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ccsainzleclerc5516 · 1 month ago

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Testing His Patience

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: smut, jealous girlfriend, a bit toxic btw idk if Max even has a sister, I completely made Carla up

Now you have to admit that you were a jealous type of a girlfriend, but like really jealous, the possessive type of a girlfriend. It was something that you couldn't help and you weren't proud of it, but it was either that or you weren't interested at all. It's not your best feature, and you know it very well, but when you love, you love with all your heart, strongly and completely and that's exactly why you don't let anyone mess with or touch something that's yours.

You weren't really insanely jealous and acted like a crazy person about it, but Lando knew from the very beginning that you had a little jealousy problem, although you didn't always and constantly show it. For example, you were never jealous of his fans, but you would be jealous if Lando paid more attention than you would like to one of his girl friends or, for example, Max's sister Carla.

Oh, you didn't like her at all. She was a thorn in your side and you couldn't really do anything about it because she was Max's younger sister.

Carla was only 20 years old, but she sure didn't look 20. Lando's known her ever since he's known Max and Max is like a family to him. Their friendship is on another level, it's very special and they both mean a lot to each other. However, Lando always looked at Carla as Max's younger sister and she looked at Lando as Max's best friend.

And that was the case until half a year ago, when you noticed that Carla had turned into a "pick me" girl and that she was trying to flirt with Lando on several occasions in front of your own eyes.

At first you ignored it because you knew Lando would never even look at her that way, but when it started happening more and more often it started to bother you a lot. You told Lando about it, but he didn't take it seriously and just brushed it off.

Now Lando hated your jealous scenes. He loved you more than anything and showed it to you all the time, but he hated it when you used to give him a jealous outburst from time to time. It bothered him because he saw it as you not trusting him, and he never gave you a reason to not trust him, but sometimes you just couldn't bite your tongue even if you wanted to.

It was the same this time. An article online titled "Lando Norris and Max Fewtrell's Sister?" which talked about Lando possibly dating his sister and also had a picture of Carla hugging Lando after taking the pole position, was the final straw.

People didn't know about you and Lando. They didn't know that you have been together for two years because you agreed that you wanted to keep your relationship private and away from the media because Lando wanted to protect you and your relationship at any cost.

But lately, this idea of keeping a relationship private has started to do more harm than good precisely because they always linked up Lando with some girls and talked about how he was with them, when in fact he wasn't at all. All of that started to affect your self-confidence and it definitely increased your feeling of jealousy.

That led to arguing with Lando about Carla all over again and Lando was not having it.

"Y/n, please don't do this again. I had a busy weekend and I just want to lie down together and relax in front of the TV. Please stop."

"No, I'm not gonna stop! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of her making me feel like a fool!" You yelled clenching your fists.

Lando sighed trying to keep his cool, running his hands over his face and then through his curls.

"She does it all the time and even in front of me! I see the way she looks at you, the way she always finds an excuse to touch you, the way she always tries to prolong the hug with you, the way she's at every single race." Exasperated, you continued to speak in a raised tone, barely catching your breath.

"And you keep letting it happen! You never said anything to her nor have you ever done anything about it even though you know how it's making me feel, Lando!"

You continued to complain for probably another 3 minutes without stopping until you completely pushed his buttons. He abruptly got up from the couch where he was sitting at and walked towards you grabbing your waist and harshly pushing you against the wall. You winced in pain as your back hit the wall behind you.

"What? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to fuck you in front of her? Is that what you want?" His eyes darkened as he yelled tightly gripping your hips. "I absolutely don't give a shit about her. I don't even notice all those things that you keep talking about because you are the only one on my mind." He continued talking, looking deep into your eyes, his gaze penetrating your soul.

"But do you realize that she is Max's sister and that I can not do anything about it because Max is like a brother to me. I love you, y/n, I love you more than anything in this world, but I don't ever want to put myself in a situation where I have to choose between you and him."

"No one even knows about us, Lando. Do you know how much it hurts me to see them trying to link you up with other girls that aren't me?" Your eyes slowly began to fill with tears, but you were still angry and wanted to prove your point so you didn't let them rush down your cheeks.

"But I kept us a secret because I wanted to protect you, y/n! I would love nothing more than to show you off every fucking day, but at what cost? So that they can completely invade our privacy? Send you death threats? Mess with your mental health? I'd fucking lose it if anything happened to you, y/n! Fuck!!" He yelled letting go of your waist and turning away from you trying to calm down.

You were angry, but he was angrier. His patience was wearing thin and you could sense it.

When you stayed silent for a moment, Lando thought that you had tried to give yourself a chance to understand this situation.

"Maybe you won't have to choose between me and him, but you will have to choose between me and her."

But when these words came out of your mouth, you completely drove him crazy with your stubbornness. He pulled your arm and threw you onto the couch hovering over you.

"Don't test my patience, y/n" He said through gritted teeth pinning your hands above your head. "I'm telling you, I'm getting sick and tired of this shit. How many times do I have to remind you that I only want you?" He asks grinding himself against you.

His mouth moved down to the level of your neck, pressing his lips to your thin skin. "Why do you always have to make things so difficult when you know that I'm only yours? What part of that don't you understand, huh?"

It was his time to talk now. His hand found its way down your stomach and into your panties making you moan at the unexpected contact.

Your back arched off the couch as two of his fingers slipped inside you while his thumb continued to rub your clit. You tried to close your legs around his hand, but that only resulted in him spreading them even more and watching you whimper open-mouthed beneath him.

"From now on," He kissed you hard and passionately before he started. "Every time you try to act like a brat, i will treat you like one. I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk for days." His fingers quickened their pace as he held you firmly down on the couch with his other hand.

You were so wet, so close. "Oh, fuck, Lan.." You whimpered trying to grab his wrist.

"But you'll never get to cum, if you don't stop acting like that." And just when you were about to, he stopped pulling out his fingers that were glistening with your wetness. You whined almost crying out when he decided to deprive you from the release you needed so bad.

He pulled off your leggings and unclapsed your bra, leaving you in only black panties and a tight crop top that showed your hard nipples. He leaned down to kiss you, his tongue fighting against yours, before he pulled down his grey sweats and shirt tossing them somewhere to the side.

He grabbed his hard prominent member through his boxers grunting as he pumped himself through the fabric. You tried to move to a sitting position to be closer to him and kiss his stomach all the way to where he needed you the most, but as soon as you tried to get up, he pushed you back down on the couch. He pulled down his boxers freeing his cock and taking it in his hand. He hovered over you again and pressed his red leaking tip against your clothed folds rubbing himself up and down.

"Do you want to cum, baby?" He asked leaning down closer to you and pressing a soft kiss on the side of your neck.

"Yeah, I do."

"Yeah? Does that mean you're going to be a good girl for me then?" He asked squeezing your boob then lifting up your crop top just above your nipples. Your response came out as a whimper as he stuck his lips around your nipple and began sucking on it.

"I can't hear you, baby" He let go of his cock and let it rest against your stomach as both of his hands played with your breasts.

"Yes,-ah- yes"

Holding your breasts, his teeth bit your nipples so hard that you cried out in pain.

"Ah, Lando, it hurts, fuck" You whined. The pain was so stinging it made one tear roll down your cheek.

"Shh, it's okay, baby, it's okay" He cooed you kissing your cheek and now gently caressing your nipples with his thumbs while grinding his cock against your stomach. "You like it when it hurts, don't you baby?"

He moved your panties to the side and positioned his tip at your entrance. "So wet for me" He commented spreading it with his tip all over your slits. Your fingers went down to your clit as he pushed in. The face he made when it first went in, head thrown back, eyes closed, lips slightly open letting out a long moan in relief, it almost made you cum right away.

He stayed still for a moment, not wanting to move because he was so painfully hard that he knew he would come in a matter of seconds and he wanted to at least wait for you.

He pulled you by your thighs even further down on him and then hovered over you again. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he pressed his forehead against yours.

He started thrusting in slow, but deep and hard knocking the air out of your lungs. "C'mon, baby, take it, take it like a big girl" He said holding your face between his hands.

You were so turned on by his words. You loved it so much when he'd be angry like this and then ruthlessly took all of his anger out on you. You could feel yourself dripping down as he kept ravaging you with his cock.

"I-I'm so close, Lan" You whispered.

"Yeah, baby?" He took your leg and lifted it up to wrap them around him. That way he got to thrust even deeper into you, knocking your mind out of your body. "You gonna cum around my cock?" He asked against your skin.

Before you could even answer, you threw your head back against the couch, you gripped his shoulders tightly trying to resist him and get away because the pleasure was so intense you couldn't take it. But he didn't let you escape from under him, he continued to fuck you through your orgasm as you screaming out his name filled his ears.

"That's it. That's a good girl." He praised you kissing your chest to calm you down as you were barely being able to catch your breath.

"You can take it a little longer, love yeah? I'm almost there." The weight of his body was completely pressed against yours, you could feel his heartbeat, see beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he kept pounding into you like his life depended on it, like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

Once you pressed your lips against the sensitive spot on his neck and ran your tongue over it, he lost it. His breath hitched, head tilted back, grip tightened around your waist and soon he was cumming inside you, filling you up to the brim.

His head fell on your shoulder and you wrapped your arms around him, wanting to hold him even closer to you if that was even possible.

When both of your breathing calmed down and your pulses returned to normal, Lando pulled out of you. He watched as his cum rushed out of your pussy at the loss of him and hissed at the sight. "Fuck, baby" He leaned down and kissed your thighs making you blush.

...

The next race weekend, Lando took P1 and you were there to support him. You blended into the group with Max and the rest of his friends including Carla.

You were annoyed that she was here for yet another race and once again doing everything to draw his attention to herself. But you weren't going to let her get the best of you this time.

Although when Lando came closer to all of you to celebrate his victory, she was the first one to go and hug him. At that moment your heart ached and Lando saw the sadness in your eyes as you stood on the side watching him from afar. At that moment, he finally understood what you've been talking about all this time. He felt your hurt through your teary eyes and therefore without a second thought he made his way through the crowd to you, pulling you to himself and trapping you into a tight hug and a passionate kiss in front of thousands of people and cameras before whispering

"It's always you."

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #lando norris blurb #lando norris one shot #f1 smut #f1 #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 fluff

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zephyrchama · 7 months ago

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(obey me!) moments where they fall in love with you all over again

---01

It’s dinner, and you’re talking about mundane things that happened during your day. You saw a cool bird, got some gum stuck on your shoe, and bought a new flavor of toothpaste to try. Everyone is listening intently. If only they would pay this much attention in class.

Lucifer knows the way his brothers look at you all too well. It’s a look full of respect, admiration, and fondness. It’s a look that’s often reflected on his own face when in your presence. At first he never really understood why you put up with his siblings, as the option to ignore them and be on your way was always there. Yet you continue to make time for them anyway. How unusual.

Moments like these where everyone is together and you don’t treat them as the Seven Rulers of Hell, you just treat them as your dear friends and family. That’s what makes Lucifer soft. He tries to imagine a long future of things staying just like this.

---02

Mammon’s hesitant to lend anybody money, even you. It takes a few minutes to butter him up and fluff his ego before he relents. At last, he hands you the crispest bill in his wallet. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” he kids, knowing full well he’d do just that if he was in your shoes.

He’s curious what you plan to buy. It never dawns on him that you have no intention of spending the cash. Half an hour later, he finds it on his desk. The exact same bill, now creased and folded neatly into an origami bird.

He picks it up to wiggle the little paper wings, entranced, then looks around frantically and catches your eye. A playful smile graces your face and tugs at his heartstrings.

---03

Leviathan is not typically one to make mistakes when it comes to anime. But even he’s not perfect.

He had it set in his mind that the new show premiered at 6:00pm, which left plenty of time to prepare the ultimate solo viewing party after school. He was humming quietly to himself when you walked over. “Isn’t your show starting soon?”

You specifically took an interest in his hobbies. You remembered that it started at 16:00 (four o’clock), not 6:00. Leviathan wondered, how could he make such a egregious mistake? You were the one who dashed back to the House of Lamentation at full speed by his side. When your human stamina started failing, he unconsciously picked you up so you’d both make it in time. You made it with two minutes to spare.

Sweaty and out of breath, still in uniform, you were able to watch the premiere together. It wasn’t until after credits rolled, you went elsewhere, and the live reactions on social media started calming down that Levi realized what a big deal this was to him. What a big deal you were to him.

---04

Satan wasn’t expecting you to be spacing out in his favorite armchair. He had plans to read in it that evening, and considered asking you politely to move. But the way the lamp light shines on your skin, the thoughtful expression on your face while pondering ideas unknown. The way your lips part ever so slightly and your eyes gaze off into nothing. It captivates him. You look like a painting. His breath gets caught in his throat, and in clearing it he manages to break your trance.

“Oh, hey. Welcome home, I didn’t realize you were there.”

You go to get out of the chair, but Satan insists you stay. It doesn’t look right without you anymore. He doesn’t feel right without you anymore.

---05

Asmodeus does not have wardrobe malfunctions often. His outfits are of the highest quality and a lot of care goes into putting them on. Still, things happen.

When his fans rush forward out of nowhere, sometimes they are successful in tearing his clothes. A fistful of shirt here, a mouthful of pants-leg there. Being in the center of a lust-fueled stampede can make even the most collected people lose their minds, but you are steadfast. You shout at the rabid demons, shaming them for their disrespect. You believe you can chase them off all on your own, not knowing that the Avatar of Lust behind you is exuding a killer aura and warning his fans to back off with a powerful glare.

As you sloppily stitch up what remains of his shirt so he can walk home without the incident repeating, Asmodeus is smiling from ear to ear. You’re so focused on genuinely helping that you don’t even notice the bedroom eyes he’s flashing. The scene of you waving your arms and trying to chase off a pack of demons as if they were stray pigeons is permanently ingrained in his memory. Just as your existence is ingrained in his soul.

---06

Beelzebub knows what he likes. He knows what will catch his interest and is pleasantly surprised when a new one crops up.

One thing he likes is you. Another is food. Both are in the cafeteria. He piles a tray high with carbs and goes looking for you at lunch time, finding you seated in the middle of a long table at the edge of the room. He calls your name.

