#weird tabloids do not count

[ofprincessesandqueens]

Like these sort of people have a huge amount of following and just spew out bullshit after bullshit

https://x.com/canellelabelle/status/1783155775050793409?s=46

Are those frontpages in the room with us?

*Not only did the Impromptu picture from Prince Louis make the News worldwide, it was almost instantly the front page of Major newspapers in the UK and internationally in Austria, Germany, Australia and Spain*

[laneywrld]

things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton

part two

word count: 10k

warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.

A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate

It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.

Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.

Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him. 

Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.

Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track. 

Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.

Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.  

Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.

She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people. 

She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.

She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.

Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships. 

She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.

That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, that he most definitely lost.

Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.

When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her. 

Lewis 🏁

How's your date?

She shakes her head, typing out her response.

dense. how's silverstone? 

Lewis 🏁

Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.

i'm sorry 😞  

Lewis 🏁

I'm going to need you tonight.

Lewis, i'm on a date.

Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.

Lewis 🏁

Is he getting lucky tonight?

NO!

Lewis 🏁

So why can't I?

Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again. 

She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.

"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously. 

She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.

Lewis 🏁

My jet will be waiting for you.

That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower. 

When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed. 

It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.

"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.

He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.

"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."

"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.

"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.

Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him. 

She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body. 

After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.

She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."

"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.

Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin. 

Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.

Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship. 

He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.

Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.

"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.

She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."

"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."

His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.

"Okay." 

Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.

"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.

Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?

She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.

"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck. 

She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.

"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"

Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay." 

Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.

"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"

Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."

"Why that?"

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly. 

-

They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestled in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.

"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back. 

"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."

"Come on, beautiful."

He sits up, forcing her up with him.

She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck. 

He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.

He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.

He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.

There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.

"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.

She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.

When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.

This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle. 

She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same. 

"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.

As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.

The screen lights up with notifications. 

One catches her eye from, Natalie.

Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.

Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.

It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.

Still on for tomorrow?

At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.

"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him. 

She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes. 

He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.

Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.

But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.

She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him. 

Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.

-

She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.

He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.

"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"

She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending. 

Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.

When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.

"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.

"Hi, George, I'm Clem."

"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.

"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."

George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.

"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"

She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.

Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."

And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.

George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.

"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."

"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.

Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.

When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.

She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.

She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.

"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.

"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.

"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.

"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.

She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.

She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.

"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"

She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."

"Then get in the fucking car."

Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment. 

He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.

Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile. 

Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.

It has him hard instantly.

"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.

"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."

Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.

"I want to kiss you, but people will see."

She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.

"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.

"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place. 

"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."

"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.

"You like fucking with me." He declares.

Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.

"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.

He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.

 Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips. 

He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.

He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.

Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.

When the time for the start of the race gets closer he is thankful to see Tom take his place beside Toto. 

He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically. 

She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.

He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door. 

"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.

He looks stressed and zoned out.

"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.

Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.

She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes. 

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."

That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."

She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."

Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.

Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."

"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.

Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.

"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.

"Time to race, Lewis."

She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.

Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.

She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.

When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves. 

She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile. 

She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.

She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left hand and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.

She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.

She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head. 

She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her. 

She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push his arms through the sleeves.

His hands are back on her in an instant, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.

Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place. 

"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.

She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.

"I can feel it in my bones." 

"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.

Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!" 

He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.

"Well, that's me."

Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.

"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.

"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.

"Get in the car, Hamilton."

She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.

She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.

Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.

She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.

"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.

"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."

Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.

Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"

She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."

Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.

"Intense, yeah?" He questions.

"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."

"First time coming to a race?"

She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."

She laughs, "Right."

The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes. 

He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.

But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.

Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.

Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.

It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race. 

He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.

This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is. 

That anger got him P3. 

He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.

Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.

She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.

She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.

When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.

But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours. 

When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed. 

There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.

He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.

He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.

He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him. 

"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."

Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet. 

"Can you walk?" 

She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights. 

Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.

He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.

Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.

Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't. 

"I had fun," she announces.

"I'm glad."

"You got podium." She cheers lowly.

Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.

She gives up trying to talk to him after that. 

The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.

When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.

As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.

Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.

"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.

"No, I don't." 

"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.

"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.

"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes. 

"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.

Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.

"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.

She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.

He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other. 

"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks. 

He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.

She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.

He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.

Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress. 

He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair. 

Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room. 

She tasted so good.

Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing. 

Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone. 

He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.

He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.

"Fuck."

Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.

Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears. 

When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls. 

She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.

He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours. 

"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.

"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.

"I think you do." 

His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.

"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.

"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"

Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.

Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her. 

He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire. 

He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.

Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force. 

This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.

Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.

Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.

She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis. 

Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.

He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.

"Woah." she pants.

Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.

Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.

"I booked you a room."

He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.

"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.  

"It's just a floor below, suite 909."

Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"

Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.

"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.

Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness. 

"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.

Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."

She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.

She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt. 

Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase. 

 "Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."

Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.

She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.

And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.

She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator. 

The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob. 

She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.

For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much. 

It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.

Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.

It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.

-

Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness. 

He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.

He regrets his actions. 

He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood. 

He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.

"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"

He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel. 

He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.

He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.

He never stood a chance against her charm.

He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.

-

When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds. 

"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.

The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.

"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."

Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.

Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away. 

-

Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since. 

Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.

Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants. 

"That was fun." She exhales.

He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile. 

This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure. 

He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"

He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.

"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."

Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.

He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.

It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him. 

He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.

Everything unchanged, nothing new.

Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.

So he tries dating. 

And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.

Their eyes don't gleam like hers.

They don't understand his humor.

They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.

They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.

They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.

They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.

Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.

And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man. 

When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.

clemmy 🪂

I need to see you, where are you?

He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.

He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.

He'd take any sight of her he could get.

-

Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people. 

If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons. 

She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart. 

How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit. 

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too. 

But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.

Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all. 

clementine

liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others

clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !! 

view all comments

feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿

clementine the coolest 😎

lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR

clementine 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

user no bc who did my girl like that

clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃

user builds character my ass, go beat his ass

user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???

clementine yk im filming girl 🙄

clementine

liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others

clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?

danielricciardo In your hands slaps

clementine you sir, have great taste 😘

user daniel what are you doing here 😭

user No really, weird ass crossover episode

user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen

clementine you noticing the small details >>>

justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me

clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂

user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm

feliciathegoat i love my bestie

clementine and I love u T 🥹

-

Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.

He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.

Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash. 

He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door. 

He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome. 

He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door. 

He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.

She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.

"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."

"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."

She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.

His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.

She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, Cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.

"I love you."

She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"

He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."

"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.

"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.

"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest. 

He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.

"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."

Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."

"But you did, " she cries.

"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."

"You don't mean that." Clem breathes. 

"I promise I do, Clem."

She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."

He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."

"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."

It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues. 

"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.

"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."

"It's almost spring," Clem announces. 

"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.

"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.

"I missed listening to you. Swear I did." 

"Are we still friends?"

"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more." 

"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.

She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."

"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you." 

"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.

"Starting over, right?"

"Yeah, starting over."

Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.

Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining. 

"Thank you for showing up for me."

Not proofread

the album:

bad religion - frank ocean

in your hands - halle

i think- tyler, the creator

saturn- sza

broken is the man- jorja smith

everything is gonna be alright- infinity song

everything- kehlani

mine- beyonce ft drake

poison- beyonce

are we still friends- tyler, the creator

eternal sunshine- jhene aiko

<3

[suzukiblu]

Five headcanons from the obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU for Plot Bunny, which may or may not all make it into the actual fic itself. Headcanons are slightly leaned towards Kon’s powers because Plot Bunny was specifically interested in my headcanons for those in this AU, but also including Tim being a useless bisexual.

Kon brags constantly about the things his TTK does that are either Superman-esque abilities or that he thinks are either impressive or flashy enough to pass for impressive. He does not think to brag about things like “technically I have a 360-degree field of perception”, because he’s like “well it only works if nothing’s flying or hovering and it’s not like vision, so it’s just whatever” as opposed to being like “most things/people cannot fly or hover and it also accounts for things like people hiding behind cover, so actually it’s real fucking useful, isn’t it”. Frequently he just doesn’t think to mention little utility-specific uses of his powers at all, in fact. No, this acid isn’t touching him, he can be acidproof if he wants. No, he can’t actually choke on anything. Yeah, he can set bones and relocate dislocations on himself and others without needing an X-ray or an MRI involved. Sure, he could just stop somebody’s heart, but why would he?? 

Tim has gotten out of the habit of a lot of his hobbies in favor of Robin-ing. Robbies. He has Robbies now, not hobbies. It’s not like he never picks up a camera or a skateboard or a video game anymore, just . . . well . . . like, not never, that’s all. He’s pretty sure he touched his skateboard last week? When he . . . moved it to the other corner while he was cleaning his room . . . uh. Well. Still counts, right?? 

Kon has much better fine motor control over his TTK than he usually bothers to demonstrate in the field because he actually spends a lot of his time bored and understimulated in a lab environment, so he just fucks around with it to entertain himself. For him, it’s an extension of his sense of touch, which makes him incredibly tactile as a person. But he also thinks it might be a little weird how tactile he is compared to other people, so he is much likelier to be petting the soft silky thing with his TTK than his actual, oh, I don’t know, hands? Because people don’t even notice when it’s his TTK, obviously, but they definitely notice when he's doing it with his hands. He actually does a lot of little things with his TTK that people don’t usually pick up on, because it’s just things like adjusting crooked frames and plucking lint off people’s clothes and fixing their hair or tucking their shirt tags into their collars and picking inconvenient locks, and if Tim knew Kon could do that kind of thing so subtly and easily, he would immediately lose his ever-loving mind about it. And also teach him how to pick pockets and crack safes, probably. Kon, obliviously, does not realize just how fucking useful those little things could actually be in hero-ing, because to him they're just normal little tricks he can just do whenever, not anything special or impressive. And like, why would he pick the lock when he could just punch the door down? Superman would punch the door down, right? And punching the door down looks cooler! So obviously he's gonna do that! 

Tim accidentally developed his initial crush on Kon via constant exposure through stupid teen magazine posters. He will swear on his life it started when they first met and fought supervillains together, but no, it was definitely that Kon was hot in those stupid cheesy posters that Tim kept running into while he did research on the new kid in the superhero community. Also he read so many of those lame tabloid interviews. Just . . . so, so many. Ugh. And he actually does keep up on Kon's Twitter and probably his Insta too. 

Kon absolutely accidentally holds himself back from his full potential as a superhero without really realizing it because he thinks “what would Superman do?” while mostly knowing Superman through hearsay, information uploads from biased sources, and what few facets of his personality Clark is actually willing to show him. So he has a very skewed image of him, obviously, and is trying to grow up and be a person Clark isn't and no one really could be. But Kon identifies himself as Superboy because he doesn’t have anything else he knows how to be, and Superboy came from Superman, so he concentrates less on certain aspects of his powers and more on the Kryptonian-imitating ones. Again: he could just unlock the door, but Superman would punch it, right? Right??

[covetyou]

o, christmas tree

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: M (18+ only blog!) warnings: sex toys (so many butt plugs), Dieter being a menace to his PA, no smut, pure silliness. word count: 1.2k summary: As PA to Dieter Bravo, you were used to the strange, unusual and downright weird. What you weren't used to was taking in a shipment of - what? And how many?

A/N: I've had christmas trees/butt plugs on the brain since submitting prompts for secret santas, so I stole this one back (@missredherring I literally couldn't resist, sorry). I wrote most of this while walking my dog on Wednesday, mostly while she itched her ass on the pavement.

This is the last Dieter of me for this year, I sweeeear. Pinky promise.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Being personal assistant to Dieter Bravo certainly had its moments. And this was one of them, as you sign for a delivery at his home of several large boxes that had clinked when the courier had brought them inside and placed them on the ground.

With a polite smile, the courier doesn't meet your eyes as hurries back out the door and into his truck, leaving you alone with the delivery slip wondering what the hell Dieter has purchased now. You cast your eyes down the paper, the company name entirely unfamiliar to you as you reach the boxes contents.

"Three hundred assorted... Dee!"

It has got to be a mistake, you think. He was unpredictable, but there was no reason for him to do something as ridiculous as this. You couldn't even imagine, didn't even want to begin to imagine, what he would do with three hundred -

Thunderous footsteps slam down the stairs, and Dieter is swinging around the last post to greet you. His hair is a mess, when isn't it, and his clothes are slung loosely around his body. You'd seen the tabloids and magazines before you started working for him, and how they often liked to call Dieter a chaotic and unprofessional, but you had to admire his dedication to loungewear and comfort chic. If you could get away with it you'd wear pyjamas all day too.

"What have I done now. You only shout like that when I've done something."

Thrusting the delivery slip into his hands you put your hands on your hips and wait, watching as his eyes quickly scan down the page and a wicked smile pulls across his face.

"Oh, amazing, they're here just in time."

"Dee, you cannot be serious." You found yourself asking him this question often, and yet he almost always was deadly, painfully serious. The look on his face tells you as much.

"Really? Three hundred assorted butt plugs? Assorted, Dee. What does that even mean."

He gives you a look that tells you you should, somehow, absolutely know what it means. When you don't respond, he sighs dramatically.

"Y'know, assorted sizes, colors, materials."

He's still not getting it, or maybe you're not getting it. You've got to be sick, you're having some fever dream inspired by the sex toys he liked to leave all around the place.

"But what are they for?"

"The party. Duh."

You told him a party would be a good idea to celebrate the end of a great year, and at first he'd reluctantly agreed. It had surprised you when his party planning picked up with gusto, and he refused your offers of help saying he had it all under control. You knew you should've been more suspicious. It was always a good idea to be more suspcisious where Dieter was concerned.

You rub your temples. Three hundred assorted butt plugs. For a Christmas party. You'd seen the guest list, some A-listers were invited, along with Dieter's co-stars from the last year and his usual crowd. Even so, it wasn't enough to warrant three hundred of anything - the guest list spanned 100 people at most.

The harsh rip of tape pulls you from your mental gymnastics, and you watch Dieter crack open the first box. The boxes had been heavy, and they'd rattled in way that, now you think about it, screamed assorted. Dieter pulls the first butt plug from the box, holding it to the light and letting the glass gleam.

"Dieter. What do you need butt plugs for, it's a Christmas party."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Decoration. Party favors. Whatever."

When you blink your eyes at him he rolls his at you.

"Figured they look like little Christmas trees, look." He places the plug on the flat of his hand and, you've got to give it to him, he's not wrong. The one he's currently holding is a deep red glass, so it's festive too, but from a glance to the box you can see just about every color thinkable. Assorted is making more and more sense.

He hands the plug to you so he can rummage through the box some more, and you hold it as if it's about to detonate in your hand. You know it's not used (yet), and by god if you hadn't held some questionable things of Dieter's in the past, but it's too early to be dealing with any of this. You just want a coffee and a sit down, and maybe some tylenol now that you were seemingly getting a headache and a pain in your ass all at once.

"What color?" he says over his shoulder, his hands still plunged into the first box.

"What color?"

"Yeah," he says, standing, holding two plugs in each hand. "Which do you think is my color?"

"Dee, I am not picking out a butt plug for you."

"Oh, come on," he whines, stomping his foot a little. "I know you like -"

"No."

He yanks the first plug from your hands, the red one, and thrusts a swirly pink one into your palm. "Fine. Here."

The question is on your lips, but before you can get it out he smirks at you.

"Pink is your color."

Your pants rip in front of him one time, and he's forever bringing up the color of your underwear. He bought you pink copies of your favorite shoes for your birthday, sent pink flowers to your apartment for eight weeks whilst he was away on a shoot without you, kept ruby chocolate in the house to snack on when you'd walk by. The man was a menace, and even though you both knew you found it funny, you keep your face steely as you brandish the pink plug at him.

