#I hope you don't mind me putting a bit of my own touch on everyone

[l1linya]

SWAP DOL AU!!! by @just-dol-headshots

I asked and you answered with an okay so.. I hope you like the fanart!!

Featuring: Sydney the loner, Robin the bully, Whitney the faithful , and Kylar the 'orphan'(???)

Extra v

[plasticferal]

hey queen! can you pls do an angst story with chris. where they get into an argument and chris said things he never meant. then he apologizes to her afterwards. ( basically angst to fluff)

damsel in distress | chris sturniolo.

i added my own twist to this ask. it's my favourite prompt so thank you! 18+ protective!ex-boyfriend chris x fem!reader. fighting, touches on themes of unwanted attention, mentions of alcohol, explicit language. reader discretion is advised. p.s inspired by the unreleased olivia rodrigo song 'prison for life'.

the house is filled with familiar faces and strangers. a small gathering turned into a full blown house party from the moment the word got out. where the sturniolo triplets are, a flock follows. you sigh, pushing and shoving your way through the unwanted crowd.

all you want is to make it into the kitchen, miraculously being the only place no one wants to linger. the last person you need to see right now is your ex lover. chris is standing ahead of you, leaning on the kitchen counter, alone in the room. you shut the doors behind you, needing to escape. even if it means with him.

“if you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked." he speaks smug, before taking a sip from his red solo cup.

“i'm not in the mood,” you dismiss. you open the fridge, eyes scanning the shelves but nothing calling your name.

you know you're not actually looking for anything, you just don't want to look at him. the entire night has you shaking with anger. from the mess in your home, the lack of care everyone is taking, the noise complaint you know you'll be getting later, and worst of all, that one guy who won't leave you alone.

you've never seen him before tonight, you don't even know his name, but all he's done is make you uncomfortable. try to dance with you, try to give you drinks. he brushes your waist every time he walks past.

all of your friends have been encouraging you to go for it, to get over chris. and honestly, you consider it for a moment. just to finally move on, but you can't bring yourself to. at least not with some random creep.

the break up is still raw. he tells everyone it was 'mutual' but it was a part on your request. he'd never throw you under the bus like that. he knows why you made your decision, he's never questioned it.

chris feels like it's unrequited love. although, you haven't lost any love for him, no matter how much you try to push him away. he has every right to despise you, but he doesn't.

every time you close a chapter with him, you find yourself in a sequel. it's like you're re-reading different stories, but the ending stays the same. your heart wants him, your brain wants to hate him.

"what's wrong?" he asks, sensing you're genuine in your frustration.

"nothing." you refuse to let him know what's happing in your world, let alone your mind. you don't need to let in him anymore, even though you want to let it out. he's the one person who could just sit and listen to you for hours on end.

"alright, just askin" his words trail off into a hush. he switches the tone, not wanting the conversation to stop.

“your friends are nice” he speaks in a sickeningly sweet tone, because if anyone knows how to kick you while you're down, it's him.

"you would think that" you scoff, implying that you've seen them throw themselves at him all night. him pouring them drinks, smiling and frothing over the attention he's receiving.

"the fuck is that supposed to mean?" his temperamental side seeps out, and you grow only more irritated.

"chris, can you get out please?" you huff, hands crossing over your chest. an unintentional way to seperate yourself from him, a metaphorical wall being put up.

"such a party pooper. you really gotta let loose, relax a bit." his words come out a lot more nasty that you hope he meant them, and it makes your face hot.

you give him the benefit of the doubt and think he's speaking with resilience, at the fact you keep shutting him down.

"i wonder why we ever broke up." you reply sarcastically, a fake smile on your face. he rolls his eyes, finishing off his drink and letting out an audible "ah," like a child finishing a juice box.

"i haven't seen you all night, y/n" his voice softens, and it becomes clear he's speaking for the sake of talking to you. he always wants to talk to you.

looking at the counter quickly to place his cup down, he looks back at you, tilting his head to the side slightly. he's not being horrible to you, he never has been. he's still in your life whether you like it or not, despite your hostility.

"sorry. i'm just tired." you lie. he knows it.

"your poker face isn't very good. i learnt that the hard way," he bounces his eyebrows, biting the tip of his tongue, eyes a bit wider as he stares at the ground and you can tell he's having a flashback.

you chuckle at the reference. the one time he caught you faking an orgasm didn't end very well, and he's been able to catch you out ever since. he's never been afraid to pull you up on your own fibs.

"sorry, again." you hug your body tighter, avoiding his eyes. he pushes himself off the counter with a stretch like hum and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"stop apologizing, you sound like matt," he rolls his eyes lightheartedly, and you let out a small laugh. that's always his intention, to make you smile.

"c'mon princess, let's get you a drink. seems like you need it." he nods toward to the door, rubbing your shoulder enthusiastically.

you let him try to fix your mood, because god knows you do actually need to stop stressing. you can't control what happens, just how you react. that's what chris always used to say when you were together.

feeling safe in his embrace, he security guard style moves you through the party. he hollers "excuse me!" and "coming through!" and everyone just listens, parting like the red sea. he's not the biggest guy in the room, but he sure is the most assertive. especially with you under his arm.

when you finally get to the drinks table, he makes you a vodka lemonade, saving the rest of the can for himself to finish off. it's not the most thrilling drink, but enough to keep you settled. ease the tension a bit. plus, it tastes good. no harm, no foul. as chris is mixing the liquids into cups, you feel an unwanted hand snake up around your hip.

"there you are. are you hiding from me?" your stomach drops at the voice of the mystery man towering over you, and you look ahead to watch chris's eyes snap up instantly.

chris lowers the cups, holding his eyes on the man behind you. you watch as he kinks his neck and his jaw tenses, taking a step closer. you shake your head at chris, holding a hand up subtly to tell him not to come any closer.

turning around, you stare up at the man. his breath reeks of liquor, and his shirt is drenched is sweat. it makes you sour your face and tense your entire body.

"i don't know what you want from me, but it's not gonna happen. i think you should leave." you speak sternly, trying not to let your voice shake with pure nerves. not even liquid confidence could help you right now.

"the party's just getting started," the man smiles, stumbling toward you in what you think is an attempt at a hug, but you begin pushing his body away from yours with a shove.

"dude, she doesn't want you. walk away." you hear chris's direct voice over your shoulder.

the last thing you want is negative attention on chris in a room full of people who would spread the news like wildfire. you never want that for him.

"it's okay, i got this." you dismiss chris in the nicest possible way, but you're being serious.

"come on, we'll have fun," the man hiccups through his words, mumbling them and tripping over toward you again.

"get the fuck away from her." chris's breath hits the back of your neck as he moves even closer to you.

"christopher, i'm serious. stop." you speak through grit teeth, so people can't read your lips, as he lingers next to you.

you try to be as inconspicuous as you can in your rejection to his advances, but he won't give up. the man appears more annoyed, and he grabs your wrist with a tight grip.

"let go of me." you grab the mans hand, trying to pry his grip without making it obvious.

you’re shaking at the thought of attention drawing. not for you, but for chris. eyes are already on you, being his ex. it's not what he ever wanted for you either. if he could make it all disappear, he would. it becomes more difficult when chris notices, and this time, has no intention of backing down.

"i'm not gonna repeat myself, back the fuck up." chris walks around your body, face to face with the guy who has a hold on you now.

"please, chris." you beg, voice quivering.

you know his temper can change in the blink of an eye. him and matt both have that in common.

"she doesn't need your help, pretty boy." the man splatters his words, a malicious smile on his face as he leans toward chris, almost nose to nose.

chris smiles criminally, flashing his teeth.

"you're right," chris puts his hands up in defence, a downward smile on his face as he chuckles darkly, taking a big step backward.

there's a feeling of relief, and intense fear as he actually does start to back away. but you know chris. unfortunately, it's unavoidable.

you try to catch his eyes, and speak through a begging stare without using words. he looks at you with sadness, and you mime the words, 'please don't'.

the moment the man tugs your wrist as if to leave with him, making you wince with the grip he holds. you regret your counteraction instantly, because chris reacts viscerally.

he flares his nostrils and squeezes his nails into his palm, balling up his hands by his hip. his knuckles are turning white.

before you can get pulled away, chris lunges forward with a tight fist, throwing a strong, perfectly aligned punch to the mans cheekbone. it throws the man to the ground in the blink of an eye, relieving the pressure on your skin. you stumble backwards, out of the line of fire.

chris steps heavily forward, shoving a foot into his ribcage before straddling his legs, completely overpowering him. the man projects forward to swing and hit chris's mouth. chris doesn't even flinch, like it was painless. you watch chris raise his arm up again to pummel down onto the now defenceless stranger.

the surrounding crowd gasps and yells, clearing the space that chris has created with his actions. iphone cameras flash, making you feel sick. the whispering and gossip you can already hear pounding in your head is overwhelming.

you feel so futile. chris is too in his own world to even realise the repercussions. you're not saying the guy didn't deserve it, you have no care in the world for him. you care about the aftermath.

in a fantasy world, a daydream, a fairytale even, this is attractive. a knight in shining armour, fighting for his lady. a world where there are no consequences, or social media, or fear. a reality chris has suddenly forgotten about.

he looks natural doing it, too. the veins in his arms so prominent, his tight mouth and huffed breaths as he gives it everything he's got.

you're frozen in shock, watching chris pelt another punch into the man, and you want to pull him off, you know you need to, but all your body can do is watch. watch the two men roughhousing and exchanging blows, chris taking every hit with pride.

you're numb to the feeling, screaming in your head.

appearing out of thin air, nick and matt are in your line of vision, hiding the chaos ahead of you. his brothers move into action before anyone else needs to.

they've obviously been summoned, but there's a part of you that believes they could just sense it. like they telepathically knew chris was getting himself into trouble by the lack of surprise they express.

nick grabs chris by the collar of his shirt, pulling him off. matt grabs his wrists, to stop him from using his fists. the fight comes undone, finally, but chris is disoriented. he spits onto the man as he's being escorted into the kitchen by his brothers.

your eyes burn with tears that refuse to fall, and matt sweeps your hand up, guiding you with them in a hurried manner. matt is trying to snap you back to reality, but it's just white noise.

chris hits his palm aggressively with frustration against the door frame of the kitchen as you all walk through, and you take a deep breath to compose yourself. your eyes are still welling as you choke back a sniffle, and you're not sure if it's shock, hurt, or anger anymore.

you're in a trance as you walk over to the freezer. your body is in autopilot, moving without you even knowing. you grab a frozen bag of vegetables out of the tray.

"so fucking stupid," you say nastily under your breath, slamming the door shut.

walking over to chris who's sat up on the ledge of the sink. you throw the packet at his chest, and he grabs it, questioning you for a second before matt walks over and shows him to place it on his bruised and red raw knuckles.

the room is filled with tension.

matt is biting his nails, you're leaning against the closed door, and nick finds himself squatting on the floor.

"what the actual fuck was that?" nick is too stunned to even yell, he just speaks aloud.

"i asked you not to, chris. i could have handled it myself." you shake your head, vision blurry as you stare vacantly ahead. you want to lash out at him, but for some reason you can't.

"yeah, it really looked like you had it under control." he crushes the frozen packet harshly against his hand.

"we'll leave you two alone." matt cuts through awkwardly, shooting nick a warning glare.

matt knows it's not his place to go off at chris right now. he'll do that later.

"but-" nick begins, and matt snaps toward the door. you hear nick sigh, knowing he would love nothing more than to stay and listen to you tear into chris. alas, they both leave promptly, matt flashing you a sympathetic smile on the way out.

you can hear from the other side of the door, both nick and matt are hustling trying to kick everyone out. it’s a weight lifted off your shoulders. the literal mess being left behind is the least of your worries now.

you're alone with chris in the kitchen again, the second time not being anymore pleasant than the first. you blame yourself fully for dropping your guard, even if for a second.

“i begged you not to, chris.” you repeat with a stern tone, laced with betrayal and genuine hurt.

he’s silent for a moment, staring at you from across the room with no emotion on his face. you know he feels terrible, he doesn’t have to show it. or tell you.

“did you think i was just gonna stand and watch?” he rebuttals.

“i would have preferred that, honestly.” you don’t understand how he can’t grasp the intensity of the situation.

"did you want him? go back out there then." he's bitter, pointing at the door. you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.

"chris," you start. he keeps talking.

