#suits his design more in my opinion

[anarmel]

my design of older Eddie

[royaltea000]

Qitian dasheng and other outfit concept sketches

[darabeatha]

/ I think f.ate moved way too fast on o.dysseus

[trashytracktales]

Inked | LN⁴

. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── While Lando is away for a triple-header, she decides to surprise him with something bold. The moment he catches sight of it as she gets ready for an exclusive event, he’s completely captivated and, what begins as surprise quickly ignites into passion, as Lando makes it clear just how much he appreciates every inch of her inked skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── explicit

. ݁₊ ⊹ category ──── F/M

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, detailed depictions of sex, public teasing & suggestive behavior, possessiveness & intense emotional intimacy, praising, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, fingering, overstimulation, continued intimacy after initial climax.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 4.2k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Jan. 25, 2025

. ݁₊ ⊹ a/n ──── Inspired by anon & based on THIS ASK 🤍 I couldn’t get BackTattoo!Reader out of my head, so now I am subjecting all of you to my interests. I have nothing to say except that this is simply, pure filth hehe. Enjoy ^^

. ݁₊ ⊹ dedication ──── @landooscurls this one’s for you, sweetie. No, I won’t elaborate, you know why 💋

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

IT’S EIGHT O’CLOCK when Lando adjusts the cuffs of his tailored suit. His tie is still untied around his neck, a clear indication of his second-guessing habits.

His focus has been elsewhere completely ever since he got back home. More specifically, his girlfriend. After a triple header, sponsorships are the last thing he wants to deal with being back in Monaco, but he is content with the fact that she can accompany him this time.

On the counter, his phone is constantly buzzing with messages about tonight’s event. It’s supposed to be a big deal, but for Lando, every contract is the same. More or less.

No tie, he decides in the end.

Across the hall, she’s still in the bedroom, standing in front of the floor-length mirror. She’s chosen a dress that perfectly fits the grandeur of the event — a sleek, midnight-black gown with an open back that dips low, revealing her shoulders, spine, and the ink she’s been keeping a secret for a couple of weeks now. She is a bit nervous about it, because she’s been planning this for a long time, and his reaction might make or break her heart.

She’s aware of Lando’s opinion on tattoos. For now, at least, he wouldn’t get one, but he designed most of his helmets, merch and has a pretty good taste in cars. Even though she’s not sure yet how, she’s convinced that his ability to recognize art is transferable.

As she adjusts the delicate straps of the dress, she catches sight of herself in the mirror. Her tattoo is intricate, sprawling across the lower part of her back. The design is abstract, a mix of delicate lines and bold shading, flowing with the natural contours of her back. It’s a piece she’s thought about for years, and it feels like a part of her now.

Lando, finally deciding to stop stalling, heads toward the bedroom, calling out, “Babe, have you seen my cufflinks? I’m not sure—” he steps into the doorway and freezes mid-sentence, while eyes widen, immediately locking onto her reflection in the mirror. “What is that?”

She startles slightly at his tone, meeting his gaze while deliberately holding back a smile.

“Surprise?” she asks a little unsure.

Lando’s jaw tightens as he takes a step closer. “Turn around,” he says, his voice a mix between demand and curiosity.

She arches an eyebrow but obliges, slowly spinning before turning her back again. “You like it?” she asks lightly, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Like it?” he echoes, his hand already reaching out instinctively to touch her. His fingertips hover over the ink, tracing the air above it before gently sliding on her skin. “When the hell did you get this?” asks Lando, still questioning the authenticity of it, even though the proof is right in front of him.

“While you were away,” she answers, her smile widening. “I... please, be honest.”

“Well,” Lando begins, stepping closer until his chest nearly brushes her back. His hands slide to her waist, holding her firmly as he studies the tattoo, his breath warm against her neck. “It’s incredible,” he admits, the sincerity in his tone making her stomach flip.

Her laugh is soft, “Really?”

Lando’s eyes slide down her back, inhaling sharply, “Yeah. I think it’s fucking hot, baby. Let me see you.”

She closes her eyes for a short moment, her heart beating faster, but she’s more relaxed now.

“You’re supposed to be getting ready,” she says, turning around in his arms. “Come on, we’re already late.”

Lando scoffs, “I’m supposed to be doing a lot of things,” he agrees, his lips brushing against hers, while his eyes remain glued to her reflection in the mirror, “But I don’t think I can leave this apartment now.”

Her cheeks heat, stepping out of his hold. “Yes, you can. You can admire it later.”

“Later,” he repeats, sighing dramatically. “As if I’m not already obsessed with it.”

She moves back to the mirror, adjusting the delicate drop earrings she’s chosen, while Lando watches her with a mix of admiration and lingering distraction.

When she catches him staring, she smirks. “Where’s your tie?”

Lando puffs out a sigh, stepping back toward his side of the room. “I left it on the counter. Don’t feel like wearing one tonight,” he says, his gaze flickering back to her every few seconds, unable to help himself. “Just so you know,” he continues, his voice trailing off as he shakes his head, “I’m done for tonight.”

“Mission accomplished,” she quips, throwing him a wink.

THE VENUE IS screaming with opulence, a grand hotel perched high above the marina, its sprawling terraces and gilded architecture lit up against the night sky. Expensive cars line the valet entrance, and the air hums with a quiet kind of wealth — the kind that doesn’t need to flaunt itself because it’s simply understood.

Inside, every detail is curated to perfection, from the massive crystal chandeliers casting warm light onto marble floors, to the intricate floral arrangements placed at every corner.

Lando’s hand rests instinctively on her lower back as they walk in, the warmth of his palm sending a shiver down her spine. He’s polite and attentive as he nods to the occasional familiar face, but judging by the firm touch, his focus is clearly on her.

After chitchatting with various people, they stop at the bar to grab drinks, and as she leans slightly forward to give her order, the light catches the details of her tattoo again.

Lando exhales sharply, gripping his glass tighter than necessary.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” he says under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. “Can you at least stop doing that?”

She glances over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Doing what?”

“You know exactly what,” he counters, his voice low, but there’s a heat behind his words that makes her cheeks flush.

Before she can respond, another guest approaches to congratulate Lando on the sponsorship deal, and he’s forced to shift his attention momentarily. But even as he chats politely, his fingers find their way back to her lower back, tracing light circles against her skin, a silent claim, and a way to keep himself grounded.

A couple of hours later, Lando sits next to her at their table, his hand casually resting on the back of her chair. His smile is charming, seamlessly participating in the conversation that flies around the table. Yet, every so often, his eyes drift to her, taking in the way the delicate fabric of her dress.

She catches his gaze, raising an eyebrow in question, but he only grins and pulls out his phone. A few seconds later, a vibration hums against her thigh.

Lando: I’ve been thinking…

Reader: Not good.

L: We never did it in public, did we?

Her breath hitches, and she glances at him sharply, finding his expression impossibly casual as he sips from his glass.

She types back quickly.

R: No, we didn’t. Also, offended you had to ask.

L: Just making sure. So...?

R: NO. That’s illegal.

Another vibration follows almost immediately, his reply making her cheeks heat.

L: Only if we get caught 👀

She clenches her phone tightly, her flushed cheeks betraying her as she stares at the glass in her hand. Lando chuckles softly beside her, the sound silent enough for only her to hear.

His hand moves from the back of her chair to her bare back, his fingers brushing gently against her skin, the warmth of his touch giving her goosebumps.

L: ?

L: ??

L: You look so hot when you’re ignoring me.

L: Yeah, just like that 🥵🥵

Her grip tightens on her glass, and she dares a quick glance at him. He’s typing something else, his thumb moving lazily over his screen as if they weren’t in the middle of a packed room.

L: Turns me on almost as much as that tattoo.

She swallows hard, her cheeks catching fire. Her back straightens slightly as she tries to maintain composure, but his next text nearly makes her choke on air.

L: I’m thinking doggy tonight?? Wanna stare at it while you’re wrapped around me.

Her hands drop to her lap, pressing the phone down like it might combust. Lando’s fingers trace slow patterns along the edge of her tattoo now, his touch light but intentional.

Then, another vibration.

L: Non-negotiable.

She turns to him again, and he meets her gaze with a smirk so smug it nearly makes her gasp.

Lando leans in, brushing his lips close to her ear under the guise of conversation, and whispers, “Something wrong, love?”

Her only response is a roll of her eyes, and a desperate sip of her drink, which he watches with clear amusement.

While caught in their bubble, the room buzzes with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses, but it all fades into background noise as she places her palm on Lando’s thigh under the table. Her fingers glide upward with deliberate slowness, inching closer to his already semi-hard length. The moment she palms him through his trousers, Lando’s breath stutters, and he shifts in his chair, pretending to adjust his posture.

“Something wrong, love?” she copies his tone from earlier, the corners of her mouth rising in triumph.

As a response, Lando places his hand over hers, and for a brief second, she thinks he’s going to push her away. But instead, his long fingers cover hers, guiding her movements, and her smile flatters. Her breath hitches at the boldness of it, and she turns her head slightly toward him, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and anticipation.

Lando flashes her a smile, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispers, “Seriously, baby. I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m not going to bend you over this table and fuck you in front of all these people.”

She swallows hard at his affirmation, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she whispers back, “Maybe because I want you to.”

His smile turns into a wicked smirk, his eyes flashing with something dark under his long, thick eyelashes. Without another word, Lando removes her hand, intertwining their fingers and pulling her to her feet. She blinks in confusion, but follows his lead, her heels clicking against the polished floor as he guides her toward the exit.

THE DRIVE HOME is pure torture, the air in the car thick with tension. Lando grips the steering wheel with one hand, his other hand firmly holding hers. Every now and then, he brings her knuckles to his lips, pressing tender kisses to her skin as if trying to soothe the storm brewing inside both of them. Her chest rises and falls nervously, her thighs pressing together to quell the ache building between them.