It’s unexpected, the way you quickly swing your head up mid-bite. Your cheeks are full and noodles dangle from your mouth, sauce dripping back onto your plate. Your eyes light up as you look at him from below. It makes him stop in his tracks, causing several shorter demons to walk into him. Such a simple action, yet so profound. You hurriedly chew and offer him a seat while Beelzebub powers through his emotions. He takes a seat across from you to offer a napkin, wondering when he’ll see that face again.

---07

It’s late, far past everyone’s bedtime. Yet Belphegor forgot to tell you something during the day and decided now would be a great time. When you don’t respond to the quiet knocks at your door, he lets himself inside. Your sleeping figure looks too comforting to resist and he gets the brilliant idea to crawl into bed with you to whisper in your ear.

The problem is, as soon as he lifts the covers, you fart. It’s loud. You don’t move an inch, remaining fast asleep and ignorant of what just happened.

Belphegor freezes in his tracks to process it, but is soon doubled over on the futon laughing. The vibrations wake you. You sleepily open your eyes to see who is in hysterics and ask the obvious: “what?”

Belphegor is laughing too hard to tell you. He doesn’t want to tell you. It’s too priceless. You groggily smack him with a spare pillow and it makes him laugh harder. While he loves to look at you, that week it becomes difficult for him to meet your eyes without erupting into a fit of giggles.

#mc in satan's part is thinking about something weird like “friendpilled visitmaxxer” while satan's undergoing his own mental renaissance #i came up with ideas for all the side characters too. that sounded cute. maybe i'll write it. I didn't because...#i have a bad cold! achoo! should've written this in past tense for my sanity but my head is all blehh. i hope this stuff makes sense. woooo #you know it's a bad cold when i write in [shivers] /present tense/ (jk but it's difficult for me to keep the tense consistent)#note to self: tumblr's html color designation for yellow is phoebe #colds suck. i wear a mask daily and still got really sick so take care y'all.#obey me!#obey me #obey me brothers #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me fanfic #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me fluff

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cripplecharacters · 6 months ago

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Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?

[large text: Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?]

(TLDR: no. literally no.)

A frequent topic that shows up around facial differences is the self-hatred, self-disgust, self-insert-negative-emotion that we must surely experience. I want to ask* writers without FDs - why? Why do you feel about us in such a way that that's the most common way of depicting us?

*- rhetorical question. I promise I know the answers, but I'm not sure if writers do.

It's frankly worrying to me. Is it really that common to assume that disabled people have this internal, never-ending hatred for themselves? The overwhelming majority of us don't. We hate inaccessibility, when people stare, or some symptoms when they get in the way, or how expensive being disabled is, but I find the concept of us being so completely disturbed by our own disabilities extremely strange. It’s “tragedy porn” intersecting “most basic ableism”.

“But trauma!”

[large text: “But trauma!”]

Trauma of what! People with facial differences don't have some sort of default trauma that we come with like it’s a factory setting. We are a group of people with tens of thousands of stories and experiences!

“Trauma of experiencing ableism/disfiguremisia” - that's better, at least this means something. If you're writing a story about this, please get a sensitivity reader with a facial difference. You can assume how we feel all you want, but in my experience these assumptions are often bizarre and unrealistic. Or just end up writing the same “disability so sad” sob story that everyone has seen a billion times. If you want to write about disfiguremisia, you need to understand the nuance and have more than just the basic level knowledge (which 99% of people don’t have either). If you can’t do that, don’t write about it. Simple as that.

“Trauma of the accident” - thankfully, the accident is an event and a facial difference is a disability. If you want to connect these two like they're one and the same, you're almost surely going to demonize disability. People with traumatic spinal cord injuries, acquired amputees, people with TBI, people with acquired facial differences - we participate in our communities, we have hobbies, we date, we play with our dogs. Disability isn't a death sentence. Media who make it feel like it is certainly don't help people who do suddenly become disabled, don't you think?

Here's a post by @blindbeta about blind characters becoming blind through trauma that’s better made than anything I could hope to write here. I heavily recommend giving it a read.

And, I can't stress this enough - most of us didn't have “the accident”, most of us are born like this! "Traumatic scars" isn't the only facial difference that exists, far from it, it's only one of thousands. It's 99% of our representation and "representation". If you want to make a character with FD - please consider that we aren't a monolith. Just like not all physical disabilities are "wheelchair user with paralysis", not all facial differences are "traumatic scar with somehow no nerve damage".

The overrepresentation of it is incredibly telling, and sometimes - or very frequently - feels like the writer doesn’t actually even want to deal with us. They want to use our disability as a way to cheap drama, moral metaphors, tragic backstories. Not to represent us as living people who are much more similar to you than you apparently think.

Now, I do have enough awareness to know that that's a big part of the appeal. “Horrific Thing #2456 happens” and boom, instant drama! Of course, it's a reasonable response that they would hide their disability for years, avoid talking about it in any way, and magically change their personality to be mean and reclusive, or at least be constantly soooo sad about how much it sucks to be disabled, right?

Do I really need to say that having your character becoming disabled be the worst thing ever is ableism 101? We have been talking about this for so long at this point. Writing about the process of adapting to a specific disability is better left to people who have actual experience in it.

To give an example that will hopefully resonate more with Tumblr users, I will use the fact that I'm also gay. It's not perfect by any means but probably much more familiar territory.

Imagine, let's say, a character. He's gay. The story he's in is supposedly progressive, certainly not trying to be homophobic. The character has experienced an incident, maybe an act of aggression or a hate crime, that happened because he’s gay, which was traumatic. Happens IRL, sure. So of course the character starts hating being gay. He talks about how gross and disgusting it is, he never lets anyone know that he could be “one of them”, certainly not take a stance against homophobia. You can't mention him without mentioning the accident, they're seemingly fused together. No gay love, joy, even basic happiness, he would actually choose to be straight in a heartbeat if given the option to and complains that he can't. This is shown as a neutral, obvious thing that a gay man would do, no one comments on it. He stays like this the whole time, unless there’s a plot twist in the last 10 pages where the world is now magically perfect ("we fixed discrimination, yay!"). This is the only LGBT character in the story.

Keep in mind that there are people similar to this in real life, living with extreme internalized homophobia.

Is this, in your opinion, realistic and thoughtful representation? How does it feel when written by a cishet writer, versus a gay writer who is recalling his experiences? Do you think that it's reasonable for the majority of media representation to be like this, or very close to it? How would it affect younger gay people who might already be uncomfortable with being queer? Are gay men the target audience, or are they not even considered as a group of people who read books? Is this helping or damaging the general public's idea of how it is to be gay? Why or why not?

The Masterpiece

[large text: The Masterpiece]

From 13 to 19 of May, we are celebrating Face Equality week (what a coincidence!). It’s important to me in general - and I wish it was more important to abled people, but I digress - especially its theme for this year.

“My Face is a Masterpiece”

Great statement, it represents the community well, I do enjoy how bold it is. Very cool stuff, I love the work our advocates are doing!

But why do I bring this up?

Well, to very non-subtly show that we aren’t a self-hating group of people. We are a community, a community saying “our faces are beautiful, look!”, we are saying “treat us equally, and do it now!”. Our activism isn’t about self-disgust. It’s about fighting your-disgust.

Why can’t writers keep up? Why are you still stuck decades behind?

Is this the only reason I bring it up?

The Call to Celebration

[large text: The Call to Celebration]

FEI, the org behind organizing it, asks a very simple question (emphasis mine):

“Why do we so often see stories about facial difference as a ‘tragedy’, when they should be about triumph?” “Calling all artists, allies, creatives, galleries. You can rewrite the story to bring about #FaceEquality and celebrate the unique artistry found in every face. Your participation this #FaceEqualityWeek will help to tell the real story, that there is a masterpiece in every face.”

Here. We are calling for you to stop. Directly from the biggest international advocacy alliance group that's out there. If you create, this is for you.

The last argument to not have your character with a facial difference hate themselves? Because we don’t want this. We are tired and frustrated. For me personally, I’m also offended by this kind of assumption. We aren’t tragedies or cheap entertainment for abled people to pity or be horrified by. We are people, and if you can’t internalize that, you have no reason to write about us.

For once, celebrate us. Happy Face Equality Week!

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #face difference #ableism #disfiguremisia #face equality week #my face is a masterpiece #writing guide #writing help #writeblr #writing resources #writing advice #writing tips #writing characters #how to write #writing disabled characters #writing disability

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starkwlkr · 3 months ago

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Omfg I need like early on in the relationship between Hugh and marvel!reader where their relationship isn’t public and their papparazzi of them on set together coz they’re visiting eachother and everyone’s thinking xmen X mcu when in reality it’s just them together dating

no spoilers! | hugh jackman

an: ok since their first son was born in 2000 (it’s canon idk what date but it’s canon now lol) and the mcu started in 2008 I’m going to change a few things JUST TINY THINGS like the mcu being in development early on and marvel actress!reader being casted in the early 2000s. does that make sense?? idk this is fanfiction

2005

Getting a call from Marvel was something you never expected. Like many people, you grew up reading the comics and watching the tv shows. But now you had the chance of a lifetime. You were being offered a role in the first movie in the Marvel cinematic universe.

After having a meeting with the marvel executives and your manager, you were asked to keep the news of your casting a secret. The media was already wondering who was going to portray what heroes on the big screen and your name was being thrown around.

While your relationship was still a secret, you often visited Hugh on set of X-Men with Alex and Reese. You tried to keep your little family from the media as much a possible. You would watch Hugh get into his costume and do his stunts. You were always amazed at how much fun it would be to portray a superhero and now you were finally going to be able to.

A few months after you met with Marvel, you found out you were pregnant with your third baby. A girl. Thankfully you weren’t set to film yet since the film was still in development. When it was finally time to film ‘Iron Man’, you were more than ready. Your kids were a bit older so they finally got to watch you beat up bad guys like their dad did.

It was during the filming of ‘Iron Man 2’ when your secret was finally revealed to the world. You didn’t really know how it even happened . . . Your guess was that paparazzi somehow snuck in. Hugh was always careful when visiting you on set. Rumors were already circulating on the internet about a potential X-Men and Avengers team up. It didn’t help that Hugh was sporting his signature Wolverine hair when he visited the set. At least the kids weren’t with you.

“You look much better than me,” Hugh looked at your costume. He couldn’t stop staring, it was starting to make you weak in the knees. “at least you get comfortable suits. Remember the black suits from X-Men? The most uncomfortable shit ever.”

“The kids thought you looked cool.” You reminded him.

“Okay, that makes me feel better.”

As you and Hugh talked, some paparazzi were secretly taking photos. All they could think about was how well they were going to get paid for the exclusive photos. The X-Men joining the mcu? That was big news!

When the photos were published on every magazine, you couldn’t help but laugh. What a way to reveal your relationship. You definitely didn’t want to share the news this way, but you also didn’t want to lose your job.

“Maybe in a few years it’ll come true. You, me, X-Men and the Avengers.” He told you, giving you your morning coffee. The kids were still sleeping so you and Hugh took advantage of the quiet morning. You set the magazine down on the table and drank the coffee.

“It would be nice. Imagine what the kids will think. Mom and dad beating up the bad guys together,” you smiled at him. He took the opportunity to give you a kiss. As he pulled away, you whispered to him. “or it could be me kicking the wolverine’s ass.”

You and Hugh’s characters wouldn’t share the screen until 2024 when Deadpool & Wolverine premiered. Your kids were more than excited to see their parents fighting together.

@kellyxo1 @barnes70stark @ru-kru @flyestvenustrap @evasmlp

#marvel actress!reader #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman one shot #hugh jackman imagine #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman #actress!reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader

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svtswhorehouse · 5 months ago

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DATING HOSHI INCLUDES…. — sfw

• if he ever suspects you or figures out that you’re the mafia whenever y’all play, he would NEVER expose you. he would in fact protect you WITH HIS LIFE. this says a lot about how much he loves you because hoshi would never back down during mafia ever. (poor mingyu :/ he really was innocent all this time.)

• you would probably be the only person capable of successfully dragging him out of the dance studio.

• he would let you squish his cheeks whenever you want (especially when you’re having a bad day.)

• as surprising as it sounds, when y’all are alone, he’s the calm bf and you’re the hyper gf.

• he will NEVER dull your sparkle no matter how bad of a day he’s having.

• when he loves, he loves with EVERYTHING in him.

• dates with him would never be boring. he mainly plans the adventurous ones, choosing to do something like a water park or hiking instead. (he would definitely give you a piggy back ride if you get tired.)

• if he makes a promise with you, he would rather walk through hell barefoot than break it no matter the circumstance. he’s such a dependable lover and always comes through.

• he turns into the softest person whenever you’re having a bad day. he would start talking in a low voice, give you space if needed, but also make sure you’re never suffering alone. your struggles are his and he always lets you know that.

• he’s fine with driving you around everywhere, but be prepared cause he is a super speeder for sure (i know we’ve all seen that one episode of going seventeen.)

• y’all definitely have random dance parties from time to time, especially when y’all are home alone and drinking.

• also, he’s DEFINITELY the type of person who would pull you out of the house to dance under the stars or in the pouring rain. SO ROMANTIC AND CUTESY :’)

• he once ended up winning a tiger plushie for you at the fair before y'all even started dating, and you still have it to this day.

• y'all are for sure dressing up as tigers one year for halloween, he insists.

• he enjoys teaching you dances and always lets you watch as he choreographs. hoshi is constantly wanting your input and praise when he does so.

• he’s oblivious to everything besides when it comes to you.

• he has the habit of hogging the blanket at night. definitely looks like a kicked puppy when you shake him awake to yell at him. he truly doesn’t mean to, it just happens.

• he flaunts you with no fear or shame all over his social media. he dngaf about haters, at the end of the day it’s you that he plans to spend the rest of his life with not them.

• be prepared because he would constantly litter kisses ALL OVER your face no matter the time of day.

• if he had to chose between you or kimchi, he would pick you. that’s saying a lot.

• he will forever be your number one supporter. he is always encouraging you and hyping you up despite what situation you’re in.