“because i’m sure he’s still laying on the floor. go ahead. he might have a hard time talking now, though.” chris shrugs, speaking in a provoking manner.

“you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges." you apprise.

“he should feel lucky i didn’t do worse.” he takes another step toward you, presumptuous in the way he carries himself.

"you've done a lot of stupid shit, chris. but that," you raise your hand as you speak, laughing in shock.

"that was unbelievable." you pinch the bridge of your nose, taking yet another deep breath.

"you know what's unbelievable is how you haven't even thanked me once" he ignores your words and bites back with irritation, face growing more twisted with upset.

"thank you?" you repeat, jaw dropping. you step toward him this time. you feel dejected trying to get him to understand.

"thank you for what? for causing a scene? for putting yourself in danger?" you step forward again, feeling like you could drive your heels into the ground beneath you.

"you're acting insane" he brings his hands to his head, tugging at his own hair with despair. his words sting, despite the back and forth arguing.

"you're the one that lashed out on that guy with no consideration for anyone else around you. that's insane" you speak with physical gestures unconsciously.

you're trying to reason with him, but with the state he's in, it's like trying to put a brain in a statue. you examine him, trying to search for his eyes but his body won't keep still, twisting and moving around.

"fuck, okay, i get it! i get it, y/n. you're not happy with me. you never fucking are apparently," his words trail off and he waves you away, turning his back to you. he sounds desperate for it to end.

you want to scream at him at the top of your lungs, and quite frankly, you could. your face burns and steam is about to shoot out of your ears.

"you don't need to protect me anymore, chris."

"i saved your ass out there." he speaks with his hand, four fingers direct to your chest. his words are like salt being rubbed into an open wound.

"saved me? that's a fucking stretch. your brothers saved your ass, because you don't think before you fucking act!"

"this is about YOU, y/n! what i did for you!" he slaps the back of right hand into the palm of his left.

"i'm not some damsel in distress that you need to sweep up and put in a tower, chris"

"yeah well at least in a tower you can't attract trouble." he speaks as if it's your fault, and of all the things he's just spit out, that's by far the worst. the most menacing and cut to the bone tone he's used.

"that was low, even for you." you huff, emotions at an all time high.

your breathing feels tight, but instead of reacting, you force yourself to seperate your emotions from the reality of the situation. you're both feeling very intensely, and expressing it the same way.

in hindsight, you could have redirected some of your emotions, but you also wish chris would take back some things he's said. there's no excuses.

chris re-collects himself and turns toward you again. he shrugs his shoulders, like he has nothing left to say. no fight left.

the closer chris is standing the more prominent his face is, and more specifically, his busted open lip.

you gasp in a mix of being upset, and shock. it feels like a piece of your heart is breaking off, seeing his delicate, pale skin so sore.

"your lip, chris." you exhale, stepping toward him.

he flinches when your hand raises to touch his face, and you know now that you've acknowledged it, it's hurting him. neither of you paid any attention to it amongst the turmoil.

"come here." you sigh, pulling his arm, bringing him over to where the paper towels are, in the corner of the sink.

tearing a white square into your hands, you rinse it under cold water lightly before squeezing the saturation out, leaving a damp cloth in your hand.

turning into chris's body, he looks down at you. he's still at last, and looks like he has no thoughts behind his now seemingly innocent eyes.

you cup his cheek gently, to turn his face downward. you bring the towel up to his lip, wiping his stained chin and mouth. he lets you, and doesn't even wince. he visibly gives into your touch. he's content.

"i need you to promise me you'll never do something like that again." you pull back, folding over a clean side and then wiping his lip softly, trying not to cause him pain.

"i can't promise that." he speaks in a whisper, as if he doesn't want you to hear his word.

with his lip no longer being red, you toss the damp and crumbling paper into sink, making it a problem for another time.

"why?" you look into his eyes, wiping your hands on your shirt.

his blue eyes are big but blameless, pupils dilated. holding his stare as your arm lowers.

"because if anyone lays a hand on you again, i'm going to prison for life." the piece of your heart that broke off earlier reattaches at his words alone.

chris's much shorter hair is spikey around his ears, and wet at the ends, turning dark brown from his sweat. you caress his messy curls, tucking it over the curves of his ears and taming the wispy strands. you hold his head in your hands, tiling him up and your mouths are inches apart.

"how hard did he hit your head?" you ask against his lips. he chuckles, genuinely.

he's an idiot, undeniably. but the gut wrenching, lawless love he has for you makes him that way. his low, smooth laughter, makes your heart skip a beat.

"i mean it, y/n."

"but i know, i know it was stupid." he admits.

"yeah, it was." you agree, shaking his head around slightly.

he grabs your hands with his own, engulfing them and holding them in his palms. he squeezes your hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

"i'm sorry." he speaks on your skin.

"like really fucking sorry." he strains his head back with remorse, making his adam's apple more prominent, and he swallows hard. like he's swallowing his guilt.

"i said some nasty things. i wish i could take them back, y/n. i really do."

"i know, chris."

"no, you don't. i'll apologise to you everyday for the rest of my life if i have to. i've been horrible tonight."

"chris, enough," you hush him, the calmness in your tone making him understand you hear him. loud and clear. you need some time to forgive, but you absorb his words.

"i don't know how you didn't smack me in the mouth." he jokes, and you giggle through your breath.

"there's still time," you joke back. and he knows it by your tone.

"i could never bring myself to do that. as much as you deserve it." your banter eases the pressure, and you feel chris squeeze your hands in his again.

you rub your thumbs over his knuckles, looking at the little purple marks forming. he notices your face drop with stress, and he slips his hands away, moving to your hips instead.

"hey, i'm fine. i don't care what happens to me, i just need you to be okay."

"i am okay," you reply. he drops his face with a look that expresses he doesn’t believe you. you give a light eyeroll, and small smile.

"i mean it, i swear.” you raise your pinkie finger to him, to keep your promise. knowing it’s the only way he’ll actually believe you.

chris smiles, weak with his bruised lip, and wraps up your pinkie with his own, wriggling your hands around.

"i'm always gonna want to protect you." he pulls you toward his body. he's so warm, and radiates a magnetic energy that makes you want to collapse into his arms.

you know you don't need him to, but deep down, you would like his protection. his unconditional love. selflessness.

"i'll be sure to send you love letters in jail" you grin up at him, and laughs from the chest.

his voice is like a scratched record, fatigue taking over his body. you swallow hard, all of your senses coming back. he feels so real standing in front of you all of a sudden, like it's not just a dream you're about to wake up from.

"stay the night." you speak mindlessly.

chris brushes your hair from your face, cupping the back of your neck lightly to pull your forehead to his lips, kissing just above your eyebrows gently. he rests his chin on the crown of your head, pulling you tight to his chest in an embrace.

"i'll stay forever if you ask me to."

this is the feeling he fights for. requited love.

[goldsbitch]

can I request a Lando x reader where the reader’s weakness is when people stroke her hair? Her mind goes completely blank and she falls silent immediately when people stroke her hair and Lando uses it at his advantage.

Fluffy pls and ty🫶🏻

omg, i love this prompt so much - thank you and hope you like it!!

This is one is dripping with sweetness a little too much, don't say I did not warn you. No other warning.

Lando was born a tease, oscillating between clueless and shy, to unapologetic and bordeline dickish. It all depended on the setting, his relationship to the person and how much sleep he got the night before. Sometimes your boyfriend was the sweetest little thing, giggling shyly about everything instead of coming up with an actual response, and the other times he was a walking menace actively seeking every opportunity how to get you into a flustered state.

You and Lando were full on deep in the beginning of your relationship, the sweetest part of the honeymoon phase. To put it bluntly - fucking almost non stop. And the desire was never-ending. Blinding sunshine kissed good morning to every day you two got to wake up next to each other. Problems seem to be non existent. Bliss.

It was the way his hair curled when he got a little bit sweaty, his toned body what you were desperate to explore from every angle and the need to know every little secret trick that worked on him. It became some sort of a game, who would get better at knowing the other. Which one of you found all the buttons to push.

Lando rose up that morning and chose violence. Metaphorical one, of course. Snuggling up to you in order to wake you up as well for some morning work out, as he like to call it. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear and touching you all over your body. But you were just incredibly sore from the past few days, physically unable to keep up.

"Why don't you love me anymore," he pleaded jokingly as you murmured another weak appeal for your sleep.

"Lando, you know I love you more than anything," you replied, still half asleep. But it was hard to distinguish as reality resembled a sweet dream everyday lately.

"I remember when you used to want me, physically," he kept going.

"We literally had sex few hours ago, stop whining," you kissed him between your words. He looked at you with his incredible eyes, little devil dancing in each one of them.

"Exactly, too long ago. Wish I could go back in time when you were not sore and get inside you all over again."

You simply laughed, absolutely smitten with this lovey dovey side of him. His words made you melt like butter sitting under direct sun. You brushed your noses together and then he kissed you.

The best part of romantic relationships is the one that you cannot absolutely share with other people, the almost embarrassing pleas, desire and gross goofiness, simping at each other all the time.

"Fine, if you play by these rules, I'll come back with my own revenge," he said finally as you inevitably had to start getting ready to go to the paddock with him.

Today was the big day. You'd been spotted in public countless of times, the "girlfriend" title officially sitting on your head for weeks now. But this was the first time you were to join him in the paddock as a wag. You were trying to hide your nervousness, but he saw right through you. Before you exited the apartment, he made you stop and took your face in his hands. "I'm happy I get to do this with you. I love parading you around, for everyone to see that we're a team." You smiled, his words hitting like first snowflakes of the year. "Poor Oscar, I can't wait to finally trauma dump the shared misery you bring to our lives," you jokes and locked lips with him once again. "God, it's terrifying how much I like you," you said automatically, without having to think about it.

//

It actually wasn't as bad as you'd expected. It was definitely weird and strange, but not necessarily bad. Having Lando by your side as you passed the gates definitely helped. The photographers were lined up as people at a shooting range would and it did feel like that at first. But as quickly as you were initially overwhelmed, fatigue took over you and you blocked their ever-presence out. Trying to chat up those Lando introduce you to and memorizing the names. You knew how much some of these people meant to Lando, so you were trying to be at your best behavior. The thought that his friends would hate you in the same way as some of his fans haunted you.

In the middle of all the rush, you parted for a moment. To be honest, little peace of quiet and chill was something you appreciated. But remember, Lando woke up and chose violence this morning. And his plan was quite simple, yet bulletproof.

"Y/N! There you are, my love," you heard from coming from behind you. "I have someone to introduce to you! I'm very much sure you'll appreciate meeting him." As you turned, you saw Daniel Ricciardo walking your way with your Lando. You were a little perplexed as to why Lando was so cheerful about that. You clearly remembered him getting very upset when you admitted to him that at some point in the past, when formula 1 was a world far away from you, that you had a minor crush on Daniel. Which obviously went out of the window once you met Lando. That did not mean that Lando was 100% ok with it.

"Y/N, as I'm sure you know, this is Daniel, hell of a driver and good friend of mine," Lando continued and you knew him well enough to know he had ulterior motives. Not sure what to do, you smiles shyly and shook Daniel's hand.

"Hi, Daniel," you said, eyes flinching between him and Lando. You were full on preparing for anything. Lando's smirk almost had a life of his own at that point.

"Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I've heard quite a lot things about you!" Daniel opened, life of the party as per usual.

You chuckled. "All good things, I hope!" And with that, Lando stepped behind you and put his arm around you.

"Only the best," he said, leaned closed and inconspicuously started to stroke you hair gently. Oh, he did not just go this low.

It was slow, yet like tidal wave. You stopped breathing for a moment. Your body relaxing, as if you'd just taken the world's best sedatives. The way his hands made you feel was etherial. It was the same sensation the luckier ones experienced when listening to ASMR and the less fortunate ones sometimes called an orgasm. Shivers slowly traveling around your whole body, every part becoming sensitive out of nowhere. You weren't able to look at Daniel, let alone continue speaking. Lando was more than aware of what touching your hair did to you. He'd discovered this trick quite early on. And it was his favorite one.

"So, where are you from?" Daniel attempted at small talk. But how could you possibly give a fuck at that moment. Not that your body would even allowed you to respond. The only thing you were able to take in from the outside world were the soft slow movements Lando's fingers were doing, blocking everything out instanteniously.

Daniel stared at you, waiting. From his perspective, this was a very awkward meeting.