When they finally reach the apartment, they barely make it through the door before their hands are on each other. Stumbling backward, they move toward the bedroom, Lando’s lips brushing hers in quick, heated kisses. His hand blindly fumbles for the light switches along the way, filling the space with bright light.

“I want to see everything,” comes his excuse, breathing heavily against her lips, his voice husky with desire.

“You look so handsome,” she says as a realization. “Should’ve told you earlier—”

“Technical details,” Lando cuts her off, his hands already slipping beneath the straps of her dress.

One by one, their clothes fall to the floor, leaving a trail of discarded fabric they’re bound to trip over in the morning.

When her dress slides off her shoulders and pools at her feet, Lando freezes for a moment, taking her in. Every inch of her seems like has be sculpted for his eyes only, making her blush intensely under the weight of his gaze, knowing what kind of thoughts run through his mind.

The lights casts soft shadows over her skin, accentuating every curve, forcing a low groan out of Lando, as he strokes himself, pumping his cock a few times in his hand while his eyes drink her in.

“On all fours,” he orders gently, his voice thick with need.

She shifts into position, her movements slightly rushed, yet sensual, and the sight of her like this nearly makes him lose it. As he positions himself behind her, his hands trail reverently over her hips and down her thighs, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.

Almost obsessively, Lando’s hand starts tracing her tattoo, his fingers skating over the inked lines like he needs to memorize every detail as quickly as possible. The sight of it beneath his touch makes him harder, his cock pressing insistently against her ass. He lets himself rest there for a moment, one hand gripping her hip to angle her just right while the other slides between her legs. Gently, he parts her folds, and the moment he feels her slick heat, his breath catches in his throat. She instinctively presses into his touch, a small whimper escaping her lips as her body responds to him like it always does — so ready and inviting.

“That’s my good girl,” his thumb circles her clit briefly, satisfied with her silent response before he removes his hand, and gripping her hip to steady her as he lines himself up.

When he pushes in, the tight warmth is making him suck in a sharp breath. Her sensitive walls clench lightly around him, and he can’t help but let out a shaky moan. Her slickness allows him to set a rhythm effortlessly, each thrust accompanied by the soft slap of skin on skin.

His hands guide her hips, ensuring her rhythm matches his, while his eyes remain glued to the ink on her back; it is hypnotic, his palm sweeping over the tattoo as if claiming it along with her.

“Lan…” her eyes close in pleasure, pushing back against his slow, agonizing thrusts.

“I know,” he rasps, his voice breaking as he goes deeper; she lets out another moan in response, her body arching to meet him with every stroke.

The connection between them feels ancient, profound, electric, her breaths mixing with his in the air around them.

As his speed increases, Lando needs to adjust himself, grounding his foot against the mattress and lifting one knee for better leverage. The new position gives him absolute control, his thrusts precise and devastatingly deep. She feels as if he’s splitting her in two in the best way possible, as he alternates between slow, teasing movements that leave her whimpering, and hard, purposeful thrusts that have her crying out his name. Again, and again, until her voice cracks under the weight of euphoria that circulates throughout her body.

The sight of her beneath him, trembling with pleasure, and that tattoo that taunts back at him sends Lando careening toward the edge. He feels his climax building, but before he allows himself to exhale in relief, be pulls out abruptly but just in time, leaving her gasping at the sudden emptiness and clenching hard around nothing.

“Lando!” she protests, her elbows giving out as she collapses into the pillows. “Fuck, I was so close!”

A deep growl rumbles from his chest, his jaw flexing as his eyes darken. “My bad,” he breathes heavily, his hand wrapping around his slick cock, stroking himself with urgency, his swollen tip brushing her lower back.

With a guttural moan, he comes, his release painting her tattoo in warm, sticky streaks. The thought alone is enough to make her whimper at the sensation, her body so close to collapsing, as she realizes that’s just how he wanted to leave his mark on her this time.

Not quite done, Lando leans down to press a kiss to her shoulder, his breathing uneven and deep. Then, pulling back, he watches intently, almost mesmerized as he presses the pads of his fingers into her skin, spreading his release over the lines of her tattoo. There’s something maddening in the way he admires it, the contrast of white against her ink drawing a low hum from his throat.

His hand slides lower, gripping her ass as he speaks in a raspy voice, “You did so good with this. Putting on such a show for me from now on, hm?”

Her breath catches, but before she can respond, his palm lands a light slap on her ass, his grin smug as her body jolts slightly under his sudden touch. His cock twitches at the sight, still hard and insistent, and without another word, he guides himself back inside her.

The sensation pulls a moan from both of them, and he thrusts a couple more times, savoring the way her warmth envelopes him again. But his body gives in to exhaustion, and he collapses onto the mattress, pulling her with him. At that, doggy evolves into reverse cowgirl effortlessly, her thighs bracketing his hips as she straddles him. His hands find home on her waist, steadying her as she adjusts to the new — and quite unexpected — position.

Lando’s voice is low, encouraging, as he tells her, “Your turn, love. Let me see how beautiful you are.”

It is a good thing, she tells herself, that Lando can’t see her blush right now.

With a newfound determination, she starts to move experimentally at first, before finding her own rhythm. Each motion is hypnotic, her body arching and curving as she bounces on him, her head tilted back in pleasure.

Lando’s eyes trail her every move, from the sway of her hips to the lines of her body, and finally to his release, still glistening and dripping faintly from her lower back.

The sight is almost too much for him.

“Fucking hell,” he swears, his hands tightening on her waist as his hips lift slightly to meet her movements; he is well aware that this is her moment, but he can’t help himself. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Her pace quickens, the control she has over her pleasure intoxicating. She rides him with confidence now, her movements purposeful and demanding.

Lando watches her in delirium, his gaze locked on the tattoo that started it all. Every bounce and every grind, pushes him closer to losing his mind, and he can’t help but let her see exactly what she’s done to him, his eyes burning with admiration and lust.

In the haze of pleasure, she glances over her shoulder, curious to see him. The sight makes her heart skip more than one beat. Lando looks completely undone — his lips parted, curls damp and clinging to his forehead, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. Every muscle in his body is tense, his hands gripping her like a lifeline as his eyes remain locked on her tattoo.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales, voice hoarse and strained. “You look so good. Don’t stop, baby, please don’t stop.”

Her cheeks flush deeper at his praise, her own breathing ragged. Their bodies are slick with sweat and her wetness where they’re joined, the obscene sounds filling the room every time her hips meet his. The lewd rhythm of it only spurs her on, her movements growing more impatient.

“Yes,” she moans, the word drawn out as her head falls forward, overwhelmed by the intensity. “Can’t—shit, Lando.”

Her mind spins, every nerve alive with pleasure as she loses herself completely to him. Her body tightens around his cock, the pressure finally snapping as she falls over the edge, a cry of bliss leaving her lips in the form of his name.

The way her walls clench and pulse around him pulls a deep groan from Lando, and his grip on her waist tightens impossibly further.

“Fuck, that’s it. Fuck,” he repeats, his hips stuttering as he stills deep inside her, his release spilling into her this time. His head falls back against the pillow, jaw slack as he moans her name like a prayer, the pleasure washing over him in waves.

No one dares to move, but they’re both trembling from the intensity. The room feels warmer, the air heavy with the scent of sex and satisfaction as they catch their breath.

After she comes back to herself, she slowly rises to her knees, Lando’s cock slipping free, slapping against his lower abdomen, coated in the remnants of their shared pleasure. The slick mixture trails down her thighs, warm and unmistakable, and the oversensitivity makes her thighs press together instinctively as she falls beside him on the bed. Her breath still comes out in shallow pants, her body shaking with tiny replicas, completely spent.

Lando shifts beside her, reaching out to press a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering as he murmurs, “You’re a fucking masterpiece. I’ll never get enough of you.”

She lets out a soft moan, unexpected but undeniable, as his hand drapes her leg over his hip. Her body moves on autopilot, her hips rolling ever so slightly against his thigh, seeking a relief she doesn’t fully understand.

At that, Lando’s brows furrow in curiosity as he looks down at her, his voice gentle but slightly concerned. “Are you okay?”

Her answer is a shaky sigh, her body betraying her as her pussy presses harder against the solid muscle of his thigh. Lando’s gaze sharpens, his concern turning into realization, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he pushes her.

Shyness blooms across her face, and she shakes her head, her voice barely audible as she speaks, “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Lando leans in closer, his voice soft yet insistent. “Then why are you still squirming, hm?” his hand cups her cheek, tilting her face so their eyes meet. “Keep lying, and I’ll make you beg for it.”

Her breath hitches at his words, her body already responding as her hips move again, this time more deliberately.

Lando’s hand slides down to her waist, steadying her as his lips ghost over hers, his voice a whisper against her skin. “Such a needy little thing.”

The vulnerability in her eyes fades, replaced by desire, and with a small nod, she surrenders to him once more. Lando smiles, sitting up slowly, gazing down at her with a look that’s a mix of confidence that he knows her too well, and pure, unfiltered love.

She looks utterly radiant, sprawled out in his bed, with her skin glowing, her hair messy, and her lips slightly parted as she catches her breath. Moments like these always remind him of just how lucky he is to have her.

With a low grunt, Lando leans forward, positioning himself between her legs. His hands trail gently up her thighs, and as he hovers above her, he finally presses a soft kiss to her lips. It’s tender, an ephemeral moment to savor before his lips begin a journey down her body. He kisses her jaw, her neck, the soft swell of her chest, all while his hands roam, one cupping her breast while the other is tracing the curve of her waist.