• he genuinely thinks you’re the absolute cutest !

• he tells you anything and everything, even if it has nothing to do with him. you definitely know all the practice room secrets.

• if you whip out the government name, he would look at you like a deer in the headlights. don’t scare him like that.

• no matter how bad you are at singing, he would always reassure you that it sounds like music to his ears.

• the pantry would always be stocked with frosted flakes. not because he likes the cereal, but rather just because of the tiger on the box.

• he is always taking random pictures of you, it consists of ninety percent of his camera roll. he REFUSES to delete them.

• he’s speaks of you so fondly and definitely might bring you up in every conversation with people absentmindedly. he loves and admires you so incredibly much.

• he used to tickle you often. he stopped when you accidentally elbowed him in the nose one time and made him bleed.

• if you’re allowed to squish his cheeks, then you have to allow him to boop your nose. it’s an eye for an eye.

• whenever you two argue, it’s rare in which it’s serious. it’s mostly just playful little banters here and there.

• if the arguments are ever serious, it plays in his mind a lot. hoshi treats your heart as if it’s made of glass and the last thing he ever wants to do is make you sad or worse, cry.

• he voices his love like shakespeare to you whenever he’s drunk. hoshi most def becomes a giggly, nervous mess whenever you’re around.

• you know how it’s normally the gf that turns their brain off whenever they’re around their boyfriend? yeah, it’s the opposite way around for you two.

• eye of the tiger would be on full BLAST throughout all hours of the day, he claims it’s his favorite song.

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heartsteel-heartbeats · 1 year ago

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Heartsteel Kayn relationship HCs!

No warnings for this one, you may proceed.

(( Psst! Hey! It’s not explicitly listed that you are also a performer, but you are free to assume that! I like leaving stuff open for ya. Also I may have gone a bit overboard… Sorry! )) ~ OBBY 💗

Before Heartsteel

You’ve been with him before he was kicked out of his old band (maybe even well before he started his music career), so of course, Rhaast was no secret to you. He never was, really. You actually liked Rhaast and loved seeing him just go crazy and do what he wanted without much of a care of the consequences. Kayn figured this is why he was initially drawn to you, because you accepted this part of him.

His band was pretty much the opposite. They held him back extensively because of Rhaast. The situation itself and seeing him lash out time to time made you worried on how much more he could stand being with that group. Some days, you just let him rant to you. You don’t know much on the other members in general besides their names and their roles in the band, but seeing him so frustrated because of them felt like maybe it’s best if you didn’t.

When Kayn did get kicked out, you let him stay around for a bit. A bit eventually became a while. Totally weren’t preparing for this, you made sure there was plenty of room for him. An artist needs his own space after all, though he didn’t exactly pick up his guitar for some time.

It’s been rough for Kayn for a while. He was getting easily irritated over the smallest things and seemed to often get into fights online. You’ve had to keep him off social media more than once before he really made things worse for himself. His reputation has taken quite a hit when he was kicked out, so this was for the best if it means he doesn’t damage further by doing something stupid.

Rhaast, on the other hand, was a bit harder. Rhaast liked to leave a mark, mostly in a physical sense. There were times where you had to stop him from actually getting into serious trouble. It was hard to talk him out of it and sometimes you had to keep him from walking out that door. Doing such a thing did make you feel bad since you’re holding him back almost like his old band did with him, so there were times where you hesitated. Don’t get him wrong though, he knows you’re just worried about his wellbeing.

When he finally did pick up his guitar again, the songs he made were quite clearly targeted towards his old band. Rhaast was going all out and you encouraged that. Of course, these songs never went public for obvious reasons (though Rhaast almost argued with you to upload them somewhere). Hearing songs like these from him were really the one and only times where you can hear just how truly angry he was. Still, you were glad he was letting it out in a way that felt natural to him. Artists letting out their frustrations through songs weren’t uncommon, and most of the ones out there needed to have their listeners read between the lines to understand and see the artist. But you? You didn’t have to. It was all right there in front of you.

Approaching Kayn on the topic itself is rather difficult as he tends to get defensive and dismissive over it, so really, the best you could do was get his mind off of it for a little while. Anything works as long as he was doing something, anything. It didn’t matter what it was.

It’d take quite some time for him to actually come to you for comfort on the matter. When he does though, it was a huge weight off of both of your shoulders. It basically just happened one night, and it was one of those nights for him where his thoughts were keeping him awake. He can’t sleep, you can’t sleep either, so you two just kind of talked for a bit to tire each other out. Eventually, the topic shifts and you can feel his hold on you tighten ever so slightly.

Kayn almost never showed a vulnerable side of him, especially around you. He had his own reasons for that. On the rare occasion that he does, know that it means he trusts you more than anything.

He is happy that you stayed and helped him as long as you did (both being his muse and just supporting him). He makes you aware of it during that night and he does continue to show his appreciation in his own way, whether it’s simply some quality time or even writing a song for you.

Things did eventually calm down and Kayn was beginning to just enjoy doing what he wanted to do again just for the fun of it rather than out of spite. As long as he’s happier now. There’s nothing else to say about his old band.

General stuff between you two

Teasing. So much teasing… He loves your flustered and/or slightly annoyed look when he does it. He finds it adorable.

Kayn can drive but for the love of god never actually let him drive. The chances of getting pulled over and arrested for reckless driving is really high up there. Just let him be in charge of the music, he’ll at least he satisfied with that.

You two still text each other on Discord even if you’re in the same room. He just likes hearing you laugh over what he sends. This does include videos he finds online that he thinks (knows) you’ll laugh to.

Matching hair color! It’s fun, a pain in the ass to get done, but fun. There was a bit of a mess in the bathroom though, and that wasn’t fun to clean.

“Hah! It looks like a murder took place in here!” “I murdered your hair, that’s for sure.” “What?! Are you kidding me? This isn’t the first time you did my hair! It’s perfect!” “Well yeah, but your long hair is gone… I really loved your long hair…” “I mean- It’ll grow back eventually.”

Lunch and dinner sometimes include ordering some food and having it delivered, then eating it in your shared room. Is it healthy food? No, but hey, at least you’re both eating food. If it wasn’t that, then one of you was cooking. Kayn’s cooking is not that bad, but it could be better. Don’t say that though.

Doing each other’s makeup. Although, it started with you wanting to do his and him saying he’ll let you do it if you let him do yours. Now it’s routine.

Playing with his hair. Loves it when you do it. Just him laying his head beside you, or on your chest, with your hands running through his hair. It calms him down and makes him sleepy sometimes. He’ll deny it though.

“Sleepy?” “No.” *literally about to fall asleep* “Sureee.” “Shut up.”

Though there are some nights where one of you can’t fall asleep no matter what you do. Whether it’s insomnia or the other just won’t shut the fuck up (Kayn), at least one of you is still awake. If you feel someone brushing your hair in the middle of the night and giving small pecks, it’s totally not Kayn.

Heartsteel

When Heartsteel found one of his songs and sent him a message, you were okay with him eventually moving in with the group. Kayn has been talking about them for some time, and you think this might be good for him. From what he’s been telling you, these people accept Rhaast. Totally not the one reason why you were okay with it in the first place.

He often texts you about what’s going on and teases you by asking if you miss him. Say no. :) Sometimes complains to you about Yone, but it’s just him being assigned a chore (dish duty).

It does get a bit lonely sometimes now, but he’s happy to be around a group of people that doesn’t push Rhaast away so it doesn’t bother you. Kayn does make up for it by calling you and sometimes dropping by. The second one isn’t often though. Again, gotta keep fans and paparazzi from finding out about your relationship. Although speaking of calls, there were times where you two fell asleep while on call. It usually ends with one of your phones running out of battery.

The group seems to know about you. Yone and Sett has heard of you once or twice, but K’Sante is the one that knows about you the most. According to K’Sante, Kayn talks about you a lot. Ezreal only knows about you cause he got a peak at his phone and saw your name thanks to one of your over night phone calls and he won’t stop asking Kayn about you.

“Dude who’s [name]??? Is that who you’re always talking to all night?” “The hell are you looking in my phone for??!”

Ahem… Kayn did get some relationship advice from K’Sante. Honestly this is exactly why he knows a lot about you from him.

Aphelios only knows about you because of Sett, who then tells Alune.

Kayn tried to keep the music video of Paranoia on the down low so it could surprise you, but he needed to tell you about the dog the moment they picked him up. With that aside, seeing the music video definitely put a smile on your face. He looked like he was having a lot of fun with the new band (you totally saw the Discord calls Aphelios leaked).

#RAAHHHHH I TRIED MY BEST WITH RHAAST HERE #I HOPE ITS GOOD #this went through so much editing and rewriting im gonna cry #obby’s scripts!#kayn x reader #heartsteel #heartsteel kayn #league of legends kayn #shieda kayn #lol kayn #league of legends headcanons #league of legends x reader

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cherry-leclerc · 9 months ago

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20/90 ☆ cl16

genre: humor, smut, angst, jealous!charles, post-break up, toxic ex trope, on & off

word count: 2k

After a painful break-up, you and Charles find yourselves taking part in what seems to be a never ending cycle. But there are rules that apply.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...car sex, riding, wrap it before you tap it!

req!...two in a day?? you guys are spoiledddd

It takes about twenty days to break a habit, give or take. There’s proof; like the time you scolded yourself into not biting your nails anymore, horrified with the idea of getting engaged with monstrous hands. Or when you swore you would never drink again after Singapore.

But it takes ninety to make a permanent change.

It was a mutual decision, it was the most mature one, really, too. He was getting more and more busy; higher demand. You were drowning with homework, and senior thesis, it was long overdue. Yet it still broke your heart just the same. We can try again in the future, he tries to reason when you sob against his chest, linen shirt growing damp, but never once thinks about pulling away.

There is no future if there’s no you, you whimper. You feel stupid, desperate, and disgusting. It was not a lovely mix, but it was true. How could you move on when he was all you’ve ever wanted?

And there’s no present without you.

That was thirteen days ago, to be exact. Life was not better, but bearable to say the least. Often, you would find yourself stalking him on social media, unbeknownst that he did the same. You finally got your bachelor's you had worked your ass off for. He finally came to a renewal on his Ferrari contract. Life should be good.

Instead, you find yourself slumping against the cold wall, eyes squinting at the harsh sun. You’re well aware you’re panting like a beast, and sweat trickles down your face like a water faucet, but you couldn't care any less. Running was definitely not for the weak.

Abandonner si tôt?

Directing your attention to a deep voice, your heart stops before excitedly pumping against your chest. You can feel it in your ribcage. It should be a crime how handsome he still is, the more he gets day by day. W-what are you doing here?

His green eyes flicker against the rocks. Oh, you know.

Are you here for me? You want to foolishly ask, but bite down instead. I thought you were already in Bahrain.

Keeping tabs on me?

Flustered, you narrow your eyes, feigning a normal state. We dated for five years. I know your schedule by heart. His soft features register a wave of shock, nervous fingers gripping his phone.

It was good seeing you. And he leaves.

It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does. It feels as if you’ve scraped your knee, hit your heart, got punched square in the face, and got run over by a school bus. Infinite times. And he seems A-OK. It's against your better judgment to follow after him, to yell at him out of spite for no apparent reason. But you were not the same girl he used to know.

“Oh fuck,” Charles groans as you ride him hastily, headboard banging against the wall as he keeps a steady hold on your hip, where a path of fresh bruises lie. He almost laughs if it weren’t for you rolling your hips tentatively. He quirks a brow when you shake your head and finish around his thick girth, leaving him no choice but to follow along with a low shudder.

“What have I done?” you whisper, delicate hands coming up to cover up your bare breasts. “Oh my God…”

“Ah,” he hums. “What a delightful thing to hear.”

Scurrying off his lap, you grab your wrinkled clothes, inching towards the exit as you wag your finger. “This –that– could never happen ever again. Capeesh?”

Charles tries his best to hide his hurt, braving through with a nonchalant smile. “Never again.”

You’re eight days in when he texts you. Something about needing someone to talk to. You might have broken up, but who said you couldn’t remain friendly acquaintances? He demands you meet at your spot, and it's a slap in the face but find yourself there nonetheless. He rambles on and on about his ongoing stress, and the neverending pressure. You knew it got bad, but you never thought this much.

“My PR manager is debating on whether I should date someone for the sake of increasing views. More attention.”

Your jaw goes slack. “You called me for this?” Rushing up to your full height, you brush off a gust of dirt, struggling to not roll into a coughing fit. “What makes you think this is something I want to hear?”

The Monegasque’s face pinches up like a clam. “I thought you should know.”

You scoff. “Right…” He watches as you scarily pace the open field with a blank expression. It saddens him how suddenly he doesn’t know how to read you. “You’re a fucking coward.”

And you leave.

He follows through with it because there’s really no other choice. She’s nice, but not kind like you. She’s pretty, but not breathtaking like you. You get the gist.

Her touch is unfamiliar and cold, forced. Abnormal. Her father is some kind of wealthy man who invests in prestigious hotels in his home country and is looking to make some more money as if what he doesn’t have is enough to serve him a lifetime. Sometimes, Charles feels for her. She probably wanted this the same amount as he did.

Behind a screen, you live through all of it. Your friend nicknamed you as Bella-From-Twilight-When-Edward-Goes-Away. Only Edward comes back. Charles never did. But it's now been seventeen days. And you curse the day you run out of your favorite ice cream.

“Why am I always bumping into you?” you huff when you spot the brunette. He rolls his eyes. I’m the famous one here. I don’t need to follow anyone, unlike you. Where his cold tone finally blossomed from –you don’t know– but you didn’t like it at all. Purposefully hitting your cart against his own, you stroll off. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Superstar.”

Comedically, you both find yourself glaring as you check out from adjacent sides, a silent competition on who can get out of there the fastest. You came here just for that, he mouths from afar as your burn bright pink, gaze flickering towards your strawberry ice cream. You flip him off, but giggle apologetically when the cashier assumes it’s aimed towards her.