Lando answered for you, with a smirk you did not see, but could feel from the tone of his voice. "You have to excuse her, she is bit shy in front of new people."

You could not give less of a fuck at that moment of what these two were saying. Your lips were starting to shiver from getting so sensitive. You took a short breath and someone who would be standing close and knew you well would know, that what escaped your mouth was not a nervous laugh, but something very close to a moan.

Lando and Daniel were saying words, but none of that was important, while Lando's fingers were working his magic. He would only leave your hair alone once he saw Daniel leaving.

You wanted to be mad at him. But you were still sort of high from all the sensation bomb Lando dropped on you. You slowly turned around to face him, coming down from your own personal nirvana.

You took a deep breath while he watched you without a blink and biting hims smile away.

"You promised," you let out air that got stuck in your lungs somewhere along the way. "You promised you would not do this in public." Your brain was slowly wiring up to normal again.

"I told you I'd punish you for the morning," he said as if it was the most amusing thing ever. "Also, if Daniel is my competition, I'm going to use all the advantage I have."

Lando had a way of looking at you that made you unravel instantaneously and there was no way of stopping it. There was just something about his smile that did it for you. As anyone who is properly in love, you could not imagine somebody being able tor resist that. In your love soaked mind, he was irresistible. To a normal mind, he was probably just a regular guy, but that idea was unfathomable to you.

"I'm pretty sure that after what I just pulled, you will not have to worry about Daniel liking me," you chuckled, having to accept that Lando won this one.

"I would never let my guard down...But yeah, I think this one is pretty safe," he chuckled once more. You kissed his overly proud face and promised to yourself to get back at him later, in the privacy of his bedroom.

[lurochar]

Racy Reverie

In response to this ask

18+ MDNI

-------

“Finally, you don't know how much I need this!”

You smiled at Angel Dust, who collapsed on the opposite side of the couch from you. “I don't mind talking about your job if you need to, Angel.”

“You sure ‘bout that, Toots?” Angel Dust snickered at you, but then sighed almost wearily. “Not sure why you're the only one willing ta listen to me after a hard day, ya know? I mean, everyone in this hotel is a secret freak, right?”

You blinked.

“Little Miss Sunshine and Vagina – you've heard them go at it when they forget to put up their soundproof barrier, huh? Like damn, wonder who's using the strap there?”

That was true, they were quite loud when they failed to remember that important little detail.

“And c’mon, ya think that pussycat wasn't drowning in pussy himself back when he was an Overlord? Or maybe he likes cock better? I can’t tell with that guy. He’s got a good poker face, I can tell you that much.”

Honestly, you had no idea either which gender Husk preferred – he would probably choose a bottle of booze rather than a warm body if you had to guess.

“And Snakes? He has two dicks. Nuff said about that. And he calls me the whorebug?” Angel Dust scoffed. “And Niffty? Uhh, yeah, let’s… let’s just not get into her little mind of horrors.”

Well said.

“And so,” Angel Dust glanced up, a frisky smile suddenly gracing his face, “that just leaves you and Smiles. Spill, Toots. No need to be shy ‘round me. Don’t hold anything back. Everyone here knows you’re both a ‘thing’. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Creepy is into some fucking weird shit, isn’t he?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Alastor… isn’t–” You struggled to put it into exact words. “He doesn’t, well…” You scratched the side of your head in frustration.

“Ah, is he pulling the whole ‘proper gentleman’ bullshit? Doing the courting thing?” Angel Dust shrugged. “I remember you mentioning he died in the ‘30s or something? Does he really believe in the ‘no sex before marriage’ crap? Cuz let me tell ya, I died not that long after that, people weren’t as proper as you’d like to think they were back then.”

You glanced away. “Maybe… that’s a part of it.” You knew Alastor had little interest in the more intimate aspects of a relationship and he had admitted to you he had never done anything with anyone in either his mortal life and afterlife.

Of course you desired to touch him and for him to touch you beyond his own little affections – usually him placing his hand on the small of your back and perhaps a kiss on your forehead.

Alastor was not an affectionate man and you knew that going in and you respected that, but he had never outright told you it would never happen and so you could only hope it may happen one day.

“But this is about you! I said I would listen, you had a tough day, right?” You said quickly, earning a sympathetic look from Angel Dust, but he got the message to change the subject back to himself.

“Bleh, yeah, you got that right! Val’s into this thing called ‘bukkake’ right now, ever heard of that?” He earned a shake of your head. “It’s some Asian shit. It’s where multiple guys cum on you. So I’ve got like twenty Hellhounds cumming on my face – and fuck, dunno if you watch porn or not, but the loads some of those dogs are packing! Felt like I was fuckin’ drowning–”

Your face felt hot and Angel Dust’s voice felt distant as you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together. You weren’t a virgin, but you weren’t exactly swimming in experience either as you only had a few sexual encounters in life and none had involved… that.

What would it be like, Alastor cumming on your face?

Would you be on your knees in front of him? On a bed beneath him? Would he stroke himself to completion or would you use your mouth? Would he call you endearing pet names or be degrading towards you?

Oh fuck– 

“Hey, Toots! Still there?” Angel Dust broke you out of your fantasizing and you jumped, blinking and feeling your face burn with sheer embarrassment. “Shit, was that too much?”

“No, no!” You tried to wave it off like you weren’t affected. “I-it’s fine! You can continue!” You swallowed thickly.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. I think I got what I needed off my chest. Thanks for listening to me, Toots.” Angel Dust stood up from the couch. “Wanna get a drink with me?”

You could definitely use a drink right about now. “Yes. Yes, I would.” You got up, heading over to the bar with Angel Dust.

Neither of you noticed the shadow listening in.

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤.

PAIRING | manjiro sano x fem!reader.

CONTENT WARNING | smut, pregnancy, bonten timeline.

NOTE | I know the pregnancy trope isn't everyone's cup of tea and I could see it with the poll, but I had to make a decision 🥲 enjoy! wc: 1,2k

“You’re upset.” Mikey whispered, his voice slightly muffled against your damp hair. "Talk to me."

"I'm not upset." you spoke lowly, staring at your knees that poked out of the water.

Mikey tucked some of your hair behind your ear, placing a lingering kiss to your temple.

"Don't lie to me."

One of his hands moved to rest on your stomach, his thumb beginning to trace random patterns on your bump which was growing more and more each day. You sighed in response to his touch, closing your eyes.

"You know why I'm upset, Mikey." you eventually answered, allowing yourself to relax a bit more in his arms, straightening your legs underwater as the warm water relaxed your muscles.

You remained quiet for a moment then opened your mouth as if to speak, only to pause again. Mikey kissed your cheek to encourage you and after some time, you collected your words.

"I'm just scared." you admitted quietly.

Mikey frowned, waiting for you to continue. "I'm scared that one day I'll wake up to a call from one of your men telling me that you’ve been arrested, injured, or worse. I'm scared that one day i'll have to raise my child alone because you've been taken from me." you explained, releasing a shaky sigh. "I'm just sick of living with the fear that every day we spend together might be the last."

Mikey placed a finger under your chin as you spoke, making you look at him. He wanted to say something but you cut him off before he got the chance.

"You've been playing with fire ever since you pushed Draken away all those years ago. He was the only one capable of keeping you on the right track." you said, marking a pause as you stared into his tired eyes. "You're digging your own grave Mikey, and it's only a matter of time before someone puts a bullet in your head." You snapped, freeing your chin from his grip and turning your head to stare at the water again.

Silence fell over the room at the mention of Draken, a soft sigh leaving Mikey's lips while you closed your eyes again to try to rid your mind of the toxic thoughts.

You eventually broke the silence after a moment, swallowing to hold back the lump in your throat. Your hand came to rest on your belly, hoping to feel a kick from your baby to bring yourself some comfort.

"I'm sorry." you mumbled, choking up. "I... I shouldn't have said that. It's just, I don't know what I'd do if—"

"Shh." Mikey interrupted your rambling, a quiet sound of surprise escaping your lips as he guided your jaw and leaned down to kiss you. When you parted from the kiss, a tear had rolled down your cheek. "It's alright." Mikey murmured. "Nothing's gonna happen to me. I promise."

"Let's run away, Manjiro." you said,completely dismissing him and turning slightly so you could look at him, reaching out to place a hand on his cheek. "Let's move to Europe, or America. Somewhere new. Away from trouble, away from everything we know. Just you, me, and the baby." you begged.

Mikey inhaled deeply. There's a chance he was getting frustrated with this conversation, but you didn't care. You had every right to be upset, scared even.

"You know that's not possible." he said, his right hand trailing lower down your stomach. You were about to protest but Mikey cut you off with a kiss, probably to shut you up. You sighed against his mouth and jerked slightly in surprise as his hand dipped between your legs, his middle and ring finger finding your clit and rubbing it in circles. He set a slow, sensual pace, his main goal being to relax you. Almost out of instinct you spread your legs until your knees hit the sides of the tub, granting him easier access.

"Now be a good girl and stop worrying so much, hm...? I know what i'm doing." he murmured, your soft whimpers and sighs of appreciation prompting him to continue. You began to squirm, your hands gripping onto his arms. "I won't get arrested, I won't get injured, I won't die. You're not getting rid of me anytime soon."

You know he's lying. Mikey doesn't have everything under control like he claims he does — far from it. He's exhausted. He's sad. He's distant. He's only saying this because he wants to be done with this conversation and he doesn't want you to worry.

You released a shaky breath, reaching behind your shoulder to tangle your fingers in his silver hair, deciding not to say anything. You gasped when he slipped a finger inside of you, his thumb simultaneously flicking the bundle of nerves between your thighs.

“So beautiful.” Mikey whispered to himself, pushing in another finger. You began to squirm, the movement causing you to slide a few inches down into the water. "Do you have any idea how long I've dreamed of seeing you pregnant?” Mikey whispered in your ear, pausing to take your lobe between his teeth and nibble gently, “To finally see this beautiful bump. I can't wait for it to be all big and swollen from my baby growing inside of it."

“God— Mikey.” you breathed out, your hips instinctively lifting as his fingers rubbed calculated circles into your clit.

“Fuck, say my name again.”

You did as you were told, his name leaving your lips in a whimper. Mikey's free hand moved upwards and cupped your breast, his thumb toying with your erect nipple. You arched your back further, your lips parting as you panted and moaned, the water beginning to splash over the edge of the bathtub. Mikey's erection was pressing against your back, the friction caused by your squirming making him groan.

"Don't stop," you cried out, grabbing his arm that was wrapped around your body and digging your nails into his skin. "Oh fuck, Mikey, right there," you moaned loudly, your eyes fluttering shut as the pressure built up in your belly, your walls clenching around his fingers. Your hand fisted in his hair and you tilted your head to kiss him, muffling your moans that were getting louder by the minute. He pumped his fingers and rubbed your clit until you were a whimpering mess underneath him, begging and pleading for him not to stop, as if he would anyway.

“Come for me, princess. Wanna make you feel good.” He whispered softly against your lips. You moaned loudly as your orgasm took over, your back arching away from his chest and legs spreading as far as they'll go while Mikey pumped you through your high, never relenting until you slowly came down.

He eventually removed his fingers, using them to circle your clit a couple more times before bringing his hand back to your belly and kissing the side of your head lovingly.

The sudden absence of sound left your ears ringing, only heavy panting and the gentle pitter-patter of waterdrops touching the water filling the air. You started to relax again in Mikey's arms, you body thoroughly spent.

The two of you stayed wrapped up in each other for a while despite the water having turned cold, enjoying the rare moment of intimacy you were currently sharing, not wanting to let go just yet.

[joelscruff]

safety (boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader)

just a bit of an origin story for my boyfriend's dad!joel relationship. you can read other installments of this fic here. this one isn't smutty but i hope you enjoy 💕 and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip. summary: you find yourself falling for your boyfriend's father. rating: 18+ (mdni) warnings: age difference, cheating, daddy issues, daddy kink, lap sitting, pet names (use of babygirl) word count: 2.2k

the first time your boyfriend's father kisses you, it's because you ask him to.

you've always looked at him a bit differently, always found yourself taking quick peeks out of the corner of your eye whenever he's in the room, given him shy smiles and giggled at all his jokes (most of which were actually funny, believe it or not). the first time you'd met him you'd gone to shake his hand, expecting a firm shake and a quick nod like your own father, but he'd surprised you completely when he'd wrapped you up in his arms, given you a bear hug and softly told you he was so happy to meet you.

your boyfriend always rolls his eyes at his father's affection, his jokes, his quirks. it's been almost disappointing in a way, to see the way his father behaves in comparison to his son. your boyfriend constantly seems to cultivate a cold exterior - and interior, if you're being honest with yourself - while his father radiates warmth and welcomeness, a safeness you've never seen in your own father. you wonder how your boyfriend is able to take such advantage of his father's kindness, that safety that so many people can only crave and never experience.

the two of you fight a lot, but this is normal for you. every relationship you've had - whether familial or romantic - has involved some form of conflict. it's just the way things are; you've come to accept that. the only difference is that before this you never had a third party standing on the outside, witnessing it, worrying about it.