As his lips descend, so does his hand, sliding between her thighs. His fingers part her folds gently, and he exhales deeply at how wet and warm she is. Without hesitation, he pushes a finger inside her, the slickness allowing him to glide with ease. He starts working with calculated moves, curling and pumping in and out, watching her reactions as her hips instinctively rock into his hand.

“There’s my pretty little liar,” he tells her in a low voice, filled with accusation. “Squeezing my finger so sweetly… Want more?”

She nods, making Lando smile just as his lips return to her skin, kissing her breasts, taking her nipple into his mouth and slides a second finger in, scissoring them to stretch her further. She whimpers, her body arching off the bed, fisting the sheets as the tension within her builds.

He doesn’t stop, his pace increasing, his fingers waving into her, hitting the perfect spot, again and again. The sound of her wetness grows louder, mixing with her soft moans and the whisper of his praises.

“So good for me, look at you,” says Lando, studying her face in admiration just as her body tenses, her head pressing back into the pillow as her orgasm washes over her. Her cries fill the room, and Lando continues stroking her, coaxing her through it, not stopping even as her thighs tremble around his hand.

Without warning, she gasps sharply, her body quivering as a sudden gush of liquid escapes her, soaking his hand and the sheets beneath them.

Lando freezes for a moment, his eyes wide as he realizes what just happened. “Holy shit,” he breathes, utterly amazed.

Her moans grow louder, her face flushed with pleasure and embarrassment. “Fuck. Sorry, I can’t stop—”

He cuts her off, leaning down to kiss her. “God, look at the mess you made,” he adds while his fingers trace the wetness on her thighs, completely captivated. “The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lando’s eyes sparkle with excitement as he sits up quickly, his cock already hardening again at the sight of her, his pride evident in the way he bites his lower lip. Impatiently, he strokes himself once, then presses the head of his cock against her drenched folds, slapping it lightly against her clit, the wet sound echoing in the room.

The obscene noise sends a thrill through both of them, but he still finds the power to smirk down at her.

“You look so beautiful like this. I’m kinda offended you’ve never squirted for me before,” Lando’s voice trails off, mesmerized by her leaking hole. “You’re fucking dripping, baby,” he continues, his hand dipping back between her legs, unable to resist touching her again. “Come here, I’m not done with you yet.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

GYSDFAFS

THANK YOU FOR THE TAG AND THINKING ABOUT ME!!!!

Nozel’s looks good! 

But. But I’m sorry to say this, but I hate Fue’s design with a burning passion T^T 

Yooooooooooo

YYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

BRAID GONE.

@thoughtfullyrainynightmare COME HERE AND LOOK AT THIIISSS

CHEST OUT. HAIR UP.

YYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOOO

[witherby]

What would happen if Mouse got sick? Like super, probably at deaths door kind of sick? ok maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit...But like almost 39 degrees fever, coughing to the point of gagging and vomiting, runny nose, fatigue, no appetite for anything, etc. Based off my own experiences when I get sick. I wanna know what they would do and who would panic the most. Who would lose the little sleep they already have even more. Who would think that the babeh is at deaths door. And who would be the most relieved when Mouse is better a few days later with the help of a paediatric approved medication

-🍨

I like this prompt a lot so I'm gonna do it. Hope u reaaaally like angst tho.

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 1

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Spoiler/content warning: Young sick child, fever, depiction of seizure ⚠️

It starts with a cough.

"Hey, careful," Jason says, patting your back. The water you'd been sipping sprays across the table as you choke. Tim reaches over to right the glass and Alfred goes and collects a rag to mop up the mess. "You okay?"

"Mhmm," you mutter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. "Sorry...I can clean it, grandpa Alfie."

"It's quite alright, Flittermouse." Alfred gently runs a hand through your hair. "Oh, my, you're quite warm. Why don't you head up to your room and I'll have someone bring a tray to you with soup and crackers?"

"Okay." You push your chair away from the table and duck underneath it, allowing the shadow of the furniture to swallow you up. Bruce watches the dark blob you've become slide out of the dining room and towards the stairs with less energy than usual.

"I'll take it, Alfred," Dick says before anyone else can volunteer, rising from his seat. He sets his leftovers in front of Jason as he passes, helping the butler prepare a tray for you. "Do we have any Tylenol for little kids? If not, I can just crush up a half-pill for them."

"Child-friendly medications will be found in the young master's en-suite bathroom cabinet," Alfred says. "It will just be a few minutes for the soup, Master Dick. I'd recommend you head upstairs and measure out a small dose for your sibling before it's ready."

"Kay, sure," he nods, excusing himself.

Dick hops up the stairs two at a time and enters the family wing of the manor, trailing his hand along the walls and door frames until he finds yours. He knocks lightly and rapidly, a silly little sequence to let you know which brother it is, then opens the door to let himself in.

Your bedroom is almost pitch black. Since the development of your powers, your space has changed to reflect your needs overtime, which means the overhead lightbulbs have been removed and the sheer, pastel blinds over your window have been replaced with thick blackout curtains. For your family who require some form of illumination to see, you have several night lights you pick and choose from; you currently have a round projector plugged in that casts aurora borealis across the ceiling (a gift from Tim) and you've activated the touch sensors installed in the floor that briefly light up everywhere Dick walks, leaving his footprints behind for several seconds until they fade away.

The furniture you originally had, designed in warm, woody colors with bright accents, have also been replaced with black hardware and dark materials. Your bed frame is a dip-dyed wood with silver accents, your mattress and sheets are black, and your dressers, nightstand, and closet have all been painted to match.

At first glance, the large bedroom looks like every goth kid's biggest dream, but the light from the hallway spills briefly into your space when Dick walks inside, showing the bright, colorful books sitting on your black bookshelves, the even more colorful clothes in your wardrobe, your vast collection of toys, and a litany of pictures and photos on all the walls. There is a vibrant, beautiful life in the darkness, which encapsulates you perfectly in his opinion.

"Hi, Flitty," he greets, moving slowly as his eyes adjust to the light. "Alfred's working on your soup, so big bro Dicky's here to do medicine time. Holler at me so I don't accidentally step on you in here."

"Okay," you say from his left. Dick turns and squints, spotting a lump on your bed. He smiles.

"There you are. Lemme see if there's any of the gummies in your med cabinet. Those ones don't taste all gross."

He steps into your bathroom and turns the fairy lights on, bathing the area in a soft glow, and rifles through your cabinet for a minute. Then he makes his way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it with some chewables and a glass of water.

"C'mere," he says, and you comply, shuffling across the bed to give him a quick hug. "Alright. Can you show me you're a big kid and take this for me? Then you'll get a nice bowl of soup and maybe some juice."

You comply without fuss. Dick hears more than he sees you take the medication in the low light, and you go back to hugging him when you're done. Dick wraps his arms around you and lies down, propping you mostly on his chest.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Just sleepy," you reply. "And my throat hurts kinda, from when I spit my water."

"Aw, I'm sorry. You only need to stay awake long enough to take a couple bites and then you can rest as long as you want."

"Okay...stay?"

Dick hums, running his fingers gently through your hair. He was supposed to go back to Blüdhaven this afternoon, but...

"Yeah, Flitty. I'll stay."

--

It turns into a fever.

"I'm sorry to turn you away when you've already come by, Delilah," Bruce says, meeting your private tutor in the vestibule. "Mouse came down with something yesterday, and I don't think they'll be up for lessons for the next few days. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, that's absolutely no problem, mister Wayne," the tutor smiles, shaking her head. "I wish them a speedy recovery! Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you. Take care!"

Bruce closes the door after seeing her out, the Charming Socialite mask slipping off his face as he heads for the stairs. He meets Alfred at the top with a nod, stepping past him and walking up to your bedroom door.

He gently knocks three times against the glossy wood, calling your name. "Can I come in?"

After a moment, he watches it click open, and you squint up at him in the doorway.

"Hi, daddy," you croak, voice dry and harsh from the progression of your flu. Bruce tuts and scoops your clammy body into his arms, carrying you back to your bed.

"Honey, you didn't have to come greet me," he says, "manners get thrown out the window when you're sick, remember? Let's get you tucked in."

You don't fuss or complain, which makes the worry flare up in Bruce's mind. He pushes it back, refusing to catastrophize a cold. All of his children get sick, it's not unheard of. A little fever is fine, and so is your lack of excitable energy. It's normal and expected.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You squirm a bit, kicking them down.

"Hot," you say, "sleepy."

Bruce compromises by tucking the blanket around your tummy instead. You don't push it down any further. He pulls out a thermometer from his pocket and scans your forehead.

"Yeah, you are running a bit hot," he admits. An even one hundred degrees. Should be easy enough to control with careful attention. "Alfred says you refused breakfast this morning. Do you want to try eating something small for lunch? More soup?"

You shake your head. "Not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry, pumpkin," Bruce says, gently squeezing your hand. "But you don't wanna starve, either. Then you'll shrink up like a raisin! How am I supposed to snuggle a raisin?"

You smile a bit and give a wheezy huff of laughter. Bruce smiles back.

"So, will you try? You can have anything you want. I just need to see you take a few bites of something."

"Okay, daddy. Want...um... I want more soup please."

"You can have more soup," Bruce promises, running a hand through your sweatslick hair. He reminds himself to run you a bath in a couple hours. Maybe after a nap. "Do you want anything else?"

"Mmmyeah. Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," he says. "Any story you want, after we get some soup in you."

You smile again. It eases the knot of dread in Bruce's chest.

--

It gets worse.

Three days into it, your fever spikes in the middle of the night. You completely refuse any sort of food or drink all day, despite the angry growling of your stomach, and the family unanimously decides to bring you to the hospital in the morning to get looked at. Dinner without you is full of worry and tense glances toward the family wing, and it seems like not a lot of sleep is going to be had before they find out the total extent of your illness.