"You won't be encouraging people to use these at the party, will you, Dee?"

He picks up the first box, groaning as he bends but then chuckling as the glass jingles and tinkles together lightly in the box, and walks down the hall without answering your question.

"Dieter."

You can see the devilish grin on his face from here. The asshole is ignoring you. You follow him down the hall.

"You won't be encouraging people to use them at the Christmas party, will you?"

"I think blue might be my color."

"Dee, stop ignoring me!"

He sets the box down on the kitchen island, rubbing his hands together in glee.

"Tell me you won't be encouraging people to use butt plugs at your party."

He still doesn't answer, and instead strides past you to the door, he grabs another box before lugging it down the hall to dump it next to the first.

"Dieter."

Tearing open the next box, he lets out a very pleased chuckle as he pulls out a considerably larger plug and sets it down on the countertop with a clink. It did look remarkably like a Christmas tree.

"Please."

He taps you on the nose as he fetches the last box and you cast your eyes down with a sigh, turning the pink plug around in your hands in defeat.

And then it catches your eye, a light engraving on the flat base of the plug. Flipping it, you look for a moment before your eyes adjust and register what's written on the bottom.

In beautiful looping cursive are the initials D.B.

Three hundred assorted and monogrammed butt plugs.

"God fucking damn it, Dieter."

tag list: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

[haleyboook]

Sexiest man alive’s photographer wife pt.2

word count: 2,408

warnings: none

check out part 1!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“No, Mom… I-”

“You didn’t even tell me when you left for London. You do know that a mother worries, right? I had to read a text message from your ridiculously annoying cousin that you’re living it up in Paris and the tabloids say you’re driven and busy!”

I groan saying “I was waiting on a call from Chris by the way, but clearly, I won’t be getting to call my husband today because you feel the need to yell at me. I left in a hurry. I was only meant to be here for a weekend or a week.”

“You’ve been gone for a month. And I never got to say goodbye. How is that fair? I’m sure Chris got to say goodbye.”

I sigh as I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to suppress the headache she’s giving me. “He’s my husband. Yes. He got a goodbye. He drove me to the airport.”

She scoffs saying “I could have come with you. Mommy and me vacation!”

I groan and she laughs “You should have told me.”

“Lesson learned. I’m already heading home.”

“I’ll pick you up from the airport. When do you land?”

Chris steps on set after a lengthy phone call with a representative from people talking about his nomination for sexiest man alive, and what it entails

He asks the assistant that’s stationed in his trailer “Were you able to get through to my wife?”

“No. Directly to voicemail. I believe she’s on another call or swamped in work. Should I call her work?”

“No. I’ll talk to her tonight. Thanks for trying. Keep me updated if she calls back alright?”

“Will do. They’re ready for you in hair and makeup.”

My mom says “Make sure you tell me once you’re on the plane so I can get my crystals out and tell your grandmother to pray.”

“This is exactly why I don’t tell you when I’m traveling. You stress me out when you’re like this.”

“I’m the one that’s weird? You’re weird for not trusting me to protect you, are you boarding soon. I need to get them ready if so.”

I look up at the delayed writing that’s newly showing beside my Boston flight log. My eyes widen as I stand up annoyed saying to the flight attendant “Excuse me. What does this mean, delayed?”

I hang up on my mom quickly as I drop my phone into my bag, not noticing that it’s nearly dead due to the 2 hour conversation I had to endure with my mother

“It’s delayed. A few hours or so, apparently.”

“Why?”

“Undisclosed description.”

I narrow my eyes at him saying “Do you have any other flights to Boston that I could board now? I am a high miles member.”

He looks down to the computer saying “Hm, let me see.”

“I just really would like to get home to my husband soon.”

He nods saying “That’s very sweet. But, I’m afraid there’s nothing in business plus or first class back to Boston besides the delayed flight you’re on already.”

I grumble saying “I’m fine with coach. What do you have then?”

“I have a flight leaving in 20 minutes, coach, middle seat.”

“Which airline?”

“Spirit airlines.”

I really, really, must love my husband.

“There’s nothing else?”

“No. Sorry miss.”

I sigh as I accept my fate.

I think I’m gonna need my mom to get those crystals out for this flight.

And my grandma praying

Oh Chris, if you only knew the struggle to get home

He says “Alright, you’re money will be refunded back to your account and here’s your new ticket.”

I look down to the new ticket as I say “How long of a delay is this flight again? On a safe airplane?”

“It’s just been delayed another 4 hours, we’re soon recommending that passengers arrange a hotel and come back in the morning.”

I nod and say “Okay…”

Walking away I grab my phone from my bag, calling Chris’ number. Getting static on the other line until ultimately I lose connection and my phone dies

I grumble and look around for an outlet as I walk closer to my assigned gate

Approaching the flight attendants I hand over my ticket and they say “Aren’t you Chris Evans wife? y/n Evans?”

“Yeah. I guess so. That’s what it says on my passport.”

“So cool.”

I grab my ticket as they say “They’re going to close the tunnel soon. You should hurry.”

Of course they are.

I quickly make my way down the tunnel to the plane and enter the cramped flight. Everyone’s packed in here like a tin of sardines. This is ridiculous

I make my way through the sections, definitely having a culture shock. And a humbling moment as I see a woman pull hairs out of her husbands ear as I walk by and they wait for take off

Oh my god… she’s moving on to his nose hairs

I look to my seat in front of me, the kid on the man’s lap glaring at me as they have the window seat

The kid has a runny nose and his toys are sprawled across my seat, the mother, oblivious to my existence as she prematurely started a movie on her child’s iPad that looks like it was dipped in child slobber and the toilet

I clear my throat as the man looks to me and I say “Sorry, I actually booked the seat in between you, would you mind?”

“Oh, go ahead and move those to the pocket in front of you.”

The flight attendant pressures me to sit down as my luggage is grabbed from my hand as she takes it.

She slams it into the bins, garnering a wince and gasp from me as she threw my camera bag and lenses in the bins

I glare at her saying “That’s five thousand dollars worth of camera equipment… why would you rip that from my hand??”

“Sit down and enjoy your view please.”

That please wasn’t very nice..

I sit down as my arms accidentally graze the others beside me

I look for an outlet in the plane seating in front of me, now realizing they don’t have those on this plane. Oh goody… a 10 hour flight in agony without my phone, or music

“Evening everyone, we are now taking off and headed to our beautiful destination of Washington DC.”

I look up abruptly in confusion and I ask the flight attendant that walks by “Excuse me, did he just say Washington DC? I thought this flight was to Boston.”

“This plane isn’t going directly to Boston, silly. We have a few layovers. Three layovers and then we reach Boston. Half the fun is visiting all those places right?”

“I’m sorry… three layovers? Where are these layovers?”

“We’ll be dropping off in Washington D.C., then heading to the great state of New York and then Boston. It’s on our way back to London.”

I grumble saying “I wanted a direct flight. I want to go directly home.. how long will this flight really take?”

“24 hours with sleeping time at our first layover. That’s just to Washington D.C. It says it all on your ticket, Miss.”

She quickly scrambles away as I realize the huge mistake I’ve made. Oh my god.

Chris tried my phone again before he heads out for drinks with some of the other actresses and actors

It goes straight to voicemail and he sighs as he quickly says to my voicemail “Just wanted to see if I could catch you. Sounds like you’re swamped with work there. When you get this, give me a call. Don’t worry about the time difference. I’ll be up.”

He sighs as he looks to the group of people waiting for him to wrap up his call. He abruptly calls me again, hoping I might answer again

It goes to voicemail and he says to my messages “By the way, your mother called me, she’s not happy. She lectured me for awhile and told me she wanted grandchildren. I told her to call you so this is just a heads up if she hasn’t already reached you.”

He closes his phone as he sighs at not getting through to me.

I rest my head back onto the seat, trying to just get through this flight as it feels like agony. And I’m so bored it’s ridiculous

I watch the lady beside me’s movie without audio. Soon realizing it’s Chris’s movie, the Netflix movie

Gray man

I purse my lips as I see him with that mustache and villain ego

Oh how much I miss you..

The woman smiles as she watches an action scene and her husband nudges her asking “What are you watching?”

She looks to him and says “A netflix movie.”

“Who’s in it? Is it any good?”

“Ryan Reynolds and Chris…Pine.” She says doubtfully

When Chris says people confuse him for other Chris’s I didn’t fully believe him

“Actually, that’s Ryan Gosling and Chris Evans.”

The man says “Captain America right?”

“Yeah. That’s him. And the other guy is from the notebook. I’m sure you’ve watched that.”

“Oh.. that’s where I recognize him from.”

The woman says “Have you seen this movie before?”

Nodding I say “A few times actually.”

She says “You look familiar. Where have I seen you before?”

My eyes creep down to the gossip magazine she has on her little table, with a picture of me and Chris.

I look fully unflattering and he looks like he just did a thousand push ups

And the tabloid beside us claims that our relationship is on the rocks and I’m desperately trying to conceive to keep Chris

And the big red letters say… Is this it for the couple? Is it about time?

Good grief. I didn’t know my relationship was that bad! And I didn’t know I was trying to have a baby, maybe I should notify Chris!

I laugh at the thought and motion to the magazine saying “I get that I look like her all the time.”

She looks down to the magazine saying “I don’t really see it.”

I roll my eyes and the woman goes back to her movie, that I watch also

After some more elbow pushing on my arm rests with the people beside me, we land in Washington D.C. and I get up so fast and push my way through all the people to get off the flight with my things

I approach the woman at the flight attendant desk saying “I need to change my flight. Desperately. Please tell me you can help me. I don’t care what I have to pay. Please.”

Her eyes widen and she says “Where are you headed?”

“Boston. Massachusetts. Please…”

She nods saying “It’s a crowded weekend here, it’s Labor Day weekend.”

I nod and she says “The flight you booked isn’t exchangeable.”

“Oh. That’s alright. I need a new ticket then.”

Her eyes widen and she says “Coach again for your next ticket?”

“No. Please no middle seat either.”

She nods saying “I have a flight that leaves in a few hours to Boston. First class, window seat.”

I sigh saying “Which airline?”

“United, miss.”

I nod and book my flight, feeling relieved to have changed the flight

I find a plug in the United lounge and immediately try to get through to Chris “come on. answer…”

It rings in his trailer as he runs lines on camera. His assistant sleeps through the call and I attempt to call again

The assistant jolts awake saying “Shit!”

She dives for the phone, as she scrambles to her feet. Answering the call two seconds too late

I hang up and listen to the voicemails he left me. I call again as the assistant walks across set, trying to locate Chris

The phone rings in her hand and she quickly answers it, putting it to her ear and saying “Hello?”

And the voice on the other line, not being me says “Hi! Uh.. I was looking for my brother.”

For the love of…. Scott?? Really?

I’m sent directly to voicemail as Scott remains in the line

This is getting ridiculous now. I give up. I say into the voicemail “We’re playing phone tag and I hate it. I want to hear your voice. This sucks. I hate the distance, I’m sorry I ever agreed to this stupid job. My mom called. She’s mad. She’s the reason I didn’t get your call I’m sure. Anyway, I’m here… for the time being, waiting on your call.”

Scott says “I wanted to touch base on his schedule, and when his next availability is. I know, it’s pathetic a brother needs to schedule in time to see his brother.”

She says “No. Sorry, Mr. Evans was just hoping for a call from his wife. And I’ve been struggling getting through and they’ve been playing phone tag for the last day and a half.”

“So that’s why he’s so angry and annoying. She keeps him at normal amounts of annoying.”

She laughs and says “Would you like to talk to your brother? I have him here.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Chris is handed the phone and he says “Honey?”

“Yes?” Scott says mockingly

Chris sighs saying “Scott.”

“I know. I’m not who you want a call from, but I am going out for drinks with some of the kids we went to high school with, a lot of my drama friends and I wanted to invite you. If you can find any time in that free time you have that you spend wallowing around, missing your wife.”

“I don’t wallow. Shut up. It’s been a month and I miss her. Especially when she can’t seem to pick up the damn phone and answer.”

Scott laughs saying “You’re the same way.”

“Shut up. Fine. I’ll go for drinks with you. But that’s it. I need to be home by midnight for Dodger’s bed time.”

Scott laughs loudly saying “Tell me you’re kidding!”

“No. I’m not.”

Landing while Chris is out with Scott and some old friends I call an Uber and take it home

Chris slowly finishes his last drink and Scott pats his back saying “You alright?”

He nods saying “I got offered sexiest man alive this year.”

Scott’s eyes widen and he says “No way. Does y/n know?”

“No. I haven’t been able to tell her. It’s been radio silence for a bit. Can’t catch her on the phone. The distance is getting to us.”

Scott says “Can you go visit her?”

“No. Not yet. We’re right in the middle of filming and she’s swamped with work.”

I approach the house gate with my keys as I unlock it. I enter the front yard after I shut the gate behind me

Chris looks down to a motion alert from our security cameras and says “Uh oh.”

Scott says “It’s probably that damn cat next door.”

Chris groans saying “I drank too much. I’m so tired.”

“Just stay over then.”

“No.. I need to get home for Dodger.”

Chris lays across Scott’s couch, opening the notification and dropping his phone as he nods off

His phone turns off and people quickly leave soon after. Steve, Scott’s boyfriend says “Should we take him home?”

Scott nods saying “Grab an arm.”

They set him into the back seat as they drive him to the house. I scribble a message on the fridge in dry erase and let my head hit the pillow

I’m exhausted from those ridiculous flights

Scott and Steve enter the house with Chris, leading him to our room. Entering the bedroom as Dodger happily greets all of them

Scott and Steve stop in place as they turn the light on and look to a person under the covers of the bed

Scott hits Chris in the shoulder saying “Are you kidding me?? Did you cheat on y/n?? Mom and I will kill you.”

Chris groans and I stir in my sleep, turning towards them

Scott says “Oh my god.”

Chris says “I sleep in the nudeee I need to get these off.”

He pulls on his jacket but Scott just pushes him onto the bed saying “She’s his problem now. Let’s go.”

He turns the lights off and leaves as Chris moves around an annoying amount, half way waking me up

I reach for Chris and he mumbles “Hi.”

I kiss him saying “Hi.”

I hug him tightly as he squeezes me in a hug “You don’t get to leave me again. I missed you.”

I smile saying “Mmhm. Your breath reeks of tequila.”

He kisses me with a big smile and we quickly drift off to sleep, sprawled over each other

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

previous<<

next>>

Woooo it’s out! part two is out! I’m going to start on pt.3, the final part! I kind of want to make one more additional part after but I’m hesitant!

I love this story and the soon reveal will be soon! Hang on because I really think you’ll enjoy the next part!!

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, make sure to comment! Or if I missed you, please tell me! Sometimes I lose my train of thought and forget. Don't be afraid to tell me!

Also make sure to like, comment, and re-blog please! ❤️

taglist: 

@marvelstarker-mha98

@sarahdonald87

@areamir

@baker151910

@patzammit

@jenzzyuk

@avoyen1998

@feltonswifesworld87

@theactualf0ck

@mrswidowjohansson​

@captain-is-my-sweetheart

@stephv213

@esposadomd

@nogitsune-the

[demonsplendor]

18+ reader x alien - “Collector” (NSFT) Pt 2.2

Pt 2.2/3

In an effort to learn more about the ejaculation of large masses, you land an unbelievable contact: an alien sex symbol named Orion Mar. He graciously accepts your request to study him and invites you to watch.

