was arched as you tried to open one of the lockboxes out of the dozens was more interesting. His gaze moved over your legs, before looking at your ass in your skirt. 

Feeling the lock give a turn to the side, you peek inside the box to make sure the plans were there. Hand sliding in, you pulled the thin tube out, double-checking the label on the front to make sure it is the one you need. Leaving the box unlocked you turn to face Vincent, a triumphant grin on your face.

Maybe your grin and pride in getting the correct documents were a bit unprofessional but he didn't care. Not since the small room amplified the smell of your perfume and how the spent the better part of the last five minutes checking out your legs. 

Uncapping the tube, you pulled out the blueprints and spread them on the backlist glass table in front of you.

“Here are your prints,” you state awkwardly. You're not sure why he needs them, and why he personally came here. Chidi is keeping guard outside the map room, despite you repeating the hotel policy of no business. 

The Marquis nods in response already focusing on the table. You flatten a small map from the tube in case he needs context on the area. Not likely since he already knows what to look for, proven by his notebook and the constant sound of his pen against the paper taking notes. 

Watching him study the map may have been alright at first, but three hours later you are tired. There are only so many times you can look at his hair and wonder if he would get mad if you run your hands through, or gently tug it. Or what his hands would feel like, especially with his signet ring. 

The grandfather clock tells you that it's only 2:36 am but you feel like it's later. Even Vincent looks slightly less than perfect, hair falling out of place from where he had gelled it that morning.

He is a guest of your hotel so you're going to keep helping him no matter how long he stays. Just with a bit less optimism. 

“Mademoiselle?” Your eyes snap to his face at the sound of his voice, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“You look tired. You should go to bed,” he comments. 

Wow. Thanks, you think. 

“I’m okay. I’m happy to stay here as long as you need,” you say while hoping he leaves soon. “How are the plans going? The cartographer can help you with the finer details when he gets back.” 

“That is not necessary. I have all I need here.” He slowly stretches and starts to stand. You never considered it but being hunched over the table must have been hell on his back given his above-average height. Finally seeing your chance to go to bed, you quickly make it over to the door, opening it for him. 

“Merci, again.” He thanks you as if this is not your job. 

“Do you want me to walk you to the main door?” You have all your floor plans memorized. 

“We are fine.” He replies. 

He looks at you and you can't read his expression. He's less tense, obviously getting what he needed from the plans. 

“The high table did a good job making you the manager.” 

You feel pride swell in your chest, despite the exhaustion you feel behind your eyes. 

“Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle” 

“Bonne nuit. Bon matin.” You quietly wish him as he leaves, wasting no time putting the plans away and locking the map room door. 

You let out another exhaust of bitter smoke, watching it curl away on the cool night air. You didn't start smoking in Paris, but dropped and picked the habit a few times.

“Fumes-tu, Mademoiselle?” a voice behind you makes you flinch. You didn’t tell anyone that you have a secret smoking place, let alone that you went out to smoke. 

You spin around before relaxing at the sight of the Marquis, clad in a dark suit, his signature pin on the lapel reflecting the light. 

You nod, before realizing he probably can't see you well under the lights in the alcove. He is by your side quickly, long legs carrying him the short distance. 

You tip your head to the small table, where your rolling papers, tobacco and other smoking paraphernalia sit in a silent offer. Vincent looks at the table before facing you again. Guess he's too fancy to smoke you assume while taking a drag.

You turn your head to blow out more smoke, careful not to blow it in this direction, a hard feat considering he was extremely close to you. The smell of his cologne drifted under the smell of smoke. 

You move your cigarette down and out to the side, fully ready to see why the Marquis interrupted you. Watching his face, his eyes dipped down to your lips and then back to your eyes almost a silent asking. The smooth and sophisticated era was still there but there was uncertainty under it. 

You slowly leaned closer, not wanting to make the first move, but you want this to happen. He hand-cupped your face, the cool metal of the ring nice as he shifted closer, leaving a small gap for you to make the final push to kiss him. Just a few more inches and then -

Pain. A sharp burning pain on your pinky finger. 