"are you okay?"

the first time he catches you crying you feel embarrassed; until this point you've put on a good front, been your sweet and passive self around him. now he sees a different side of you, the side everyone else in your life has seen dozens of times. the side that hurts, feels pain, suffers.

you nod, leaning against the banister of the front patio and biting your lip, "yeah, i'm fine," your voice cracks and breaks - you're not fine, your boyfriend just berated you for messing up his concentration during one of his stupid games, called you a waste of space. but you're not going to tell his father that.

"you don't look fine," he murmurs, taking a step toward you, "something happen?"

you shake your head, "no really, i'm okay, mr. miller."

"joel," he corrects you softly with a gentle smile, and you try to smile back.

"joel," you repeat, "sorry."

"don't be sorry," he says tenderly, taking another step toward you and carefully placing a hand on your shoulder, "i want you to know...if you ever need to talk to somebody, i'm here. i'll always listen, alright?"

you're not sure what to say; no one has ever given you an offer like that before. it's confusing and surreal. your brow furrows but you slowly nod, "okay."

he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and then goes back inside the house, leaving you standing there alone. the ghost of his touch weighs heavily for the rest of the evening, his words echoing in your mind. he can't really mean that, can he?

the next time he sees you cry it's only about a week after the first time, and this time he knows what's wrong. you can see it in his expression, the quiet anger burning behind his glasses for his own son.

"i won't defend him," he tells you softly, sitting next to you on the couch in the living room while your boyfriend yells something incoherent down the hall, "you can talk to me."

you find yourself confiding in him briefly, only briefly. you don't go into much detail, just tell him you hate being made to feel worthless, that it's something you've dealt with for a long time. he touches your shoulder again, squeezes it calmingly, reassuringly. you look into his eyes and feel yourself falling before you can even register it. he cares about you.

you think about him a lot. during the day, nights, when you're in bed and can't sleep and just want somebody to hold you. you imagine his arms wrapped around you, remember that first time you met when he'd hugged you so tight and welcomed you so warmly. you want him to hold you like that again, touch you, love you. you touch yourself and pretend it's his fingers, you bury your face in your pillow as you come and pretend it's his chest.

you think of him when you have sex with your boyfriend. you'd feel bad, but you've started to become numb with the way he treats you, uses you. you close your eyes and curl your hand in his hair and pretend it's his father on top of you, his father inside you, his father kissing your neck.

every week your boyfriend competes in ridiculously boring online competitions; you show up at his house only for the promise of seeing joel, talking to him, sharing a quick moment in the kitchen or living room with him. you sit on your boyfriend's bed and watch from afar as he bangs on the keyboard and shouts aggressive things into his microphone, sounding like a whiny and petulant child. you wonder what you even see in him anymore, what you even saw in him to begin with. you should end it, you know you should. but then how would you see his dad?

he berates you again for messing up his concentration, tells you to leave for a bit and to "stop being so annoying". you don't even protest, just climb off his bed and leave the room, slamming the door louder than necessary behind you.

joel spends a lot of time in his office; he's the head of a contracting company, always making plans, doing paperwork, making phone calls. he has his shit together, another thing you feel drawn to. he's the only person in your life who seems to know exactly what to do in any given situation, knows who he is and where he's going.

you find yourself climbing the stairs and knocking softly on his office door. "come in," he calls from inside, and you slowly push it open.

he looks up from his desk, scattered with paper and blueprints. his brow furrows when he sees it's you, "hey, sweetheart, you alright?"

you close the door behind you and then stand there for a few seconds just staring at him; he's got on a cozy looking grey sweater, knitted and warm. his jeans are dark and his socks are mismatched, a quirk you love. he looks perfectly disheveled in his joel miller sort of way, hair thick and curly, beard scruffy and soft. his glasses accentuate the kindness of his eyes, the tenderness as he looks at you. he's like a comforting beam of light, a safe haven.

"can you hold me?" you ask softly, barely a whisper. it's out before you even know you're saying it, and then you're biting down hard on your lip and feeling tears prick in your eyes.

he seems surprised but only for a moment, then he makes his way toward you in two long strides and wraps his arms around you, pulling you in and holding you close. you melt into his embrace, burying your head in his warm sweater and almost collapsing into his arms, feeling yourself begin to cry steadily. you should feel embarrassed but you're too overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being held by him again, feeling him so close, inhaling the comforting scent of him.

you feel him press a soft kiss to the top of your head, a gesture of comfort and safety, nothing more, "you're okay," he murmurs into your hair, "i've got you."

he holds you like that for a long time and makes no move to let go, just lets you stand there and take what you desperately need from him. your cries die down eventually until you're sniffling lightly into the thick fabric of his sweater and just breathing him in. his hands trail up and down your back comfortingly, tracing patterns and words, almost like a secret language.

"i feel safe with you," you mumble against his chest, but the words are muffled and hard to make out.

"hm?"

you pull back a bit to peer up at him with tear-filled eyes, cheeks pink and puffy, "i feel safe with you," you repeat, voice shaky but much more relaxed, calm.

he smiles softly, peering down at you with that familiar tenderness, "i'm glad," he murmurs, and you swear you catch his eyes trail down to your lips for a brief moment, "i want you to feel safe with me."

"can you kiss me?" you whisper, voice breaking on the last word, not caring that this could make or break the quiet companionship you've formed with him, "please."

his brow furrows again but he doesn't pull away, lips parting a bit in surprise, "sweetheart, i'm not sure that's-"

"please," you repeat, voice raw and desperate, "it's all i think about."

his expression relaxes then, the tenderness returning. with a resigned look you watch as he leans his face down toward you; you close your eyes and allow him to press his lips gently against yours, soft and sweet. he's so gentle, so warm, so safe. your arms wrap tighter around him as you kiss him back, a soft whimper falling from the back of your throat. it's perfect. he's perfect.

when he pulls away he leaves his forehead pressed against yours, and when you open your eyes your heart stutters when you see his face so close, lips wet from your saliva and eyes dark with desire.

"that what you needed?" he murmurs softly, nose brushing against yours.

you nod and kiss him again, humming quietly against him when he pulls you in closer and palms your back firmly, holding you close. you're not sure how it happens but you both end up on the small couch in the corner of his office, him sitting back against the cushions while you seat yourself in his lap, a leg on either side of his thighs. his hands travel inside your shirt, exploring the soft expanse of your back as you whimper again into his mouth and revel in the feeling of being touched by someone so different.

"what else do you need?" he breathes, voice deep and husky as his hands travel from your back to your face, cradling it in his palms, "i'll give it to you, sweetheart, anything you ask. just tell me."

you could say a multitude of things; you could tell him to kiss you again, touch you, fuck you, the list goes on. and you want him to do all of that, but the one thing on your mind is what inevitably slips past your lips.

"i just want you to hold me," you whisper, and you don't care if you sound pathetic, "please."

he looks at you with a great deal of pain in his eyes, an empathetic gaze you've seen numerous times. he thumbs your cheeks, wipes away the tears there and slowly nods.

"okay, babygirl," he murmurs, "i'll hold you."

you sit in his lap for the next hour. it's quiet and peaceful and perfect; he rubs your back while you bury your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and letting his presence completely invade your senses. you fall asleep briefly, but when you wake up you're happy to find that you're still in his lap, still being held. he makes absolutely no moves to remove you from him, to pull away or leave the room. he just holds you.

"thank you," you whisper finally; it's time to leave, you know this. your boyfriend will be looking for you soon, wondering where you went and why you didn't come back. you pull your face up from joel's neck and look down at him with tenderness, love.

"any time," he murmurs with a gentle smile, then leans forward a bit to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose, "i mean it, sweetheart. any time you're upset, any time you need to be held...you come to me, okay?"

you nod, biting down on your lip to keep the tears at bay, "no one's ever held me like this before," you whisper, "not even my own father."

his brows scrunch together and he touches your arms, squeezing them carefully in his hands, "i'm sorry, babygirl," he breathes, "you don't deserve that," his eyes capture yours in an intimate gaze, "you deserve the world."

the word is there, fighting to be spoken behind your lips. but you don't say it. you don't want to make him uncomfortable, don't want to ruin something that's only just started. but you feel it there, the desire to call him what you've been wanting to call him since the day you met. but that's a conversation for another day.

instead of words, you settle for a kiss. you lean down and touch your mouth to his, feel the gentle scratch of his scruff against your chin as you open a bit wider to allow his tongue to prod inside, just for a moment. he tastes like comfort, feels like safety.

daddy.

[saturnhani]

i've got you

content: leehan x gn!reader, fluff, reader takes care of leehan! word count: 508 a/n: hi everyone 🥺 i am so, deeply sorry for my radio silence on tumblr! life has been hectic, but i came back to saturn reaching 100 notes and for that, i'm posting this! thank you for the love on my previous work, i hope you enjoy this one too ^_^!!

Leehan felt horrible. His throat felt dry, his nose was congested and he could barely stomach any food. Even with his steps taking twice the time he usually takes, even with the heaps of used, snotty tissues in his bin, he adamantly refused to let you anywhere near him.

"You'll just catch whatever I have, babe. Don't worry, I can manage." You reckon the sickness must've gotten to your dear boyfriend's head, because he seems to have forgotten how utterly stubborn you can be. So even with his adamant protests and his insistence that he's fine, he can manage, you don't have to, you brush the taller boy off with a wave of your hand, grabbing the kettle off the kitchen counter, essentially evicting him out of his own kitchen.

"Go lay down, I'll put on some hot water and make you a nice cup of tea." you tell him sweetly, but still enough to leave absolutely no room for any arguments. Leehan gives in with a sigh (a very nasally one) and trudges over to the couch, fluffing up some pillows and laying down.

The tea takes barely any time, and you even manage to grab a small bowl of cold water and a soft rag, heading out to the living room to crouch next to the couch where your boyfriend was laying.

"Here you go, baby. Be careful, it's still hot," you smile softly when Leehan cracks his eyes open enough to look at you, giving you a lopsided smile, a soft whisper that he'll drink it in a bit.

Leehan's eyes open again when he feels the soft rag dab on his forehead, and before he can even open his mouth to speak, you gently cut him off, your hands working deftly to wipe at his forehead gently.

"Don't worry. Let me do this. I've got you," you tell him, your voice soft and warm, and it's enough to make Leehan relax, his whole body visibly melting under your touch.

Leehan's eyes never leave your face as you gently pat at his skin with the damp rag, the cold water cooling his body temperature down just a tad, enough to get comfortable. Even as you move the rag down to his neck, wiping and dabbing at his skin ever so gently, the boy never lets his eyes off you, his smile growing wider, slowly.

"Thank you," he starts, his already low voice somehow sounding even lower and more gravelly, "I love you. So much," he grins tiredly at you, and you give him a smile right back.

Before you get up to dispose of the cold water and throw the rag in the wash, you peck Leehan's forehead gently, reminding him to drink the hot tea. Days like these, Leehan can be stubborn, and you can be even worse, all in an attempt to care for him as he deserves. But in Leehan's mind, a thought lingers in the back of it, like a gentle whisper quietly letting itself be known ⎻ you've got him, always.

a/n: this was not proofread because it was just sitting in my drafts, but i decided to just post this especially since leehan is taking a break for a bit at the moment >< i hope he recovers quickly :( and that he's healthy always! <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To be alone with you 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: who predicted 2024 would be the year I converted to Cavill.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The blinds are drawn as you hug your pillow with one arm. Your body is stiff as you sleep with one leg hooked around your blankets, the bottom of one cheek exposed to the steady blow of AC. You shiver and roll onto your back, pulling the covers around you fully.

The night before is a vague shadow in your mind. You remember starting the movie but not much else. You’d been so tired after the break-in, you must’ve passed out almost immediately. You feel bad, hoping that Clark doesn’t take it to heart.