CW: mentions of dysmorphia, sounding

Masturbation and voyeurism ahoy

Word count: 4.3k

pt 1 pt 2.1

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

A few days later and you’re buzzed into the entrance of a beautiful condominium complex. 

In the lobby is Orion Mar.

You felt so sheepish walking up to him, there was no need for any, “Excuse me, I’m looking for someone by the name Orion.” Everyone in here knows who he is

Anyone anywhere would.

Nobody bothered him though. 

Anyone that was in the lobby minded their own business, barely even looking up when you approached the undeniably model-like alien. 

“Hi, I’m from…”

“The email.”

He was confident but not unkind, stretching out his hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m Orion.”

You think about how redundant it feels to hear him introduce himself, there was no mystery, but it grounds you in a way that helps steel your nerves. You felt so awkward and ashamed coming in here but it’s clear that he’s professional. 

“Nice to meet you Orion,” you introduce yourself while returning his handshake. 

Everything about him was huge, you nearly had to crane your neck to look up at him. His hand engulfed yours but his handshake was only firm but gentle, not something meant to strangle your hand though you could feel he easily could.

“We can go up to my room now, if you’re ready.”

“Your room?”

“Yes, my condo?”

Your head reels.

“Wait you’re taking me to your home?”

“Where did you think you were?”

“I…” you look around, not exactly sure what you thought. “A set…?”

“Oh no,  if we were on a set, we wouldn’t be able to talk.” He sees your wandering eyes and deer-in-headlights expression. “I’m sorry for misunderstanding what you were asking for in your email.”

“No, no, I mean—okay hearing it out loud… but you’re not wrong. That’s not really what I was surprised by.”

He laughs a lofty sound, you try to back pedal more.

“I didn’t mean it like that either but… anyways, you just met me, just now, and this is literally where you live.”

“Yes, but I didn’t get the sense that you would be taking advantage of that by your email.” 

You didn’t want to speak up even if that were true, but you did feel like this was already going far down south. You were out of your element and this was a mistake. 

“I get a lot of messages and propositions that I do nothing with, or smile and ‘thank you for your support’ and move on. I am not so reckless.” 

“I will treat you with the same respect and professionalism as thought it were a set. Functionally, it is, but it will not have the rigmarole of many extra people that I would need to prioritize paying attention to. I would not really be able to answer questions, and even if you were just there for the,” “demonstration. It would have been through a screen. Monitors. No different than what you could have already done at home.” 

You’re taken aback at how coolly he articulated his point and how he didn’t beat around the bush. He didn’t seem shy in the slightest, or weirded out by the idea of you being here to… watch him. Ugh. Even thinking about the reality of the situation was enough to send you spiraling. But he was also being really patient, way more patient than you would have expected someone to be in his position.

“Thank you for being considerate, and for taking me seriously. I admit that… I feel embarrassed by my email. I’m also clearly out of my element, but I think I have my bearings now….” 

“It’s okay, it make it very obvious that you’re not paparazzi, or a tabloid writer, or some dangerous, raving, fan.”

“No, not at all! But I need you to know too, that I’m also not like a professional scientist either.”

He sounded wolffish, “There is definitely an peculiar element to this that is of interest to me. I understand what I’m signing up for.”

You’re not sure if you do, but you don’t want to belabor further and take up anymore of his time than needed. 

He leaves the ball in your court, and though you still don’t feel very confident, you shakily muster up, “Okay, I’m on the same page as you. I’m, um, ready…”

“Good, follow me.”

You walk past a table of people, the front desk, other staff, and even after your conversation, still nobody pays you any mind. 

You’re the first to get into the elevator, your neck nearly at a 90 degree angle as you start to remark on the inside, “Woah, the ceiling is so tall—“ and you realize when Orion gets in that he would have had to be ducking in a normal elevator. 

He sounds amused, “That’s one of the reasons I chose this building. I’m able to fit everywhere.” 

“Wow, even you have clearance above your head.”

“Yes, much more comfortable than cramped human elevators.”

You want to ask more, but there is no time as the doors open to his floor. Well, you would have thought it was his floor, you imagined this building must be laid out like a hotel or apartment but it wasn’t. 

You walk out of the elevator right into Orion Mar’s home.

It was large, spacious, and tidily sparse in the way that you would see rich people’s homes in movies. If you looked hard enough though, you’d see little pockets of personality. A collection of rubber ducks was prominently displayed on a floating shelf, an incomprehensibly large bean bag chair lie next to the couch, an entire wall coated in Polaroid photos like at a bar or venue—images of him and others. 

“Would you like anything before we begin, water or anything?”

“Oh thank you, could I please have water?”

He pulls out two bottles of water from the fridge and walks over to hand you one. You’re thankful for the sip you take after opening it, feeling a little restored and no longer dry throated. 

“We will be in here,”

He leads you into an open room that looks like what you were imagining a set to look like. There were post-mounted lights, three different cameras, a bed, and a stool with what looked to be a pile of fluffy blankets on the floor beneath. 

You’re off to the side looking at another part of the room when you turn around and see Orion unbuttoning his shirt while he stands near the chair in the front. You are stunned and bewildered, not knowing what you were expecting at all but definitely not him getting unclothed?

But once again, you’re instilled with a little more calm when he speaks in a technical tone, “I will be here, you may sit in the chair across. If that is too direct for you, you can move the chair somewhere more comfortable, to the side or so.”

This is like clockwork to him, that has to, and does, count for something. You nod and walk over to the chair, keeping it right in line with his. You sit down while he still fusses with his remaining buttons. When he finally shakes off his shirt, you feel flush and blurt out, “What exactly is this room?”

“Ah, it’s to practice. Lighting, how things look on camera. Sometimes with newer actors.”

You have trouble making sense of this information while also looking at him. He looked like the glow of celebritydom just standing in the lobby, but now that you started to see… more of him in this particular environment… 

He had broad plates, but was still quite lithe. His sternum and the top of his belly had the softest looking connective flesh, something that didn’t really convey over camera and certainly not something you ever saw the other actors take advantage of with kneads or touches. 

When he began to undo his pants, you had to choke down another sip of water. He makes a careening sound, one that you know is similar to laughter. 

“Are you okay? Is this still okay?”

You are thankful that he keeps a pulse on the situation but you also feel so bad and juvenile that you’re causing him to feel like you should be babysitting you. 

“Yes, it is—I am. Is everyone on sets just… entirely desensitized?”

“For the most part. It doesn’t stand out to me anymore, but I imagine how it might look to someone, you for example, to have the director cut. I’m inside of someone, and the director will walk up to me to give me a note. To tell me something like, ‘angle your torso towards the camera more’ and then I do it, I make the correction as soon as they roll again.” 

You appreciated how he talked about his craft, how it was innately sexual in nature, but he did not sensationalize it nor did he say anything suggestive towards you. 

When he shakes off his pants, and sees your face crinkle, he tries to provide you another distraction, “Your boyfriend cannot come?” He inquisitively chitters a sound that you’re incapable of repeating but it’s widely recognized and known, the name of the aliens. 

“Yes, it disturbs him. He had a few times when he was younger, enough to I guess figure out that he didn’t like it.”

“But you figured out some workaround?”

“Yes… of sorts.”

“Does that mean, I’m sorry if it’s too forward,” you think the contrast of being asked this while his thumb is in the band of his underwear to be very funny, “you don’t have sex?”

“No,” you don’t mind it, you really don’t, but you can’t help the tone that you have right now. One that lets him know that you don’t mind but you still feel inadequate for it, “we don’t.”

“Hmm. Well, hopefully we can shed some light. You need to see the sperm deposit, that’s what you said?”

“Yes, to see it pass… whole…”

Your throat feels dry again, your face returning to a crumpled expression while you take another sip of water.

He can tell by your disposition that it’s now or never. He didn’t come off as lecherous, just a little bit cocky when he confirms, “Well, we can definitely do that.”

There is no pomp and circumstance, he takes off his underwear in one fell swoop, his flaccid cock nearly spilling out. When he turns around to set all of his clothes on top of the bed, even the tips of your ears turn red when you see the backside of him; plates on his thighs and lower back that were bridged by beautifully stretched ligament. You know that he can see your expression, how you’re trying to look up at the ceiling from the corner of your eye when he sits down in front of you on the stool, his legs spread slightly.

Your eyes keep wandering in his direction, all over his body with keen interest towards the in between of his legs in particular, but you dart them away just as quickly.

“You can look at me, watch. Isn’t that the point?”

He’s right, that was the point.

You try to adopt a brave expression, nodding as though you’re a program manager approving a deviation, and fix your eyes in his direction. You still feel embarrassed no matter where you look so you oscillate your vision up and down the length of him, but at least you’re not looking off to the side. 

Just as soon as you felt some composure, you felt it all slip away when he grabs the base of his clock and begins to rub along the length of it. You see him grow considerably, hardening to his touch. You had seen him masturbate before, well on your computer, where he would coldly stare unflinching into the camera. But while he was at his beginnings now, you can see him buck into his hand, the early sensations coursing through him.

“What is it?” He asks you this by surprise.

You’re bewildered, “What?” 

“Your face.” He’s almost entirely hard now, you’re unnerved to lock eyes with him while he uses long, slow, mounting, movements. He’s able to tease himself into utter arousal while keeping up conversation with a stranger, “You just had an expression, like puzzled.”

You cannot handle being put on the spot right now, your mind blank. 

He waits for your reply, his eye contact unsevered but you must glance to the side for any hope of recovering yourself. 

“Oh…” It comes back to you, “You don’t see the beginning in your videos, right, so all you look is… unflinching. But you looked, just then… um…” You trail off but luckily he gets your point.

Unluckily, he does not let this go by unacknowledged.

His eyes flash and there’s a low droning sound from his abdomen before he teases, “Oh. So you are a fan.” 

His cock began to excrete the slimy, drool-like wetness that it produced on its own. You couldn’t be sure if it was purely coincidental that it happened now, but you knew that he was now on the pathway towards finishing.

Your voice rasped, “I’ve seen… some… of your videos…”

“Mm, for research only, right?”

His slickness added a whole new auditory element to this, you’re struggling to get through a sentence while he doesn’t skip a beat in silently creating a rhythmically squishing noise. Now he was like the videos, he was all but perfectly still and stroked himself while his body unconsciously tensed and flexed, all while he looked right at you. 

This felt all by the book when you got here, but you don’t even know what book that would be, you were unprepared and just prey lying exposed in the fox’s den. You were not a professional, you had no hopes of going into this and leaving it feeling only a a clinical sense of know how. 

That was made abundantly clear by the terribly ragged noise you made in response to his question. He laughs haughtily, there’s no way that he doesn’t know you feel humiliated. That by you still sitting there, by your staggered, craven, expression that you kind of enjoyed it. 

He lets you off the hook a bit by asking you, “What is this method that you have mentioned, that you currently use?”

You pause before launching into an explanation, marveling at how measured he sounded. Your eyebrows furrow as your mind wanders down a rabbit hole, taking hold onto a newfound curiosity. You don’t think that you’d be able to chat while you masturbated, much less being able to orchestrate the tone of it. He seemed to be able to gauge how you’re feeling, and using it as the indicator for how he should steer. 

He wagers a guess by your expression, offering something up preemptively, “I haven’t always been comfortable doing something like this in front of people, in front of cameras. And certainly not with call and response.”

“And now? It’s.. routine?”

“Yes, mostly.”

You still cannot get over that the moments that would otherwise be filled with awkward silence were filled with the sounds of him rutting into his hand. 

“Isn’t it distracting though? Are you able to still feel… um… aroused?”

He does the crudest gesture yet, spreading his legs wider and pushing his hips forward. While he continues to pump himself with one hand, he waves his other hand to point to it, “Obviously.”

A paltry sip of water cannot hope to save you, you outright bury your face in your hands and shake your head.

He laughs, the rhythm of his time actually has been interrupted, he struggles to reign himself in, choking out with guttural, sticky, laughter, “Oh no, I am so sorry.” 

You feel for a moment like you have it within you to get up and leave but you don’t feel threatened by your situation. You’re just such a consummate novice. 

You look up with just your eyes, you can feel them be preemptively glossy and puffy, you see him slow down to almost a standstill entirely when you meekly say, “It’s okay…” You quickly take inventory of the situation, imagining how you look and the effect it’s seeming to have on him and remove your hands entirely, revealing a smirk peeking through your very apparent shame. You say it again more confidently, nodding towards him with a greedy glance down towards his still consistent, but now slowed, touching, “I’m okay.”

He remains in good spirits but eyes you before he begins picking up speed again. It’s wordless but you think that he must be taking stock of all of this on his end, you’re hoping that you didn’t blow it. You hope that he won’t stop. 

You wonder if that made its way onto your face, because he begins working on himself again, the rhythmic schlep returning. 

“Just keep talking to me. It’ll help you, focusing on something else at the same time.”

“Okay,” you like that he’s working with you. You try your best to not break under the pressure again, “when he can feel it start to build up, I insert a sounding rod to pierce them.”

“Ugh.”

He shudders, he shudders all the way from within his core. He uncomfortably shifts on the stool, the slick sounds stilling altogether for a moment before he regains composure. 

“I’m sorry, I was just… not expecting that. ” he shudders again, this time accompanied by a frantic chittering of his mandibles, but punctuated with laughter. Like he was surprised at himself, “Ah. You may fancy whatever you please, there is no judgement but,” he gives one more final jolt of disdain. He had broken eye contact with you and let his eyes go elsewhere while he imagined your words. Going by his previous account of working on a set or receiving notes, you’re sure this would have been frowned upon. 

You flinch when he snaps his eyes back to you, powering onward. 

“And then after that, he is able to come?”

“Yes, it’s still viscous and resistant, but I don’t know… About a month ago, we tried without piercing one so that I could see and… it went so badly.”

“You’re trying to see so that he will be able to?”

“Yes.”

“Is it to have sex?”

“No. No, he… Even if it wasn’t physically uncomfortable, it’s more than that. He doesn’t want to… to…” It’s too much to say, it’s too embarrassing for you to say out loud. 

“He’s repulsed by the idea of filling another?” 

You feel winded, nothing but white hot shame claws at you from within. 

“Correct.”

“Where do you stand on the matter?”

It makes you almost angry how easy it is for him to say and ask and answer pointed questions. How could you possibly answer that in a way that truly did it justice? It probably was a simple question to him, answerable by something brief, but you just sit there silent and fuming.

He can see the desperation painted on your face, he says knowingly but not cruelly, “Ah. I see.”

You’re ready to launch into upset, but he begins to move more rapidly, having to shake his hand once to remove it of the excess slime that began to coat his hand entirely. You once again see a crack in his facade when he initially takes on this increased pace, the wet, slapping sound growing fervent. It takes you out of your head for a moment, at least about what you were talking about. You do not try to hide your hard stare as you watch with complete attention towards his heady touching. He was quick, but not aggressive. He did not treat his cock as though he were trying to descale a fish, brandishing it, swinging it wildly. No, he treated himself kindly and reverently, gripping with just enough firmness to not slip off of himself by accident. 

You were shameless then, but you can feel yourself grimace when you glance up and see that he’s been watching you. He keeps you here, eyes preoccupied within his instead back to him below while all you could hear was the unmistakable sound and all you could see in the corner of his eyes was the movement of his shoulder. 

He intends to let you off the hook, his breath hitching when he finally speaks, “It’s okay to like things even if your lover does not.” 

The need to justify yourself is unshakeable.