You jerk back, trying to examine what happened. Your cigarette slipped while you were distracted and the glowing embers of the end dropped only to land on your pinky. 

“Shit. Sorry,” you apologize, letting out a nervous huff of a laugh while holding up your burn. The Marquis was unreadable, hand withdrawn. Does he think you rejected him? 

He reaches for your wrist and you let him take it. Slowly he brings your hand up to the outdoor lamp to inspect your burn. The stinging has subsided but you are sure the flesh is a bit swollen. 

With his free hand, he takes the offending cigarette and brings it to his lips. You can't help but stare, cigarette burns long forgotten as you watch him take a deep inhale, before exhaling over your head, so no smoke blows in your face. Part of you regret not making the final push to kiss him, while another hopes he takes another puff. 

Vincent brings your cigarette down to examine it in better lighting before placing it back in your hand, still firmly in his grasp. 

“It is not a well-rolled cigarette. It is too tight.”

There it is you think. The classic Vincent snark. But you secretly hope he rolls one so you can watch his hands and watch him smoke it. 

“You don’t have to smoke it.” 

“I just wanted to give you this.” He reaches into his suitcoat pocket, retrieving a white envelope. His hands brush yours while you grab it. 

You know his handwriting from the time with him in the map room, and you could easily tell he wrote your name on the front. 

“Thank you?” you weren't sure what was inside but you were being all the things he described you as. 

“I will go, and let you read it.” 

You watch him leave, thoughts racing too fast to try and save the situation.

Do you call out after him? Does he think you rejected him? Maybe not because he still gave you the envelope. 

You ash your cigarette before collecting your things and going back to your office. Maybe things would make more sense there.

Taglist: @heartrot666

[superm4ks]

love seeing lewis at the f1 academy races. idk much about doriane but it seems like lewis is a great mentor/friend to her

'idk much about doriane' bet so Miss Pin aka pocket rocket aka Iron Lynx prodigal french daughter started competing full time in the GT3 class of Le Mans wid the Iron Dames and scored 5 podiums and finished 5th overall. She stayed wid the Lynx for their entry in the European Ferrari challenge and decimated bitches wid 9 wins out 14. Then in 2022 she joined the Lynx for the last leg of the super tough Le Mans Series, set a fastest lap in Spa-Francochamps HELLO and then in Portugal they clinched the LMGT3 title. That was the first time an all women's team won a race in that series. Yall

Anyway 2023 Dori switched to the LMP2 category in endurance and her team got a podium finish. She was the first woman to receive the WEC revelation of the year award. Cud have stayed in endurance but the degree of her success, adaptability and overall racing style started raising some eyebrows in single seaters. F4 was disgustingly light work. Finished p2 her rookie year. F1 Academy emerged from the depths of Suzannes bob and Doriane was Merc's pick to represent the team on the grid along wid Prema. She IS a Merc junior officially so like in a sense shes also Lewis' rookie 🥹 Lewis was the only f1 driver who publicly called bs after she lost a win for crossing the checkered flag twice ((why did she do that I love her sm she was so excited)). Also Lewis once got asked to pick 2 drivers to build a team wid and he picked Miss Pin and I crode. Her f1a season was a lil lackluster only because we already knew shes an incredible wheeler so anything below p2 wud be strange but Abbi completely stole the show fr. ((Abbis fastest timed lap in her first ever session driving an FE car was 4.5 seconds slower than the fastest time of the official pre season 3-day test. 😐 Then u think about how she said she was relieved she won the title and got the fully funded seat because otherwise she wud not have been able to afford racing. A seat in GB3 btw which is like british f3 but worse and the engines are worse than the ones in the already very mid car she just won a world title wid and shes gonna be driving against a bunch of 16 year olds to score less SL points than she wud in FUCKING F4 lemme . OK . They had Russells crypto girlfriend hosting an event about women in motorsport bro I'm so sick of this fucking make up sponsored fucking league whtvr.))