When tossing and turning in bed for a few hours doesn't lead him anywhere, Damian decides to give in to the nagging in the back of his head and pop in your room to check on you. He rushes to your bed when he sees you seizing and gasping for breath. Your temperature's shot up to a hundred and six and you don't react when he tries to shake you awake.

Fearful and, for once, feeling every bit the child he still is, he clutches your body to his chest and screams.

"BABAA!!"

The door slams open in seconds, though to him it feels like an eternity. Hal and Jason are coaxing Damian to let go of you and Bruce climbs on the bed to roll you onto your side, carefully wiping the foam and drool away from your mouth while he checks your vitals. Tim is in the hallway calling 9-1-1 and texting Dick to let him know what's happening.

"Dami, you gotta move," Jason says, placing his hands overtop his brother's. Damian's grip on your arm is so tight it's bruising. "Let go, they're okay. Let go."

"I'm tracking their pulse, you dumb bastard!" Damian snaps. "Release me!"

"You're hurting them, Dames," Hal says in his ear, wrapping his arms around Damian's waist. "Bruce has them, now. You have to let go and get out of the way for the paramedics."

Green eyes snap to your arm. He seems to finally take stock of what he's doing and eases off, letting Hal pick him up and pass him off to Jason, who carries him into the hallway.

"Stay out here," Jason says. "It's our job to keep out of the way for now."

"Who's going to let the paramedics in?" Damian asks, trying to pry himself out of Jason's grip. As much as he tries to crane his neck, Jason's standing too far away from your door to let him see how you're doing, and his iron grip is unyielding.

"Alfred's by the gate controls, he'll let them inside."

Tim gets off the phone with the emergency dispatcher and glances at your door with a frown. Every hitching gasp and choke you make can be heard from the hall, along with Bruce and Hal's barely-concealed, panicked murmuring, and he crosses his arms tightly and shuffles over to Jason now that his task is done.

"Can we wait downstairs?" He mutters. Jason keeps one arm wrapped around Damian and slings the other around Tim's shoulders, guiding them to the staircase.

"I want to stay!" Damian insists, pulling against Jason, who ends up needing to sling the little assassin over his shoulder to get him to move. "Todd!!"

"Robin," Jason snaps in his best Batman impersonation. It's a damn good one, because Damian quiets immediately, stiffening in his arms and ceasing his struggling without further protest. Tim freezes beside him, but Jason just pats his back and keeps guiding him down the stairs.

The trio is quiet as they file into the main living room. Jason and Tim sit on the couch and Damian gets propped up in his brother's lap. Try as he might, he can't wiggle out of Jason's arms.

"This is asinine," he hisses. "I should be up there."

"Doin' what?" Jason asks. "Bruce and Hal are both in there with Mousey. Alfred's about to guide the EMTs inside. Tim called 911 and then told Dick the situation. You were the one that first found 'em and got help."

Jason gives Damian a squeeze, propping his chin on top of his head.

"You saved their life, Damian. Ya don't need to do more than that right now. Let the grown-ups take the reins for a while."

"But I —"

"You've done more than enough," Jason insists, not unkindly. His tone has been uncharacteristically soft the whole time, Damian realizes belatedly. "I'm sure they'll thank you when they come out the other side of this."

Damian didn't do it for your thanks. He did it because he loves you. Despite you quickly approaching the age where Bruce might offer you the Robin mantle soon, which has filled him with more anxiety and anger than he's had in a long time, he loves you dearly and doesn't want anything to befall you.

In spite of everything, he's your big brother and he loves you just as much as he can't stand you.

"They will be fine," he mutters firmly. "There's no alternative."

"Right," Tim speaks up. He sounds like he needs the reassurance just as much as Damian. "M is gonna be okay."

The three of them turn their heads when several pairs of footsteps enter the vestibule. Four paramedics rush in with a stretcher and duffel bags of medical equipment. Alfred orders them in the direction of your bedroom with simple, firm instructions, and they head off.

The butler then turns, spotting them out of his periphery, and he clears his throat and adjusts the belt around his robe. He's still in his sleepwear, having rushed out of bed to help prep for the emergency like everyone else.

"I've had my fair share of exciting nights," he comments, "but I must say, they never become more enjoyable. Why don't you all join me in the kitchen and I'll prepare some drinks? Hot chocolate should suffice on a chilly evening."

"Sounds fantastic," Jason says, hopping to his feet. He lifts Damian up with him, denying him the chance to refuse, and with a glance and jerk of his chin, coaxes Tim to get up and follow after.

"Put me down," Damian says, reaching up to tug on Jason's night shirt. "I won't run back upstairs. I swear."

"Yeah? You double-swear? Don't make me chase you, kid, I really do not have the patience."

"On Father's life," he insists.

Jason sets him on the floor. Damian follows them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island, cupping his hands around a warm mug of hot cocoa when Alfred hands it to him a couple minutes later. He watches the wisps of steam curl up into the air and dissipate, unable to stop thinking about your writhing body in bed. Your eyes had rolled back and your limbs had locked up, jerking uncontrollably. And the noises you were making...

The mug gives a foreboding creak under his grip. Alfred gently places his hand on Damian's back and gives it several soft pats.

"Do not fret, master Damian," he says, "our little Flittermouse is very resilient. An illness turning poorly won't keep them down for long."

"I know," he says. Alfred nods, and with a final brush against his shoulder, tends to Tim next to ensure he's also doing okay. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees him calmly drinking from his mug without so much as a furrow in his brow. But there's an almost imperceptible ricketing noise that means he's bouncing his leg nervously. It makes his stomach twist almost painfully, to know he's just as scared as everybody else.

Damian takes a deep breath. He sips his coco. He thinks of the froth pouring out of your mouth when Bruce rolled you into the recovery position. He puts the mug down.

He knows you'll be okay. You have to, because he just can't live with the alternative.

[virgobingo]

more insight on miles’ puerto rican heritage for your fics or fanart

- traditional quinceañeras (or as they are often called by puerto ricans quinceañeros) are really not that common anymore, most girls nowadays have pool parties or go on a cruise. if miles were to go to one of his cousins’ 15 birthday party, chances are it would be casual— no big poofy dress (his mom probably had one like that though)

edit: some people disagree on this. depends on how traditional your family and friend group is I guess, as well as which part of the island you’re from. on average, it seems to be a far bigger deal amongst some other latines. in my class in pr only 3 out of approx 30 girls had a big event like that. not a single one of my cousins had a traditional quince either so you could say I’m partly biased bc of my own experiences. i personally just had a big pool party

- plantains are a big part of our diet. also, pr being an island in the caribbean, coconut is in a lot of our desserts. if miles had to pick a favorite fruit I hc he’d pick either one of the two lol also please google our food, our food isn’t actually spicy so much as savory

- we “celebrate” thanksgiving like other americans. it’s about the only time we eat oven roasted turkey. for winter holidays (christmas eve/day, new years eve/day, three kings day/eve) oven roasted pork. chicken might be offered as a second option for people who don’t consume pork for whatever reason

- you’re pretty much taught how to dance as soon as you can walk. most of us have basic rhythms down. chances of miles dancing with his mom or friends at parties? astronomically high.

- the reason why our flag is everywhere, besides pride, is ‘cause it was illegal to own it. look up the gag law that prohibited us from even displaying it at our homes. so it’s actually an awesome detail in these movies

- this is my opinion/a fun fact but I feel like miles is basically an homage to black and puerto rican (specifically nuyorican) solidarity around the 70s-80s during the creation of hip-hop and rise of graffiti as a form of expression (you can easily read up on this or watch shows like the get down to learn more about this if you’re curious)

- whether you’re “nuyorican” or “from the island” spanglish is common so miles’ mixing english and spanish isn’t odd bc even rio does this as miles points out in the party scene. he isn’t a “no sabo” kid so much as someone with a strong accent. he understands his mom perfectly

- race ≠ ethnicity. there are plenty of black people in and from Puerto Rico, and miles’ pr family in the spiderverse films are designed to be for the most part afro-latine. so I wouldn’t really call him biracial

- the puerto rican day parade wouldn’t be a thing he skips, he’s gifted a special suit for it in a comic run. his puerto rican heritage is important to him!

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

Sexism in TOS: Worst Offender, or Progressive in Retrospect in Comparison?

I see a lot of folks claim that TOS was the most sexist of the Star Trek shows by a landslide -- and while I agree that it definitely suffered from the sexism of the times, I also have other perspectives to share to give some food for thought.

I am of course not insinuating that TOS isn't sexist -- it is, but I have to ask folks to consider the breadth and depth of Berman's sexism in his run and ask yourself: Was Gene Roddenberry genuinely more sexist in his storytelling and delivery than Rick Berman?

I'm not telling you to feel one way or the other, but all I ask is that you hear me out and consider some perspectives and make your own balanced assessments. Nobody is obligated to share my opinion, but it means a lot just to have folks hear it and see their thoughts on the subject. So here is what I was originally responding to:

Someone's response to this photo:

"Devil's advocate. This was a part of the popular form of cardio during the production time of TNG. Yes, it was heavily sexualised by men, but so is literally every other way women work out. Men have been caught taking pictures of women while trying to do dead lifts, running on tracks and working on sled machines. They post them online to share too. The fact is, there is no way a woman can be shown working out without it going there. And yeah,t hat includes the combat forms of workout they do in Star Trek. Just look at how Dax dresses when she spars with Worf. Yes, they're dating, but still, same goes when 7 does and any other female.

Aerobics routines like this were made dirty and cringy. This was what women wore then by and large. This is how the workout was done. We make it cringy."

My response to them:

"I respect your take, but I disagree on a few fronts.

The miniskirt was chosen by the TOS female cast, not the male cast, specifically requested by Grace LW and affirmed by Nichelle and Majel who would go on to vehemently defend the miniskirt over the years as comfortable and embraced by them.