Charles wants to chuckle in amusement but would rather eat his own foot than admit to that. Have a good day, you can hear his clerk tell him at the same time yours does too. Flinging your arm into the hoop on your tote bag, you run off as he races you with a full cart of groceries. There’s a curve you hit as you manage to squeeze through and smile back at your ex, somehow satisfied. Amidst skip, you feel a harsh push as you fling forward, falling onto your knees as a little boy winces, licks his lollipop, and walks away.

Blood trickles down your knees as you fiercely turn back to look at a regretful loser. “Is it really that deep?” you spit out, ears turning bright red from your reasonable anger. He tries to help you up but that only receives him a slap in the face. “Great. I look like I just got my period. Unbelievable.”

“You just hit me,” he speaks in disbelief.

“You just pushed me,” you retort pointing at your injury, flesh being creepily visible. “On purpose, I might add.”

The Monegasque scoffs, gently massaging his aching face, dark brows pointed at you like knives. “You’re one crazy fucking girl…”

“Thanks, I get that a lot.”

It's all a fateful haze, the way you end up in his car. You suppose it starts the moment he presses on helping you unload your groceries, as some sick apology. But it’s only my ice cream. But he sheepishly shrugs. Now blood paints his driver's seat as you sit on top of him, and occasional grunts overflow due to his red cheek. “I can’t have sex with you,” you mumble against his swollen lips, chest heaving as your tinted windows begin to fog up. It was still early, but you didn’t care.

“And I shouldn’t want to have sex with you, and yet.”

“Yeah,” you pant, kisses steaming up. “Okay then.”

Shame lingers on your drive back home, and grows even deeper when you realize your strawberry treat has melted.

You would never take yourself as a self-driven person; not like most people. It was only one of your many flaws, but in this very moment, bent over the kitchen counter, you promise to become one.

“I can’t keep going back to him,” you groan over the phone as Lily attentively listens to what she considers gossip, and you consider a mid-life crisis. “We broke up months ago, why do I keep doing this to myself?”

“Perhaps because two still care for one another.” And because you know you still love him, and he loves you, she wants to add but stops herself when you glare coldly.

“I am so over him, are you kidding? I’ve never been better. In fact, I’m going out tonight. First man I see boom! Fuck him. Just like that.” You click your fingers magically for emphasis.

Lily’s face drops as her eyes zigzag towards something behind her screen. Before she can try to talk you out of it, you hang up. She’s obviously joking, she stutters when Charles freezes, midway from hanging Alex a pair of joggers, since he had forgotten his own. The green-eyed boy forces a dark smile, tipping his head and heading out without a goodbye.

“I should probably warn her.”

You weren’t picking up–you weren’t going to. It was starting to hit you how stupid this all was and you did not need your friends erasing the last bits of determination you had within you. Beaming at a group of guys, you can’t help but flutter your eyes as they quietly fight over who gets to have the first move. Dibs, if you must. Swallowing the last bit of your awful drink, you start making your way over before a warm hand grips your wrist. “No. I’m not doing this again.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “And you’re not doing that either, we’re leaving.” It takes a lot of mental strength to not kick him in the shin and run off, but you can’t help but slap him once again as soon as he drags you out into the alleyway. A habit you’ve picked up, I see, he growls.

“Why are you still doing this?” you whimper, glassy eyes looking up in complete defeat. “You broke up with me. I agreed. We’re supposed to be moving on from one another. Why can’t you at least try to let me go?”

It’s a punch to the gut, the sound of your raw voice, broken and weak. He takes a clumsy step back, chest tightening from the tense situation he has wheezed himself into. “Believe me, I’m trying but I just can’t…”

Your nose is runny, mascara coats you like a baby racoon, cheekbones are splotchy as if you’ve just been hit, and you were still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Which is part of the reason why he can’t walk away from everything you've been through.

“Well you’re not going to try, but I am. For real this time.”

It’s been ninety-two days, a lot, but not enough at the same time. But there was a piece of you that knew you weren’t missing him as much. So, maybe–it was. Enough, you suppose. It still hurts a tiny bit sometimes, watching him pose with fake smiles, or maybe they’re genuine, you can’t really tell the difference anymore. The way his eyes learned to sparkle for her over time. Fake can become real, it appears. But you being yearnful didn’t mean you weren’t moving on for your own sake. This was good, a new start. The kind you now looked forward to.

And it only took ninety-two fucking days.

taglist: @urfavnoirette @lpab @d3kstar @namgification @myownwritings

*feel free to let me know if you would like to be included in the general taglist!!

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swiftiethatlovesf1 · 10 days ago

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Familiar face

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Franco one-shot, if you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

What happens when you can't get your ex out of your head, even worse what happens when you stumble into him at the club

It feels like the universe has a cruel sense of humor. Ever since Franco's move to F1, his face has become impossible to escape. It’s there on billboards, interviews, and splashed across social media feeds. The once subtle ache of his absence has sharpened into a dull, constant thrum of irritation. It’s maddening—how someone who once belonged to your past can suddenly become omnipresent, invading your carefully constructed world.

Tonight, you’re out with your friends, the music pounding in rhythm with your heartbeat as you try to lose yourself in the pulsing lights and laughter. The topic turns to Franco, as it so often does these days. “Did you know he’s back in town?” someone says, their eyes lighting up with gossip. “Spending time with his family. He’s probably coming here tonight.”

Your stomach clenches, a mix of annoyance and something more insidious. You hate that he still has this effect on you, that his name alone can send a rush of memories through your mind—the good ones, the tangled limbs and shared laughter; the bad ones, sharp words and the silence that followed. You roll your eyes and laugh it off, masking the way your pulse has quickened.

But as the night deepens and the club grows wilder, you find yourself scanning the crowd more often. Just in case. You catch a glimpse of familiar hazel eyes from across the room, and your breath stutters. He’s here. And he’s looking right at you, that smirk that once made your heart race now taunting you from a distance.

He makes his way over, effortlessly weaving through the crowd, and your friends exchange knowing glances before fading into the sea of dancers, leaving you alone with him. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he says, his voice deep and familiar, edged with something teasing.

“I could say the same, Franco,” you respond, your tone laced with sarcasm. You want to play it cool, but the heat in his gaze is disarming, pulling you back into a shared past neither of you has fully let go of.

“Aún tan guapa como siempre,” he says, his eyes sweeping over you with that infuriatingly charming smile. “¿Sabías que he estado pensando en ti?”

Still as beautiful as ever. Did you know I've been thinking about you?

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve been too busy with your new glamorous life to think about anything else,” you shoot back, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Nunca tan ocupado como para olvidarme de ti,” he counters, stepping closer so you can smell the familiar hint of his cologne. His voice drops, a playful challenge sparking in his eyes. “Dime, ¿todavía piensas en nosotros?”

Never too busy to forget about you. Tell me, do you still think about us?

Your heart hammers in your chest as you try to keep your composure. “No seas tan presumido, Franco,” you reply, forcing a laugh. “You’re not that unforgettable.”

Don't be so arrogant, Franco.

He chuckles, the sound low and knowing. “Ay, ¿así que no me extrañas ni un poquito?” His fingers lightly brush your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

So you don't even miss me a little bit?

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction. The space between you feels charged, every shared look and teasing smile fanning the flame of old memories.

“Mentira,” he whispers, leaning in so only you can hear. “Siempre fuiste mala para mentir.”

Lie, you've always been a bad liar

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“De ti, sí,” he replies, his eyes searching yours. “Por ejemplo, sé que tu corazón está latiendo rápido ahora mismo.”

Of you I do, for instance, I know your heart is beating faster right now

“Confident, aren’t you?” You arch an eyebrow, trying to regain the upper hand, but the way his gaze holds yours makes it difficult.

“Sólo cuando estoy contigo,” he admits, his tone softening, laced with sincerity. “Desde que me fui, no ha pasado un día en que no pensara en ti.”

Only when I'm with you. Since I left there hasn't been a single day that I haven't thought of you

The weight of his words makes your breath catch, the noise of the club fading into a dull roar. His eyes search yours for the briefest second before he closes the distance, his lips crashing into yours with a fierce intensity that steals the air from your lungs.

The kiss is searing, demanding, as if making up for all the lost time, the missed moments, and the longing that never quite left either of you. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies, the heat radiating off him igniting a fire that spreads through you. Your fingers slide up to tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low growl from him. The world around you blurs and spins, but you don’t care—not when he kisses you like this, as if he’s afraid to ever let go again.

In this moment, nothing else matters—not the fame, the distance, or the questions that will come later. It’s just the two of you, reclaiming everything unsaid in a way that words never could.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto imagine

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rockrosethistle · 10 months ago

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I actually fucking hate Mr. Jägerman here's why

Mr. Jägerman is a character in the Hatchetfield universe who is never onstage and only mentioned in 1 (one) line. This was enough to ignite my rage.

It's because in this one line, so much is revealed about Max's character. So let's dissect that.

Max is mean. We know this. The very first thing established about him is how threatening he is. But I think his character often gets lost in the 'bully' identity, because just like every other Hatchetfield character, he is layered and complex.

We also find out two other things about him pretty much immediately: He has a crush on Grace (we'll come back to that) and he needs to feel in control.

There's a lot of evidence to support this. He repeatedly refers to himself as the 'god' of Hatchetfield High. He creates arbitrary rules around who his friends can date. He creates arbitrary rules around where the nerds are 'allowed' to go. And the moment someone implies he is not as powerful as he thinks he is, he retaliates violently.

This isn't just Max being a jerk. These are all signs of someone who is almost certainly deprived of control in their home life, which forces them to find it elsewhere. Max likely has little to no say in what happens to him at home. He's clinging to a sense of control wherever he can find it. And that line basically confirms that his home isn't a safe place for him.

Back to the crush on Grace, when you look objectively at the actions Max takes in the show, you'll find that he's not really a bad person, he's a mean person. He's a little shit that processes his need for control in the entirely wrong way, but people are shaped by their surroundings. The actions that come from him are different.

His crush on Grace only supports this. Every other bully in every piece of media sees the girl they like and whistle and say "yo lemme hit that." And if the girl rejects them, they resort to "tease bitch." Not Max. The first thing he does is start a conversation with her, laughs at (what he thinks is) a joke, then offers to carry her books. Like, I wish my highschool bullies were that nice to their own girlfriends.

When she rejects him, it's true that he continues to pursue her and calls her "dirty girl," but that once again comes back to his need to feel in control. But he doesn't get aggressive, he doesn't do anything that screams 'bully.'

We don't get a lot of scenes with pre-ghost Max. But when we do, they're interesting to analyze. Like, have you ever noticed that when he finds Steph in the Waylon Place, his very first instinct is to tell her, "Get behind me, I'll protect you" from, as far as he knows, actual ghosts? He feels like his life is in danger, but he's still putting Steph's safety first, despite having no interest in her romantically. That's huge.

There's even some evidence to support that Max terrorizing the nerds is, from his perspective, not so one-sided. When he finds out they were the ones who pulled the pranks, he says "I thought you guys hated me."

And he's open to change. He's not stubborn, he's not brutal. He doesn't continue hating the nerds just because it is what it is. Moments before his death, he is showing signs of opening up to them, and actually seems like he's coming around.

And none of this is meant as trying to defend Max's actions. I know he's the antagonist. I know he treats people unfairly. But all of this has to come from somewhere. I'm trying to say that there was clearly a foundation of a good person underneath all that cruelty. So what toughened his shell?

Mr. Jägerman. Max reveals in that one line that if he were to go back home from the 'party', his dad would call him a 'little cuck.' "can't even fight off one lousy skele'uhn." In this, he reveals his dad is demeaning to him. He's the kind of man who would hear that his son was in a life-or-death situation, and instead of comforting him, he would have made fun of him.

What must that do to a person? As someone who grew up in a home where Dad wasn't always a safe person to be around, I know that when I was younger, a lot of my bad bad behaviours were something I learned from him.

The prank meant to scare Max was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for him.

I think a lot of what happens in NPMD is indirectly Mr. Jägerman's fault. "Knowledge is knowing Frankenstein is the doctor, wisdom is knowing Frankenstein is the monster" type of shit. It is directly because of his actions and the way he treated his own child that any of this happened.

or maybe I'm reading too much into this. But I fucking hate Max's dad so much.

#sincerely #nerdy prudes spoilers #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #max jagerman #max jägerman #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #tgwdlm #black friday starkid #pete spankoffski #ruth fleming #richie lipschitz #grace chasity #steph lauter #character analysis

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marlshroom · 3 months ago

Text

i will never ever stop thinking about the disability allegories in gravity falls. i cant ever stop thinking about disability allegories in other media and gravity falls is no different. im feeling chatty today, so lets see if i can articulate all my feelings on the matter.

the most interesting thing that stuck out to me with thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com was this snippet on fords medical paper:

we hear about this kind of attitude towards disabilities often, maybe you have heard about autism being referred to as the "next evolutionary change in humans." we can especially see this when a person has a disability, but is also very capable in other fields. there are so many cases in the medical or educational field of a child having specific needs, yet they are ignored due to them being "gifted".

in a vacuum, ford's extra finger may not be considered a disability, the sixth finger allows him more movement and dexterity, and ontop of that, he's a genius. its just an extra finger right? its not like it hurts him. but it does hurt him. he is a child living with a limb difference, he is constantly ridiculed by his peers. they call him a freak and physically harass him.

this is where we dip into the social model of disability here. i know sometimes that can cause a little bit of discourse, but i think its interesting to note here! please if you have a limb difference feel free to add your perspective or correct me where you see fit. if you don't know what the social model of disability is, its the perspective that disabled people would not be as limited in their abilities if it wasn't for the oppressive society that they lived in(think people in wheelchairs could do more things if infrastructure had disabled people in mind). ford wouldn't be experiencing abliesm in his life if limb differences were something people were educated about. then we get to bill cipher. in theory, his ability to see the 3rd dimension is almost a super power. but in the book of bill its literally stated that it is illegal for anyone to mention the possibility of "up". he is forced into abusive medical practices where he is being drugged to suppress his ability. no one in his dimension has the same perspective of him, he is completely alone, and even worse, the people who should be protecting him like his parents and doctors are abusing him(not that his parents are evil for this obviously. they don't have a choice and i assume they want what is best for him, what were they supposed to do? yet it still had this horrible impact on bill).

this social model can be applied to bill cipher. he has this ability that in a vacuum would be considered amazing, but he lives in a society(rip) that oppresses this. they have to, because bill trying to let his dimension see the stars killed every last person. which makes me think that whoever was in power here probably knew this would happen. its unsure if bill cipher knew the true extent of his damage would be, but i am of the belief that he didn't know how bad it would really be.

i just find all of this very interesting. i really love when a story tackles a topic such as disability. its so obvious this is what alex hirsch is going for and its such a unique take that i don't see often in media, as a disabled person myself. feel free to lmk your thoughts :)

#gravity falls #stanford pines #bill cipher #gravity falls discussion #gravity falls theory #???#the book of bill #book of bill #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #marlstext

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senseichaos · 10 months ago

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Hey, same anon asking about yandere stuff. I'm so glad to hear!! Of course if you want to, may I please request yandere Vox with the reader? Like how they try to run from him? Perfectly fine with it being a female reader as I am one. And I don't mind how you write it. Do whatever you please! I love seeing others' interpretation of the characters 🖤 No rush!