Doriane was supposed to drive for this years 24 Hrs of Le Mans wid the Dames but had to withdraw due to broken ribs. She was also on Jimmy Kimmel because she hasn't suffered enough ig and she looked like this and said her fav track in the US was Road Atlanta because 'she likes the organs going up and down'. I wud kill for this woman. Thank u

[odusseus-xvi]

hi!! this is kinda a weird question but ur post about characterization for french ccs is rlly helpful for writing, so i was wondering if u had any like . tips or advice about speaking patterns or like. common terms or phrases they use and stuff like that. i have a lot of issues with auditory processing and other hearing stuff that makes it like . hard for me to always understand speech patterns or just like . what people are actually saying so if u have any like . advice or info about like How They Talk that u could put in text or like specific that would be cool. no worries if u dont/cant btw i completely get it i just remembered that u were the one w the previous helpful post ::D

Yeah, no problem I could try ! :D Now keep in mind again I'm not necessarily an expert, and I'm just doing this because it's fun. I still might make some mistakes, and miss some important details, but 'Ill do my best. SO

Let's go for HOW DO THE FRENCH (and swiss) CCS TALK :

Let's start with

ETOILES : So I feel like it might be the easiest because he's the clearest to me. He tends to speak at a normal space and in english with a noticeable slighly french accent, but not an extreme one. He likes to crack jokes constantly when he speaks with other people (most of the time hyping up others, and self deprecating, you know the "You are a legend, I am dumb".) . He can drop pearls of wisdom randomly through ridiculous metaphors ("You don't need to worry, My name means stars, that means that when you look I'm here." "It's like crossing the road, you have to, and there is cars, you need to be careful, but it can't be all you focus on. Wait I'm not sure about that one...") and sometimes actually genuine and inspiring, but more often that not in the tone of discussion, it doesn't sound like he's dispensing "wisdom of the elders", he's just a humble guy talking with you and giving a random advice. He often says in french "Wow a flop" when something doesn't work. Or "c.s.c." (Contre Con Camp, a football term meaning scoring against your own team) when he comments on someone being a tryhard for example ("WOW such a tryhard (csc)"). He'll often makes the joke that nobody likes him when they don't answer in chat to himself, (or chat) and will directly tell them "You want me to die irl don't you?" ensues a myriad of "holy shit you want me to die for real" answered by the "NOO" of the other one. Two last details that came to me, he rarely actually answers by "no" or "yes", he often use "Yeh yeh yeh", or "no no no". He also uses a lot of "euuuuh..." when looking for his words when speaking.

AYPIERRE : He is fairly simple too. He has a very relaxed tone, speaks slightly slower than most people, and has slightly noticeable french accent but less so than others. His tone differenciate between three states : Focused (while building or infiltrating a base), relaxed, and humourous. Note that he's never fully serious, he has that constant gremlin energy and smile that makes him want to make jokes that will make everybody cringe (his favorite pastime.) The only time he's been serious and slightly upset was when he earned gegg died or when he learned that the federation was trying to replicate his wine (there you can see his priorities). Most of the time people are assuming the worst when it's his countless time he starts a conversation with "So, I did something..." and is the type of guy to say "*known illegal act* is a strong word, let's say it's more like *not necessarily better*". I don't follow him as much, so I currently have no other mannerism in mind.

BAGHERA : I feel like she is a bit harder to pin down. When speaking in english she has a very noticeable accent, especially when she is tired. And talks a bit fast, especially in french. Though she doesn't crack jokes constantly, she has a constant chaotic energy that makes her say random things at times. She often say "Oh Yeaaaah" when she is happy or hyped about something, mostly when she is with other people to show them she is happy too. When she is ashamed or not understanding something she likes to take a voice we call the "Antoine Croute" voice (a character she played in a Rp series on GTA V), it's high pitched and really shy. (imagine a little "wut... ?"). She can be really serious, especially when investigating. She almost nver express vocally, in tone at least, her anger. Instead she sounds incredibly cold, like she was with ElQuackity. Her voice when serious drops a bit, and she speaks a bit faster. There is probably plenty more but I'm starting to get tired.