Grace said it was comfortable and seen as a symbol of female sexual empowerment during the 60s and thought it would be a progressive garment (and turns out that it was, as it was later adapted and worn by male crew as a skant on TNG) -- FYI those were designed by a gay man and Gene approved them.

This was also supposed to be Spock's TMP outfit:

Literally lingerie.

We saw both Uhura (who saves Kirk in from Marlena Mirror Mirror) and Yeoman Landon (the first to initiate combat with a classic Kirk-esque kick to help the Captain being attacked in The Apple) carry out their combat training in their Starfleet uniforms without ever being made to change into any ridiculous workout gear.

In fact, I'd argue Jim Kirk was sexualized even more than the ladies of the week on the show and I saw his naked body more than anyone else's on a fairly regular basis. He wore red yoga tights while topless in Charlie X while the women wore full length gymnastic suits that covered their entire body. If anything, it went out of its way to avoid sexualizing women practicing fitness in those scenes and instead focused on Kirk.

Gene confessed that he asked to have Shatner filmed in suggestive/provocative ways to "give something to the ladies", so he -- as he said -- liked to "film him walking away" or have him conveniently busting out of his shirts in just about every episode as it were, because Shatner apparently had great assets. LOL

Gene made an effort to at least sexualize both if he was going to sexualize one, and he carried that attitude forward in wanting the m/m and f/f scenes in the background on Risa for TNG. He also insisted that the men and women wear skimpy outfits on THAT TNG planet. You know the one. LOL I mean the dudes even had on less than the women:

Gene also gave permission to K/S shippers to have their conventions back in the 70s when he was asked for permission. Gene and Nimoy felt with all the skimpy outfits they had the ladies wear, why not let the ladies and gay men have their fun, too? It's how we ended up with moments like this:

Yes, those are two people dressed up as Kirk and Spock's penises doing interpretive dance. Gene didn't give two damns. LOL

In my eyes, that was a very progressive take on Gene's part for the 60s. It was actually PARAMOUNT STUDIOS who had the big problem with K/S stories and vehemently tried to shut them down. Gene literally hired slash authors on his payroll and even had several slash stories/writers published in his official Star Trek books (The New Voyages & The New Voyages II).

I feel I saw Uhura and women in TOS engaged in more physical combat/altercations defending themselves that Troi or Bev were shown holding their own.

In fact, Kirk used to get furious when someone would "dress up" his female crew members without their consent (Trelane episode, Shore Leave episode) because like his male crew members, he wanted them to be treated professionally and to also have his male crew act professionally.

Berman brought some of his own personal biases into Star Trek that in some ways regressed it. While TOS had blatant sexism and was called on it time and again, that show was made in the 60s -- a solid 21 years before TNG. We as a modern audience understood why some of it was cringe/sexist due to the time period -- look at any other media coming out in the 60s and Star Trek was miles ahead of what other shows were doing.

Compare that to Berman who was churning sexist stuff out when women like Starbuck and Scully were simultaneously on screen on other programs airing, and we had already had Sigourney Weaver and other strong women in Holywood playing respectful roles.

In my eyes, there was no need of the sexism seen in TNG but especially VOY and ENT. There was no excuse for it when other shows were writing women far better and a number of those weren't even set in the future like Trek was, making it age even faster due to having those dated perspectives frequently highlighted.

In the Center Seat documentary as well as "The Fifty Year Mission" book you will find cast members, writers and other studio alumni who attest to this. Some discussions from "The Fifty Year Mission":

"First, Berman was supposed to have been a real sleaze ball . . . According to Terry Farrel, he would go on constantly about how her breasts weren't big enough, how she should do something about it, and how his secretary was a good example to follow as she had huge breasts. She even had to have fittings to get larger bras, and that was all done at his behest.

Later Berman and Braga developed a name for Jeri Ryan's character prior Seven of Nine. They originally called the character "perineum" which if you look it up it is the area between the anus and the scrotum. Later they floated the name "6 of 9". I mean, what does it tell you about where these two were coming from in the development of this character if they had names like that put forward in all seriousness for her?"

Gene Roddenberry also had some of his own more progressive ideas for TNG cut or watered down by Berman. Roddenberry agreed TNG should have homosexual relationships and representation at a con in the 80s and insisted on it in a meeting with his writers -- something Berman later would not honor. Gene wanted the AIDS episode, showing m/m and f/f in the Riza scenes -- these were some of Roddenberry's requests to include in TNG that Berman later stonewalled.

Berman's era was sadly dated by his own misogynist bias, IMO, to the point that it can somewhat hurt the shows he worked on through his cringe egoism and blatant disrespect toward his female cast.

There is a reason why Gene could keep female actresses working with him and Berman had a revolving door of women that he couldn't seem to keep working for him -- he was abhorrent to women, on and off set. Gene wasn't perfect at all, he had a lot of issues himself -- but Berman was a whole other level. Just look at what he did to poor Jolene Blalock, Marina Sirtis and his toxic commenting on her body weight which exacerbated her struggles with eating disorders, or how he treated and talked to Terry Farrell.

Anyway, just some food for thought. I'm not saying anyone is wrong regarding a take like that, but there are a variety of ways to look at this. Gene Roddenberry isn't a saint by any means, but it definitely bothers me how folks will tote the Berman era as if it were the lesser of two evils or the more progressive depiction of women when I felt there were far more concerning portrayals of women in his era with far less justification.

(P.S: I don't event want to go near the sheer amount of "creepy old dude/villain preys on innocent/naïve/scared young woman or little girl" stories there were in Berman's era, either. But that's a whole other can of worms I can write about in a part 2.)

[fayes-fics]

Ingénu

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: On his eighteenth birthday, Benedict loses his virginity with you on a warm summer's night...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Loss of male and female virginity. Sex education (sort of, mostly innocent leading innocent), vaginal sex, alfresco sex, withdrawal method, orgasms (them lucky kids). Childhood friends to lovers.

Word Count: 4.0k

Author’s Note: A fic I started more than two years ago, from THIS anon suggestion. Please note, the age of sexual consent in the UK is currently 16, so everyone is legal, although, in Regency, it was 10 (yikes). Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Err, enjoy! <3

Benedict Bridgerton.

If you were to give yourself to anyone before marriage, you know it would only ever be him. 

You grew up as neighbours, your family estate bordering his family’s in Kent. Born five months apart, it’s like destiny that you would be close. You shared your first chaste kiss when you were both twelve and then a French kiss at sixteen. And now, well, perhaps a lot more.

It’s his eighteenth birthday party when, while Colin draws attention to himself, Benedict grabs your hand and whisks you away without anyone noticing. Perhaps the brotherly distraction was by design. 

Wordlessly, he leads you far from the house into a small clearing in the woods around Aubrey Hall. There is a blanket, some pillows, and even some candle lanterns that he now lights. It appears he has something planned, and it causes a flutter in your stomach.

“Benedict, what is this?” you enquire sotto voce, his hand so large wrapped around yours. So safe.

“A quiet spot just for us,” he smiles back.

“To do what?”.

“To celebrate my birthday privately. In a manner that I know we are both so keen to,” he proclaims at first enigmatic, before clarifying: “You said you wanted to know a man before you are married, and I wish to know a woman.”

“But….” 

Beyond that, words fail.

You had indeed said as such just the other day. It was an idle, throwaway comment as you lay together in the long grass by the lake, squinting at the sun and enjoying the summer heat on your face. A languidness in your being had made you carefree with your words.

“It may be fine for you, Benedict, but I must be a maiden when I marry,” you point out.

“Well, what if you were to marry me someday?” he contends matter of fact.

“Is that a proposal?” you splutter. “Because I find it to be severely lacking.”

He chuckles at your affront. “No, you shall receive a ring when I propose,” he affirms.

“So, it is a when now, is it? “ you volley back, a smile tweaking your lips, unable to be anything but playful with him, as you have been for many a year now.

“Of that, you can be certain.”

There is a seductive edge to his voice, which seems so much older than his eighteen years; it’s quite captivating.

“But how can you be certain my answer will be yes?”

“I cannot,” he admits, seeming bemused by your quirked brow. “But I hope it will be after tonight.”

“And how can you be sure of my answer about tonight?” So much fun to toy with him.

“Again, I cannot,” he replies with a slight shrug but a soft, crooked smile. “I can only hope you deem me worthy,” he adds, gesturing around you.

“It is rather romantic,” you allow, watching in the lantern glow as he breaks into a much bigger grin that reaches his eyes. Candle reflections dance in his enlarged pupils. 

“I am so pleased you think so,” he beams. “I rather suspect Anthony plans to take me to a brothel this weekend. He did as such for his eighteenth and is of the firm opinion that I should follow suit. But in truth, I, well… “ he hesitates and takes a step forward, grabbing both of your hands in his. “...I want my first experience to be with you.”

The heartfelt, almost bashful admission has you squeezing his hands reassuringly, hoping it silently telegraphs how much you want the same, despite your reservations about preserving your honour.

“May I kiss you?” His tone is so sweet you don't want to say no.

Instead of answering with words, you push up onto tiptoes and land your lips on his. It’s familiar and exciting all at once. You’ve kissed secretly a few times now, and on each occasion, it has been incredible—like a live wire sparking between you. You push into his tall frame as your mouths open and your tongues gently touch. He tastes of peaty scotch and the smoky tinge of cigars, both likely birthday indulgences. 

His hold around your waist tightens as your kisses get more insistent and probing, tongues parrying. This time feels different—portending something more profound. Only breaking apart to take a breath, then, after a fleeting exchange of shy smiles, your lips smashing back together urgently, exploring anew.