“It feels too wrong. That’s not why I want to help him but I would be lying if I tried to say that wasn’t part of my…. I don’t know. Eagerness? He considers sperm removal, but wants to try collecting just once. I don’t want him to be miserable, I don’t want to try us having sex, I want him to get the procedure. No matter what I feel though, or try to suggest, or even do… it all feels selfish! Do I try to encourage him towards procedure so that he won’t hate me? Do I help him by any means necessary, justify it to myself like that while I engage in… in “research”, in… this?” You emptily gesture to the room, worried that you’ve been a catastrophic buzzkill yet fraught with relief for saying it out loud to someone. 

“Everything everyone does is a little selfish. It’s almost impossible to be impartial yet helpful.” 

He sounded a little stilted and out of breath, it was getting harder for him to speak without any affect caused by his impending orgasm. Yet he remained engaged with you and what you’re saying, replying thoughtfully instead of with something bogusly throwaway.

“Mm, for collection huh. I can show you something for that too.” 

You inquisitively raise your eyebrows but remain silent as he appears to be unraveling right in front of your eyes.

“Which, as I’m sure you can te—mmhh,” your eyes are as wide as saucers as you see him shift again, his hips nearly lifting off of the stool entirely when he bucks, “—tell, I’m close.” 

This was the whole point of this meeting, this moment here, but you can’t not feel anything but total shock. You feel shy, aroused, and utterly out of place. 

“You can come near. See up close.”

You knew that time was not on your side, that you needed to make a decision now. You think you would have declined but there was no lilt to his voice, nothing salacious, it was just straight forward. And this is why you were here, right?

You stand up shakily, unnerved that he continues to maintain eye contact while you move closer to him. How can someone get used to doing this day to day? You guess you can see how anything could be reduced to getting easier over time, especially if it was routine, but you can’t imagine ever getting used to this. 

While sitting on the stool he’s only marginally taller than you, your eyes line up without you having to crane your neck. Now that you were face to face with him so closely, you didn’t know how to look back down at his hammering, wet hand.

“Do not if too much,” he starts but must take a moment in order to not let another intense wave blur into his words, “or if already known to you, but there is a precursor sensation that you can notice.”

“What is it?”

“Place your fingers onto the tip.”

You’re not sure if you heard incorrectly, are misunderstanding, and balk, “Excuse me?”

“”Research”. I’m not trying to trick you into touching me, it is not for sexual gratification.”

Is this really still passable as research? You test the limits of the idea and gently place your first three fingertips onto the split of his cock, feeling the cool, sticky slime that coated it into a sheen. You do your best to not apply any pressure, as though that maintains you as being direct, but he acts in a similar manner, not pushing into your hand. 

“It’s about—about now. They begin to build up.”

You begin to feel the tip pulse, the opening expanding and contracting very slightly. You hadn’t felt this before, normally you kept one hand on the base of your partner while you kept your other one free to reach for the rod. 

You sound the most confident you had yet, not finding this so much titillating as much as you found it fascinating, “It’s… like dilating?”

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Not me. I can feel it though.”

You wonder if it was something your partner felt but didn’t know or acknowledge. This alone might be an angle to explore, maybe you could help coax or relax. Without thinking, you press into Orion’s solid, fleshy, tip and roll your fingers apart to knead into him once and spread him further. 

It sends an immediate reaction through him, he lets out a small moan and fights against bucking. You didn’t mean to, you remove your hand just as quickly. 

At the same time: him panted, you mortified, “Sorry.” 

He laughs and it releases the tension that you feel at least, his relaxed chittering feels reassuring. 

He sounds tense but still clear, “Don’t be,” he sees you eye him, your expression muddled with confusion as he cautions, “but touching me like that again would count as involvement.”

You can see it swell again, creating an even wider chasm and it makes you want to return your fingers to feel it grow but you abstain. 

Being up close like this, you can see things that are not captured on camera. Like how his thighs are pulsing, gently shaking. The ligament between the plates on his arms rippled. 

“You can collect the first with your hand.”

You squirm in a way that you hope he doesn’t notice, or at least won’t comment on if he did.

Your heart beats too fast, you try to not sound so eager when you ask, “How?”

[nininikki]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒: 𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑

⋆ summary! — a little bit of what eren jaeger would be like as a rockstar

⋆ warnings! — mentions of sex/sexual relationships, mentions of drugs (cocaine), genitalia piercings, brief mentions of toxic relationship behavior, but nothing too serious

⋆ author’s note! — just something light while i work on a jean request! this might end up being a full length fic in the future because i’m actually in love with this man. lmk if i missed anything in the warnings.

⋆ word count! — 331

⋆ formed the band with jean, reiner, and connie when they were around 18-19, and six years later it’s a massive success.

⋆ like, on some worldwide fame type shit.

⋆ has the sexiest voice in the world, so it’d only make sense that he’d be lead the vocalist.

⋆ women loooooooove his voice, but, honestly, who wouldn’t? that shit is a certified aphrodisiac. not a dry pair of underwear in the crowd after they’re done with their set.

⋆ relating to that, this man is drowning in pussy.

⋆ likely the most sought after/desired member in the band uses that to his full advantage.

⋆ sluts out supermodels on the daily

⋆ could walk into a room and point to any person—single or married, man or woman—and have them like *that*. it’s magic, really.

⋆ “he’s got the voice of an angel, and the dick to match.” an alleged groupie told TMZ.

⋆ eren, being the whore he was, couldn’t even recall whether or not he’d fucked the poor girl.

⋆ on his way (if not already there) to sex symbol status.

⋆ i mean, just look at him.

⋆ verrrrry random, but he has a dick piercing.

⋆ a frenum to be exact.

⋆ is a natural at songwriting.

⋆ man just has a way with words, what can i say

⋆ loves the fame but also kinda hates it? it’s weird.

⋆ like, he’s definitely tempted to fight paparazzi at least 5 times a week.

⋆ but also kinda loves the way his face looks on the covers of those trashy tabloids???

⋆ (he’s an attention whore)

⋆ in typical rockstar fashion, he does do coke

⋆ rolls up a stray hundred dollar bill from his pocket and will sniff it off of the nearest firm surface

⋆ (usually the collarbone of one supermodel or another)

⋆ in terms of relationships, he’s like super toxic

⋆ isn’t too thrilled by the idea of monogamy, and is casually uncouth in his shattering of hearts.

⋆ all in all, he’s got the typical toxic bad-boy rockstar package

⋆ but he’s eren so we love him.

© NININIKKI. do not translate, copy, or modify my works in any way shape or form.

[thosehallowedhalls]

Home Without: Part 2

Book: Crimes of Passion 2

Pairing: M!Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Emma Rose)

Rating: Mature

Warning: Sexual content

Word count: 2485

Summary: Trystan and Emma solve Nadja's murder on the first night. But what's left for them as a couple now that she doesn't have a reason to stay?

A/N: This story will be three, possibly four parts long. I... might have gone overboard with the angst and pining.

Series masterlist

Part 2

New York without Trystan is even drearier than she feared. It doesn’t make any sense. She’s lived here for 28 years and known Trystan for all of two months. But now, everywhere she goes there’s a reminder of him. The park. The agency. Even The Drunk Tank. It’s like he left little pieces of himself behind, and all together they add up to one gaping absence that’s a constant ache in her heart.

But she’ll get over it. It can’t possibly be that hard to move on from someone after a relationship that lasted only a few weeks.

She throws herself into her work with a zeal that surprises even her. Within two weeks, Luke has stopped telling her to go easy on herself, and Ruby comments that she has some competition in the compulsive workaholic department.

Fortunately, neither of them seems to connect her newfound single-mindedness with Trystan’s absence. Emma can only hope they remain oblivious.

Her social media use, sporadic at the best of times, dwindles to nothing. She knows that news and gossip about Trystan will be everywhere – the tabloids are still abuzz with his acquittance and reinstation as heir. She can’t control that, but she can control how much of it she’s exposed to.

Still, she can’t wholly avoid news of him. Although she herself never looks, never lets herself look, she doesn’t have a good reason to excuse herself from the conversation when her friends bring up what he’s up to. And good god, do they bring it up a lot.

“I can’t believe there’s going to be a recoronation ceremony,” Luke scoffs. “Royalty is wild, man.”

Ruby points at him with her chopsticks. “Hey, Trystan deserves the moment of triumph after everything they’ve put him through.”

“Sure, if he wanted it. But his last text was mostly about how much he doesn’t want this.”

Emma’s head snaps up at this.

“He texted you?”

“Yeah. What, he hasn’t texted you? Ruby?” He turns to her for confirmation, then back to Emma when Ruby nods. “That’s weird. I figured he’d be texting you nonstop. Of all of us, he was always closest to you.”

She keeps her face carefully blank. “He’s probably busy.”

“Not too busy to text us,” Ruby counters, confused.

Thank you, Trystan, for putting me in the position of having to explain this. It’s an unfair thought – Luke and Ruby are Trystan’s friends, too, and there isn’t any reason why he shouldn’t stay in touch. But she isn’t in the mood to be fair. She’s in the mood to have a stiff drink, do some brooding, and possibly get up close and personal with a punching bag.

She almost tells them that they’ll have to ask Trystan. But it is very likely they will, and while she’s usually big on returning awkwardness to sender, the less Luke and Ruby learn about what’s going on (or rather, not going on) between Trystan and Emma the better. So she settles on a noncommittal, “I don’t know what to tell you guys. I haven’t heard from him.”

“You should text him,” Ruby says.

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

When hell freezes over. But they don’t need to know that.  

When she arrives home, she finds an envelope with a Drakovian return address. Thanks to her conversation with Ruby and Luke, she’s at least somewhat prepared for what’s inside. An invitation to his recoronation ceremony.

King Maksim and Queen Viktoria cordially invite you to their son Prince Trystan’s coronation ceremony.

Emma looks at the words, her fingers tracing his name. She knows full well this invitation is his doing, and she doesn’t know whether to be touched or annoyed that he sent it despite knowing she doesn’t want to see him.

But she does want to see him, doesn’t she? That’s the real problem.

She banishes thoughts of Trystan to the back of her mind. For now, she’s going to focus on the report for the case she wrapped up earlier today. And if there’s a part of her that wishes he had been along for the ride on that one, well, she’ll get over it.

She RSVPs no to the coronation. When Ruby asks why, she says she can’t get away from the agency right now, but to please send Trystan her regards.

Regards. Like he’s a mildly annoying great-aunt instead of… whatever the hell he is to her.

Still, she can’t help herself. She knows him. Trystan will be mired in self-doubt and self-recriminations, and she can’t bear to think of him questioning whether he’s good enough for this. So she opens the line of contact she closed so decisively a month ago.

Don’t let them get to you. You've got this.

It takes him mere seconds to answer, and her heart beats a little faster when she pictures him immediately dropping everything the moment he got her text.

Thank you.

Three dots blink in and out of the screen for a moment, before they disappear for good. She tells herself she's not disappointed.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when Ruby texts her a selfie of her, Luke, and Trystan from the airport, but it still knocks the breath out of Emma. He looks gorgeous as always, and genuinely happy to be with his friends, but… there’s something off about his smile. It doesn’t look as bright as she’s used to.

She takes a deep breath and begins to write.

You guys look great! Say hi to Trystan for me.

Ruby’s answer comes back at once.

He says hi back, although he’s offended you aren’t praising him specifically.

Oh, and he assumes it’s only because you’ve been struck speechless by his looks.

She snorts. She knows he’s just trying to sound as normal as possible, but she can practically hear his voice delivering the message.

Tell him to dream on.

The next text comes in the evening. Drakovia is five hours ahead of New York, so she imagines it’s around midnight for them. Bracing herself for another selfie featuring Trystan, she taps on the screen. It’s Trystan himself.

The message is only six words long, but it engraves itself in her heart.

I wish you were here too.

She starts to respond then stops herself. Going down this road is a terrible idea. So she shoves her phone in her junk drawer instead.

The apology comes around five in the morning.

Sorry about that. I had one too many martinis.

She does respond to this one.

It happens to the best of us. Then after a moment’s consideration. I hope you guys are having fun. Good luck at the coronation.

Two months after arriving in New York, Emma wakes up to two texts from Trystan.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t know, or I would have warned you.

Warned her about what?

She obtains her answer when she walks into the living room and finds an envelope someone slid beneath the door. The Drakovian address catches her eye at once. When she opens it, she finds a letter notifying her that she’s been summoned to testify in Vasili’s trial. Her heart leaps to her throat.

She can’t exactly RSVP no to this one.

Arriving in Drakovia is different this time.

For one thing, there’s no panic. Well. No life-or-death panic, in any case. It turns out, it’s a beautiful country when you’re not worried about whether one of your own is about to be convicted and executed.

Obviously, Ruby is thinking along the same lines. “Completely different from the last time all three of us were here, huh?”

“I’ll say.” As they walk into the arrivals area, she glances at Luke. “What are you doing here, again? You weren’t called to testify.”

“What, you thought I wasn’t going to jump at the chance for another international trip with my girlfriend?”

“You’re just taking advantage of the fact that they’re paying for her expenses.”

“Well, duh.”

She laughs, but the bottom drops out of her stomach when she sees the man waiting for them near the entrance.

Trystan.

Their eyes meet, and for a moment, it’s like Luke, Ruby, and the rest of the airport have ceased to exist. She thinks she sees his lips move, but maybe she’s just projecting. After all, her own lips shaped his name almost of their own accord the second she saw him.

She raises her hand in a hesitant wave, then jumps when Luke speaks next to her.

“What are you doing just standing there? Let’s go.”

“Looks like someone misses Marguerite’s fancy plane,” Ruby teases, for which Emma is grateful. It gives her a chance to pull herself together.

“I don’t!” He insists as they walk.

Trystan meets them halfway. “Welcome back. I must say, I much prefer meeting you at the airport to meeting you as I await trial.”

“You made that same joke when Ruby and I were here for your coronation,” Luke retorts.

“And it remains true. Emma.” He turns to her with a soft smile, and god, she missed him so much. “It’s so good to see you again.”

There’s so much he’s not saying. So much he probably won’t say at all. But she captures that look, those words, and tucks them into her heart. She’s letting herself have this much.

“Trystan. I guess there are worse fates than seeing you again.”

“Trust you to ruin a heartfelt reunion.” He laughs softly, but he keeps his eyes on her for another moment before clearing his throat and smiling at Ruby and Luke. “I have a meeting in three hours, but I cleared just enough time to take you three to lunch. That is, if you’re on board.”

She feels herself smile. “Oh, you know I’m not one to turn down free food.”

Night arrives agonizingly slowly.

She and Trystan may have been scrupulously friendly all through that lunch, but she felt his eyes on her. She sure as hell kept hers on him. So now, alone in her room after parting ways with Ruby and Luke, she waits. And wonders.

The knock sends a jolt of awareness down her spine.

When she opens the door, Trystan says only one word. Her name. His eyes are the ones asking the question.

Emma steps back.

They’re on each other before the door clicks shut. His hands framing her face, hers clutching at his shoulders. When their lips meet, it’s all she can do not to shudder in relief.

“Emma. God.” He runs a trail of kisses down her throat, along her collarbone. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” She pushes the jacket off his shoulders, then clumsily tries to undo his tie. “Since when do you wear a tie, anyway?”

“Crown Prince. Something, something, dressing for the title, something.”

“Is now really the time to be quoting your mother?”

His answering laugh is strangled. “Allow me.”

She notes with satisfaction that he’s only marginally more successful at doing away with the tie than she is. “Your hands are shaking.”

“I know.”

She doesn’t quite rip the buttons off his shirt in her impatience, but it’s a close call. She kisses down his chest until he pulls back, trembling.

“Not that I don’t… ah… appreciate where this is going, but you’re too formally dressed for my liking. Or too dressed, period.”