You push yourself up. Your head is thick and full with sleep. You haven't slept like this in forever. Your mouth is dry but tangy. You swallow the gritty morning and cough, turning to dangle your legs over the edge.

Your striped shorts are crooked and wrinkly and your tee shirt smells like sweat. Ugh. You're a mess. 

You stand and lumber around clumsily. You grab a change of clothes and try to stretch out the kinks as you cross the hall to the bathroom. You close the door and put your clothes on the counter, facing your reflection.

You look rough. You feel just as bad. You turn on the cold water and splash it over your face before you brush your teeth, scraping out the stale taste stuck to your tongue. You turn on the shower and undress, wincing as your thighs meet.

You must be close to your time of the month. You get a bit sensitive. It would explain your fatigue and the soreness. Great. 

You step into the glass booth and wash yourself. The warm water is soothing against your stiff muscles. God, you really hurt. You reach down to touch your folds, checking your fingers for blood.

PMS is a bitch. Not enough to bleed for a week, your body has to gaslight you into thinking you are already.

After, you pull on the fresh clothes but hardly feel more awake. Just sluggish and achy. Coffee. You don't live off it like your sister but you need it in that moment.

Thinking of, where is your sister? Not too unusual for her to he errant but it's been a few days.

As you come downstairs, you hear snoring rumbling through the first floor. You slow and tiptoe into the front room. You cautiously approach the couch and find Clark, arms crossed, sleeping on his side, cramped into the small space as he slumbers. The small throw stretched over his shoulders. 

Your stomach pits. You're certain he'd much rather be at home in his own bed. Your guilt keeps you from disturbing him.

You creep into the kitchen, making your movement muted and staggered. You flip the switch on the kettle and wait as it hums. You load the french press with grinds and teeter on your toes, dancing nervously around the tile. 

You pour the boiling water into the press and check the time on the stove. You give it time to brew and lean on the island, listlessly cupping your chin and tapping your cheek with your fingertips. As you blow out, you hear the floorboards and stand up to greet Clark as he enters. 

His hair is askew, eyes droopy, and the blanket still draped around his neck. You didn't realise before he hadn't been wearing a shirt. His pajamas hang low on his stomach, the dark hair across his chest and trailing down his stomach exposed shamelessly. You gulp and focus on his face. 

“Smells like coffee,” he grins crookedly, “morning.”

“Morning, uh, I hope I didn't wake you up,” you squeak.

“Not at all,” he waves you off, “you passed out so quick, I figured you'd be up and at em. Besides, Jonny’s an early riser.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn to press down the plunger on the press, “I'm sorry I zonked out so fast–”

There's less resistance than you expect and the coffee splashes up and overflows, splashing your hands as you recoil with a yipe. You try to shake it off but a particular spot on the back of your hand singes badly. Before you can think, Clark has your arm and angles you to the sink as he flips on the cold water.

He guides your hand under, crowding you as your arm shakes in pain. You hiss even as the water soothes. 

“Oh, I'm so clumsy,” you murmur.

“As long as you're okay,” he slowly lets you go, “you let me take care of this.”

He swipes up the dish towel and sops up the errant drops of coffee. He dries off the outside of the press and patiently pushes down the plunger. You turn off the water and use a fresh towel on your hands.

He faces you, “blistering?”

You look at your hand, “just tender.”

“You're lucky I'm here,” he chortles, “scare away all the bad men and take care of your burns.”

“Ha, yeah, I–”

“Mm, something smells like cherry blossoms,” he interrupts, sniffing the air, his blue eyes narrowing on you, “is that you?”

“Um, yeah,” you catch a wafting scent from your body, “that's my body soap. Oh no, is it setting you off?”

“Not at all,” he smiles, “I was more worried about you.”

“Ah, no, it's fine. The soap doesn't trigger me surprisingly.”

“Hm,” he leans on the counter, gripping the edge as you notice how his stomach muscles clench, “I bought Lois some cherry blossom soap once. She never used it. Guess it isn't her scent.”

“Not for everyone I guess,” you turn and open a cupboard, taking down two mugs.

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees dully, “well, I should call your dad over my coffee,” he pushes himself straight and nears, stopping right beside you as you pour into the cups, “maybe after we can go get breakfast. My treat.”

“Oh, you don't have to–”

“I want to. Kinda weird not having Jonny around, looking fir a distraction,” he accepts a mug as you slide it over to him.

“Makes sense,” you say, “well, who am I to deny a free meal?”

🏡

After searching your coffee cup for an ounce of strength, you give in to the persistent glaze in your eyes. Maybe eating will help. Clark's offer is generous, almost too generous, yet your stomach clenches at the thought of food.

You grab your purse and head down to find Clark. He's in the kitchen, rinsing his mug, your own forgotten on your night stand. He dries it and puts it away as you wait for him to notice you.

“Did you talk to my dad?” You ask.

“Yeah, actually, couldn't get through. They must be on the road. Service gets spotty, right?” He hangs the dish towel neatly, “so you ready? I gotta stop by my place and change but then we can eat.”

“Sure, uh, well, you know, if it's too much…”

“Not at all, I'm excited. There's this place I've been meaning to try for a while but Lois hasn't felt like it,” he says, “tried calling her too. Think she's still mad at me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kent.”

“Clark,” he corrects you, “you make me feel so old.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again.

“It's fine,” he shrugs, “we should get going. I'm starving.”

“Not gonna lie, me too.”

“Must've been all the salty snacks last night,” he kids.

🏡

After you stop at the Kents', you set off for breakfast. The more you think about it the hungrier you are. You grow restless as you watch several options pass by, holding your tongue as Clark keeps driving.

You're surprised as he passes the city limits and you shift in your seat, craning to watch the sign pass. He clears his throat and turns down the radio, "almost there. Guess I shoulda mentioned it's all the way out here."

"Nah, it's fine," you shrug, "just curious."

"Really cute place, locally owned," he explains, "I prefer to give my money to an honest family business, you know?"

"Totally get it," you say coolly.

He taps his fingers on the wheel, as if he's restless or even agitated. He pulls into a gravel lot off the country road and you look up at the painted side. You passed this place with your parents a few times but never pulled over. It's a quaint brunch restaurant in a cottage-style house.

"Oh, this place," you chuckle.

"You been here?" He asks.

"No, but I've seen it."

"Right," he intones and clicks free his seat belt.

You free yourself of your own seat belt and climb out as he mirrors you. You let him take the lead and follow him to the front door. He holds it open and you enter ahead of him. You're greeted inside by an elderly lady.

"Good morning, may I show you to a table?" She offers.

You nod as Clark gives a vocal response over your head. She leads you to a table for two. You notice the place isn't very busy. There's an older man in the corner drinking coffee over a newspaper but no one else.

You sit as she introduces herself as Lena and promises menus. She shuffles away as you look at Clark who seems enamoured with the place. He admires the painting of flowers not far from your table and the lacy curtains around the front windows. It's cute but a bit outdated.

"There ya go, honies," she lays two menus on the table, her knobby hands shaking, "would you like coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please, and..." he looks at you.

"Green tea, please."

"Coffee and green," she repeats, "lovely."

She hobbles away and you shift awkwardly in your seat. She must be the only waitress. In a place like this, you're not surprised. You just hope the food is decent, not that you can be picky.

"This place is nice," he muses, "peaceful."

"Yeah, it's interesting," you say as you pick up the menu. 

"I'm glad you got some sleep," he takes his own menu and browses it lazily, "glad I could be there to keep an eye out. Protect you."

"Ah, well, yeah, I don't think they guy would come back anyway but it did help," you give a small smile and settle on eggs benedict.

"Great," he puffs out his chest just a little. 

You peek up at him. It must be a good distraction for him. With Lois and Jonny gone, he needs something to keep him busy. You can humour him.

"Here ya go, sweets," Lena returns with a mug off coffee and a teacup on a saucer. She places both shakily and stands as straight as she can to ask if you've decided on what you want.

Clark lets you order first and you speak loudly and slowly to the woman as she cups her ear. She repeats it back to you before listening aptly to Clark. When she's done, she gives a soft clap and goes back behind the counter. She scribbles on a piece of paper and puts it in the window.

You glance over at the window, distracting yourself with the blowing grass. Somehow out here, you don't feel the same tickle in your sinuses. You sit back and cross your arms, watching the lazy blue sky.

"Oh, it's so romantic, a nice breakfast for two," Lena startles you as she appears again. She places a candlestick in the middle of the table then puts a wax taper in it. You can only stare and share look with Clark as she lights it, "you are so darling together. Is it a special occasion?"

"Uh," you bite your lip and look at Clark.

"Just breakfast," he answers as he throws his hands up, "spur of the moment, you know?"

"That's precious," she squeals, "you are such a beautiful pair."

"Thanks," Clark says and you just smile awkwardly.

She winks and leaves once more. You watch her cross the restaurant and sit with the old man and his newspaper. He lowers it as she whispers to him. You turn back and face Clark, leaning forward.

"I think she thinks we're together," you keep your voice quiet, "like a couple."

"Eh yeah, I didn't want it to be awkward," he shrugs, "no harm in it, really."

Your mouth slants as you consider his response. You guess he's right. What will it hurt? She's just a lonely old woman.

"What?" He tilts his head.

"Nothing," you answer.

"Really? I mean, I could correct her if it's a big deal--"

"It's not, really," you lean forward and cross your arms over the table, "just funny, I guess. Second time it's happened."

"It is?" He furrows his thick brows.

"Yeah, the ice cream guy..." you trail off, "whatever. Just... I'm kinda young but maybe don't look it."

"It's flattering, really," he insists, "people really think I could be with someone like you."

"Well, I mean, Lois is gorgeous," you laugh, "so..."

"Lucky man, surrounded by beautiful women," he grins.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you sit back awkwardly, not expecting the compliment. You're nothing like Lois, love handles excluded, you still couldn't compare. You're just the babysitter. “Thanks, that's… you don't have to say that.”

“Well, you are,” he rubs his neck bashfully.

“Ha, yeah, well…” you clasp your hands in your lap and look again out the window.

As you watch the horizon over the dusty road, your heart roils in the tension. There's something nipping at your mind, just on the edge of your memory but you just can't grasp it. Is he just being nice or is there something more behind his compliments?

Don't be silly, he doesn't see you like that. He couldn't.

[frankensteinmutual]

Sorry to bother you, but dude. You're so fucking cool. Would you consider sharing your top three favorite books (and why, if you feel like it)? Your aesthetic and taste in media is so fucking *it*

Thank you :)

you're not bothering me at all! in fact you just made me smile like an idiot, so thank you 🫀

I think picking a top three is almost impossible for me, but I can do a top 5:

1. we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson

this is my favourite book of all time. nothing else has ever made me feel like reading this book did. the prose is so beautiful in its raw simplicity, a childish fantasy stated so matter-of-factly you have no choice but to let go of any sense of reason that might prevent you form feeling the words as having sprung from your own mind the instant you are reading them, and the narrator's intimate inner monologue draws you in so magnetically into her enchantingly morbid world of twisted logic and sympathetic magic – it's the sweetest nightmare you never want to wake up from.

2. house of leaves by mark z. danielewski

what is there still to say about house of leaves? it's as good as everyone says it is. I fought for my relationship with this book – we did not get along at all for quite a while – and it was worth it. I think it might have actually made it even better in the end. i feel like this book knows me somehow, like we have a reciprocal relationship with each other in which we are both active parties. I don't think any other work of art has ever given me that. it's the proverbial abyss staring back into you, luring you into its depths and never letting you go again.

3. autobiography of red by anne carson

autobiography of red is a verse novel, so you could think of it as one big poem, and it's beautifully written. the blurring and blending of myth and reality and continuous shifting of fiction and recollection, impression and perception sweeps you up into a tale both ancient and timeless, tragic and hopeful, about a boy who is a monster, or maybe a giant, with three bodies or maybe six hands, a shepherd or a dragon, a son with a red red heart. also, it's gay.

4. piranesi by susanna clarke

piranesi is a bit as if the house from house of leaves cared for you and was also built by plato. it kind of sneaks up on you gently, dangerously but never with malicious intent. it wants to lead you to a place inside yourself that you've never been to or maybe have just forgotten, and uncover what lies in wait there. most of it is love.