As you cling to his waistcoat, his hands slide down your dress to grab your bottom, making you squeak into his mouth. You've never been grasped there before, and his fingers seem to span the whole of your cheeks. You stutter his name as your lips part, his aromatic breath gusting over your face as he flexes his fingers. He observes your face closely, the material of your dress bunching between his knuckles. 

“I like the feel of your bottom,” he declares with tender honesty.

You beam up at him and trace your hand down his back, running over the crisscross pattern of laces on his waistcoat before landing on his behind. His eyebrows raise as you splay your fingers over rounded, taut muscle.

“I like yours too,” you respond in kind, emboldened by how his pupils dilate and his mouth falls open at your pluckiness.

One of his hands moves to cup your jaw, diving in for another kiss, more demanding than before, your boldness catalysing a new urgency in him. His fingers trail down your neck, skating over your pulse point that you know is hammering hard, then sweeping lower over your shoulder.

“Is… is this alright for you?” His voice is full of awe as those fingers slip inside your dress, the heel of his palm resting lightly on your collarbone.

“Y… yes, it’s… wonderful, actually.”

It seems like he is mapping your skin, the contours of bone and muscle across your chest, sinking lower until his hand is resting on the swell of your breast. He worms inside your neckline, and two fingertips catch against your nipple. It pebbles hard at the slightest brush, your breath catching. You meet his blistering stare as he slowly swipes a finger over the puckered skin again. Heat prickles through you, a heavy tingle between your legs.

“Does that feel good?” 

His timbre is a beguiling mix of tease and hope as his fingertips gently swirl a circle around your areola. You nod, your lower lip snagging under your top tooth as a new tide of sensation washes through you.

“Where did you learn such things?” You marvel, your hands still on his bottom, flexing slightly, a mirror of his movements.

“My brother has told me some things,” he elucidates with a slight smirk, “including that if I touch your breasts, you will be excited for more.”

“I am,” you confess as intrigue steals your tongue: “What did he tell you to do next?” 

“That I should remove your dress and kiss your naked body, especially here.” he counsels, sliding over your nipple again.

“What else?” you pant, the thought of it making you lightheaded.

“I should feel between your legs for wetness that shows you are ready for me,” he intones as if recalling a verbatim conversation, even as his fingers spider across to your other nipple. You gasp again, a shiver running down your spine.

“Ready for you?” You echo, mildly embarrassed that you do not know any detail of what happens between a man and a woman. You have only a vague notion from the overheard gossip of people in your family’s employ. 

He grabs your right hand from his bottom and guides it to the front of his trousers. There is a hardness straining the material that you swear wasn't there before.

“What is that?” Your breath catches as its warmth seeps through the material into your palm.

“That is my cock, and if you wish to know a man, it is an essential part of the process,” he smiles winningly.

You squeeze gently on instinct, the resulting low growl in the back of his throat enthralling you.

“I think we should take off our clothes now,” he proposes, and you nod your acceptance.

His hand slips from inside your neckline and lands on the buttons between your shoulder blades as yours slide up from his trousers to his waistcoat, popping its buttons as those on your dress also relent.

“Is it alright to undress each other, or should we undress ourselves?”

“Either is acceptable, but I am rather enjoying this,” he divulges as you push his waistcoat off his shoulders.

“So am I…” 

He pulls off your dress, the silk pooling around your feet, a yen to crowd into him as the cool night air seeps through your gauzy chemise.

“You do not wear stays?” he seems taken aback, his gaze now intent upon your nipples, jutting out against the thin cotton.

“No, not yet. Mama says I am but young, and my bosom is still perky,” you explain, aroused by how his breath becomes a little laboured as you voice it.

“I like it when you say such words,” he rags, pulling you into him with a firm grip, his hands so hot through the thin cotton of your chemise. You have a sudden tart need to be naked with him, a tingle between your legs that can only be excitement.

“Take off my chemise, Benedict,” you encourage, guiding him to the ties at your neckline. You pull the bow loose, the material bunching in his hands as you both tug either side down, exposing your breasts. 

He groans as your nipples instantly pebble in the cool air. He tilts you backwards in his arms, his face descending. You rasp his name, your hand flying into his hair, twisting his chestnut waves between your fingers as the contrasting heat, suction and wetness of his lips enclose your nub. It's exquisite, and you never want this loop of pleasure coursing through you to end, pushing your breast further into his mouth.

While he lathes with his tongue, you slacken the neckline further and shimmy out of the chemise, keen for more, already addicted to this wondrous feeling coursing in your bloodstream. 

He takes a step back to look at you as the last scrap of fabric flutters to the ground.

You see the quiver in his hands and the tented outline in his trousers as his eyes drink in your naked form, lingering on your nipples, wet with his saliva, and the patch of hair between your legs that is also damp now, a slickness between your thighs that has you wanting to squirm. 

His pupils are blown wide, his lips glisten, his cheeks are rosy, and his hair is wild from your tussling as he suddenly whips off his shirt. It sails through the air in a puffed arc. The captivating sight of his pale skin glowing like sculpted marble in the moonlight ties your tongue.

But your admiration is short-lived as he is on you again, propelling you into his arms. Your mind buffers as his broad, smooth chest collides with your dampened breasts, his kiss plundering your mouth. 

It feels like you are both drunk on a fascinating cocktail of urgency and nerves, navigating new territory with a bumbling, innocent, but innate excitement. 

“Lay down,” he whispers delicately into your mouth as you emerge for air.

You do as bidden, holding his hand as he assists you onto the blanket and laying back to stare up at him, towering over you now. His hands fall to the buttons on his britches, and you can't help but bite your lip, a shiver of anticipation to see how he looks naked.

He seems almost nervous as he pops the buttons and then shuffles the woollen material downwards over his thighs. But you only have eyes for what lies between his legs. Like yourself, there is a patch of hair there, but also something entirely other that makes your thighs clench together reflexively. This must be his cock. It is a rigid mass, reddened at the flared tip, jutting out from his body at least half a foot and beneath are adjoined sacs that droop a little.

“Do not be afraid,” he murmurs, perhaps misinterpreting your curiosity for fear.

“I know you will not hurt me, Benedict,” you placate, your eyes flitting up to his face and reaching for his hands to bring him to lay down with you on the blanket.

He sighs as he kneels beside you, his hand cradling your cheek. “That is the thing, my sweet; my brother says it might hurt for a lady on her first time.”

Your breath catches at the term of endearment he employs, placing your hand over his. “I know you will do everything to mitigate such.”

His eyes go soft, and he rolls on top of you; so much warm skin. An all-consuming sensation as you lay together naked, that cock branding your inner thigh as he settles atop you.

“Indeed ‘tis true…” he confirms, then hesitates before continuing in an ardent intonation: “I meant what I said. I wish for you to be my wife one day. I do believe I love you, y/n.”

Your heart soars at his tender confession. “And I believe I love you too, Benedict.”

His responding smile lights up his whole face. 

You may only be seventeen, but you know the contents of your heart. There is no man you have met whom you trust as much as this wondrous boy, now man, you have grown up alongside. You sincerely hope to have the privilege to grow up and, indeed, old with him.

“Are you certain?” he checks sweetly, and you can only nod as his touch trails down over the ticklish skin of your belly, leaving little lines of fire that sear in his wake.

There is a jolt to your entire being as his fingers slide into your most intimate area, somewhere only you have touched before. You keen and press up into him, quite certain nothing has ever felt like this before. 

“Oh, you are very wet,” he stutters, almost stunned. “But that is good,” he quickly appends before you can become self-conscious. “It means you desire me as much as I desire you.”

“I do desire you, Benedict,” you are at pains to express, a restlessness fizzling under your skin and a clawing need for him in your bones, knowing this can only be of his doing and wanting to burn so much more. “What happens now?”

He guides your hand gently between his legs. He moans as your hand instinctively curls around it, the skin so silky even over a mass so rigid. “I put my cock inside you,” he stumbles. “Into the place you are leaking from…”

“Will it fit?” You frown, unsure you have a place within yourself to accommodate it.

“Yes.. well, at least, that is what I have been told.” 

His slightly vulnerable admission makes you release his cock and grab his face, tilting his gaze to meet yours.

“We shall find out together,” you assure, smiling when he nods gently.

This is just another adventure you will embark on together, much as you have since you were children. 

He kisses your knuckles and guides you to hold onto his shoulders as he shifts above you. Butterflies behind your ribs as he looks down at what he is doing, a slightly anxious expression as he grabs his cock and manoeuvres it between your legs. 

You spread your feet wider to the edges of the blanket, its threads scrunching between your toes as you feel blunt pressure between your damp folds. You can't help the noise you make from the intensity of it. 

Benedict’s head shoots up to scrutinise your face, concern flooding his handsome features.

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I think so, just nothing I have experienced before…”

Then his eyes go as wide as yours as just his tip slips into your leaking channel.

“You are so hot and tight,” he stumbles, floored by what he is experiencing as much as you are.

“You are so hot and large,” you answer in kind, gripping his bicep as he presses deeper and an odd pinch of pain flares; it makes you hiss and bite your lip. 

He mumbles an apology, pausing. “I assume that is what they were referring to. Sh-should I continue?”

“Yes, I am alright now,” you reassure him, briefly touching his cheek, curiosity outweighing the fading, dull ache. 

You are slack-jawed in astonishment as your channel stretches wider to accommodate his push forward. He is panting, and his eyes are almost like saucers as he stares down upon you, neither of you blinking.

“Oh my goodness,” he mutters enraptured. “Please tell me this feels as good for you…”

“It’s wonderful, Benedict,” you promise breathily, a warmth unfurling behind your ribs that he would care as such. “Intense, yet wonderful.”

“Same,” he exhales shakily, a vein throbbing rhythmically on his neck as he sinks deeper.

Each fractional inch has you surprised anew, a captivating gradual invasion. Just as you think you could not be any fuller, he stops.