YOU CAN'T RUN. HELL, YOU CAN'T HIDE EITHER.

thank you lovely anon! I love the concept of Yandere Vox! Hope this is good :) let me know your thoughts in another ask if you'd like! Lots of love!

Summary: Vox doesn't often fall in love often, no. Well that was until you came around- and you wanted a job with Valentino of all people? No. That would never fly with him. He'd make you work with him instead, like an intern or something? Hell, anything to make you stay near him. Anything to get him as close to you as possible.

Genres: Angst with a small amount of sexuality

NOT PROOF READ (yet)

Warnings/Tags: Yandere Vox, Insecurity, Reader is naive, manipulation, mind control, exploitation, creepy behavior, masking, contractual agreements, reader lacks hell experience, Vox is violent, Vox lacks empathy, angst, swearing, overall kinda depressing (LET ME KNOW IF MISSING ANY)

Pt 2

_______

You can't believe your eyes when you step into that tower, the pink glass adorning the outsides making your eyes shimmer. You have a job interview with Valentino today, after waiting for (probably too long) to get a job somewhere.

You see, hell worked slightly differently to earth. Where things in earth worked in a more of a 'work and make work' sort of way, Hell is more 'work, make work, and fight'

You'd managed for the past months to live in a small apartment that happened to be owned by someone who got killed in an extermination. It wasn't your plan to impersonate a sinner and squat in their home, but you have to get by somehow, right?

Well- it also wasn't your plan to be a porn star. But no where else seemed to want to take you. You're small, too weak to be taken by anyone else. People on the street told you that you were made for the screen, that your body was perfect. Some even tried to pay you copious amounts of cash just for you to suck them off. And you hate it.

At least the elevator of the building is cozy.

Vox on the other hand was having the best day of his life: or in his definition, a day where Valentino doesn't have a stupid breakdown that Vox doesn't have to solve.

He loves to watch his people as they indulge in his technology, he loves to watch everyone become obsessed with him and his media, he loves to be in control of all of these people. He'll watch every screen around him with focus, taking in their reactions as he bottle feeds them content.

Could he be with his boyfriend, Val? Yes. Does he want to? Hell no. He doesn't love Val. Plain and simple in his eyes. He has Valentino to get his business along. To make him more powerful. He'll do what he has to to be the most powerful he can be. Even if it means toying with people around him.

Val doesn't think he's capable of falling in love with anyone in this horrible underworld he inhabits. Everyone here is fucked. he is fucked. Plus, he doesn't know anyone here who he'd connect with anyway.

Or well that's what he did think until right now. There is a girl in the central elevator that looks awfully out of place, causing Vox to turn the entirety of his attention onto her. She looks like a regular old sinner, yes- but still she stands it like a sore thumb against the few people also in the central elevator. Where everyone's boring physique was her own enticing one stands. Where everyone else's two tone personalities stand her own colorful and bright one shimmer in his 2-D irises.

And then comes that odd feeling in his chest, this weird bubbling feeling of emotions that causes his eyes to tear up ever so slightly. This feeling, it's addicting. He wants to grind her up into a smoothie and drink her up, making the feeling sit there forever.

Something is wrong with him: he thinks.

With bated breath vox looked at the floor the elevator was approaching, figuring out where the girl is exactly going. There are only few reasons a sinner shows up at V tower anyway: to get a job with Valentino, or to turn yourself in if you'd wronged them. The elevator number reads '10'. She's going up to the business floor where Valentino currently is.

A sudden twist finds its way into his stomach, a horrible twist that makes his head burn with anger. Who does Val think he is? Having a girl such as her working for him. He. Couldn't let this happen, no no no no no no no. Why would he even want to exploit such a girl? She's supposed to be loves and cherished for everything she is.

The only reason she'd want to work with Val is because she has no other thing to do. He needs to offer her a job- or something to keep her from giving herself away to Valentino. Something to keep her as close to him as possible- like an intern or an assistant or anything.

Anything: Vox thinks.

Not often is Vox so reckless, not often at all. He likes to think he's decorum and well-adjusted. Likes to think he's a figure of this time. Of his time.

But right now, all he wants is this beautiful fucking girl to look at him in his eyes. Is it selfish? To want something so bad you feel like you could to horrible things to get it? Probably. But this is hell. And as an overlord of hell he can take what he wants. For once he doesn't care.

--- 666 ---

You take a step from the elevator, looking around the rather nauseating long and rounded hallway with squinted eyes. You can barely remember where you're supposed to be going anymore. You're supposed to meet Val inside one of these many, many studios. But soon enough as you start to venture through the halls on light, unsure steps you find yourself unable to read the words and numbers on each door.

Something is wrong, and you're unable to focus. There's this buzzing sound in your ears, a very faint but obvious buzzing that's causing your brain to go fuzzy. You can't feel your body anymore, it's just walking down the hallway in painful circles.

Suddenly that tether in your brain snaps with a loud crack, and your face to face with a television. You're still standing, in this long hallway, but now you're looking into the dark eyes of a TV screen. Wait- Eyes?

"Oh, Hello there sinner, are you looking for Valentino?" He asks, voice weirdly distant yet close all at the same time. His smile is large, almost devilish looking as he stares down at you.

You feel on edge, and your head still has a very faint buzzing lining itself.

"Oh, erm, Yeah.. I can't seem to recall what room-" You flinch as he hooks an arm around your neck walking you down the hallway once again with a smirk. There's a weird edge to him that you can't pin down, this whole interaction almost seems.. forced? Oh, there you go again, putting labels on things. Stop overthinking!

"Don't worry your pretty head about it! I'll take you to him," he says, unhooking his arm from your shoulder; only for him to rather sensually drag his hand across your shoulder blades until it's claws barely rest against your shoulder.

"But you know," Vox begins, swinging himself around so he stands in front of you, hands resting on either of your shoulders. You have to stop yourself from bumping into his chest. "You don't have to work for him." He says, his voice turning slightly more TV like and distant as he speaks.

"What do you mean..?" You ask, pushing his hand off of your shoulder with a painful twist of butterflies. A type of butterflies that you can't understand.

"Well, you seem like the type of gal to enjoy.." he looks you up and down, moving his hands from your shoulders as he grins. "Taking orders," you tilt your head at his words, confused. He shakes his head to himself, looking away for a moment with a slight frown before staring back, smiling brightly.

"No, I mean that you could be my assistant! You can.." He thinks for a moment, tapping the bottom of his screen as if it were his chin. He shrugs, smiling awkwardly with furrowed brows. "Bring me drinks and such! C'mon.."

He leans down to your level again, looking into your eyes. You suddenly feel that wave of disorientation go through you again, the only thing seeming to make sense to you being.. Vox.

"You don't want to be exploited by him, do you?" He says, and you feel his screen radiating heat on your skin. The buzzing becomes more loud as he goes on, all you seem to be able to hear being his words as they drip from his vile tongue. "C'mon dear, He'll break you."

"And you don't want to be broken, Right?"

He is right. You don't want to be broken by Valentino. You don't want to be exploited. But you don't have any other choice-

Until now, that is. You have an opportunity.

You should take it, right?

The headache and buzzing dissipate, taking a chunk of your psyche along with it. You feel your feet begin to give out beneath you from the exertion, lacking balance as you wobble softly. Not wanting to faceplant into the carpet, you reach out to something, anything to hold you. It just so happens to be Vox's chest, grasping onto the fabric of his coat as you begin to slip down to the floor.

"Hey, Hey, it's okay, What's got you out of sorts?" He asks, grasping you by your waist as he lifts you back to your feet. You blink, looking around for a moment with a nervous breath. Those butterflies, again. You hate them.

"I- uh.. I dunno.." You say stutter, pushing yourself away and scratching that back of your neck.

"You're feeling better?" Vox says, dipping his lids as he tilts his head rather attractively.

You nod, looking down at the ground with a nervousness inside of you.

"Good, good.." he turns away, looking at the ground and pacing for a short amount of time "good.." he says softly to himself, turning back around and clasping his hands together as he grins.

"Now how about you follow me and we can get you set up, yeah?" He says, pressing his hand against the space between your shoulder blades as he turns back to the elevator. You look up at him, and for a moment he seems to be in his own world. At least he is until you speak.

"So what's your name, Mister?" You ask, fiddling your fingers against each other nervously. He grins, lids upturning with the smile as well. He leans down again, poking a blue claw on your cheek as buzzing blurs your brain.

"It's Vox, my dear," He says, and your brain goes soft and mushy with an emotion you cannot describe. It feels as though he's making you melt.

"Keep that in your head for me, will you princess?" He asks softly, pulling his claw up the side of your face with a manic grin.

With a sudden movement he pulls away, shrugging his hands.

"Now darling, let's get back to it, shall we?"

Something is off, and part of you wants more of it.

--- 666 ---

Mister Vox's office is large in size, walls lined with screens displaying different things across the entirety of the pride ring. You wonder what Vox may do here all day, seeing the singular seat between it all that doesn't even seem that cozy.

You assume he watches, broadcasts, does meeting, and.. does what he's doing right now, perhaps?

"What do you do all day, Mister Vox?" You ask, looking wide-eyed at the television lined walls of the area. He flinches, grinning awkwardly before bringing back his confident demeanor.

"Me? Oh, you know.. this and that- I go to meetings.. I sign paperwork, I go to meetings.." He laughs to himself, shaking his hand dismissively as he sits in his seat, spreading his legs in a man spread. You turn away from the screens, looking over at Vox as he scans the monitors with narrowed eyes. You wonder if he was doing something important before he found you.

"Uh, Mister Vox, what do I do now..?" You ask, taking a small step towards him. He tilts his head towards you, smiling as he swings his chair to face you completely.

"oh, you? You can just sit there and look pretty.." Vox looks you up and down with narrowed eyes, face blank for a long moment before bringing a small smirk onto his face. He leans back in his chair, clicking his fingers as a bundle of clothing finds it's way into your hands.

"Perhaps prettier, change into that for me will you dearest?" He says, leaning his head on his fist as his voice becomes slightly more distant. You look at him, confused as you clutch the blue and red clothing to your chest.

"Okay.. Where do I change, Mister Vox?" You say, fiddling with the collar of your shirt as your body feels hot. Vox rolls his eyes playfully, pointing a clawed finger to the floor as he shifts his chair back to the screen. "Just change here my dear, no one will see you," He says, looking at you with a side glance. It's almost condescending, in a way.

"right here? But-"

"Here is fine, dear. Hell, here is more safe to change than anywhere else in this building," He laughs. You get this off feeling like you should trust him. I mean, he's one of the people owning this building anyway, right? He would be the one knowing a lot about it rather than anyone else. you should trust him.

"Okay Mister Vox."

You can't see his grin.

Every piece of clothing you peek off feels like this weird symbolism for losing yourself. Off comes your shirt: a piece is lost. Off comes your shorts: a piece of you is lost. And then more clothes come onto you, building something new. On comes a skirt: a piece of you is molded. On comes a blouse: a piece of you is molded.

And then there's this watch, a mobile one with 'Vox Tech' plastered across the side. With a shrug you put it on, struggling with getting it to tightness but ultimately managing to win the battle with the finicky strap.

"Good, good, how great you look!" He says, outstretching his hands with a grin.

You feel yourself blush, one half of you from his compliment and the other half from the fact he's looking completely in your direction. Does that mean he was watching you the whole time?

"Actually my dear, do you think you can grab me a coffee?" He asks, clicking his hands as a streak of blue energy shoots inside of the watch; this causes a mao to appear on the screen, showing where you are currently. "That map should tell you where to go, the assistant there should give you the coffee the way I like it,"

You shouldn't ask it, but you feel your bones ache too.

"How do you like it?"

He grins, tilting his head.

"Sweet with a strong flavour," He states, waving you off.

--- 666 ---

The first week as Vox's Assistant goes by smoothly, or as smoothly as it could working with an Overlord of hell. A rather odd seeming one at that.

Everything feels on edge with Vox, you feel like at any moment he could do something drastic. You've no idea what said drastic thing could be either, which makes it a whole lot more anxiety inducing. Hell, Vox is attractive. That's probably why you're on edge. That's what you keep telling yourself anyway. You're probably in love with him or something.

Vox had even given you housing as close to the building as possible, insisting he pay the rent. Not that you complain, no; less walking for you it seems. The Vox Tech watch he gave you tells you pretty much everything that you need to do. When you wake up in the morning it goes off, alerting you like an alarm, it has a to do list that blares when you're in the office, it maps out the whole space, it even acts as Vox's messaging system towards you.

You do wonder how he controls it, even in the comfort of your own home. Well, he is an overlord, right? He's capable of things even outside of your grasp. You cannot even fathom what he could do with that power.

And that's just the way Vox likes it.

Actually, you haven't seen Valentino around the building the whole week either. Even in a meeting you accompanied Vox to. You'd expect to see him more often with all the prowling in and out of the building you do.

It's as if he's vanished.