5. frankenstein by mary shelley

and for the last one, a classic. I kind of put off reading this for a long time, because I wanted to like it so badly and was very scared I wouldn't, or at least not to a degree that would satisfy, as is unfortunately often the case for me with these kinds of "important" things. but I was so pleasantly surprised. it wasn't hard to get into or inaccessible at all, it didn't bore or alienate me, on the contrary. it touched me so deeply and unexpectedly I didn't stop thinking about it for quite a while. it truly deserves its status in my eyes.

also because I couldn't resist, a visual representation of nine of my favourite books:

I hope you will find something worth your while in at least one of them!

[thebearer]

hi e! back again with more carmy shit because i love the way you did my little blurb justice 🥰. i literally just envisioned sydney minding her own business and just recklessly placing carmy in the hot seat cause she knew his ass was gon get it 😂. i’m all in for more dom!carmy so i’d love to keep the idea going that his s/o works for/with/alongside him at the bear with a touch of her giving him her two cents? a little bit of sass to just remind who he’s dealing with 😩. maybe this time around he slipped up on something major (a birthday, anniversary, or something that overall was important to the reader and he put it off because in his mind the bear comes first). she’s been slowly driving him crazy with that silent treatment she’s been doing for the last few days and her less than a few syllabled words when he doesn’t remind her how irked he made her 😂; she’s not mad anymore just disappointed. and anyway basically in a prep for preordered to go’s on lunch rush he’s reading back orders to her and she completely writes him off. i can see him being like exactly how he when he’s not getting when he needs from his staff during a frenzy and flipping tf out. like you know when he repeats himself a second time as if you didn’t hear him the first he means it 😂. tysm in advance! please feel free to do whatever you’d like. i’m writing this at 6 in the morning so many ideas are coming into the fold. i hope you have a great day - 🥣.

ok i did sorta a different-ish take. same idea but i don't write the reader as a chef bc quite honestly i can't relate lmao i'm a horrendous cook lol. but silent treatment yes!! reader works at the bear but not a chef.

"Does anyone know where the extra napkins are? Mindy needs to be settin' tables." Carmen huffed, slamming the empty crate back in the back stock.

"That would be your missus' domain." Richie snickers, elbowing Fak lightly. "Guess you better go ask her, Cousin."

"Yeah? Fuck off. Thought it was your fuckin' job." Carmen grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

"Me? Fuck no, Cousin. You know who's job it is, c'mon." Richie grinned. "It's your wife, Carm. What? Scared to talk to your wife?"

Carmen sneered, huffing in annoyance, but the truth was... yes, he was a little scared. Especially with how furious you were at him. Carmen was a chronic over worker, barely taking time for himself. It was a constant fight between the two of you, one he'd gotten better at, but still struggled finding that balance. Which normally, you'd be more forgiving about.

Except it was your anniversary.

Carmen left you waiting at home, dressed up with a new lingerie set that he painfully didn't get to enjoy. By the time he got off, taking his time to clean the kitchen, prep for tomorrow's crowd, he looked at his phone and saw your texts and calls, his heart dropping.

You'd been giving him the cold shoulder since then, furious and hurt- or so he assumed, you wouldn't say anything.

Richie found the entire thing hilarious when Carmen told him. "You forgot your fuckin' anniversary? You jagoff, holy shit."

Carmen found it less than amusing. The tension in the restaurant was thick because of the two of you. Everyone teetering around you, but especially Carmen, he was more on edge now.

Pushing the door open to the office, Carmen ducked his head in, seeing you at his desk- your desk, technically, you used it more. "Hey, honey," Carmen's voice was soft, a sweet hum that had your spine straightening. He flinched lightly, stepping towards you. "D'you know where the extra napkins are?"

You didn't reply, simply typing on your laptop, editing a video for the social media page about the upcoming summer specials.

Carmen blinked, barking out your name in a much harsher than he meant to, but it seemed to work. Kinda. Your head whipped around, eyes in a burning glare when they met his, but your lips were still pressed together.

Carmen through his hands out in exasperation. "Are you bein' fuckin' serious with me?"

Richie made his way towards the table where Tina was doing prep, craning his neck to watch. Your lips twisted, glaring harshly at Carmen. Carmen huffed, a hand running over his forehead. "What do you want from me, huh? What? You're just never gonna speak to me again? I forgot, ok? I didn't mean to, I just fuckin' forgot! I was at work!"

You glared at him, feeling Richie's amused gaze from over Carmen's shoulder, the rest of the staff pretending to be busy to hear. "Shut the door." You snapped.

Carmen flinched, shocked. "What-"

"Shut the fuckin' door, now." You snapped, slamming your laptop, turning to face him. Carmen pressed the door shut, ignoring Richie's whines of "c'mon, Cousin, it was just gettin' good!".

The two of you stared, neither being the first to talk, not wanting to break. You huffed, rolling your eyes in annoyance. "You wanted to talk, talk, Carmen. I've got shit to do."

"Hey," Carmen's eyes flashed at you, his tone hard with an edge of warning. "You better watch your-"

"-No, you better watch your mouth with me. Watch what you say to me, Berzatto." You snapped, pointing a finger at him. "This isn't a fuckin' game, alright? I'm mad at you. Actually fuckin' mad at you."

Carmen's stomach turned, swallowing the guilt rising with the bile in his throat. "I... I'm sorry-"

"-Sorry isn't going to work this time, Carmen. It's always sorry. Always I didn't fuckin' mean to, I got busy." You snapped, arms wrapping over your torso. "You always do this, but our anniversary? You forgot our anniversary?"

"No, I didn't forget." Carmen ran a hand down his face. "I got you flowers and-and the bracelet-"

"-And that was very nice, Carmen, but you weren't there." You snapped, the finality in his tone making his rebuttal dissolve in his mouth. The hurt in your eyes, rounding and pitiful, soft and pleading with him. You were angry, but you were hurt, too.

His shoulders deflated, breath leaving his lungs. "You're right," Carmen nodded slowly. "No, you're-you're right, and-and-and I'm... Fuck, I'm so sorry, baby." Carmen said sincerely, eyes shining with sincerity. "I... I got caught up and I-I shouldn't have even been working that day, I just..."

"I know." You muttered, looking down at the desk, a framed picture of the two of you in Copenhagen at your wedding ceremony. Carmen in his suit, you in your dress, happy and smiling with the breathtaking scenery behind you.

Carmen could feel the guilt growing in his chest, palms sweating and heart racing, the panic to fix it- to do something. "How much longer do you have?" Carmen asked, nodding towards your laptop.

"Just a few more things to edit." You looked at your paused work. "Why?"

"Let me... Let me make it right." Carmen sighed, shaking hands fumbling towards his apron.

"Carmen, you can't leave-"

"-Yeah, yeah, I can." Carmen nodded, pulling the door out and calling for Sydney. "Can you cover tonight, Chef?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I can." Sydney nodded.

"I got it too, Cousin-" Carmen shut the door before he could hear Richie's full comment, sure something smart ass would be included.

"Let's go out." Carmen looked at you. "A make up. Please?"

You folded your arms, pouting lightly. "'m not dressed for going out."

"What're you talkin' about? You look beautiful, c'mon." Carmen shook his head lightly at you, shoving his clothes into his bag, pulling out his spare.

You tried not to drool at the sight of his chest. You'd missed him, you really had. It was a shame the lingerie went to waste.

Carmen pulled you out of the restaurant, hand on your waist, holding you close to his side. It wasn't the fancy reservations you'd planned, no Michelin star restaurants with expensive wine. No, instead, he took you to some a rooftop restaurant, one with the vibey aesthetic you always cooed at on Instagram. Sitting and sharing pretzels and greasy food, snuggled into Carmen's side while he ordered dessert. Giggling when he fed you the brownie sundae, tilting your head back with his fingers cradling your jaw lightly. It was simple, romantic, and fun. Made your heart swell, clinging to him the whole way home.

And when you got home? Carmen was in heaven. Letting you show him what he missed a few days earlier.

[bi-badass-geek]

Hades 1 vs Hades 2 Designs

● Hermes besides Hypnos was first character that made me think when i saw him oh some time has passed since Zag's escapes indeed, makes you feel that time skip. In this particular debate between those i'm really digging both but if needed to say which i prefer would go with second. I feel it should be said he sure rolls nicely with longer hair i would say darker outfit too but that's probably because pallet that's used for levels.

Ps. I saw post that mentioned how his ring is the same as ones Charon is wearing in first game and if it's a hint at something i'm here for it!

● Zeus for this god specifically there is discourse about how his pose is less dynamic and oh boy if i don't agree with that so much. In first game you see him and his look makes you think yeah this is the king of gods while in second game man is just there with posture i take often because i'm useless gay that don't know what to do with my hands and feels like they took all this might and put it into chiseling his nipples & abs into his golden chestplate. Not to mention the detail of missing the iconic bolt! Don't think it needs to be said but 100% would pick Hades 1 design out of those options.

● Poseidon the King of the Sea another example in my humble opinion where they went with flattening that dynamic looks exchanging it for man that just standing there chilling which is good for him but where first screams cool uncle second one goes uncle that wants retirement. I really like how we can see the trident now tho and need to point out his outfit sure got more print on it. When it comes down to pointing out which one is the winner in my eyes it would be 2020 one.

● Aphrodite if she wasn't the one that got thrown into drama because people double standards and hypocrisy. Design from first game and the pose straight up makes you think of love, lust, seduction all the things that are associated with said goddess. As for Hades 2 version i have no clue why it feels like this considering it's actually the opposite because we can see armor on her legs now but she feels less covered for me, do i find it negative or in any way problematic? Not one bit let the woman show off all her assets all day long! Really love the adds of her weapon and shield makes you immerse in the store of oh fights are happening around these parts. From seduction to i stand here at the ready kinda vibe and i'm really digging it.

Ps. Another post i read was about fact that her war paint i will call it (not 100% sure if that is it or just line for the giggles) is reference to Ares and considering her myth i really like that touch!

● Hypnos was the first OG i saw and was like man not only catching up on his sleep but also got such glow up i absolutely adore the design. Not to say he looked bad in Hades 1 but there it was like okay nice to Hades 2 like Damnnn and his lil helpers that keeps him up! Love the fact that of all things they made him be tucked into his cape like burrito.

Ps. I really do hope by the end of the game we get to wake him up so he can try out that nectar that we all leave there waiting.

● Chaos so many things to say and at the same time silence says it all. Seen people focusing on fact some out there call them he or how it's a downgrade from previous but don't even elaborate why they think that because everyone has right to have their own preference but at least put it into words instead of going trash next..there was also notion how they resemble Meg and while i see where people get that idea from for sure before reading that my mind didn't went there at all. I think both designs really work with someone who is primordial originator and how time goes so can their form. I find it very fascinating that they put old skeleton with new one and adore galaxy under suit makes me think of Nyx right away and how they're connected. Can totally see how between those two gamers got major stance that left reminds them more of male and right of female beings but at the end of the it chaos is chaos. Gotta take chair routine from Meg while they at it! The face on the shoulder surely throws me in loop tho fits? Sure. Does it disturb me in micro scale? Yes. About frames and poses don't have much to say cause both caption the essence of i mind my business everything unrelevant until i say so.

Ps. I know it's about physical aspect but let me say Chaos roasting Mel about how her brother is amusing one out of two Hades spawns is living rent free in my brain.

[chaosheadspace]

Kissy prompt 42: out of pride

I got this prompt from @emihotaru. thank you! I fear this turned out rather different to how you envisioned it, but i hope you like it regardless! This is a Uni AU.

Just as Hob is trying to reach the cafeteria early for once, there’s a commotion in the entryway of the lecture hall, blocking both doors. Hob stops to take a look, just like most other students that left the lecture (let’s be honest, it’s more the onlookers blocking the doors than the commotion itself).

The two people fighting, albeit with words not with fists, are Cori and Dream. Hob shares a few classes with both of them. Cori he steers well clear of; he just gives off a vibe Hob isn’t quite comfortable with—too smooth, too close, that kind of thing. And Dream—well, Dream Hob wouldn’t mind taking a closer look at, or have a good talk with. He’s got a nebulous reputation of being a good fuck, which Hob has, as of yet, failed to verify. So have any and all of his adventures, as it happens. Everyone who’s found themselves in Hob’s bed (or Hob in theirs) has had nothing much to say about Dream. And it’s gotten Hob mighty curious about him.