He slowly lifts her top over her head, his hands tracing every inch of newly exposed skin. She wraps her arms around his neck and holds on tight, finding his mouth with hers. They kissed so many times during the weeks they spent together, but this kiss, this desperate tangle of lips and tongues, skin and limbs, this is when she wonders how she ever lived without him.

“I need you,” she gasps.

“And thank God for that.” Quickly getting rid of his pants, Trystan picks her up by the hips and carries her to the bed. She wraps her legs around his waist, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses to his neck and shoulders. “It would be physically painful and potentially fatal to stop now.”

“Aren’t you lucky I’m not telling you to stop, then?” She scoots back when she hits the mattress, reaching for him and pulling him close. “As it happens, I might have to kill you if you did.”

“Looks like my life has never been safer.”

He trails a line of kisses down her torso, across her breasts, his hands drawing lingering patterns on her skin until she’s not sure she can handle the sensory overload.

“Trystan.”

“Yes?”

“Hurry.”

When she feels him smile against her skin, she has to hold onto the sheets to anchor herself. “Aren’t you the one who always told me that detectives had to be patient?”

“I didn’t…” She sucks in a breath. “I didn’t mean in this context.”

“It’s the principle, my dear.” The affection in his tone shoots through her like a live wire. He tugs down her jeans, his hands roaming her body before his lips follow suit.

“Principles are o-overrated.”

But he’s not talking anymore. His mouth is otherwise occupied, and Emma loses what little capacity for rational thought she had left. Her hands move to his head, needing to hold on to him even as he makes her lose her grip on reality.

She stops talking then, too.

“Well,” Trystan rasps out an hour later. “As far as reunions go, it doesn’t get much better than that.”

She snorts, but she’s still too spent to give it any real punch. “I can’t argue with that.”

He faux gasps. “Did you, Emma Rose, just say you can’t argue? As soon as I can move again, I’ll have to go check if Earth is still spinning on its axis.”

“Oh, so life as Crown Prince hasn’t impacted the wisecracks, I see.”

She says it lightly, but it seems to jolt them back to reality. The one where nothing has changed, he’s still staying in Drakovia and she’s still going back to New York.

He clears his throat. “I don’t suppose my sexual prowess is such that you could be persuaded to stay this time?”

Even as the heart-deep ache begins anew, she can’t help the snort of laughter. “You’re good, Thorne, but you’re not that good.”

“A man can hope.” He’s aiming for lightheartedness, but she knows him better than that. She isn’t the only one in pain right now.

“I leave Drakovia in three days.”

His arms tighten around her. “I’m aware.”

“So we had better make them count.”

He looks at her. The hope in his eyes makes her heart flutter. “Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying we’re never going to see each other again after I leave, so we might as well make good use of the days we have left toget-“

He’s kissing her before she finishes the word.

“Nothing would make me happier,” he says fiercely.

It feels like a vow.

[rozcdust]

Addicted

Pairing: Ran Haitani x f!reader x Kakucho Hitto

Genre: Crack, SMAU

Word count: 800ish

Warnings: Canon divergent, ooc, profanity, substance abuse, Inui and the reader are a problem both, suicidal jokes, suggestive, talk of dicks (MDNI) mentions of stalking (paparazzi)

masterlist

“Are you sure about this?” Quirking an eyebrow, your fingers softly stroked Inui’s leg, staring him right in the eyes.

He threw a look at Draken, who sat on the side and watched, and upon his shrug, Inui finally nodded, motioning for you to go on.

“It will hurt.”

“I know.”

“Draken cried like a bitch.”

“Well I’m not Draken, am I?”

“Okay, on a count of three.”

Inui closed his eyes tight in anticipation.

“Why the hell are you two turning this into something weirdly sexual?” Draken scoffed from the side, seated on the floor next to the two of you, brushing his hair, annoyed and his arms crossed.

“One-“ You stopped your hand, assessing Inui’s state, and deciding it was well enough to proceed.

You pulled the wax strip off.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Inui screamed, continuing to curse you as he instinctively grabbed the patch of skin you just waxed, his eyes widening, “Fucking hurts- oh that is smooooooth.”

Sticking his leg out in front of Draken’s face, he wiggled his toes, staring at his boyfriend expectantly.

“Touch me.”

“Gross.” Frowning, you slapped the wax strip back on.

Draken rolled his eyes, but indulged him, running his finger over the slowly reddening skin.

“It is smooth Sei, good job, that’s how waxing works.”

“Asshole.”

“Your fault for deciding to wear a skirt.”

You ripped the strip off.

“FUCK ME- Do it again.”

“Freak.”

“Weird that Ken ever needed to be waxed.” Inui tilted his head in thought, carefully watching you rip open the next strip, “He’s weirdly hairless. Like, everywhere. Even his-“

“I do not, DO NOT, want to hear about Ken’s dick.” You slapped your free hand over his mouth before he could continue, glaring at the scarred man with the same sharpness you usually reserved for asshole investors, “That’s my brother you’re talking about, Inui. If I have to know anything about your sex life, I’ll kill myself.”

He licked your hand, and you recoiled, smacking him slightly before wiping it on Draken’s cheek.

“We’ve been to public baths together before, though. You’ve seen my dick.” Draken merely states, casually, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“I have, and it was traumatising and stressful for all parties involved, thank you very much.”

“Sei has a pretty dick though.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up-“

“Like, it’s genuinely-“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP-“

“Y/n, you can’t wear that.”

“Says who?”

“Jesus.”

“I’m wearing this. No, Inui- INUI PUT THAT FUCKING GARBAGE BAG DOWN-“

Despite his rising fame, his hard work and his handsome face getting him internationally recognised and adored, Hakkai stayed as level-headed and humble as ever, some of the shyness of his teenage years stuck around, however, causing him to be quite private regarding his life outside of work, but that never stopped anyone from assuming.

Or the media from straight up harassing him.

You, on the other hand-

Well.

The media and the paparazzi tried to harass you for a little while after your father’s death, when you took over the company, the concept of a young woman with a well-known gambling habit in a male-dominated field taking over a successful company borderline unimaginable to some, offensive to others.

They learned their lesson fast, and for years now, your face and name have been kept out of the news or tabloids.

Letting Inui and Draken walk out of the car, you parked it in the club’s parking lot, pocketing the keys as you made a B-line towards the car already swarmed with reporters, desperate to get just a shot of Japan’s favourite pretty boy.

You smirked as they turned to you, and recoiled, politely excusing themselves and leaving.

One, though, a young man with pretty eyes and immaculately done hair, a microphone and a camera already out, obviously new and unfamiliar with your blunt ways, approached you, all chipper smiles and bright eyes.

“Y/n L/n, hello! So pleased to meet you!” He bowed, grinning brightly, “How are you?”

You lazily smirked, deciding to play along.

“I’m good, planning on having some fun with my friends, so if you could just excuse me-“

“Before that, please, just one question. We’re live now, and just a small company, we’d be so happy to have you as our segment-“

You impatiently tapped your foot, glancing behind him at the car, and cursing Hakkai for keeping the windows darkened.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Well, would you mind explaining your sudden breakup with the young and upcoming detective Tachibana?”

It took all in you to not scoff.

Leaning down, you mindlessly grabbed the microphone out of his hands, ignoring the small noise he let out at the sudden movement.

Staring directly into the camera, your grin turned mean.

“Remember kids, don’t fuck a pig, even if it’s a cute one. All cops are bastards, fuck the law, in fact, start evading your taxes-“

“Miss, thank you so much, that is quite enough-“

“Overthrow the government, hell, start harassing the mayor-“

“Miss-“

“The government is lying to you, the birds work for the bourgeoisie-“

“MISS!”

“THEY’RE DRONES-“

. . . next

🔖Taglist (open):

@dilf-city @wakasa-wifey @rinsie @kisekihany @bajifairyy @cryszus @r-xochitl @7rkx @graythecoffeebean @mukounisuru-gashadokuro @sunahyejin @yamaguccitadashi @minoozi @trashmemebitch @frogtits1 @sup-zfam @whydohumansss @shiyuumisaki @xashiui @bontens-whore @chronic-claire-universe @nqctre @crybabylisa @adeptiixiao @denkis-sluttyboy @yukimaniac @toobsessedsstuff @yuushs @sh4nn @lumi-does-some-stuff @hana-patata @hxked @erza-uzumaki @syddisheep @satsuri3su @soushswag @wisteria-aa @bontensbabygirl @qualitygiantshoepsychic @levii-s @astropheia @galactict3a @a-toxic-person @inurmom00 @eriislost @phoenixflames498 @luvjiro

[inlocusmads]

vigilance and other nice qualities ~ trystan x nora (crimes of passion)

Wc: 2.9k, tw for violence and strong language, teen and up audiences

Summary: Nora gets help from one of her old contacts to learn more about her royalty of a client and is faced with some surprising observations.

A/n: tagging @choicesbookclub | Banner cred: Saint Cathrine Bartholomoe by Vento (1520)

At the centre of every social circle that the city was built on, Bull was in at least twenty eight of them. He took boxing lessons from a Hollywood stunt director who flew in and out of LA and sold tabloid photographs from gathering more tabloid photographs - a middle man situation. When Nora first met him, they decided not to fight. He wanted a private eye’s influence and knew that she’d need him more than he’d ever need her. But years passed. He evolved from a part-time hairdresser with a terrible boss in 1992 to an information emperor. Nora would be doing him a disservice if she were to compare him with her aunts back at home. At least her aunts didn’t engage in physical violence.

Bull threw her a wad of cotton to stop her bleeding nose. He grabbed an old handkerchief hanging on some metal pole and tied it around his freshly formed wound.

“You fight well, Nora.”

“Yeah, it has been that long, huh?” Nora sniffed, the pain coursing through her nostrils.

“You grew your hair. You were not recognizable at first. Forgive me for instigating action.”

“No -- forgive me.” Nora insisted. “It’s weird that it has happened twice. It’s all on me.”

“Well, I’m glad you are taking blame because this wound is going to need some stitches.”

Nora sighed. She reached into her pocket and grabbed a roll of loose cash, tossing it at him while managing the pain of a nose half-broken, likely.

“You come prepared too!” Bull expressed joy, counting the bills. “Do you want something to drink while we are talking?”

“I’ll get out of your hair in a few. Don’t need all that trouble.”

“Nonsense. You can’t leave without having a drink, at least for old times’ sake.”

“Just one. It’s a work day.”

Bull had found a stable job, Nora was surprised. He’d switched careers so often, she’d once found him married to an up-and-coming designer, dressed in silver fleece back in 2017 and in the same year, he’d gotten divorced and started a taxi business. Clearly he was so well-to-do, he didn’t need a new job as an undercover mechanic. Although the warehouse he worked at was pretty neat and nice; the floors were tiled, a taken-apart car sat on a towing crane and a supposed Go-Kart project he was working on, was at the front - a toolbox sprawled open, with a welding kit connected to a transformer. And they weren’t the stuff you’d find in a parts shop. No, it was all new - prim and polished, with professional gloves.

The drink was nicer too. Single-malt Irish. The glasses weren’t plastic - they were more verdant than the stuff Uncle Tommy kept around. Nora took a sip from her glass, setting it down instantly.

“So- what’s up? What are you doing these days?” Bull asked.

“Oh you know --” Nora shrugged. “Desk job.”

“Not too different from police work, now is it?”

“Sometimes I get to --” she gestured at the air, “-run?”

Bull poured some more whiskey into her glass. “Run around for what, exactly? I mean, I don’t know about the business, but PIs somehow have it worse. Runt of the litter and everything, y’know? Joseph from the 47th Precinct started one and guess what? Shut it down the very next week. Now I think he’s teaching middle school baseball.”

“I can teach middle school baseball.” Nora said, missing the point.

“You’d be a shit coach.”

“Never said I’d be a coach. Just that I’d teach baseball.”

“All right. What you’re here for?”

“You’re familiar with uh— small potatoes royalty?”

“Would never call anyone small potatoes. First mistake anyone makes is undermining them. Why? Finally running around with the big leagues, aren’t you, Nora?”

“The electricity bills aren’t getting any cheaper.” she shrugged. “You know Trystan Thorne?”

Bull paused. “I think so.”

“What’s his uh - deal?”

“Seriously?”

“What? I’m sorry my questions aren’t too specific.”

“No, it isn’t that. I can’t exactly give you a Cliff’s Notes version of everything.”

“Fair point. You do run a business.” Nora wiped the rest of the blood off her nose, grabbing a bandage and plastering it on. It was painful without something to clean with and the constant stench of iron only made her impatient and hasty with dressing it. Oh well, it’s a short walk home. Wasn’t like she had a life to get to, anyway. No rush. She finished her glass of whiskey, a smidge drunk to help with the pain.

“Is he your client?”

Nora nodded.

“Holy shit.”

“Supposed to be good or bad?”

“He’s quite a hit with the paps. He makes you think he’s an open book, y’know, with everything just out in the open.”

“I just want to be able to trust his words, considering he might be a — person of interest. I don’t care for him other than that.”

“Then I’ll be helping you do your job and you know my requirements.”

“Come on, Bull. What’s his character like? Is he after a — specific thing?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Because I’m not trying to date him to have deep conversations.”

“Not everything’s a simple yes/no answer.” Bull shrugged. “I mean, he is charismatic. He presents a very trustworthy front and it’s good for his image, since he comes from a family of liars and swindlers. And he’s gotten smart, because the paparazzi bothers him less and less when he plays into the ‘black sheep of the family’ persona. They’d have nothing else but to print the same thing over and over again. Oh look, he’s spotted getting a herb tea! How different can he get?. Wears the same thing outside - classic trick to make photographs unusable.”

“So he’s smart.”

“Very smart.” Bull said. “He doesn’t have a press team or anything. It’s just him and his — psh- sister, I think. She runs a luxury business here. Not to mention he’s got some wild contacts. I mean, traditionally, where do you usually find celebrities?”

“I dunno— sex parties?”

“No, you idiot. With whom?”

“I guess other popular people.”

“Trystan here is friends with practically anyone he meets. Comic book authors, critically acclaimed authors, amateur filmmakers, film students, nail artists, pharmaceutical execs, street dealers, Hollywood stars — the list goes on. He puts himself out there, deliberately.”

“Artists.” Nora supplied, making cotton balls out of the bloodied wads.

“All kinds of artists.” Bull tossed the cotton out of her hands. “And he’s quite an academic. Not in your Oxfordian-pretentious-asshole way, but in an actual smart, resourceful way. He probably knows way more about you than you about him.”

“He thought I was a stripper in a detective costume initially.”

“You’re going to let that fool you?”

Nora gave him a nonchalant shrug. “He did hire the Agency after the first two hours of working with me. When I barely knew him. Reckon he’s done some Googling?”

“Googling?” Bull took second-hand offense. “He probably knows your coffee order by now. The place where he’s from - Drakovia, doesn’t skimp on funding intelligence. He’s earned military training in the past. He knows how to — uh — talk, if you get it. Almost a borderline psychic gift. I don’t know how he does it, but you have to play your game just right, like extremely carefully. When you’re talking, count your words. Take note of things he says in throwaway lines, when he’s at the peak of his comfort.”

“Do I tell him anything?”

“Nothing that isn’t relevant to whatever — jewel thief he’s hired you to find out.”

Nora was reluctant on sharing about the case. It’d hit the news stands in about two or three days anyway, Bull would find out eventually.

“Quick n’ easy. You do your job. Get out. Don’t fuck with smart people. You and I - we aren’t that smart, I think you agree.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good talk, Bull. I’ve got to get to work.”

“Stop dicking around, all right, Nora?” Bull gathered up the mess of bloodied tissues and cotton wads.

“What’s he after?”

“Who? Trystan?”