ANTOINE : He is the hardest to me because it is even hard to pin down in french. He has most of the time a very serious tone, while he ironically constantly making either dark jokes based on irony and cynism OR a pun. Because of this, it's sometimes hard to pin what's a joke and what's serious. His accent alternates between horrible french accent OR almost ProPeR eNgliSH. Even when discussing absolutely batshit insane things he sounds serious (he is not in reality, but it's a form of humor in itself). OCCASIONALLY he'll break and cracks a smile, and sometimes, even the heartiest laugh you've ever heard, a very vocal and deep "AHAHAHAHA" that you can hear a mile away (but it happens rarely.) Though I didn't specify, most people, including the french, stutter at least a little bit, and search their words, (like I said for Etoiles' "euh".) but Antoine tends to have a very clear speech, only occasionally looking for a translation. In the same vein, he also has a very quick reaction and can answer with a pun almost instantly (very impressive, especially when it's not his native language.)

That's pretty much all I can think of right now, and I'm tired. Maybe it's not exactly what you asked, but it's what I can muster. Hopes that helped :D

[444delgada]

pinned : about me ༉‧₊˚.

gw : 100lbs / / ugw : 95lbs

100% vegetarian, 80% vegan lol

fluently speak english, spanish, and french, currently learning portuguese

i've had an ed throughout highschool, my first full recovery attempt was in 11th grade but since then i obviously relapsed, recovered, repeat.

other interest/things i l♡ve : pedro pascal MY #1 MANNN you'll see him on here a lot, fashion, books tons of books i read a lot, i also love artists like yves, lana del rey, faye webster, aespa, tyler the creator, nessa barrett, imogen heap, tyla, jeff buckley, charli xcx, a$ap rocky, ariana grande, ethel cain, and frank ocean, etc.

NOTEEEE !!!! this is mainly a vent account for ME, this account is for me to talk about my personal issues, thoughts, etc., almost like a diary. would also like to note that i do not condone or support genocide nor do i support zionists, if u support israel please, disrespectfully, block me and free palestine thank you

[hashtagboykisser]

Helloo! How r u? Hopefully well! As someone who has Spanish as a comfort language, I'd love a Camilo x Fem!Reader fanfic(or headcanons!), short or not, where whenever Cami speaks whole Spanish sentences, Reader just feels so happy and safe! Reader can be a foreign if it works better for u. I don't know Spanish but that makes it better, haha. Maybe times where Camilo asks if Reader can even understand him and she'd be like "no♡". Ur work always makes me smile. Hope u'll have a great morning, afternoon, evening, night or midnight!

CAMILO X READER !!

FOREIGNER READER !!

prompt: camilo’s dating a foreigner!!

requested by: anon

warnings: ALL SPAINISH IS GOOGLE TRANSLATED AS I ONLY SPEAK ENGLISH AND FRENCH also this is a mix of a oneshot and headcanons so hope that’s chill!! also this anon is SO SWEEEEET😭😭🫶🫶 i never rlly thought my work would make anyone smile (i write for me, and ig i never rlly thought about what others think of my work) so i’m so happy at least someone enjoys it!!💗

camilo is a bit of a rambler in general (personal headcanon), and it amplifies when he’s with his partner

“entonces isabela y mirabel deciden hacer equipo conmigo?! loco verdad?” (so isabela and mirabel decide to team up on me?! crazy right?”)

“i’m sorry ‘milo, what?”

“oh yeah, sorry, amor.”

camilo does try his best to speak english (or whatever language you speak) when he’s with you

but sometimes his native tongue sneaks up on him

but he also does like to do it to confuse you XD

like he’ll make a hella suggestive comment and you’ll have no idea what he said lmfao

“qué pensarías si te inmovilizaran en la cama ahora mismo?” (what would you think if you were pinned to the bed right now?)

“uhm…si?”

“LETS GO”

“WAIT WHAT’D YOU SAY-”

hey hey

sorry i got kinda lazy for this😭

i have a master list coming soon tho!!

-hermy