“I want you to stop going around spreading lies!” Dream shouts. His eyes are rimmed red, and a curl of pity flickers to life in Hob's stomach. From what he knows of Dream, he's fairly introverted, silent, and this public spat likely upsets him very much. Hob can practically see the rage coursing through his thin frame.

“Lies?” Cori drawls with a smile. “No lies from my lips, baby. Just because you don't like word going around that your little virgin mouth doesn't know what a proper kiss is doesn't mean it ain't true.”

Hob's stomach turns sour. Hasn't anybody ever told Cori that you don't kiss and tell? Besides, as far as Hob knows, none of the rumours ever came from Dream directly.

Dream looks like he might cry for real, and Hob decides to step in. He doesn't like this one bit.

“And what would you know about that?” Hob asks Cori, stepping up to Dream and laying his arm around his waist. “I haven't had any complaints so far.” Dream looks at him with half incredulity, half thankfulness.

Cori laughs, throwing his head back. “Hobsie?! Oh, this is gonna be good. So you really want me to believe—”

“Doesn't matter if you believe it or not, mate,” Hob says calmly.

“If I were you, I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole. If he fucks like he kisses, he's not even gonna get his own pants off.”

Before Hob can shoot him down again, there is an infuriated sound next to Hob and before he can say 'what' there's a hand on his cheek and fingers in his hair that tilt his head to the side, and then he’s got an armful of slender goth and his mouth busy. Dream’s lips are soft, so soft and careful, and Hob can feel himself melt under them like sugar in tea. With a small moan that he’s got no intention of hiding, he puts his free hand on the small of Dream’s back, the other one still around his shoulders.

Dream fits against him like a puzzle piece, their edges and corners slotting into each other until Hob can almost feel the movement of his own breathing through Dream’s shoulders. A very nice feeling runs through him from head to toe, like he’s filled with seltzer, bubbly, bright, a little sharp.

He carefully opens his mouth, just a bit, his tongue greeting Dream’s lower lip hello. Dream’s own tongue meets him, first shyly and then bolder, and the outside world dissolves from Hob’s consciousness like ink in water, Cori, the other students, the fact that he just wanted to help. Dream sways into him with a needy sound, closer, seeking more, and Hob has to brace himself to not fall flat on his ass and drag Dream with him.

When they finally part, the crowd of students has dissipated, and, more importantly, Cori is gone.

“Well, that spooked him right off,” Hob grins.

Dream blushes, taking another step back. “I am sorry,” he says, “I did not mean to—”

“Really?” Hob asks, “because frankly, if that were true, I’d be quite sad.”

Dream’s blush grows even deeper. “Well, I would not object to also sharing my second kiss with you.”

Hob blinks. “Wait—”

“As I said,” Dream states, “he was lying.”

Apparently, Cori is a bigger bastard than Hob had thought. “You turned him down?”

“Yes.” Dream says it like Hob is very slow, and needs extra help in catching up.

“But you just kissed me on a whim in the hall.” Hob still has trouble computing

“Yes.”

“So was that just as a thank you or—”

Dream looks at his watch, then says, “mainly it was to prove a point. But upon reviewing the currently collected data I think I would like to ask you on a date.”

This time, Hob’s mind is quicker on its feet. “If it goes to your satisfaction, can I also have kisses number three to twenty-five?”

Dream doesn't answer him, just carefully takes Hob's chin between thumb and forefinger, thumbpad right on his dimple, and kisses him again. It's tentative, and sweet, and Hob has a hard time convincing himself that asking for kisses twenty-six through to one hundred and fifty is maybe a third date thing.

After exchanging numbers, Dream leaves him for his next class. Hob's probably too late for lunch, but he can't bring himself to care. He watches Dream go, and then hurriedly fishes a pen out of his bag to draw two tally marks on his forearm.

Send me a kissy prompt or read the other ones here

[shirefantasies]

Hello again! I have another request that came to me as I was submitting a different one. How do you think Thorin's or the LOTR companies would react to reader having a buzzcut. Especially for dwarves who pride themselves in long intricately done hair and braids. Would they think something bad must've happened to the reader for them to have short hair. Cue misunderstandings and fluff, with maybe hair petting(buzzcuts are super soft!) Hope this sounds interesting enough to do, have a good day again! :)

(I literally lied on my last post THIS is my last pre-op post by the 45 minutes left before my operation appointment)

Heck yeah friend I love this! I don’t quite have a buzzcut but my hair’s far shorter than the average lady’s & definitely so for a dwarf, so I wonder about this too 😁 hope you enjoy 🥰 Warnings: a little violence in one reaction, injury mention in another

Thorin’s Company When You Have a Buzzcut

Balin

“You’re causing quite a stir with everyone, you know that?” Giving a chuckle at Balin’s cheeky look, you lean forward with your chin upon your hand. “And why is that?” “At risk of offense,” the older dwarf answered, “they all want to know what happened to your hair.” “Yourself included,” you shot back with a grin, “or else you’d not be asking.” Taken aback, Balin stutters a bit. “Ah, well, I confess I am a bit curious, after all. Reminds me of when my brother first took all his off. What a stir over something so silly. Do what you like, I was just wondering if Dwalin was trying to get you all painted up too.” “Not yet,” your smile softens and you give him a wink, “but if he does you’ll be the first to know. Ahead of all the sensation.”

Dwalin

You start the conversation on this one, seeing that Dwalin is the other company member with little to no hair upon his head and considering it a bonding opportunity. “Well, I’ve got a reason,” he shoots back to your comment of similarity, arms crossed but expression teasing, “what’s yours? You need some tattoos up there at least.” “No thank you,” you tell him, “if I’m adding any tattoos it won’t be on top of my head! Feel how soft it is up here.” Dwalin looks at you, prompting you to take his hand and put it on top of your head, his eyebrows raising at the sensation. And perhaps because touching one’s hair is a much closer and more intimate thing for him than perhaps you realize. You are quite forward, aren’t you?

Thorin

Pays little mind to how you wear your hair…or lack thereof. In fact, by your appearance he gauges you to be a warrior of some kind, thus taking command of your actions in a fight and seeking proof of your prowess. Before your first encounter with a threat the king’s questions are more along the lines of “What is your weapon of choice?” and “From where in these lands do you hail?” The day the company fights a pack of orcs, you manage to take down more than Thorin expected and at one point, you even jump in front of Dori to parry before a potentially deadly strike takes him off guard. Rising from the struggle of battle, black blood splattered across your layers and even your shaven head, you feel a hand upon your shoulder. Thorin. "It can be hard for us to look beyond our own kin," he tells you, "but you have well proven yourself today. We may not always understand each other, but there is a beauty in that, too, I see."

Oin

Wincing despite your gratitude, you shifted in your seated position while Oin packed the poultice into the wound your side had suffered. "Don't worry, you'll go numb in a bit. If it stings, that is quite alright, that simply means you are getting clean again." Thanking him through heavy breaths, you watched as the dwarf reached a hand up toward your head, running a hand over the soft, shorn little bit of cover it had. "And this one's healing quite nicely, quite nicely indeed. Why, I cannot even see the scar!" The sting in your bloody side faded down a bit as you tilted your head to fix Oin right in the eyes. "What scar?" "Did they not have to sew up your head at some point? Figured that's why they shaved you down," he answered, finally removing his hand from your head. You giggled at that, regretted stretching yourself at a new, though much smaller, arc of pain. "No, my dear Oin, I am afraid the only thing my head has suffered is my typical madness," you teased, waving your hands mystically and grinning at the way the healer laughed.

Gloin

"Pardon me, my dear," your name rolled smoothly off Gloin's tongue as he shuffled forth, hands folded in front of him in the picture of innocence. Oh, this was going to be good. "Yes?" You indulged him, swiveling to give your full attention. The auburn-haired dwarf pointed to his head, his own flowing locks. "What happened t'yer hair?" Perhaps sheepishly, his voice suddenly quickened. Feeling your eyebrows involuntarily raise, you tilted your head- this was not exactly what you’d expected, after all. “I cut it,” you shrugged, “got tired of how it was before. Simply wanted a new beginning, you could say.” Gloin’s eyes never left yours. “So no accident?” “No.” “Ha!” The dwarf bellowed, waggling a hand at his brother and a small scattering of company members a ways back. “I was right! By choice! Now pay up and remember I told ya it was worth the risk!” Shaking your head, you playfully smack him on the shoulder. “I’d better get a cut from this, you ol’ scallywag!”

Bifur

Catching Bifur signing, you turn his way, seeing the motions he performs by his head. “Did you cut your hair yourself?” You realize he is asking. “No,” you sign back, “another did it for me.” “You must trust them a great deal.” Simple enough words signed and yet there is something in the way his eyes shine, the fond inquisition in his smile, that brings a little shock of joy to you. Barring royal dressings, it was far more common for one to do their own hair or entrust it to a loved one, and you could see intimacy in the act. It almost brought a pang of regret that it was just some small-town hairdresser that sheared it at your asking and payment. Your hands freeze for a moment as your eyes search Bifur before you finally sign a response. “I suppose. Perhaps if you ever want to do something different with your hair, I could help you, too.”

Bofur

A mix between caring and teasing, he offers you cover! “Your head looks cold. Need to borrow my hat?” Thinks he’s so funny he laughs at his own joke whether you roll your eyes or joke back. “But really, any particular reason you took it all off?” "It was uncomfortable having it long," you admit, "I was tired of it all being in my face." The way everyone spoke of dwarven culture, you half expect disapproval, but this is Bofur you speak of. Instead he nods acceptingly, smiling in that way that always has you feeling seen and reassured. "I understand that." "You do?" "Sure I do! Why do you think I keep mine braided out to the sides like this?" At that, you smile back. "Besides," he continues, "helps me see all the best sights. The trees, the flowers, that smile of yours..."

Bombur

“Singe all your hair off?” Bombur nods sagely despite the fact that he couldn’t be more wrong. “I’ve been there. Burned my beard leaning too far over the stove.” You can’t even correct him right away because you’re too busy laughing. Finally, though, you explain to him that your hair was simply so unhealthy it needed to start over. “Ah, I see, I see! Trying to take better care of it, then?” At that, you nod. He looks at you with new interest, eyes shining eagerly. “So what would you like to do with it next? I’ve got some things you might like to put in it, and I think it would look mighty nice if you wanted to try…”

Dori

"Sometimes I wish I could do that, too," Dori remarks one day, rolling blue eyes illuminated beneath the sun that peeked between the branches. Shifting carefully so as to not disturb your pony, you turned back to face him. "Do what?" "Cut all my hair off just to save some time in the morning!" He replied with a wave of a hand in your general direction. Chuckling, you gave a conceding nod. "I suppose you would gain back an hour, wouldn't you?" At that, it was Dori's turn to laugh. "But then again," you continued, "then you couldn't wear as many of those nice clips and cases. That is one thing I miss about having it all." Puffing up like a proud little bird, Dori smiled. "They are quite nice, aren't they? You know, if you ever get so bored you're tempted to let it all come back, I could make you some of your own."

Nori

Abrasive as it was, Nori's question found you in a way that raised such amusement you forgot to be upset with him entirely, instead simply falling back with a bark of laughter before you answered. "Looks like you're tryin' to hide your identity. You on the run from someone?" He continued musing, in fact, as you laughed. "Law somewhere? A scorned lover? Simply run off with something too valuable not to do that?" Finally, your voice returned. "All this because I've sheared my head down?" You burst out incredulously. "Ever consider," you gasped in mock-scandal, "I like it like this?" "Sure, but that's not exciting," Nori shot back with a smirk, "I like a good story." "Well," you crossed your arms, "perhaps I still have some of those, too."

Ori

Shuffling up to you was the youngest dwarf in the company, sweet Ori; Ori was one of the dwarves who accepted outsiders most readily, and you spent plenty of time at his side watching his drawings and records come to life. That day, though, what was in his hand was not his book, rather a bundle of fabric. "I made this for you." Eyes widening, you extend your hands to accept the soft knitting, peering back at Ori. "I thought your head must get cold," he explained his craft as you unfolded it, revealing a thick, sturdy cap you immediately began pulling onto your head, "does it fit?" Yarn hugging your head perfectly, you nodded. "It's just my size. Thank you." Before he could speak again, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. "This is the kindest thing anyone has done for me in some time. Thank you."