“There’s got to be something these guys want. Like how actors want big breaks and writers want big breaks and uh - you know, something I can —” Nora gestured, “I can really sink my teeth into and use it as a killswitch.”

“Gain his trust. He’ll tell you on his own.”

“How do you know that?”

“I happen to know he enjoys belladi from just being his waiter at a fundraiser once. All I did was ensure his flute of champagne remained full and listened. Really listened. That man has got centuries worth of stories to tell and nobody to listen to. That’s what you do. Listen without making preasumptive opinions.”

“Yeah, okay, don’t fuck with smart people, got that. Ciao.” Nora gave him a quick salute with her fingers, turning on her heel towards the doors.

“I’m afraid you didn’t got it- Nora- argh—”

**

Nora found him on the sidewalk, patiently waiting. Trystan leaned against his sports car, watching and smiling at the pedestrians who didn’t smile back.

“Oh good, you are here.” Trystan beamed at her. “Your uncle said you had stepped out— what happened to your nose?”

“Kitchen accident.”

“Right.” he narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t believe her. Or maybe he was trying to study her - deduce something out of her microexpressions and body language. Nora suddenly grew aware of Bull’s advice and the hot blood coursing through her veins in panic. She noticed he had his hands tied to his back, as if he were hiding something. It was a brown paper bag.

“It was a kitchen accident.” she insisted. “What do you have there?”

“Oh, just something I picked up.” he handed it over. A brown paper bag with a croissant in it, with some raspberry filling and a paper cup of coffee with the order written on the side. She took a closer look at what the barista had scribbled in blue ink: dark roast coffee, two pumps of cream, one sugar. Bull was not joking. Her hands grew stiff, as she continued reading the list of ingredients, before Trystan interrupted.

“I figured we would not have time for breakfast.”

Nora’s first thought went to poison. She dealt with the idea for two seconds before rejecting it, considering Trystan needed her more than she needed him. He was going to have to keep her alive. Unless there was some sort of truth serum that made her run loose with her words, there was no reason to suspect anything could be spiked. Could just be a peace offering. A thank-you of some kind, grateful she accepted Sonja’s case when none of the cops were willing to take it forward and no other agency barely credible or within a half hour’s drive from Trystan’s penthouse. Still, it wasn’t like someone could Google Nora’s coffee order.

It tasted good per usual. She saved the croissant for later in her left jacket pocket using her left hand, just to throw Trystan off, in case he had some ideas of gifting her a can opener next time meant for right-handers. Considering the kitchen accident was the only excuse she had for suspicious injuries, it wouldn’t be too thickheaded to assume he’d give her a can opener sometime later.

“Are you going to say goodbye to your uncle?” Trystan asked, as he got into the driver’s seat in his car. Nora strapped in her seatbelt with her left hand, adjusting it to make sure the croissant in her pocket didn’t disintegrate.

“I’ll call him. We’re on a time crunch here. Ruby’s got a copy of the toxicology report. It should help us analyse some injury patterns and compare it what we know about the kind of weaponry or poison we can track down. To put it simplistically.”

“Right.”

Liar. Nora thought to herself. He’d have pored over Forensic Science For Dummies last night. Heck, he would have even arranged an intimate dinner with one of the leading forensic scientists in the country, discussing precisely this. He was pretending to be this unassuming ‘foreign diplomat’ or whatever he called himself, and very good at it too.

Trystan drove down the street, meeting a chunk of 10AM traffic in the middle of the high road.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. You must be devastated after yesterday.”

“I actually got a good night of sleep.”

“That’s — good.” Is that good? Good for Trystan? Someone who definitely sleeps with one eye open at all times?

“Yes, I am very reassured that we will find Sonja’s murderer and bring him to justice however means necessary. A lot more hopeful than I usually allow myself to, but I have got a very good feeling about this, actually. Today, I woke up with this — interesting — can I say lust? Lust for hope and it is an interesting feeling. Perhaps we might obtain a —break through, so to speak in the evidence present.”

“Of course, of course, hope is just — y’know how I’m all about the hope.” Nora attempted to make conversation. “Did you get a good look at Sonja’s other paintings?”

“Nothing different apart from the eldritch horror-looking work.” he chuckled dryly.

So he did look at her paintings later. Nora realised Bull wasn’t just right. He was prophetic. Was that good? She’d seen her fair share of amateur detectives who’d seen an episode of Elementary or CSI and assumed they could do the same, but Trystan didn’t seem like those pop culture fanatics. He was invested in the case, and not just acting out of emotion due to the grief his friend’s passing had caused. He was actively taking charge and Nora wasn’t sure if this was the right idea. Bull did tell her to keep him talking, to underline his throwaway lines and go from there, but how? When he seldom talked in full sentences and only used his extensive vocabulary to flirt with people? Or maybe that’s another guerilla tactic too. This was difficult. She couldn’t be vigilant all the damn time.

“You must know a lot about art history, then.”

“Not entirely.”

The car stopped at a stoplight junction.

“I absolutely loathe the traffic sometimes. It just forces these unnaturally long mundane conversations, do you think? Which is why I always carry some downloaded music with me-” he punched some keys on the GPS screen that doubled down as an entertainment system. “- do you happen to enjoy some classic pop?” - he set the volume to three, probably to not let the music overpower the constant horn sounds, playing ABBA’s I Still Have Faith In You. “- Queen, John Lennon, King Crimson, Bowie- they were some of my first Western artists I listened to when I came to America. Queen has a special place in my heart. It was a gateway to learning more- collloquial English, if I can say that. Diplomatic-speak can get very boring and sometimes off-putting. You would not want your date complimenting your good handshake and your choice in dress suits and ties. Who does that? Anyway, I have grown a lot. Companionship was so much easier back at home. People had so much trust to spare. Or at least, I had so much of that to pass around.”

“Well, your faith is in the right place.”

“You think so?”

“I’m fairly good at my job. I don’t think you would have anything to worry about.”

“I am not worrying about anything. Rather I am more than happy to know I have placed my faith well.”

“Strong sense of judgement, yes.”

“That I am still yet to learn how to do that.” he grinned. “So what are we now? Partners? Considering we are working this together?”

“That’s uh — fast— but sure. Partners work.”

“Wonderful! I can finally place the order for the matching shirts.”

“You got us matching shirts?”

“Yes, the ones with ‘I am his’ and ‘I am hers’ but with partners in brackets. I am sorry, but it is a Drakovian tradition for good luck and I have some requirements as a client and a partner. Maybe I should have run it by your boss first-”

Nora stared at him, eyes widened. Trystan hid back a smile for approximately a second before erupting into laughter. “You would really believe me, just like that? It is such fun messing with you!”

“No I don’t, but I do have some complicated feelings about merchandizing.” Nora’s cheeks flushed red.

“Ooh complicated feelings. I love some complicated feelings. Tell me some more.”

“For starters, I don’t like texts on shirts. It makes it hard to read.”

“So you just —stare at people’s chests? My, my Detective, how juvenile of you, tch tch-”

Nora sighed. “There is no winning with you, is it?”

“Nope. There is no losing either, because it is time well spent, right?”

The car rolled into the parking lot of Astoria Forensics, Ruby’s place of work. Nora didn’t even have to supply him an address.

“Let us get this case a-rolling, shall we?” Trystan pressed a button to open the door for her.

_______

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed reading this! The one pet peeve I had with the book is that we never got to see the initial scepticism besides it being fodder for the banter. I really wish we could've experienced the doubt and the stress MC was going through, while trying to learn to trust Trystan and his story.

Tagging:

If you'd like to be tagged for my works, please drop a comment down below or reblog. Thank you.

Perma: @quixoticdreamer16 @trappedinfanfiction @writing-not @peonierose

Crimes only: @ofmischiefandmedicine @aallotarenunelma @ao719 @lilyoffandoms @cassie-thorne @twinkleallnight @jerzwriter

[theafrochick]

my red flag is I'll wake up and be hurtled into a silly goofy mood so i write shit like this to cope. I like the idea of putting this in the long fic im deluding myself into thinking I'm going to write but for now have a snippet i guess since it'd feel weird posting this on ao3? idk.

we love stolas having a mental breakdown. and we also love asmodeus being along for the ride cus Asmodeus playing bob the builder with Stolas would fulfill all my needs in life actually.

something something projection and copium

Anyway

Pairing is: stolas & asmodeus. hurt/comfort

Word count: 2,741

I got sick of writing this lmao ignore the ending.

“What else is this supposed to be about then? I don’t know why we keep doing this when you found somebody else’s dick to hop on.”

“W-what on earth are you talking about?” Anxiety stabbed into you as you hug your grimoire to your chest. This was supposed to be a conversation. This was supposed to fix everything and instead if was devolving faster than you could have dreamed.

“Don’t play dumb Stolas, you and Asmodeus are plastered across every tabloid this side of hell. At least have the balls to admit that you’re just keeping me around as a side piece.”

“No, no, Blitzy it’s not like that. We’re friends! I’m doing him a favor, I would never do something like that. What do you take me for?” Blitz takes a step back when you try to approach him, an unfamiliar look of disdain crossing his features. A knot settles in your chest as you felt yourself shrink before him.

You knew you were a hypocrite for wanting him to believe that you wouldn’t cheat considering your relationship was a product of an affair, but you assumed his jealousy would be resolved when he realized Asmodeus was in a very committed relationship of his own. Clearly that wasn’t enough but you weren’t sure what else you could do for him. It felt like it didn’t matter at the end of the day. You had done for this him but he would never believe you if you actually said that. Or it’d somehow add more fuel to this never ending fire.

“I don’t see what kind of favor you needed him that involves you needing to hang all over him. If its about that stupid necklace you gave me so you wouldn’t have to see me anymore then consider the hint taken. You didn’t have to whore yourself out to get away from me.”

“I didn’t- I’m not- Please just listen to me, I only gave you that because-” You try to approach again. Blitz takes several steps back, folding his arms over his chest. Whatever faint connection you had to him snapped in that moment. The fact that there wasn’t anything to try and fix hit you like a truck and you the desire to cling to the vast nothing you had been given evaporated. You didn’t want to fight anymore. You were so tired of it. You suck in a breath, forcing yourself to straighten. Forcing yourself to not reach for him again even though a small part of you still wanted to. “Fine. If that’s how you feel then we can consider this the conclusion of any business we might have with one another. This 14th or any other are yours for the taking.”

You suck in another breath, then turn and take the stairs back into your house at a measured pace. In the resulting silence, filled by the bubbling of the fountain in the courtyard, you hoped that he wouldn’t actually let you walk away. But then the van door opened and closed. You opened the door to the foyer. The engine starts and fades just as quickly. You close the door, the click of the latch echoing through your head.

You’re fine. It’s okay. This is okay.

You feebly tried to placate yourself as you made your way through the house to put your grimoire away. If you didn’t it’d leave room for everything else to take root and even if you were pathetic, you refused to cry yourself to sleep on the entryway floor. This wasn’t the first time you just had to keep it together for a little while. What a handful of minutes compared to the other countless hours you had spent hiding from yourself.

But the grimoire never made it back to its place, because you were used to not having it. Because you had put a new book in its place. Because that book didn’t even fit well in your organization scheme but the blank space hurt to look at when you missed Blitz. Because you could handle the slight annoyance that it was in the wrong spot than look at that hole. Because if you moved that book to put your grimoire away then you’d have to find a new place for the wrong book. Because you didn’t have a place for it in the first place. Because then you’d end up reorganizing the mountain of books you had. Because after all that nothing would be the same. Because then you’d have to change. Because then you’d have to clean yourself. Because then you’d probably have to eat something. Because then you’d have to go to bed. Because then you’d have to wake up and grapple with the fact that you were as alone as you had felt your whole life.

Your knees give out and you curl into yourself. Between the sobs racking your body and the waves of anxiety that kept crashing over you you could barely breathe. Why is it always my fault?

How much more were you expected to give? You buried everything you wanted to the sake of others. You worried yourself sick. You overthought everything. You tarnished your birthright. You threw away whatever reputation you had t hat wasn’t trampled on by Stella. You couldn’t dig any deeper. There wasn’t any place you could hide from yourself anymore. You had nothing left and nothing to show for it. How was it still your fault that things ended up this way?

The vague burning sensation in your skin left behind from the feathers you hadn’t meant to rip out wasn’t enough to keep you grounded. And then more intentionally thinking that might leave you with something to grab onto as your magic misfired and bled into the room. Ichor seeped out of walls and pooled on the floor around you. The sound of cracking stone could scare be heard about the sound of your heart pounding in your aching chest. You’re making a mess, pull yourself together. This is unbecoming.

Normally a few sobering thoughts were enough for you to reign it in. To get some semblance of a grip on yourself and put yourself back together.

Not now. What was the point? You could stay there for as long as you wanted because nobody would care enough to come check on you. You could destroy the whole mansion and the only person who’d have to deal with it was you. This could just be another thing to add to the long list of things you couldn’t do right. Can’t be a prince. Can’t be a husband. Can’t be a father. Can’t be a boyfriend. Can’t be a boyfriend. Can’t take care of yourself. Can’t be left alone.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your nails graze your skin before everything went silent.

“What the fuck...?”

You blink back into consciousness, cold from the ichor that had soaked into your clothes. Your head hurt, and your vision blurred. The tightness in your chest had subsided enough that you could at least breathe again. Maybe. Fresh anxiety wormed it’s way into you as Asmodeus cautiously pads over to you.

“Stolas, are you alright? What happened?”

You shove yourself into a sitting position, black spots dancing in your vision. A nervous laugh escapes you as you clap your hands together. “Oh, I was just...working on a spell.” Another nervous laugh. You set your soaked grimoire on the window seat, praying it was still legible. You could barely convince yourself that was an excuse let alone Asmodeus. Not when he was privy to everything that was going on and didn’t know how to let anything go. Not when you had unintentionally placed him in the middle of all of this.

“Wanna run that one by me again?” Asmodeus crouches in front of you, his head cocked earnestly to the side as he studies you.

“Just practicing…” You couldn’t bear to look at him as you forced the words out. Your stomach churned and your throat clenched. You weren’t sure if you were going to throw up or start crying again. Or both. “I’m fine, really. Do tell why you’re here.”

Asmodeus exhales sharply, resting his hand on the side of your face. He works his fingertips through your feathers to graze his claws against your skin. A tremor runs through you as the heat from his palm seeps into you. He always did run hot.

You fought the urge to sink into him, tension settling in your back as you sat a little straighter. “Really, I’ve just been out of practice so I thought it’d be good to reacquaint myself with some of the spells in the back of the book only I got distracted and it backfired a little. Nothing I can’t handle, I’m sure I did worse when I was younger. Haven’t we all?”

You weren’t sure what you were going on about as the room groaned and shifted around you. But saying nothing of any real substance was easier than sitting there in silence, trying not to look at him. This display was shameful, even if it was supposed to be private. Nothing was ever private. One way or another others always managed to wiggle their way in. If you said you fine eventually you’d mean it again and then things could go back to normal.

The chandelier gives from the added weight of the petrification and rips itself free of the ceiling. Asmodeus starts, whipping his head around to look at the pile of stone and plaster sitting on the floor. “Stolas…” He edges closer to you, cupping your face with his hands. “Don’t lie to me. It’s one thing if you want to be alone to work through whatever the fuck this is, but nobody who knows you and has half a brain would believe you’re fine right now.” He chose his words carefully, his drawl being the only thing that stopped an actual pause from forming.

You wring your hands together in your lap. For a moment you were a child being scolded for getting upset and all you could do was bear it. What good would admitting to anything do? If you did then it’d make this more real than it already was. So this was just another thing you could do. Pretend. Not anymore. You had felt the mask slipping for some time now but you never thought the day would come where you actually couldn’t put it back on. “It’d be a waste for you to worry about me when this whole thing is my fault.”