“I am entirely within you now.”

You try to catalogue all the feelings at once, to savour them, but it's impossible. The sense of him inside and surrounding you, flesh entwined, is all-consuming; defies words or descriptions.

“I shall move when you are ready,” he whispers into your cheek before kissing you softly. 

With your nodded consent, he withdraws and then surges back in, your channel clinging to him—a sensation unlike anything you have ever experienced before, so intimate and powerful. Your fingernails claw into him, hugging him down onto you, wanting his skin upon yours.

“Oh Benedict….”

It’s all you can voice. 

A tremble all over as you share this moment, tentatively moving with him in a complementary rhythm, almost a dance like that in a ballroom. Give and take, push and pull. And there is no one you would rather be dancing with. Your bodies meld together perfectly as if designed to be joined as such. You certainly don’t understand why some women dislike relations with a man—you would happily do this anytime.

Benedict's motions speed up, your folds swelling around his plunging cock, your heart hammering against your ribs, watching the ripples of ecstasy wash over his expression, a dew gathering in his hairline.

“It’s.. it’s overwhelming,” Benedict shudders. 

Indeed, there is a quake in his being, like he is a simmering pot about to boil over, even as his face appears anxious, like he does not yet want that to happen but is powerless to stop it. You quell his movement, clutching the belt of muscle above his hips.

“Rest within me a while,” you suggest, and he stills, a staccato exhale into your hair as his cock twitches inside you.

It is wonderful to be pinned under his weight. You run a soothing touch over his skin, the soft cotton of the blanket rubbing your shoulder blades as you shift under him, wrapping your ankles around the back of his knees. Your toes tease his fuzzy calves in soothing strokes as his breathing returns closer to normal. You know, somehow you should not kiss him, an incitement he does not need.

“I do not wish this to be over too soon,” he laments quietly into your hair—a swell of emotion within you at his honest admission.

“Neither do I, but it is our first time. We cannot expect to know or be good at everything, Benedict,” you rationalise, pausing for him to meet your gaze. A sheepish mien that makes him look so adorable. “We can learn to get better together.” 

The knit on his brow loosens a fraction as he hums in agreement.

“I have heard that should I finish before I want to, there are other ways I may ensure your satisfaction,” he offers humbly.

“What does that entail?” Enchanted by the idea he would be concerned for your pleasure as much as his.

“I may touch a nub between your legs that is like a freshwater pearl nestled within folds of dewy flesh,” he states, a poetic description you are sure must be from some book.

When he pulls up to glance at where you are joined, it makes his cock prod a new spot inside you. An incredible bloom of novel sensation that has you gasping and grabbing his arms. Your channel ripples around him, and he groans heavily, collapsing back upon you inelegantly.

“Holy fuck,” he curses, sounding winded.

And you know the time for talking is over. You are impatient for him to move again, for his cock to graze that spot once more.

“Bring your legs up higher,” he tutors, intuiting your needs. 

Just as your heels curl around the shapely curve of his bottom, he moves again, making you cry out in pleasure as he hits that exact target, your nails digging into his back.

“Don’t stop Benedict,” you appeal over a ragged gasp as he grazes it again, your eyes rolling, clinging to him.

His motions are jerkier now but rougher in just the way you need. He holds nothing back, both of you fumbling towards the ecstasy growing inside. Hands grabbing, moaning into dewy cheeks, wetness matting into the downy hair below, the most debauched of sounds from where your bodies meet as he pushes into you over and over.

All your muscles start to tense, a delirium washing over you that makes you impulsive. One of your hands worming between you to strum an engorged nub just above where he fucks you, knowing on some instinctual level it is key to your pleasure. You cry out, and your pussy clamps hard onto him. Benedict groans his approval as he takes a final harsh snap, you falling over an edge, fluttering hard around his now rippling cock.

He growls and wrenches himself out of your channel rapidly. But you are barely cognizant of a milky liquid spurting over your belly as you writhe under him, body febrile mind a thousand miles above amongst the summer stars

When you return to yourself, you feel him collapse onto the blanket next to you, pulling you into his arms as if there is a compulsion to always have your naked skin on his.

“No one warned me your body would do that,” he pants, astounded. “It took all of my strength to withdraw…”

“Why did you?” You crane your neck to pout at him, believing it would feel so much better to reach that peak wrapped around his cock.

“I thought it unwise to leave you with child…” he frowns as if his reasoning were obvious.

You buffer for a few seconds, then sit up and twist to look down at him, shock flooding your already overloaded senses.

“This?!” You splutter, “This is how babies are made?”

He chuckles at first, then tempers his face when he realises you are serious. 

“I… I thought you knew…”

”No! I have not been told a thing!” you bemoan, only now realising how much of adulthood you have yet to navigate.

He delicately pulls you down to rest on top of him, nuzzling your cheek. 

“I am sorry that is the case. One day, we shall have children, I am certain. But perhaps tis not a good idea just yet. We are still young, not even yet engaged.” 

You vehemently nod in agreement, flooded with gratitude that, even as he was in the throes of his first sex, too, he had the respect and forethought to care for the consequences for you both. 

“Thank you, Benedict,” you sigh, burrowing into his embrace as a gentle waft of breeze cools your flushed skin.

“‘Tis me who should be thanking you.” he insists, caressing your shoulder. “That was amazing. I am so glad we did this together.”

“As am I,” you return, as you lay entwined together, knowing already this will be the first of many.

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @hanji-emo-blog @sya-skies @urfavnoirette

[asimp4bee]

Out of all of the Bumblebee designs, which one would you see is the one you prefer the most?

How dare you ask me such a difficult question when I love all of them 💔💔

They're all pretty good to me (in my opinion!) but I'd have to say Earthspark Bumblebee.

I love love this design of him so much. It's a different take on Bumblebee's usual designs and I love how it reminds me of one his IDW looks.

I don't know how to explain it but I just love it. It suits him a lot, one of my favorite Bee designs and it's nice to see him with his horns and not the antennas or without either (I love his antennas too don't get me wrong but I wanna see more iterations of Bee with his horns again 🥹).

[redstarwriting]

the clash | i. hey, ho! let’s go!

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 1.1k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, hobie hating you, you hating hobie

a/n: it’s here 😎 no but fr, i proudly present a new series focusing on hobie brown, loml. i‘m trying to make it gn, so if you spot anything that needs fixing lemme know. i also did include a bit of a description of what you look like, but it’s mainly just to affirm the gothic spider-person look. and if you don’t like it, you can just pretend it isn’t there, my character designer brain just took a hold while explaining lol. enjoy y’all, there’s more where this came from 👀

now reading: i. hey, ho! let’s go!

next chapter: ii. time bomb

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In theory, the two of you should have been great friends. Best friends, even. He’s called Spider-Punk, and you’re called Spider-Goth, this alone made Miguel assume the two of you would get along better than all of the Peters. Unfortunately for Miguel, he was dead wrong. It was fine at first, a good introduction. “Spider-Punk, meet Spider-Goth,” Miguel says, motioning to the two of you. You simultaneously turn your heads towards him, “Don’t call me that.” You look at each other, seemingly sizing each other up after speaking the same words at the same time. In reality, the two of you were checking each other out, but no one needs to know that. “Fine. Hobie, meet (Y/n). (Y/n), meet Hobie,” Miguel says as Peter B. Parker hops next to him, excited to see the two of you interact. Your gaze first fell on his many piercings, which suited him very well. Almost as well as the spikes coming out of the shoulders of his tattered denim vest. “See somethin’ you like?” you hear his thick cockney accent, and you shrug. “The constant changing makes it difficult,” you say, causing him to shrug. “I hate consistency,” he says, staring you up and down. “I like the guitar,” you say, and he nods. “Everyone does.” You raise an eyebrow, and he takes in the way your heavy black eyeliner makes the expression look more exaggerated than it is. His eyes go down, taking in your outfit, which seems to be varying in different gothic styles, but overall is all black with silver studs, spikes, and charms sticking out everywhere. He notices the two of you share a liking for combat boots, and perhaps his favorite thing about you are the intricate and all black spider-web tattoos on your hands crawling their way up your arms. Hobie clicks his tongue. “Goth, eh?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem with you or something?”

“Feisty for a goth.”

“Instigative as all punks are.”

“What… is going on,’ Peter whispers to Miguel who shakes his head. “I thought they would be best friends?” Peter suggests as he places a binky in Mayday’s mouth. “I did too…” Miguel says, “Maybe this is just a way these types of alternative people talk?”

“Tal vez tengas razón… Hobie does love to be abrasive for no reason,” Miguel concludes, and Peter shrugs and they zone in on the two of you again. “...I don’t suppose there’s no reason we shouldn’t get along,” Hobie suggests, raising an eyebrow at you. “I agree. We probably think similar things… for the most part.”

“For the most part, huh?”

“Just that we have similar ideas, but most likely not the same,” you respond, and he crosses his arms, his guitar moving loosely behind his back. “Opinions on anarchy. Go.”

“It’s the ideal society—”

“Good start—”

“But completely unrealistic.”

“Excuse me?” Hobie looks at you with a glowering expression. “Humans are inherently assholes. Selfish, shitty, assholes. As amazing as it would be to have anarchy running rampant,” you shrug, “It’s unlikely it will ever happen.”

“You can’t actually believe that,” Hobie says, exasperated, “I mean you actually think that we can’t achieve it? You get enough people angry, and they rebel, they push for anarchy. I’ve seen it happen; I’ve led a rebellion.” You roll your eyes. “And do you live in a perfect anarchical society now?”

“Not yet, but we’re gettin’ there,” he clenches his teeth, and you sigh. “I admire your blatant idiocy disguised as an ambitious dream,” you say, and he huffs. “Would you just talk like a normal fuckin’ person and stop usin’ these dumbass words and shitty poetic language?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, or are you as deaf as your ideologies?” This time you scoff. “I don’t have the time to be berated by someone who lives in their own delusions to try and feel the slightest bit less angry at the world for giving him the shitty cards he was dealt.”