Fili

“One of my braids came undone. Kili?” The younger Durin prince seemingly did not hear the request for his presence, so you stepped forward. “I can help.” Goggling at you, Fili posed a question. “Do you even know how?” Hand falling to your hip, you shot him a look. “Though I may not possess them myself, I am quite capable of doing them up.” The golden-haired dwarf looked sheepish, a bit of the mischief fading from his blue eyes. “Suppose I assumed you didn’t much enjoy doing them either,” he told you with a nod toward your head. “Well,” a teasing smile drifted across your face, “I certainly would…unless you are scared.” You were no fool. You knew how the Durins were with challenges. And if you remembered correctly, you knew how dwarves were with braids…

Kili

He cares some of the least out of the dwarves being the least traditionally presenting himself. He’s sort of the type to be a little attracted to everyone, enjoying the unique traits of all types of people. You still cannot help being a bit surprised when he flirts with you, though, not expecting someone with a cut like yours to catch his eye or draw his teasing. “Not one for a courting braid, I see? No one worthy of putting one on you, no doubt.” For all his jesting questions, he never actually demands an answer, though. Instead he simply launches into a story about a haircut prank he pulled with his older brother once to keep light conversation flowing. “Well, by the end of it our uncle looked quite like you! Except he didn’t pull it off half as well.”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins | Let me know if you'd like to join!

[spicyspiders]

Can you do a smutty lil fic with m reader who has thighs so thicckqq that the pants they where cause rashes? I’m struggling myself and it kinda sounds weird. With konig pls. Don’t need to reply

Why'd you type thick like that?😭Also, I hope you don't mind but I switched the story up a bit and made it so that the reader wears a tight uniform on missions, but out of uniform they started wearing shorts and their thighs distract König.

"König," you said after you entered your room, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. You were used to König being a little strange, hell, everyone on base was a little strange, but it's been days.

König's head snaps up from the book he was reading to look in your direction. It wasn't strange for the man to be reading a book, but what was was how many times you'd caught him looking at your thighs. You didn't mind him looking at your body, but you found it suspicious how quickly he would look away, like he was afraid of being caught.

"Yes?" He asked as he closed the book and placed it beside him. His voice was small. You hated when he sounded like that, you always wanted to make sure the man was okay.

"You're acting strange."

"I am?" He asked, his eyes going down to look at the skin on display from your shorts. You let out a huff when his eyes went back to your face, and his eyes went wide.

"You are. What's wrong?" You asked as you sat down beside him.

He was quiet for what felt like a long time before he answered with a question of his own, "why're you wearing those?" He asked, gesturing to your shorts. He put a hand out like he was going to touch them, but caught himself before he quickly pulled it away.

"My shorts?" You asked, looking down at them.

"They are distracting."

"My shorts?" You questioned, before letting out a laugh of disbelief. "My shorts are distracting?"

"No!" He answers, frustrated. His hands were balled at his sides, and you quickly picked up on where his frustration stemmed from: himself.

"Hey," you said softly, "it's okay," you placed a hand down onto his in comfort. You waited for him to find the words he actually meant as you ran your fingers along his hand.

König didn't speak until his hands relaxed, "your body distracts me. Your thighs."

It only took a few seconds for it all to connect. You normally wore sweatpants and a shirt to relax around the base after missions. For the past few days, however, you instead wore a pair of shorts to keep your body cool, fearful of a head rash breaking out over your body. There wasn't much you could do about your uniform, but you at least could control what you wore out of it.

"You don't need to hide from looking at them," you said. You took one of his hands and placed it right at the edge of your shorts in the middle of your thighs. "I don't wear them to distract you," smirking as König blushed, "but you can touch them all you want."

"All I want?" König questioned, looking up at you in awe as you sat up on your knees.

"All you want," you whisper.

König pulls your shorts down slowly before he leans down onto his forearm. His warm breath puffs onto your skin, which felt much more sensitive after you decided to shave certain areas of your body would help keep away the heat. You weren't sure if it actually helped yet, but it damn sure felt good when König ran his tongue along your smooth skin.

His tongue runs along your skin, getting it wet with his spit. It almost feels like the water from the shower you were just in, but this one was much more enjoyable, if also a little gross with all of the spit.

You gasp when König adds his teeth into the mix to bite marks into your skin. Your cock had already begun to fatten up from his tongue, but with the added pleasure of his teeth, your cock had grown fully hard. It bobbed in the air, hard and angry for König to take care of.

"Good boy," you murmured down at the man as he took your cock into the wet cavern of his mouth. Your eyes flicked down to the bulge in his pants, before they went back to watch the ways König's lips stretched around your cock.

You made a note in your head to get König a pair of shorts that matched your own and to see how distracting they actually were. You just hoped you could remember to do so as your mind went blank from the pleasure König's mouth brought ran through your body.

[fandoms--fluff]

Hello I just wanted to ask if you can do one where Hope has a little sister is another daughter of Hylie and Klaus is named Crystal Mikaelson, she is the light of Hope's eyes and she is the key for Hope to turn on her humanity crystal age is 6 months

The Little Key

Baby female Mikaelson reader x Hope Mikaelson

Warnings: swearing, thats all

A/n: I did change the oc name to just y/n, cause that's what I'm used to writing and the age is a bit bumped up to around almost a year old to fit better with the fic, but she's still female. I hope you like it 💗

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

Josie bounces you in her arms with one of her hands on the back of your head while you're crying your eyes out. Your sobs and crying are silent, wanting your big sister and everyone can tell you miss her even if you can't speak coherently yet.

You remember the feeling of another woman but she's been gone a long time. Now it's only Hope, your big sister, you have that same feeling with.

Josie holds you close and stands up from the couch in the living room, trying to quiet and calm you down a bit. Lizzie, Kaleb, MG, Finch, and Cleo are the only other ones in the room. They're all standing or sitting, trying to come up with a plan to get Hope's humanity back.

They hear heels clicking on the hardwood floor, "Hmm, I can help you with that. Stop trying" Hope walks into the Library with her arms crossed.

She glances at you for a moment before quickly moving her vision over to everyone else standing up now. Cleo starts a spell on her, but Hope picks up on it straight away and knocks the witch out with an easy spell. The older witch falls back onto the couch, unconscious.

"Hope, what are you doing here?" Josie asks, hiding your face under her jean jacket so you don't see any other incidents that may come.

"Do I need a reason to come back to my old school?" Hope rhetorically says.

You let out a loud whine, tears subsiding, hearing your sister's voice and wanting to go to her. You manage to escape from under Josie's jacket and make a grabby hand toward Hope while your other hand is holding onto Josie's shirt collar.

"What about your baby sister? The old you would have never been this unthoughtful" Josie exclaims, tightening her grip as hard as she can without hurting you.

Hope laughs with a scoff mixed in, she says, "This is your big plan? Saying some tiny touching thing about my sister and then insulting me? Heh, you can do better".

She started to walk over to the brunette twin. Lizzie moves quickly and stands in front of you both.

"What? You really think I'd hurt my own sister and the girl I had the smallest crush on for a measly week?" Hope chuckles at the taller girl.

She raises her hands and snaps the heretic's neck effortlessly before she could answer. After, she casts an immobilization spell on everyone except you.

Vamping over, Hope takes you into her arms and leaves the school before the spell wares off.

All of your tears immediately subside and your breathing levels out as you cling to the tribid.

She walks into the abandoned Mikaelson mansion that your guys' family used to live in for around two years. She's been staying in the house since a week after she turned her humanity off.

Hope walks up the staircase after locking the door and enters the room which she's taken, which is Klaus', or used to be anyways.

She puts you down on the bed and starts pacing back and forth. A second later you raise your hands up, wanting to be back in your sister's arms.

"What the hell is wrong with you, why'd you take her. There was absolutely no reason to, ughh. No, no way am I turning the damn thing back on. I see what your doing" Hope rambles to herself and her mind trying to get her to flip it back on, ignoring your pleas to be back in her hold.

"Hhh-o,mmhh" you whine, not being able to pronounce it.

You keep trying over and over, not being able to get it right, and Hope paying no mind to your babbling.

She can already feel her switch flittering between off and on, but she pauses as soon as she hears the word that comes out of your mouth.

"Ho...Hop... Hope" you finally pronounce correctly and yell out to your sister.

"What'd you just say?" She walks over and finally picks you up from the made bed.

"...Hope," you say again.

She closes her eyes, trying to fight off her switch, but after some time it was no use. Opening them back up slowly, she looks down at you in her grasp, holding onto a lock of her wavy auburn hair.

"Hey y/n/n, I'm sorry. I'm here now sweetie" Hope holds your tiny frame against her tightly, not wanting to let go.

You lay your head on her collarbone with a hand still in her hair, content and happy being back with your big sister.

"You said your first word" she whispers into your hair and kisses your head.

[shuhwaa]

Ryujin | Mirror sex [M]

Kinkmas 2023 - Day 24 Itzy Ryujin x fem!reader words: ~800 genre: soft smut (soft dom!Ryujin, fingering, praise (reader receiving), she makes reader watch herself in the mirror as she gets her off) warnings: (mentions of Ryujin brushing reader's hair out of her face)

Author's note: aaaand with that my kinkmas event is complete!! I hope everyone enjoyed it~

She makes you sit down at the edge of the bed, positioning herself right behind you, and as you're in the middle of asking what she's planning, she puts one hand on your shoulder, using the other to point at the mirror in front of you.

"Watch," she mutters, placing a gentle kiss into your neck. "I'll show you how beautiful you are." With a bit of suspicion you do as told, directing your gaze at your reflection. You've never been one to consider yourself beautiful, or even anything close to it, but you've also never had it in you to say no to your girlfriend. And so you decide to wait and see, and when she kisses her way up to your cheek your eyelids flutter shut for just a few seconds.

"Can I touch you?" Ryujin asks, her voice quiet, and you nod, feeling the expectation grow. She lets her fingertips dance up the inside of your thigh, until she reaches your pajama shorts and you lift yourself off the bed for a moment to help her take them off you along with your underpants. 

"You sure are impatient today," you chuckle at her as she's already moving onto your top, and with an amused smile on her face she replies,

"What are you saying? It's just more practical to take it all off at once."

"Way to ruin the mood," you comment, and she leans in to sink her teeth into your neck softly, kissing it better right away.

"I just wanna see you, that's all," your girlfriend mumbles an answer, before she takes your shirt off as well. With you now sitting in front of her completely naked, she makes you look at the mirror again as she lets her fingertips dance along the skin on your sides. 

"And?" she asks, keeping her eyes on you. "Can you see it already?"

"See what?"

"How pretty you are." She presses her lips against your neck without waiting for an answer, and you shake your head.

"Not really..." Her brushing a few strands of hair out of your face, she then kisses your cheek and says,

"Then let me show you." Light touches wandering down your body, her hand reaches your core eventually, and with her other arm wrapped around your torso to hold you close, she begins teasing you. "Spread your legs for me, baby," she mutters and you comply, heat rushing through your veins as you sprawl out for her. You let out a whine at the way she's rubbing your folds at a slow pace, and soon you find yourself wanting more.

"You want me to go faster?" she repeats your request, a smirk playing on her lips now. "Then look at yourself. Promise that you'll keep your eyes on yourself and I'll make you feel real good."

"Okay..." you say, and you muster your reflection. Looking yourself up and down, your eyes eventually land on your girlfriend's fingers dipping into you, and you involuntarily clench around them, finding that the image turns you on even more. 

"Like what you see?" she guesses, having felt your reaction, and you slowly nod. "Good. Keep watching, beautiful." And you do, seeing all of your body's reactions to her touches from a completely new perspective as your head begins to spin while she gradually picks up the pace. Thumb now pressing against your clit as she pumps her fingers in and out of you at just the right speed, you can feel yourself drawing closer to the edge, and with it, you're also starting to see your own image in the mirror in a new light. Whether it's the approaching orgasm clouding your mind or not you don't know in that particular moment, but what you do know is that watching yourself being fucked by your girlfriend like this makes you feel things you've certainly never felt before.

"B-babe..." you call out to her, voice shaking unexpectedly. "I'm gonna-" Your high hits you just as you're about to tell her that, and you throw your head back as you clench around her fingers still working on you. Only when she can feel you coming down from your high does she pull out, scattering more kisses in the crook of your neck as she waits for you to catch your breath.

"And? How was that?" she asks eventually. "Did you see how beautiful you can be?" You nod at her question, and you answer,

"Can we... do that again some time?" 

"Of course," she chuckles, and then she reaches for your chin to turn your head so she could give you a proper kiss.