“I have a very hard time believing that.”

You shrug helplessly, pulling your face from his hands. “It always is… Things never should have gotten this far. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t that’s the problem. I never think. None of this ever would have happened if I just did what I was supposed to, but I never do. I can’t do anything right.” You suck in a breath, batting his hands away when he reaches for you. “Sorry, that was rather uncalled for. You should just go.”

“Do you mean that?”

Of course not.

You wipe your face on your sleeve, undoubtedly smearing black on the side of your face. “It’s for the best.”

You tense when Asmodeus pulls you into his lap. You couldn’t manage to protest as he wraps himself around you. “It’ll be okay, Stolas, you’ll make it through this.”

For a moment you could breathe. Your mind goes blank for an instant before everything comes rushing back to the surface again. It hurt, and you were certain that you wouldn’t be okay. You had never been okay. How were you supposed to start now?

“There, there, let it all out.”

You whimper softly, burying your face in Asmodeus neck while he gently rocks you. You always liked how unnaturally warm he was. When given the chance it was hard not to drift to his side whether it was warranted or not. The sickly sweet smell that clung to him usually assaulted your senses and relaxed you but now it just mingled with your shame and made you too acutely aware of the situation you were presently in.

Getting a handle on yourself felt more a priority than working through whatever this was supposed to be. You needed out of this. You needed Asmodeus to feel like he had gotten what he wanted so he could continue on. You couldn’t get used to this. You couldn’t start to depend on him. He wasn’t yours to need. Nobody was. You were too old to be throwing a tantrum because you couldn’t get what you wanted. That’s what this boiled down to wasn’t it? Once again you expected too much. It was your own fault for getting your hopes up. How could you end up surprised you were here? This had been coming for months and you should have accepted this then. You should have taken the inevitable with grace. Especially when you left him with everything he wanted. He’d never think about you again while you stupidly clung to things that only ever mattered to you.

Was that it? Was everyone always placating you because it was easier than dealing with this? Maybe you were unreasonable. Asmodeus was only here because you hadn’t said the right things. If you were a little stronger you’d be cleaning. And you’d move that stupid book someplace else. Or throw it away because you didn’t even need it, it was just the first one you saw. What was it even called? To think you fell apart over something that normally didn’t occupy an ounce of head space. I’m hopeless.

You blink a few times, abruptly all too aware of your body pressed against Asmodeus’. Of his steady breathing. Of his heart thudding in his chest. You had enough sense to be embarrassed without a twinge of anxiety so you had to confront the fact that you had to actually start picking up the pieces of whatever Blitz had broken inside of you countless times. There probably wasn’t even anything left at this point, but trying was really your only option when Asmodeus certainly wasn’t going to let you go back to tearing yourself and your house apart.

For now, you were mostly tired, and if you stayed like this any longer the idea of sleeping on his chest would have been tempting. Though this raised the question of you needing to get out of this and you were no closer to a solution than when the question was first posed. “Uhm...Asmodeus?”

“Yes, Stolas?” Asmodeus shifts you a little higher, nuzzling your neck.

“You may put me down, if you want.”

Asmodeus studies you for a moment. While the scrutiny still made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t nearly as unbearable as before. He seemed satisfied that you weren’t still spiraling out of control and eased you back onto the floor. You brace yourself on his shoulder and stand, a headache forming at your temples. “Why don’t you come stay with me tonight?”

“No, no I couldn’t possibly do that. It’s alright. This is a big place. There are other beds.”

Asmodeus hauls himself off the floor, momentarily distracted by the puddle off ooze he had put his hand in. “I also have other beds. Ones that aren’t covered in freaky black jizz. Besides, you need a bath and I know you aren’t going to take one. You’re probably not even going to change either and that look on your face says it all.” Asmodeus cuts you off, “girl you need to get a grip. I’m all for spending all day in bed, but at least do it in a clean one.”

You sigh, not really having the energy to argue with him. “I really wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“I have servants for a reason, only people you’re putting out are on payroll. Though word of advice,” he snaps his fingers, opening a portal into a very pink bathroom, “don’t let Froggy make your breakfast. He’ll do it because he knows you’re too nice to say no, and I think you’ve suffered enough for one week.”

“I’m not-” The protest died on your lips as you stepped into the bright light. You were already missing your room before the portal had closed. “Fizzarolli thinks I’m nice?”

“How could anybody think otherwise?”

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon behind the cut; mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees. ( chrono || non-chrono )

But why the fuck is Alfred calling him– 

“Sorry for the wait, Mr. Wayne, your local self thought it might be for the best not to come in-person! You wanted to avoid a fuss. I mean–he wanted to avoid a fuss,” Rita says brightly, looking sheepish, and Kon remembers, very abruptly, everything she’d said about Gotham tabloids and also the fact that she’d “recognized” him after he’d scooped up a traumatized kid who was calling him “Dad” and then, uh–well, flirted with her. And also literally every single story he has ever heard about Clark and Bruce successfully passing for each other, in costume and out. 

Well . . . shit. 

Well, that definitely means the local Bruce Wayne is out Batman-ing his way through the current interdimensional crisis. But also, what the fuck has Kon just gotten them into? Jon seems to just be rolling with it, thank fuck, but there's no way Alfred Pennyworth actually believes he's a version of Bruce Wayne. 

. . . does he? 

No, no, he definitely doesn't. Interdimensional bullshit aside, it’s Alfred. He's just a really good liar and a trained actor with a flawless poker face. Alfred lies better than Tim lies, for fuck's sake, which is goddamn saying something. So Kon might end up a little mortified later when he's admitting he got mistaken for an alternate version of Gotham’s number one airheaded himbo DILF Brucie Wayne by an aid worker, but . . . 

Well. He doesn't even know who he'd be admitting that to, at this point. 

He doesn't know if he'll ever . . . 

“The car is just down the block, sir,” Alfred says, and Kon tells himself he can do this. He always does, doesn’t he? He can handle his own shit and he'll take care of Jon and go meet the local Batman, apparently, and then embarrass himself explaining how this happened to him, and maybe . . . maybe the local Tim will be there. 

It won't be his Tim, but right now he just really wants to see his face, one way or the other. He's not gonna be picky about which “Tim” he's actually seeing. 

“Cool,” he says, trying not to sound too screamingly not-Gotham. He seriously doubts he manages it, though. He’s no good at the voice-mimicking trick Clark does and even if he was, it wouldn’t exactly be subtle to start doing it now. 

He and Jon say goodbye to the kids, who make a lot of very kid-like disappointed noises, and Kon suggests another game for them to distract themselves with–one that won’t require a technical adult running it–and then Rita’s got some paperwork for him and Alfred to both fill out and sign, and a couple other aid workers rubber-stamp them through, and absolutely no one asks to see his ID or even for a second doubts that he’s a version of Bruce Wayne. Except–hopefully–Alfred, anyway. 

Kon seriously cannot tell for fuck either way, the man might as well be a promethium wall. At this point he’s just counting on Alfred’s weird all-knowingness bailing him out here. Worst case scenario is explaining himself, obviously, but if he doesn’t exist here . . . 

Well, “Lex Luthor made me” is probably not a great start, with most Batmans. Especially after going to see said Batman under what is, technically, false pretenses. Like–obviously Alfred wouldn’t have come out in the middle of an interdimensional emergency for Conner Kent; he showed up here expecting a younger version of his boss. 

Probably would’ve come for Jon, he guesses, if only as a favor to the local Clark, since the guy’s presumably distracted figuring out how many dangerous strangers are currently in their reality with the Justice League, but still. 

Then again, for all Kon knows, the local Luthor is dead or irrelevant or a selflessly benevolent saint who feeds orphan puppies on the weekend, so who the fuck knows. 

Kon cannot actually imagine Luthor ever even existing in the same room as a puppy without it knowing well enough to piss on his fancy leather shoes, but look, alternate realities include the word “alternate” in them for a reason. Like, the word “alternate” is very much the operative word there. 

If nothing else, the local puppies might just be stupid. 

Kon’s not really a dog person, personally. Krypto doesn’t count, on account of being an alien and therefore not an actual dog. The first Krypto he knew was an actual dog, though, and they just did not vibe whatsoever.

He and Alfred sign the last couple papers. Kon fakes Bruce Wayne’s signature because he’s spent enough time in Wayne Manor to know the difference between that and his autograph, and thanks fuck that the eidetic memory finally kicked in last year. Seriously, it is such bullshit it took that long for him to get it, considering Clark and Luthor both have one. 

Alfred doesn’t actually react to the signature, but Kon does notice him noticing it. 

Probably what he’s noticing is that it’s not the same signature that his Bruce Wayne used in his early twenties, because there’s no way that hasn’t changed in twenty-odd years. 

Rita smiles at them and sees them all off happily with some reference numbers and exchanged contact information, and they don’t say anything on the way to the car. Kon keeps carrying Jon, which maybe isn’t normal human behavior, especially for someone who’s supposed to be passing for a ditzy socialite who allegedly only has vanity muscles as opposed to actually functional ones, but Kon kind of doesn’t care about that right now. Like, not even slightly does Kon care about that right now. 

Alfred leads them to a shiny black towncar and opens the door for them, and Kon gives him a nod of thanks and bundles Jon into the thing. Jon sniffles once, and kinda of clings to him a little. Kon figures it’s fair. He was never “ten” himself, obviously, but it seems like a rough age to put up with this kind of bullshit during. Like–definitely it does. 

“You’re good, kid,” he swears, less because it’s a promise and more because it’s something he’s gonna make happen, squeezing the kid’s shoulder the way Clark always does when he’s doing the reassuring thing. “I’ve got you. I’m with you. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Jon says, sniffling again and scrubbing an arm across his eyes. “Um. Sorry.” 

“Don’t sweat it, Jonno,” Kon says, and Jon’s face crumples for a moment before he visibly steels himself and nods. Kon squeezes his shoulder again, then gets into his own seat and buckles himself in more out of the habit of trying to pass for human while in civvies than to actually, like, need to be buckled in. TTK kind of cancels out the risk of getting tossed around a car in an accident, and he’s invulnerable on top of that, plus the super-speed, so . . . yeah. Definitely car accidents are not a concern. 

He really wants to help this kid. He wants to at least get him to the local Clark, if nothing else. Like–if they all get stuck here, or there’s nowhere else for them to go . . . 

Well, it’d take a pretty different Clark than the one he’s used to not to want to take in any version of Jon, so as long as this reality actually has a Clark . . . 

Well, Kon’s probably not gonna be watching the kid long, in that case.

[pollylynn]

Title: Undertone WC: 1000

“There was no relationship.”  —Dr. Cameron Talbot, When the Bough Breaks (2 x 05)

She does not believe he thought she would be relieved at the news that he may be walking away and leaving Nikki Heat behind. Not for a hot second does she believe that he has a thought to spare for how she feels about anything—not how she actually feels anyway. She’s sure he has plenty of thoughts to spare when it comes to building up his own sense of importance to her. She probably can’t count the thoughts he’s devoted to how lost she’ll be without his playground-based insights, how tragic her life will become when she’s inevitably kicked off the force because she’s unable to solve a single murder without him. He probably has to rent out a storage space for those kinds of thoughts, but there’s no way in hell that the idea of her being relieved every occurred to him. 

She’s sure of that. 

She’s pretty sure. 

Except . . .

They are fighting about stupid things. A part of her mind—a very persuasive part—points out that this is not breaking news. This is not evidence of anything other than the fact that he is still drawing breath in proximity to her. But a different part of her mind—a much smaller, but possibly more honest part—points out that these are arguments are not just stupid, they’re weird. Worse still, they’re weird on both sides. 

Even if he’d been lying in that grimy hallway, why would he choose that lie? Where would it even come from, given the sheer size of his ego? And what the hell was up with her jerky, stilted—and let’s face it, belated—agreement that she is, she would be, in the event of . . . relieved? Why does that feel like a lie?  

She’d like it to be his fault. If she could lay her own awkwardness at his feet, that would be ideal. She’d like to convince herself, for instance, that the sheer enormity of a lie that would require him to have any kind of empathy or insight into her actual feelings simply staggered her in the moment. 

But it’s not just that moment. It’s their utterly childish argument—within sight of a billion cameras, within earshot of a billion tabloid parasites—at the book launch. He’d been spinning lies there, too, hadn’t he? His sudden onset allergy to eye contact and his mumblings about her not knowing anything about being scorned, about being turned away . . . all that had to be some kind of act, right? He can’t have given any real thought to her heartaches or lack thereof, not when he’d decided from the get go that Nikki Heat was kinda slutty. 

The only thing that should ring true about the entire, juvenile conversation should be his denunciation of his own character as too insubstantial to support more than one novel, but even there, she’d tugged the other way, suddenly championing the self-proclaimed bane of her existence as having plenty to her. The one thing they should be in one-hundred percent agreement about, and something about it makes her dig her stupidly expensive, bought-for-the-occasion heels in and deny his premise. She should be relieved that there’s some truth-telling at last—some highly unlikely eleventh hour self-awareness on his part, but she’s not. The things that ought to ring true don’t. They’re fighting, then back-burnering the fighting for the good of the case, then they’re lapsing into awkward silence after they both acknowledge that it’s happening. He’s going, and she’s relieved, right? 

No. Not right. It’s not right on any level. She knows that, and there’s no other word for it but weird. 

She’s not exactly coping with the weird—his, hers, theirs. She’s not acing this part of things, and then it seems she doesn’t have to. He gets a phone call, and so does she. He’s not leaving after all, and she knows how this goes. She ramps up her fury. She is going to kill him. He was supposed to be out of her life. She draws herself up and prepares to meet his look of smug satisfaction. 

But there isn’t one. He cowers instead. He insists he had nothing to do with either phone call. It’s fine. It’s a variation on a theme. It’s her twisting his ear and him frantically crying, “Apples.” That’s all it is. 

She’s sure. 

She’s pretty sure. 

Except . . . 

They’re heading out from the scene of the murder—the new are you coming, or what? murder. They’re sliding into their respective seats in her unmarked, belting in, getting ready to peel away from the curb. She turns the key in the ignition. His voice is so quiet, so drawn in that she can barely hear it over the sound of the car turning over.   

“I’m glad I still get to do this.” He looks up quickly, panic flashing across his face. “I didn’t—I swear I didn’t know Paula was going to call—I swear . . .” He looks back down at his own hands, fidgeting in his lap. “I know you were . . . you would have been glad to have this all over with, but I just . . . I’m glad it’s not.” 

The car idles. She doesn’t know what to do with this. The silence stretches out, but what he’s said lingers. The truth and vulnerability of it fills the silence up. He thought she’d be relieved—glad even. He’s uncertain of her. She feels a twinge of self-reproach, a bigger twinge of defensiveness—like she’s not uncertain of him? 

They are uncertain of each other and why wouldn’t they be? They’re not exactly in the habit of saying what they mean. So she does, for once. Kind of. 

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m glad, too.” She mumbles. She glares at him. “After all, I’m under orders to be glad, aren’t I?” 

He sits upright, his head swiveling toward her in surprise. “That you are, Detective. Under orders,” he says with a startled smile, and she can see tht he knows. 

She thinks he knows. 

A/N: . . . and then they totally made out in the car. But seriously. I like to imagine there was some acknowledgment that they really were on the verge of parting and were both unspooling over the possibility.

images via homeofthenutty

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

4. What fandom’s/ship’s fan fiction do you read the most?

5. What’s a crackship you love?

6. What’s the last thing you read that made you laugh?

7. What’s the last thing you read that made you cry?

8. Bed sharing or roommates AU?

10. Mutual pining or enemies to friends to lovers?

18. Do you have a fic reading/writing routine?

19. What’s your favorite character headcanon?

4. What fandom’s/ship’s fan fiction do you read the most?

Easy one. Disney Descendants, Harry Hook/Uma.