"Princess, grab me a coffee will you? Maybe even grab one for yourself while you're at it, on the house," Vox asks, swiveling on his chair to face your own, which sits just off to the side of his own with a small desk in front of it. You'd been doing some paperwork for him for the past hour, mostly reading through stuff, asking him questions, and singing them for him.

"Yeah, sure.. um, I was just wondering.." You utter softly, causing Vox to raise a brow as he leans back on his chair with a confident grin. He tilts his head in question, saying: "What's on your mind, (N/N)?"

"I haven't seen Valentino around the building, I was just wondering if something's up with him?" You ask, looking down at the ground as you begin to regret yourself even questioning. Vox laughs, flapping his hand in dismissal.

"Oh, just that? Don't worry about it! He's just.." Vox pauses for a moment, shrugging his shoulders. "Doing his own thing," He finishes, smiling rather oddly as he begins moving his chair back to face his computers. You intercept.

"His own thing..?"

Vox turns back to you, grinning widely with a manic look in his 2-D eyes. Once again, the buzzing fills your brain. And you fall to your knees against the ground with a painful 'thump'. Vox harshly grips your chin, pulling you closer to him until all you can see is that blaring red eye of his as he speaks.

"As i said,"

You feel yourself wanting to let go.

"Don't worry about it."

He lets you go of your trance, leaving you teary eyed as he smiles softly, brows furrowing in a sort of mocking empathetic way. His eyes drip with affection you find.

"Now, grab that coffee, okay?" He finishes, placing a cold kiss against your forehead before letting go of your chin, leaving yourself to gather your bearings.

It's not often you feel the want to defy someone. But as you stand from the floor, dusting off your skirt and walking to the elevator; you feel that need to be defiant. You'd figure out where Valentino is. He has to be somewhere in the building, right? You just have to find.. him..

In these hundreds and hundreds of doors. You would have to find him. And you can't take so long, otherwise Vox may suspect something.

You'd find someone to tell you where he is, you'd find him, and you'd stop worrying if Vox is going to do something drastic because he hasn't lied to you. Simple as that, simple as that. Right?

As it just so happens, as you begin walking through the studio halls you find yourself bumping into a spider individual, of whom you remember being a popular porn star.

So with an anxious breath you asked him. He explained that Valentino was in studio B-40, but he doesn't recommend finding him. And once again you go against someone's wishes. Plus, you were just going to stick your head in the door. It's nothing to worry about.

So what are you so anxious when you find yourself getting closer to the door? Why does your throat feel so tight? Why do you want to run in the other direction? Why does every step feel so heavy?

Taking another small step to the door, you wonder if you should listen to your conscious. It's supposed to do you good , right?

No, that's baby talk.

You aren't weak. You aren't letting the people in hell get you down! You are going to open the door!

You push yourhand towards the door handle and-

"Ouch! Fuck-" You yelp, an electric shock going through your body, causing you to fall backwards onto the hard floor below. Your whole body is on fire, you can't feel your tongue. You can't feel your brain.

A hum accompanies Vox's words.

"You're not going in there." He says, leaning over you as you push yourself to your knees, pressing yourself to the wall. Your head is throbbing.

"I'll beat him to a pulp if he sees you, you know?" Vox laughs, that sickening pseudo-empathetic look covering his flat features. You feel your stomach twist, this time in an awful way, it's like he's draining you of your soul. You want to disappear.

"I don't want to be aggressive," Vox begins as he grips your face harshly, causing tears to well into your eyes. "But your fucking mine, you got that?"

"And I won't let that sleazy prick get his greedy eyes anywhere near you!"

"W-what?" You whimper, pushing his hands from his face and backing away meekly. Vox laughs to himself, red dripping from his two dimensional mouth. He humors you with that gaze of his, eating alive any part of your confidence that may still linger.

"Oh, don't you get it, my dear? You sighed the paperwork," Vox leans down so his eyes can bore into your own, his gums showing in that prideful smile of his. "You belong to me now."

You choke on air, standing to your wobbly feet.

"W-what? I don't un-"

The paperwork. The paperwork you signed to get the job. You didn't read it! You idiot. You fucking idiot! You've ruined your own life. You belong to him..

To Vox.

"You- Shit-!" You turn around on your heels, almost slipping as you speed off into the hallway. You hear his voice echo in your ears.

"You can't run. Hell, you can't hide either!"

This was a mistake, this whole thing was a mistake. You want to die. You want to disappear. You want to get as far away from him as possible. You don't even take the elevator down, you run down every single flight of stairs jumping down a couple to save time.

The slip beneath your feet almost makes you topple over as you clutch onto the railing, swinging yourself onto the next flight of stairs. You have to be close to the bottom, right. Right? Yeah. This is fine.

And you were, right, surprisingly. You can almost see the entrance outside. You just have to make it out of this lobby. You just have to make it out of this huge fucking stupid ass lobby! You have to.

All of the sinner's eyes bore at you as you run at top speed to the door. You can't be here. You need to leave immediately. He can't find you If you're far away, right? Just go somewhere without a camera.. it'll be fine.. everything will be fine.

You're so close! Just a few more steps, a few more heavy, headache inducing steps.

You can make it. You just have to believe in yourself, and it'll all work out. Everything will be fine. It just has to be. Hell can't be this cruel, can it?

You're so close to the door you can smell the outside world, hear the cars as they pass, hear the charter hear the-

You choke and fall.onto the ground, a heaviness around your neck and wrists. It buzzes against your skin, making you go light headed. You can barely see it, but it's there. There are handcuffs around your wrists. And a collar around your neck. All of which glowing and buzzing with that electric blue of Vox.

He is right.

You can't run, you can't hide, you can't do anything.

He owns you, he has you. You can't do anything.

You made a mistake.

Maybe hell really is this cruel.

Keeping you forever tethered to this man.

Who knew one mistake would ruin the rest of your eternity.

Serves you right for being so naive.

"Alright now, are we done with our tantrum?" Vox asks.

"Yes mister Vox." You say.

#proship #senseichaos #antishippers dni #senseichaosdrabbles #proship fanfiction #Vox x reader #vox x reader #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #vox yandere #yandere vox #yandere hazbin hotel #ask #sensei chaos requests #senseichaosanons #lovely anon

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boltwrites · 4 months ago

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NEED to know what happens when logan meets your parents for the first time - does he flirt w/ your mom? What do they think about the age gap? Does your dad like him or is he all "nobody's good enough for my princess😤" do they know you're mutants? Giving you full creative freedom to do as you please just give it to me 😭😭

A/N: ok, so since you've given me creative freedom, we have: 20s-ish mutant fem!reader who teaches at the mansion on 10005, old man worst wolverine!logan, the two of you met after the events of dp3 and the relationship progressed from there.

also. this shit has been giving me so many problems. i was really trying to write typical white-picket fence, suburban sitcom-style parents, but honestly? i don't know dick about those type of parents. so you get these assholes instead.

this may actually be one of the worst things i've ever written. i might add a part two at some point, but really i just think this is horrible and want it out of my sight lmao. so here you go.

Your palms were sweaty, your heart racing, as you reached for the doorknob to your childhood home, Logan standing to your side. The last time you'd brought a boy home (and he had been a boy) things hadn't ended well.

Your dad was a traditionalist, you see, and your mom - well, she wasn't one to judge your choices, but you could tell that sometimes when you told her about your love interests, she was holding in laughter. But your dad - he was very vocal about the expectations he had for your partners. He'd never treated you like some kind of princess or prize - oh no. he was a man who saw his children as students of his own knowledge. No matter what your gender, he had taught you how to trim a tree, change a tire, wire a light switch, cook a filling meal - the basics of owning a home and keeping it put together.

Because of that, your parents hadn't often approved of your previous boyfriends. In high school, you'd been too frightened to bring them home. You'd only attended a traditional public school for your freshman year, and the rest of your time spent at Xavier's you'd been far too worried about your dates accidentally exposing themselves as mutants to justify introducing them to your parents. They weren't anti-mutant, per-say... but they certainly weren't supportive, and you didn't want to put even your prom date through that.

As you grew older (graduated college, was hired on as a teacher at the mansion instead of a simple student), you came to understand the reasons why your parents were so discerning as to your choice in men. Your mother's stoic judgment wasn't meant to be mean - she just wanted you to choose a man for more than just superficial attraction, to think of the bigger picture. Which, you'd been blissfully unaware of, as a teen. Your father's traditionalism wasn't rooted in outdated gender norms - it was simply connected to the fact that he wanted your partner to be able to support both you and your household in a significant way. That's why he was always harping on picking a "real man" - not some newfound conservative bullshit, but the simple understanding that sometimes men tried to do the bare minimum, and that he knew you deserved so much more.

And Logan, well. He could certainly support you. He was unlike any man you'd ever dated. He didn't have any social media you had to worry about - no feed or "for you" page filled with scantily clad women and sexist messaging disguised as finance advice - only a stupid flip phone he refused to text you on. He was helpful, attentive, affectionate - even despite the trauma you'd both experienced as mutants. You understood that his struggled has affected him far more than your had, that he still needed to heal - and even though that strained your relationship at times, you knew he cared, knew he tried - so you fought for it. That was something you couldn't say about your previous boyfriends.

Plus, you knew he could handle your weirdass parents.

"Nervous?" He'd asked you, when you asked him if he wanted to meet your parents. You'd given him a side-eyed look as you posed the concept, like you were giving him an out to decline.

"I mean, kind of?" You responded, hesitant. All he did was chuckle, smirking at you.

"What, am I gonna pull up to your dad cleaning his shotgun in the garage?"

"Honestly? Maybe, but that's not what I'm worried about," you admitted, fidgeting. "It's... it's hard to explain. I guess the closest thing is that they're - funny? Like - they'll make fun of you. My dad - he makes all of these horrible inappropriate jokes, like, all the time, and my mom is just really sarcastic, and she seems super judgmental because of it, but really, she's just being funny."

Logan just looked at you, one eyebrow raised. "

What?" You asked. You'd expected more from him. But he just snorted.

"Babe, I've been stuck in the void with Wade-fucking-Wilson. I'm not scared of your parents."

So, you took a breath, offered Logan one last "brace yourself-" and pushed open the door. Immediately you were met with the smell of something cooking - you recognized it immediately as one of your dad's signature dishes, sizzling on the stove.

"Hey, we're here!" You called out, you tried to usher Logan in and up the stairs of your split-level, but he insisted on closing the door behind you - and the shitty screen door that had been around since before you were born made a horrible shaking, scraping metal sound as it bounced along the concrete of your porch. Ah, the sound of home.

"Hey, you!" Your dad called, poking his head out of the kitchen. "What're you- hey, ho! Who's this?" He gestured to Logan with the spatula in his hand, and your face immediately reddened.

"Dad, this is Logan."

"Hey," Logan nodded in greeting, and your dad made a little shocked noise.

"Logan? Who's Logan?"

"Jesus Christ-" you huffed it under your breath, and Logan tried to stifle a chuckle. "He's my boyfriend, remember?"

"Boyfriend?" Your dad's voice pitched higher. "That motherfucker looks older than me!"

Well. There was your dad getting right to the point, as per usual.

"I am," Logan replied, and you fucking elbowed him in the ribs.

"No mutant shit - they don't know," you hissed a reminder, and he rolled his eyes.

"Hey - you see this guy, Nikki?" Your dad called to the dining room.

Your mom sighed - unlike your dad, she had some kind of decorum, and had the decency to shoot him daggers before she met you and Logan at the top of the steps.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan," she greeted him - you could tell that she was fighting the all consuming urge to shoot you a look or make a joke about this whole thing. She was trying so hard. It was like that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit with the shave and a haircut song.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked. "Since you're clearly old enough-"

It was like some demon forced her to spit out that line. You snorted, had to shake your head. This was a mistake.

"What do you have?" Logan asked instead, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, smirking at the whole situation. It was like he lived to see you embarrassed.

"Water, coke, iced tea -" she listed off.

"My dad's shitty beer," you added, and Logan's brow raised.

"Hey! Busch is good beer!"

"No the fuck it is not," you replied, because he didn't even drink the light stuff.

"I don't care, I'll take the beer," Logan cut in, and your dad wagged a finger at him.

"Yeah! I'll get you one - it's good shit, man. Somebody watch the stove."

Oh good lord. There he goes. Logan shot you a look - lip quirked into a little smile, before your dad clapped him on the shoulder and hauled him towards the stairs.

That just left you. And your mom.

She looked at you. You looked at her.

"Well?" you asked, stepping up to take your dad's place at the stove to watch the food. Your mom shrugged in response.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me about him - make some weird comment about his age? I mean - now would be the time," you hedged. You just hated this weird aura surrounding you all. How it felt like she had so many questions to ask, but was holding them all back.

"Obviously I can tell he's old," your mom replied. "It's not really a discussion. Is there something we do need to talk about?"

You knew what she meant. Were you safe with him? Were you happy? Did you bring him here to meet them because you needed help, not because you wanted to share your happiness with them?

Some people might find that sort of implication unthinkable, or rude to address - but you knew your mom. She watched a lot of true crime. She just cared about you.

"No," you replied, with a sigh. "I-I really like him. He's a good man. He actually - he knows how to be a man, if you know what I mean. How to take care of himself. I don't know - I didn't realize how important that was until I met him."

You mom nodded. Her arms were crossed, and she wore her typical resting bitch face, but you could tell she understood what you meant.

"Well. Hopefully your father doesn't shoot him."

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #mine #anon #asks #anonymous

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deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months ago

Text

— AN INTRODUCTION TO CREATIVE CAPTIVITY

SUMMARY : dean wants to know more about you and takes matters into his own hands when you don’t show up at his bakery. unreasonably, he doesn’t expect you to come back home early, but his mission was mostly successful.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, implied panty kink, creepiness escalates, nerdy reader, reader isn’t perfect, (vague) chronic illness, voyeurism, b&e, stealing, slow chapter, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 6.6k

A/N : this chapter will lead up to the square stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. no baking :’(. heheh, Dean’s a lot softer and way more caring than the typical psycho-yandere type maybe some of yall were thinking of. I did research on yandere types and yandere traits, and found that it’s completely acceptable! in fact, a soft yandere is preferred, LOL. xx

Over the years Dean found that the perks of being undead included not having to sleep. That meant there were no nightmares to haunt him.. and now, that he had all the time in the world to watch you, to research you, first.

You were a fluffy cloud of love that became his companion through the sleepless, endless night. He knew seeing you again would feel like an eternity had passed, so he indulged in thoughts of you to keep him company.

He was home now and he had nothing to do as the moon bled through the windows of the place he “lived” in. He laid in his bed, unable to shut his brain off for the pretence of a peaceful sleep that he enjoyed doing routinely ever since he was a… vampire.

His four hours of nothingness.

He had too much time on his hands.

He’d already read over a thousand books, watched over a thousand films and series, scrolled through the endless stream of videos on social media, and attempted to get good at hundreds of hobbies. What was the point of it anymore, after all?

Now, he thought of you. And that was the only point that made any sense to him. The only thing that mattered in his useless life. The only reason why he even wanted the sun to rise and bring another day.

If it meant that he was able to see you again. To know everything about your existence. Then, it all mattered. The world needed to keep spinning and the world needed to be safe, for you.

He took his phone from the nightstand and appreciated the wallpaper of his beautiful Impala. He was uncomfortably restless. He wanted to keep thinking of you, but he also wanted to shut his brain off. He couldn’t creep you out, it would ruin everything. He stared at the numbers telling the time, 1:24 AM.

You were probably asleep by now.

He wondered about you again. What position did you sleep in? What colour were your sheets? What was the texture of them? Did you use multiple blankets? Were you cold, often? Were your hands and feet always the only thing that was cold? Did you not suffer that way at all? Did you wear socks to sleep? What was the temperature of your home? Did you wear baggy clothes to sleep? Or something sexy? Or something cute? What was the colour of your walls? How did you decorate your home? Was it fun? Minimalistic? Did your house already smell like you again?

He cared so much about every tiny detail of your life and the place you called home. He itched to just get out of bed and find where you lived to see for himself.

But for now, he lifted himself up slightly to rest against the headboard of his bed and unlocked his phone to find you wherever he could. He felt embarrassed to do so, but he searched your name on every app, including the dating ones he never removed despite being… Well, he hadn’t had sex since he became a vampire. He was terrified of anything bad happening to the women he slept with.

The thought made him freeze. Would he lose control with you? Would he ever hurt you? His mind overflowed with images of your blood and him standing above you. He would die before he ever hurt you. He shook the thoughts away, remembering Lenore, and the handful of monsters that coexisted peacefully with humans.

He could be with you. You could be his.

You were all he could think about. It’s a shock that he hadn’t shoved his hands in his pants and pleasured himself just thinking of you. He would have, but he felt it would be disrespectful to you.

He did try to relieve himself with those sexy vampire women in the past, but he just didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards them because so few of them even cared about humans. It was unbecoming. They were arrogant, indifferent, and it wasn’t even sexy. He just couldn’t get it “up” with bloodsuckers. So, what? He was still prejudiced and all that. Whatever, he spent most of his time as a vampire still hunting.

He killed the entire nest and hunted down anyone that managed to slip through his fingers. He tried his hardest to keep being a hunter, with Sam’s brain protected with a wall, he had hope, a reason to keep going. But that was all gone, his family was gone: Sam, Cas.

When word spread that he was a vampire, and it did—like a nuclear bomb—the fallout was massive. Somehow, the fear of the Winchesters was hundred-fold, even though, in all his time as a vampire, Dean hadn’t slipped up even once.

He didn’t know how he did it.

He really just did.

He remembered the devouring thirst of being around humans when he was in the process of turning, while he looked for the leech that bled into his mouth for the cure Samuel and Sam were waiting to have confirmed. He could smell every human’s blood, taste the delicious quench of it in the air, and he somehow walked straight past every one. And when that one vamp opened the fridge to feed him a pick-me-up, the scent of it was overpowering, but never quite enough for his stubborn ass.

He declined and carried on with the mission, but the world had other plans for him. When he found the guy that turned him, of course he knew that Dean hadn’t fully turned; he was the leader of the nest, after all. He was smart and didn’t let Dean make any move unless he drained one of the women he didn’t find useful for the nest.

He refused but the leader of the nest didn’t take no for an answer, and once again, forced Dean to feed on one of the women in the cages. Dean remembered that way it felt, the taste of warm blood soothing the aching dryness in his throat. Dean had planned on biting the poor girl for show and collecting the blood in his mouth to spit it out later, but once it touched his tongue, the bloodlust took over.

He didn’t know what possessed him to stop. Maybe the way the girl whimpered, because she was just a girl. Or the way she pleaded for him to stop with her weak, cracked voice. The way her body slowly sank into him and crumbled limply, but he somehow managed to push her away from him.

She thanked him, even though she was still stuck being a blood bag for the nest. Dean felt guilty, even by just remembering how it all started. His soulless brother, his idiot best friend. How was anyone supposed to know how to handle that situation?

Dean grieved his human life. Having to abandon Lisa and Ben on top of it all. Then, his brother’s life. And finally, his best friend’s life.

Sure, Cas was the one who made the mess to begin with, but what was the point of friendship if you couldn’t forgive them for the worst of the worst? Obviously, there was a line, but with the type of life they lived, what Cas had done didn’t cross the line. After all, Cas tried to make amends, even if it was too late.

Dean could stay mad forever at Cas, but he was going to be ancient some day. What purpose would that hatred serve when everyone was dead? Forgiveness was all he had left to remind him he still had some semblance of humanity.

And right now, he needed to feel human. For you.

He was more relieved than he cared to admit when he didn’t find you on any dating apps. So, he deleted every single one after he got the answers he was hoping to not find there.

He hated that your Facebook was more dead than he was. You didn’t have your relationship status updated or your birthday published. There was nothing, just an old photo of you at some Korean restaurant. And even your family members’ accounts were as dry as his throat felt after going days without feeding. They revealed nothing, but he did find your friends: Bela Levante and Daphne Jordan.

But there was hardly anything to see about you on their profiles. God, woman, why did you have to hide yourself so hard?

He carefully scrolled through Instagram and groaned at another obstacle. Your account was private. He wished to stare at photos of you. The numbers on your profile teased him, he could see the amount of followers you had, the number of people you were following, and fuck… 43 posts he could be gazing at like a celebrity’s fanboy.

He wanted to see everything “private” about your life, your hobbies, flashes, glimpses of your life, pets—if you had any, and everything about your family. All the little things that would have slowly painted you on the empty canvas in his mind.

Dean shut his phone off with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling being illuminated with the moonlight, creating shadows from the tree that creaked outside by the window.

How was he supposed to feel about you? What was he supposed to do to get closer to you? Would you see him again the next morning? Or anytime after that? Would he see you in days? Weeks?

Would you think of him at all? Or would you be too busy with your life to do so? Did you even want to see him again? Did you feel the pull he felt towards you? Was he being delusional to think that there could possibly be something between you and him?

He’d have to take matters into his own hands if you prolonged appearing in his life. If he got dozens of women to like him before, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t want him in the same way. He just needed to play his cards right.

5 Days Later

Coming into your life was more difficult than Dean anticipated.

He went out more than he would have wanted, hoping to find you anywhere in town. So, you weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t be available for the first couple of days or weeks in town as you tried to settle in. He hoped it was just something you said to avoid Andy.

At least he knew you weren’t lying about that.

He only saw you once three days ago at the grocery store. He watched you as subtly as he could, his eyes focused on your every move, his ears sharpened to your voice, every atom in his body was attuned to you, his nexus.

He wished he was standing there next to you, as your boyfriend, a lover, a partner, whatever. As long as you were only his. So he could watch your cute faces when you touched something that you didn’t like, or be there to laugh with you when you giggled at something you saw, or to be there to remind you of something you forgot and had to pull up the list on your phone. He wanted to know what it was like to have another conversation with you, about anything. Was that asking too much?

He didn’t get everything he’d planned on getting when he got there, but at least he had your plates and the car you drove. He wished he was brave enough to have talked to you, to pretend to bump into you. Although it wouldn’t have been much of an act, he really hadn’t expected to see you there.

But there was something raw and real about watching you while you were alone, and in your head as you walked through the most-likely unfamiliar grocery shop. When was the last time you stepped foot in there? You stared at the signs above each aisle with surprise when you’d walk in and didn’t find what you probably would have years ago.

He made his way to his car and thought of all the ways he could get you to be his. In any way that he could have you. All his ruminations and all his time was devoted to the goal of being with you. So much so that he felt like his entire life was on hold.

He knew it would start up again as soon as you entered his life. However, he hadn’t seen you—well, he hadn’t spoken to you in five days, and he wanted to respect you by letting you have your own space, but it was getting painful for him to be away from you for so long.

He waited to hear the beat of your heart or the sound of your voice being carried through the air and into his bakery, but he was only met with disappointment. Every time the door opened, he wished it was you walking in, he wished it was you smiling and flirting with him like every woman he regularly saw.

But you never showed up.

Did he make you up in his imagination? Was he that desperate to feel something? Were you real and simply uninterested in him? That thought hurt more than it should have. He thought he’d left a good impression on you, and after you left that hundred dollar bill, his mind didn’t allow him to believe you hated him. In fact, it was the only proof that you were real after all.

Why couldn’t you be as infatuated with him as he was with you? Why couldn’t you be as interested in him as the women who carved out time for him in their busy lives?

You were impossible to get close to. His fingertips barely tapped the surface of your life and like a fish, you swam quickly in the opposite direction to evade being captured by him. But didn’t you see you’d be better off with him? Happier? Freer? More loved than you could fathom? More loved than you could ever be with anyone else? More loved than you have ever been loved?

You were on his mind every moment of every day since he met you. Was he nothing to you? How would you feel knowing that everything new he baked was because you had inspired him in his daydreams. He wished he could ask you how it tasted, what you liked, if he should make more of whatever new invention he had created. If he should add it to the menu. He’d make them all again for you to try them and give him these insights and suggestions.

Mostly, he needed to know more about you. He just couldn’t bear the thought of you being a mystery. Or the fact that you’d never let him into your life to know the things that you inhibited within the safety of your home. Would the things in your house reveal your psyche? That’s all he wanted, to worm his way into you by knowing these things about you.

Sure, he could be himself, but he needed an advantage first. He needed time with you where it wasn’t obvious he was imposing himself on your life without reason. Where could he accidentally or coincidentally find himself in order to spend time with you? So that it could all fall together perfectly as he has fantasised every waking moment of his existence since he met you.

He could only acquire that information by infiltrating your home.

Dean didn’t expect this.

It was all he could think when he tracked down your scent to where you lived—and he relaxed when he didn’t find your car parked in the driveway in front of your home.

He blinked.

He was astonished as he gawked at your home. The light of the stunning peach sunset was reflected on the tinted glass that made up the outer walls of your home. Those glass windows, from floor to ceiling, also reflected the breathtaking forest surrounding the area. How convenient that your house was surrounded by thick green trees.

He stepped closer to your home to the surrounding area, the giant space that was entirely yours. There were a few plants, and despite being grateful about the lack of surveillance, he clicked his tongue in disapproval at the lack of it.

You needed to be safe.

He’d have to check out the glass, make sure it was shatter proof and bulletproof—even though there was no reason why your house should be armed against anything like that. He needed to make sure no creeps had made their way to your home, squatters or even people who may be infatuated with you.

You hypocrite, part of his brain accused. But he huffed, pouting and narrowing his eyes straight ahead at the reflection of himself, scolding his brain for trying to compare him to those who were more selfish and probably more dangerous than him. He pushed the small voice that reminded him that there was nothing scarier or more dangerous than a bloodsucker being around a human.

Dean pushed every thought away and had to quickly become familiar with the outside of your home before deciding it was safe to enter, to really get to know you.

Were you going to clean this whole place by yourself? Did you have someone else do it? Did you cook? Or did someone else do that for you, too? He needed to know. How much freedom did he have to be in your home whenever it suited him?

He made his way to the porch and brushed his fingertips against the lock of your door. He may not have had a heart to race at the thought of being where you always were, where you felt safest, but his body still thrummed and tingled with excitement.

Dean searched his jacket for the pick-set he carried in the inner pocket over his chest. He thought about how he hadn’t picked locks in a while. He didn’t have any reasons to, just the occasional need for it if he caught a case nearby. And ever since he became a vampire, he found that it was easier than before, easier to listen for the clicks of each pin falling as he slowly turned and prodded with his tools.

He apologised to you under his breath once the door unlocked.

He shoved the pick-set back into his jacket pocket while standing at the entrance of your home, and deeply inhaled the scent of you rushing outwards to greet him. Yes.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, surprised by the emptiness and the smell of newness that mingled with your sweet aroma.

You were still way behind on unpacking.

He found a shoe rack by the entrance and decided to respect your house rules by kicking off his boots and placing them neatly into an empty spot. So, that’s what it would look like if this were his home, too? His shoes, right next to yours. It looked right.

He curled his toes inside his socks, feeling the cool floor against his already cold skin and smiled. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up at the coat rack, making himself at home. He could pretend for a few hours that this was how it always was.

He stepped deeper into your home, looked around and deflated.

There wasn’t much to explore. Most rooms he walked into were empty, or they had boxes that had yet to be opened by you. Maybe it would scare you if he tried to help by taking everything out, so he left the boxes as you had them.

Why hadn’t you made yourself at home? It’s been days and you haven't really done much. Was this just part of your indifference or was this because of the secret illness you had? Were you that busy with work? You were pretty vague about it when you were talking to Andy.

For now, Dean sighed, he knew nothing.

There was no indication of what was to be your living room. No furniture, no television, no tables. Unless he opened the boxes to peek inside and find out what each room would be, he would have to wait until you got to it yourself.

At least your kitchen was easy to explore. Though most of the cabinets were empty. Only three glasses, four plates, two bowls… God, woman. Should he get you some things? He shook his head and quickly pulled open every door and drawer to peek inside the completely uninteresting contents.

But finally, he got to your pantry. You had lots of snacks. Dean chuckled at the type of organisation that you had put them in. By colour. He smiled and reached out to touch them. He missed being hungry for this type of stuff, not that it stopped him from indulging in it every now and then anyway.