I mean, have you seen them?

5. What’s a crackship you love?

I'm not entirely sure what is a crackship? Like a ship that would be a disaster and I do not take it seriously?

Yeah let's go with that. I'm here for the chaos everyone.

Uma/Harry Hook/Claudine Frollo

I might be the only person who thinks it's interesting, but?? Claudine grew up in a cult?? Literally?? Uma is a descendant of greek Parthenon?? And Harry is very much starting a cult on Lost Revenge and I'll fight you on this??

It would be so bad for everyone involved, hell, everyone near, and I want to see it happen.

Mal/CJ Hook

Assuming that they're about the same age.

Are they really into each other? No.

Is their only mutual objective "let's piss off Harry" and "chaos!!"? Yes absolutely.

They also didn't break up properly before D1 and consequently, during Wicked World, the whole Auradon is very confused.

Uma/Harry Hook/Ben

The sheer amount of bullshit the pirates would get away with while dating the high king ✨

He's also their sugar daddy and doesn't know it.

Uma/Harry Hook/Audrey Rose

I think they'd get along swimmingly and it would be absolutely terrifying for everyone else.

It's also like weird qpr situation?? The tabloids are getting headaches.

Like, Audrey (an aro ace) went "so you think a princess should be involved in a proper romantic and sexual relationship? Fine yeah I can do that."

And no one had a good time ever since ✨

...And yeah I should probably stop there.

7. What’s the last thing you read that made you cry?

My math exam. Does that count?

... Really I'm not sure.

8. Bed sharing or roommates AU?

...Neither?

None of these are gonna make me click on a fic if that's all that is going on.

But bed sharing I guess. There is probably some angst and/or hurt/comfort too.

10. Mutual pining or enemies to friends to lovers?

I don't like romance tropes on their own-

Like, get to it already. I don't have all day.

Enemies to lovers I guess? But I will be disappointed if weapons are not involved.

18. Do you have a fic reading/writing routine?

During the school year, yeah, I'd write Sunday evening or the evening before exam! Kind of like, well it's not like I'd do anything productive now, so I might as well ✨

19. Do you have a favourite character headcanon?

I have way too much of these. It's what I do in my free time.

Can you give me a character?

[mlobsters]

supernatural s12e14 somewhere between heaven and hell (w. davy perez)

something to be said that they've managed to make me dislike the british mol plotline in new and exciting ways

SAM Yeah. Dude, why don’t you take a shower and change your clothes. You’ve been wearing the same pair of boxers for four days. DEAN Okay, one, weird that you know how much underwear I packed. SAM That’s what’s weird about this? DEAN And B, it’s two and two. Doesn’t count if you flip ‘em inside out.

okay, gross, dean-o. but also, sam, he's got you there, that is in fact weird.

goddamnit davy. i was willing to let it die that i couldn't figure out what paul reiser uses in mad about you (1->B or A->2) because even after literally watching several full episodes and handfuls of clips i couldn't find an instance of it but now i'm gonna end up doing it again. reminded me though i had forgotten about the occasional crossovers with friends it had, via phoebe/ursula (mostly). and also i love helen hunt

SAM Same as the others. I-I made a computer algorithm that scrapes data from police scanners, emergency calls, uh, local news sites, and then it puts everything through a h--

[Dean stares at Sam] SAM The computer told me. DEAN Computers. Monsters, porn. Is there anything they can't do?

i'm staring at sam for different reasons -_- stupid lies, stupid bmol

DEAN I'm using that fancy shampoo you keep hidden from me.

should make a tag for all the things that i thought were fanon but turn out to be canon

cas with the tabloid giving the goofy xfiles vibes, following up with the manager and the reptilian alien theory

HERB Most sheeple can't handle the truth. But not me. I'm woke. It's why I don't use, uh, new tech. Anything past '96, it's a trap. You know…Palm Pilot. It's more like Tracking Device. Am I right?

made me laugh out loud. another blast from the past. i tried to use an old first generation palm pilot but i just couldn't get the swing of putting shit down anywhere because i didn't use an organizer on paper either. wasn't until my memory went to (even more) shit and i could put things in my calendar and have my phone scream at me about it did i really appreciate it

they've been giving them better fitted suits lately, both lookin sharp

DEAN Tell her what? No, seriously, Sam, what are you gonna say? “Hi, my name is Sam Winchester. This is my much handsomer brother Dean. We hunt monsters. Oh, and that guy you were banging? We're pretty sure he made a deal with a demon, so a hellhound came and dragged his soul to Hell. But you? You're cool. And since there's nothing around for us to kill, peace out.”

much handsomer :p

it's funny how i have zero faith in crowley's ability to keep lucifer locked up. maybe that's the point. but it's kind of sad :p i like how clever and wily crowley can be, but they've done a good job building up lucifer (to me, and i basically ignore what he did jumping around meatsuits recently 🤪)

they're sure doing a thing with these two

did this hellhound get out and go rogue because crowley's too busy playing with lucifer?

ah funny, this angel kelvin is in the boys too - 32 episodes! as black noir

CROWLEY Right after God said, “Let there be light,” he -- he made a whole bunch of things -- posies, koalas, hellhounds. He wanted The Creator's best friend, but the hounds were too vicious. So he planned on having them all put down, until along came our favorite fallen angel. He rescued one of the hounds -- a pregnant bitch named Ramsey. DEAN Why don't you just tell her to heel? CROWLEY I can't control her. No one can. She's loyal only to Lucifer.

the snort of derision i just made. so ridiculous

DEAN Great. So we have a hellhound who's gunning for revenge, and it's personal. Ah. Just when I thought this gig couldn't get any weirder… CROWLEY Oh. It can always get weirder.

-_-

DEAN You tend to ride the brakes. SAM Dean, I know how to drive. DEAN I'm just saying. Okay, just imagine she's a… a beautiful woman. SAM Oh, come on. Get out of here. DEAN A beautiful, beautiful woman. SAM I'm done. DEAN Sam… CROWLEY Ew.

somewhere someone surely has kept track of how many times sam has driven baby because it's been a decent amount :p like leaning into a fandom trope

CASTIEL Joshua. I thought he stepped aside. KELVIN He did. But like I said, all hands on deck situation. Imagine it, Castiel -- free to come and go as you please, part of your family, your true family, again. Look… the Gardener's got a plan. All we ask is that you hear us, hear him out. For the greater good.

(another person who says castiel how i expected it to be said, CASStiel as opposed to castiEL) ok more heavenly politics i'll forget but i like this guy more at least and cas being healthily and visibly skeptical helps. joshua, gardener, ok. like the dude they talked to in heaven in s5? 🥴

DEAN Yeah, well, I guess we've all changed. I got predictable. You got soft. I mean, a few years ago, who'd have thought you'd be helping us save the girl of the week? CROWLEY I don't care about her. DEAN Yeah, well, maybe we rubbed off on you. CROWLEY Don't flatter yourself. DEAN You saved Cas.

took an absurd amount of scraping through memories to figure out what that was. i was like oh when crowley gave him the grace that he was dying from lack of? no that was a long time ago, surely there's something more recent. oh right, snapping the .... lance of michael? to stop cas from rotting all of *checks notes* 3 episodes ago in 12x12

CROWLEY Just to spare myself the Winchester Manpain-- you lot moping about like a bunch of schoolgirls. DEAN Well, I just wanna say thank you. CROWLEY Or…a few years ago, who would've thought you'd be working with the King of Hell? Maybe you've rubbed off on me. Maybe I've rubbed off all over you.

deflect from being called out on doing something good by being gross, of course :p also a move in dean's repertoire

GWEN I… I don't think I even know what “okay” means anymore. Marcus… going camping was my idea. I took him out there even though I knew. I knew it was over. I liked Marcus. He was sweet and kind. And he loved me. More than I ever loved him. More than… If I'd just told him… If I… Why couldn't I just tell him the truth? SAM Gwen… GWEN Yeah, but I didn't. [Voice breaking] I lied. I lied to make things easier. I… I'm sorry. I… We should go.

not sure what the point of that was other than an excuse to have them pulled over and not moving, give her another emotional scene

hopefully pretty girl of the week will feel less guilty since she saved sam from the hellhound long enough that he could kill it

CROWLEY You make me your dog, I'll make you my slave. That chain around your neck? Was nothing. A stylish accessory. This vessel… That's your true prison. It's been warded with runes and spellwork from the Cage, carved into every molecule. In there? I own you.

CASTIEL She’s with Dagon, Prince of Hell.

answers my princess question

are you making good choices, castiel? 🧐 going to heaven without telling sam and dean what's going on doesn't seem like the best choice but what do i know

DEAN Mm, is that your computer talking to you again? SAM Uh… No. Um… It's, uh… Mick Davies. DEAN What? SAM Dean… I don't have a computer program feeding me cases. I-I, uh… Gwen? Every job we've worked in the last two weeks? They've come from the British Men of Letters. DEAN Really? SAM Yeah. I didn't tell you 'cause I know how much you hate them. DEAN No, we hate them. Us. Together.

have heard the we/us thing

SAM I-I get that. Yeah, I do. But -- but… Dean, because of Mick and his guys, the Alpha Vampire is dead. They get results. I don't like them either, but-- but if-- if we can save people, then it… Either way, I-I shouldn't have lied to you. And… I'm sorry, man. I-I… DEAN Well, okay. SAM Okay? DEAN What do you want me to say? Do I like it? No. Do I trust them? Hell, no. But you're right. We work with people we don't trust all the time. I mean, hell, I just Liam Neeson'd it up with Crowley. So if you wanna give this a shot, then… [ Scoffs ] Fine. But the minute-- and I mean the second-- something feels off, we bail. SAM Yeah. Of course. Deal.

look at them, they're so mature now! talking things out almost right away, apologizing for the lying, dean being reasonable in listening to sam's argument and agreeing with him despite the strong feelings. so proud

[gryffindordaughterofathena]

OK, question time!

Back in med school, it was well known that many students admired Ethan Ramsey’s work (Diana included). Now she attends a medical school alumni reunion at her alma matter. And everybody knows that Diana and Ethan are dating/engaged/married. What’s their former classmates’ reaction when they see her? Do they gossip about it? Do they treat her differently? Does Ethan attend the event as her plus one or does Diana attend by herself because plus ones are not allowed?

You asked this ages ago, but I wanted to answer this with a fic, I am so sorry for the long wait😭

INVISIBLE STRING

Book : Open Heart

Pairing : Ethan Ramsey x Diana Ramirez

Word Count : 864 words

Rating : General

Category : Fluff

Trope : And that med-school ex

Warning : None

Summary : Ethan and Diana attend a med school reunion and find things that connected them for years.

A/N : Are we surprised that the title is another TS song? Also, E and D were both from JHU, so technically they are each other's plus ones.

In the dim string lights strewn across the campus grounds two lone figures walk, their hands entangled in a practiced ease. "I don't know why I let you talk me into this.", the man says, his feet dragging in feigned reluctance.

"Because I am your wife and the love of your life and you can't say no to me?"

"Who said anything about the love of my life?"

"You take that back right now Ethan Ramsey.", her face scrunches up in a pout, which immediately softens as Ethan bends down to kiss her.

"I promise we'll leave the moment it starts getting weird or boring."

"I'll hold you to that promise Rookie."

………….…….…………..

"Is that Ethan Ramsey?"

"With Diana Ramirez?"

"I heard they were married?"

"Is it though? There was nothing in the tabloids?"

"I heard he is extremely private."

"Have you seen him? I'd be private too."

Whispers followed them as they made their way through the hall, whispers they were quite accustomed to by now.

"They are talking about us. Again." Ethan grumbles for what seems to be the hundredth time.

"Just a few minutes more and Arjun and Caitlin will be here soon. And then we can be around normal people. Till then we can go chat with some of our professors. I heard that Professor Mori will be here, let's go meet her."

………….…….…………..

The older woman's face splits into a dazzling smile the moment she spots Diana tugging along Ethan with her.

"If it isn't my two favorite students together.I didn't think you would come"

"Diana forced me obviously."

"At least one of you is the voice of reason then.", the familiarity of the well practiced gentle admonishment from Professor Mori was enough to put them at ease.

"So how long have you two been married?"

"Since last October actually."

"And in these five months she has already worked her magic on you, didn't believe I'd see the day Ethan Ramsey will bring a date to a reunion, much less a wife."

"It's the other way round actually, I am here as her plus one."

"Hah! How the turntables, Diana's been making news lately, your paper on vestibular ataxia has been garnering a lot of good reviews these days.", she turned to Diana. "Actually I wanted to talk about it with you. If you could spare a few minutes."

………….…….…………..

"I am surprised you actually showed up Ethan.", a voice he hadn't thought of in years, startled him from his reverie.

Isabella White

"Although I had a feeling you would be here this year, what with your fairly unknown wife needing all the introductions in our field."

"You really should broaden your horizons regarding the people you share an alumni matter with Doctor White."

"What do you mean?"

"The fact that Doctor Ramirez, youngest keynote speaker at WHO medical symposium doesn't need introductions at her own med school."

The approaching figure in red, draws his attention in a way that he misses the smug smile on Isabella's face fall.

"Hey sorry, I couldn't get away from Doctor Toussaint and his team faster, got into the bit where he started recounting the day Sienna told you he was asking for you."

"Of course he would say that."

"Oh who's that you're talking with?"

"This is Dr. Isabella White, we were in the same year."

"We dated back in our Med School days."

"Oh Tobias and Ethan told me a lot about you." Her smile, successful enough to hide her steely gaze.

Fighting fire with fire

"Well we should be going, it was nice meeting you." From her tone it was anything but.

………….…….…………..

"So, where are you taking me?"

"The place where I went to think."

"Are you sure it's not the library?"

"No, that's the spot where I went to not think."

Starlight and string lights lead them through the campus, through memories of bygone days.

Diana leads him to a sheltered alcove by the internal medicine building.

"I used to come here alone, with your book."

"This place hasn't changed a bit."

"I didn't think anyone knew about this place."

"Probably not many people do, people hardly come here to the back."

"But you did."

"In my final year after the falling out with Tobias, I found this place, I used to sit here and—"

"brood?", a soft adoring smile plays on her face.

"Yeah probably."

"See this little broken edge? That was me."

"I always thought who would have an agenda against garden decorations"

Sitting in silence was never difficult for them as long as they had their fingers intertwined.

It was Diana who broke the silence, "I just find it odd that we both found this place in our different times here, I know you don't believe in soulmates but—"

He doesn't let her continue, his sudden movement in drawing her to him silencing her mid-speech.

His lips captures hers in the blink of an eye, the wind picking up the little murmured, "no, but I am starting to."

A/N : If you've read this far, thank you ❤ this fic probably doesn't make much sense (I am terribly sleep deprived) but I wanted to write Ethan being starry eyed about how amazing his wife is, so you get this 🤷🏾‍♀

Tags : @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

Perma :

@a-crepusculo | @choicesfanaf | @coffeeheartaddict2 | @crazy-loca-blog | @genevievemd | @headoverheelsforramsey | @jamespotterthefirst | @jerzwriter | @maurine07 | @mm2305 | @natureblooms24 | @potionsprefect | @quixoticdreamer16 | @rookiemartin | @rosebudde | @schnitzelbutterfingers | @shreyasrivathsa | @sincerelyscarring | @sweetheartdetectivex | @terrm9 | @zahrachoices

Ethan x Diana :

@detective-rose | @queencarb