His brain nagged him: Which ones were your favourite? Well, he had to guess that they were all your favourite to some extent. But maybe it was the Rice Krispies, they were nearly all gone. There were some spicy peanuts, too, and some other spicy, but still sweet, Mexican candies he had tried before—some, he hadn’t tried at all.

His mouth would have watered if he were still alive.

He snorted, moved on to read each package and box; he needed to try whatever he hadn’t already tried before, just to see if he could have that in common with you.

He didn't have to, but he wanted to be able to say: I have tried it before. At least. Maybe that would mean something to you, maybe it would matter. On the other hand, he already had a lot in common with you—in terms of preference for snacks. He liked your taste.

He shut the pantry door and opened your fridge.

He pulled out the freezer and lifted a brow at the lack of contents. No frozen, microwaveable food. Just vanilla ice cream, some shrimp, salmon, halibut, and steak. That’s it? He frowned. Did you rarely eat at home or did you already cook whatever else could’ve filled your refrigerator? Maybe he was overthinking it; you looked healthy when he met you and when he saw you at the grocery. But looks could be deceiving—you were sick after all, and he had yet to find out what you had.

Is that why you became a geneticist? Was your disease genetic?

He closed the freezer and opened the horizontal middle door. He found two bottles of mineral water, four bottles of water, and one can of Sprite. Was there any point to the giant refrigerator if you hardly used it? He snickered.

After he finished checking out the kitchen—and after washing a bowl with traces of Greek yoghurt, honey, and oats and the spoon you’d used—he began making his way to the next room, trying to find more information about you.

He made a mental note of the softener and detergent you used for laundry and all the other cleaning materials you kept in the laundry room. He checked out the washing machine and dryer to make sure they worked properly—so you wouldn’t have to struggle.

He frowned the whole time. He wouldn’t be bumping into you at the laundromat, that was slightly disappointing to think about.

He made his way upstairs, giddy to find your bedroom once he got to the top of the stairs. He held his breath in anticipation after opening each door down the long hallway, always to an empty room, but he exhaled when finally found your room.

Your scent embraced him when he opened your bedroom door. Now, he’d definitely find out things about you that were much more interesting. Much more intimate.

He was thorough with his search.

He checked out every item on your shelves and your desk, your figurines and other collectibles. He took a picture of your bookcase to become familiar with your books the next time he visited the library. He opened each drawer and your dresser to review the contents thoroughly, your clothes and keepsakes and trinkets hidden beneath—and stole a pair of your underwear as he bit his lip; he knew it was wrong.

He made sure to steal your pink lace underwear that didn’t match with a bra you owned. He easily discovered which bras weren’t part of a set and memorised your cup size. You chose comfort over sexiness—even the sexy lace you owned looked comfortable. You were so cute.

He turned to your closet and examined every article of clothing—which was organised by colour as well. From sexy to cute dresses, old and new t-shirts, sexy and cute cropped shirts, and so much more he wanted to see you wear for himself. He found a few of your scrubs and imagined the way they’d hug your curves, even if they were hidden below a lab coat. You were so sexy. So fucking hot, he couldn’t believe he was touching the things you’d wear at some point.

He went through your shoes to memorise your foot size, but made a mental note of your favourite type of footwear.

He closed the door and looked over your vanity desk and the limited amount of makeup. Mostly, you had hair products. Gel to enhance the volume, different brushes for different uses, a multi-use hair dryer or something like that, cute hair ties and hair clips and a small bundle of what he’d label as boring; they were just brown, black, and tan hair ties.

He slipped a brown hair tie onto his wrist—one that was loose from usage. He pocketed the mini-lotion bottle that was half-empty—a miniature version of the larger bottle you owned. And after peaking through your extensive jewellery collection, he stole a thin silver necklace with a cute little charm.

He searched your nightstand, glanced at your cute lamp, a small mirror, a water bottle and a pill bottle. At the sight of the orange container containing a month’s worth of medication, he instantly picked it up and snapped a quick picture of the name to do research later. He wanted to look out for you.

He opened your password-locked laptop and the tablet beneath. He wouldn’t be getting into those anytime soon. He had no idea what your password could be or what set of numbers mattered to you. It was frustrating.

He opened the single drawer and pursed his lips—amused. God, you were so naughty. But you did live alone, why would you hide it? It's not like you knew he’d be inspecting every object you owned.

Dean leered at each sex toy with a smirk and imagined—the fact that you probably used them more than once fueled his daydreams—the way you’d pleasure yourself with them. How many times could you come? Which toy was your favourite? Who did you fantasise about when you were in the midst of immense pleasure? He hoped it was someone unattainable or fictional.

His hand twitched at the metal handle he’d pulled to open up the drawer. He was tempted to touch and kiss each toy that had at some point touched the depths and outer skin of your sweet pussy. But he exhaled shakily and closed the weakly concealed Pandora’s Box to move on with his investigation of your life.

He checked the bottom space of your nightstand, open to the world. He found an extensive collection of sticker sheets and sticker books, empty A6 notebooks, one that was full, and another that was halfway worked through. He pulled the two of them out, but turned his attention to your bed.

His mind inquired things he simply couldn’t figure out without you telling him. Did you pleasure yourself here? Do you ever pleasure yourself on the chair of your writing desk? Or the backless seat of your vanity desk? Did you plan on doing it downstairs on a couch you’d set up in the future?

He slid his hand down the soft cotton sheets of your bed and picked up one of your silk pillows, accidentally knocking off a weighted dinosaur and a tiny shark the size of his palm that rested on its back. The other small stuffed animals remained undisturbed as he lifted your pillow to his face and inhaled slowly, deeply the scent of your shampoo, softener, and detergent.

He sighed softly, eyes closed. You smelled so good, he could probably bite you if you let him. He’d never want to purposely hurt you. He just needed to feel you.

He pulled your pillow away from his lips and nose to fix it back in place along with your woolly companions and blindly set down the two books he’d begin reading once he was done with his exploration.

Was this the same bed and the same sheets you’d slept in when you were a teenager? Were you as horny as he was at that age? Did you sleep with anyone at any point in your life—on these very sheets? Were they new? New as in bought here once you moved in? Were these the ones you used when you left home to go to university?

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking of that.

He stomped away to your bathroom and rifled through over-the-counter medication behind the mirror—allergy pills, Benadryl cream, ibuprofen. He found your pink with green toothbrush, your toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash. He quickly glanced at the shrinking bar of honey-coloured soap by the sink inside a small bowl.

He rubbed his fingers against the beige hand towel and then your olive-coloured towel by the shower door. He inspected the scent and brand of your shampoo, body wash, face washes, and conditioner.

Why was he so drawn to learn all these things about you? He never cared about any of these things before. Sure, to some extent he tried to learn stuff about Cassie and Lisa, but never like this. Why couldn’t he take it slowly? Couldn’t he be normal about you? You were just a woman. Just a woman who made every withering seed suddenly bloom in his desiccated heart and desolate soul. Of course he’d turn to you, like a sunflower turning toward the Sun. It was his destiny, one he wouldn’t dream of fighting.

He returned to your bedroom and slowly plopped down on your bed. He smiled instantly, swallowed by your soft mattress, and laid down on your pillows with your notebooks in his lap. He lifted the one that was full and became wrapped up in the story of your life.

He was only partially disappointed that you’d only begun writing a year before. He only knew about that and still nothing of your past. Only through subtext and vague statements could he decipher events of your past life. And every now and then, something would bring up the past and that’s how he discovered small details about you.

Inside your half-filled journal, he found your work schedule.

“Residency,” he mumbled and glared at the extensive, ridiculous hours listed for you to work. No wonder he hardly ever saw you. No wonder you were so behind on unpacking.

Dean’s ears perked up when he heard rocks and dirt crunching beneath tires. His heart would have stopped if it were beating and his blood would’ve run cold if it still ran through his body. He was instantly at the window of your bedroom watching you drive towards the house.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered, watching as your car pulled up into the driveway. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He scurried to shove your books back into place before legging it downstairs to retrieve his jacket and shoes and panicked momentarily. He wasn’t ready to leave yet!

Did he touch anything else? Did he move something he wasn’t supposed to? He was so enthralled with his expedition around your home that he’d completely blanked out anything he should’ve been mindful of.

He made his way back upstairs and quickly threw his shoes and jacket into the farthest empty room down the hall. There’s no reason you’d check out every room. Were you paranoid? Wait, he hadn’t accounted for this. Damn it, he was way in over his head.

It was too late. You were already making your way up to your porch. Dean could hear your quiet sigh, the sleepiness of it made him feel warm—at least the illusion of it.

He quickly rid the bed of the form his body had made atop your sheets by pulling carefully at the edges and smoothing his hand over the wrinkles that remained until your bed looked untouched once more.

Dean’s ears perked up at the sound of your car keys and your shoes being kicked off carelessly. Dean was suddenly excited to see what you wore. So, we should hide? his mind questioned. We? Dean scowled and looked around before picking the cliché of all hiding places: the closet.

It felt like an eternity before you began to make your way upstairs.

Much to Dean’s dismay, you’d discarded your lab coat at the coat rack, so he wouldn’t be fulfilling his fantasy tonight. But he could hear the material of your scrubs brush against itself as you shuffled lazily up the stairs and into the hallway leading up to your bedroom.

Your door creaked open, you stretched, and then began to push your pants down your legs. Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward to gently prod the closet door open enough to watch your black scrubs get pushed down your bare legs.

You kicked them off along with your socks and left them on the floor to lift your shirt up. Beneath it, you wore a grey thermal shirt. Dean watched, his mouth parched suddenly as your body stretched upwards, just in your violet coloured underwear.

He bit his lip to stop himself from saying something under his breath about how sexy you were. He couldn’t risk you somehow hearing him. But soon, you were completely naked.

Dean peered lewdly at your bare body. The way your hair came loose over your shoulders to brush against your warm skin, the shape of your breasts, the way you shivered and your nipples tightened as you collected your clothes to throw it into the hamper. Your proportions and the entire beauty of you captivated him.

He wanted to fuck you, yes, but he also wanted to know what it felt like to hold the elegant dip of your waist. To know what it felt like for your body to curve up and mould itself into his body when you hugged him. To know how your fingers felt when they were weaved through his, as you had sown yourself into his dead heart to give him the illusion of life, of warmth.

What did it feel like to cup the back of your head when he kissed you? Or to hold your jaw as he tilted your head for the perfect angle to kiss in? What did your fingers feel like when they skimmed over his cold skin and twisted into his hair when you got lost in the kiss?

What did your mouth taste like if his tongue brushed against yours? What did your plush lips feel like against his? Where would your lips trail off to and how would you kiss him?

Dean was dazed at his vivid fantasy and then you disappeared into the bathroom and he finally ripped himself from the perfect twill of his daydream. Disheartened, he leaned into your clothes, sinking deeper into your closet and briefly relaxed as your soft clothes overwhelmed his senses.

Dean considered leaving now that you were home. He sort of got what he wanted, information about you. The rest of your house may have been mostly empty, but your bedroom wasn’t. And your bedroom revealed more about you to him than the rest of your home would have.

Still, maybe you’d get on your laptop and he could discern your password. Yeah, that would definitely be ideal. He could stay in the closet. There was nowhere else he could hide and the bottom of the bed was pretty useless. Besides, there was no reason you’d check in here, none at all.

He waited thirty minutes for you, on his phone looking up what he could about your medication. He learned quickly the side effects, what not to take with your medication, when the best time was to take it. Then moved on to the minuscule list of diseases the medication was used to treat.

He was thrown deep into the research, reminding him of the days when he would have to search things through libraries and files for lore on monsters and to brief himself on the case he’d taken. It wasn’t too different: he wanted to get closer, he wanted to solve you. The only difference was you weren’t dangerous and you were beautiful, and he actually felt motivated to willingly delve further into the rabbit hole that was your life.

The shower turned off and Dean shut off his phone.

It wasn’t long before you walked out of the bathroom and Dean moved closer to the closet door, peeking between the small crack as you walked into your bedroom. You were patting your hair dry with a smaller towel and had your back to him.

You threw the small towel successfully into the hamper and sighed exhaustedly. You were so silent. He wondered if it was only because of the fatigue of your job or if you always wordlessly completed tasks.

He would only know once you completed your residency. Or if he found you on a day where you didn’t have to work. But he didn’t think you’d have the energy to go out, even on a weekend or vacation, after working such laborious hours.

He continued to watch you expectantly as you made your way to your dresser where your underwear was, he watched you sift through the neatly organised garments before you plucked something out and then your towel came undone slightly.

“Stupid fuck,” you muttered angrily and adjusted it. He grinned at your short temperament, but he wished you’d just let it fall completely so he could see you again. You bent over and looked through your sock drawer, picked a comfortable pair and finally pulled the towel from your body and threw it over to the hamper where it only made itself halfway in.

Dean bit his lip at the sight of your ass; he traced the long divot of your spine down your back and the curve of your waist with his gluttonous eyes. He mouthed a ‘wow’ and licked his lips as you slid your underwear carefully up your legs.

You picked out a tank top and matching pants from the middle drawers and made your way to your bed with your socks in hand. So you did sleep with socks on. Ankle socks, fluffy loose ones with pink and white patterns.

You lazily lifted your sheets, your expression more somnolent than he expected. Your feet, covered in clean socks, hid beneath your thick warm sheets. Your whole body was covered and your cheek pressed into the same pillow he’d grabbed.

He waited as your breathing slowed, faster than he expected, you were out. Your mind shut off, tired from long hours of work. He envied you for a moment and then allowed his affection for you to bloom in his chest as he pushed the closet door open and shut behind him.

He made his way to you carefully, and watched your peaceful expression. You lips were parted slightly and your breathing was so low and deep that your heart slowed down serenely.

He considered kissing you as you slept, but he’d rather have your consent when you’re awake some day; that’d really show him that you wanted him.

Instead, he pressed his lips to your jaw, then dragged them hungrily to your quiet, gentle pulse and kissed you there. His lips lingered, promising the blood that would travel to your heart, that one day, it would be all his.

-> life ain't easy when you're a mythical creature

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