“And I don’t have time to listen to the rubbish ramblings of a miserable twat who digs desperately into their black hole of a heart to try and feel somethin’ when the truth is they don’t even know what they stand for,” he fires back. You glare at him. He glares at you. As if on cue you both flip each other off before you web away. Peter’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Well, that went horribly!”

Miguel punches him on the shoulder, resulting in a soft ‘ow’ and a tiny angry noise from Mayday. “What the hell was that Hobart?” Miguel nearly yells and Hobie snaps his head towards him. “Don’t call me that, neither! They don’t get it. It’s not enough to want to make a difference in the world. You need to take action. Goths love to sit on the sidelines and lament instead of playing the offensive,” Hobie explains, a deep frown on his face, “Watch out for them. They might not be able to do what it takes when it counts.” Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hobie, you’re supposed to show them around—”

“No, fuck that. I’m not goin’ anywhere near that gothic monstrosity,” Hobie says shaking his head in defiance. “We made a deal. You would show all the younger spider—”

“Yeah, well you can shove that deal up your fuckin’ ass, mate, I’m not doin’ shit for them!”

“Okay, okay, calm down there, man. Why don’t you just ask Gwen to help you? Maybe Miles and Pavitr too? That way you fulfill your promise, 'cause I know promises are important to you, and you won’t have to talk to them!” Peter reasons and Hobie looks over at him. He furrows his eyebrows. That would help the situation. And maybe he’d be able to help you see just how garbage your take was with Gwen on his side. “Fine. But I’m not doin’ it cause I need help, and I’m not doin’ it because you told me to. I’m doin’ it cause it’s the last thing that they’d want,” Hobie says, pointing at Peter while saying it, flipping Miguel off, and then webbing away. Peter looks at Miguel who is clenching his fists… and his jaw. “You seem stressed, but don’t worry about it. Not all of us need to like each other, I mean there’s so many there’s no possible way we all could and look at you, you hate Miles even though he’s awesome and—”

“Shut. Up. Peter,” Miguel growls, stalking away while mumbling various things in Spanish. Peter looks down at Mayday. “Tough crowd,” he says as she giggles up at him.

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『 tag list 』

@casmosmoon* @khaleesihavilliard @sparklyphantom​ @weyrrii* 

*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

[evermore-fashion]

Met Gala 2024: Top 5 Men's Looks

So we've seen what some of the female attendee's bought to the Met Gala, and now it's on to the men of evening. As you all know I'm not into men's fashion at all but seeing as this is the Met Gala and men in the world of show business are starting to step up with their red carpet looks it's only fair I give you all my favourite looks of the night.

Like before my opinions are my own, they're not gospel so don't take what I say personally especially if you disagree. Remember fashion is art and art is subjective. 1. Gustav Magnar Witzøe wearing Versace Firstly I had no idea who this guy was until today and second I know his outfit wasn't everyone's taste. However I just love the fact that it wasn't a tuxedo or a suit in a vibrant colour. I love the fact that it's fun and eye-catching haute couture outfit designed for a man that leans into the roman and greek statues you'd find in stately gardens. 2. Sebastian Stan wearing Ami Paris If anyone was wondering who I was referring to last week when I slyly mentioned who I hoped was going to show up to the Met Gala. It was this handsome man and boy he did not disappoint because he didn't show up in a suit. I love the fact he went more casual but with the long coat and black embellished flowers that just added that final touch that to me made his look a standout. Sebastian Stan, I am free and single whenever you are... just kidding. 3. Barry Keoghan wearing Burberry This guy has been hot property in the acting world recently so it was no surprise to see him attend the Met Gala. The reason why he made my top 5 was because even though he was wearing a suit, it reminded me of the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland. I just love the fact that it's vintage but not at the same time and the green velvet jacket looked amazing on him. 4. Bad Bunny wearing Maison Margiela This was another outfit that has grown on me the more I look at it. I don't know what it is that I love about it but I just do and I think Bad Bunny looks amazing in it. It stands out despite the fact that it's black with hints of red in it and somehow it fits the theme perfectly.

5. Wisdom Kaye wearing Robert Wun So there's one thing I've noticed about this year's Met Gala... men look good in long coats/capes and I'm here for that trend. Wisdom Kaye stood out simply because red suited him perfectly and I love that his overall outfit was elegant but also edgy thanks to the burn marks on his hat and along the bottom of the coat.

[jealousjealousgurlll]

His fashionista

⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:⠀ ⠀ `· . ୨୧⠀

Hi everyone! This is my first story on Tumblr, I've been wanting to write for awhile especially about Luigi. If there is any flaws or feedback please please please let me know, comments are on!

I have a few extended concepts for certain bullet points, if there one that sticks out the most let me know and I can create an extension on it.

Mood board for this story

Thank you for reading and take care xoxoxoxo ᰔ ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩

Pairing: Luigi Mangione x reader

Word count (story only):2,018

Warnings: None just fluff ;)

Imagine you, an inspiring fashion designer falls for the dorky data scientist named Luigi Mangione.

Based on living in Maryland

-First encounter:

Your favorite fabric store is next door to his favorite cafe. Staring at you and your well detailed outfits throughout the window Luigi would be distracted from his work observing you.

The first time you saw him was picking up an order from that same coffee shop. On your way out, you made eye contact with him. Nothing really stood out about him honestly.

Second encounter/first conversation

You were in line to place your order, in the meanwhile you were adding final details to your latest sketch and a tap on your shoulder came to your surprise. He looked familiar, you thought. He asked you about your sketches, talking your head off you both held up the line. After ordering, you and him sat and discussed your interests and careers.

He observed every detail about you, something about his presence swept you in, his intellectual yet humorous personality made you grow curious about him. Before leaving for your meeting, he asks for your phone number and social media handles. 

-Stalking or “obsessively analyzing”

You glanced at Luigi’s instagram, wholesome guy with minimum fashion however he looks great in a suit and with a clean cut.

You became Luigi’s newest fascination, having a fair amount of digital footprint, Luigi observed your instagram first. Trailing back to your high school days posing with friends in art class, your instagram stories had poems you wrote. He even discovered your fashion blog and youtube channel. Reading every post you made and spending hours watching your videos. He took a few notes on your favorite restaurants, your birthday, anything that was sentimental. 

-Texting and facetime

Whenever you guys text, he responds back immediately. He would send you random articles and ask your opinion. One night when texting back and forth, he asked if he can FaceTime you. You agreed which led to a 5 hour conversation. He was wearing glasses and you asked if they were real, to which he said “it’s for fashion”. His witty humor and cheerful spirit made it easy to talk to him

-Hanging out

Luigi initiated most of the hang outs. Secretly he planned everything (how a boyfriend does), from taking a pottery class together, trying new restaurants and going to yoga classes. Hanging out at each other’s apartments eventually came around to which he would clean his apartment, nervous of your opinion. In reality his apartment is organized and fits him perfectly. The compliments and the stares you gave looking around made him feel secure. Luigi loved your apartment, the vibrant colors, the messy table filled with scattered papers, fabric around a plugged in sewing machine. Your apartment is a perfect representation of you!

-Feelings? 

The more time you spent with Luigi, the more you developed feelings for him. When taking a stroll with him, you notice yourself staring at his side profile “I like big noses” . The tik tok audio from Doja Cat appeared in your mind, the curls that formed his hair you found cute. When it was summer, his sunkissed tan complimented him so well . Scanning your eyes up and down, there was definitely physical attraction, the physical attraction and the connection you guys built in the past months made you crush on him in secret. The fear of him not reciprocating the same feelings terrified you. Whenever a few days passed by and you hadn’t seen or spoke to him, you started to miss him and would reach out. Luigi on the other hand, he describes it as “love at first sight” , extremely dramatic and a sprinkle of delusion, he adored your style, the confidences you had when walking into a room. With the connection that was created by you guys, his attraction to you skyrocketed. He also mentioned his feelings he had to you to his sisters, encouraging him to ask you out. His sisters found it precious that he cares so deeply for you.

-Flea market memories

One of your hang out adventures landed you guys in a flea market. One of the vendors that caught your eye had a vintage sweater. In your mind, this sweater would be a great fit for Luigi. You showed  him the sweater and insisted he tried it on. Luigi gave in and tried on, the sweater was a perfect match . The vendor, an older gentleman, said to him “listen to your lady, she knows her fashion” assuming the two of you were in a relationship. Standing behind him, you hugged him from the back Luigi subconsciously smiled at this reaction. He agreed to get the sweater which you couldn’t be happier.

-Train trip

You and Luigi went on a train trip to North Carolina. A nine hour train ride may sound gruesome but having Luigi by your side made this an unforgettable trip. Listening to music together from sharing wired earbuds, stealing each other's snacks. You started to doze off after a few hours in, drifting your head onto Luigi’s shoulder. It wasn’t intentional at all. Luigi didn’t mind, he actually liked it. He smelled the shampoo in your hair, getting a special view of your facial features  “so pretty” he mumbled. When you woke up, you made direct eye contact with Luigi, he giggled at your facial expression while you immediately moved your head out of embarrassment. “I am so sorry” you frantically apologized, “It’s all good” his voice was deep and slowly turned you on. This trip definitely brought you guys closer physically and emotionally, staying in the same room you saw Lu in a different light. He is a clean person. He always puts the toilet seat down after using it. During the visit, you both went hiking together, it was your first time ever and Luigi was basically a pro. He helped you whenever you were close to stumbling, assuring you that you will be just fine. “See I told you it’s not difficult, it’s relaxing right?” Hiking was something you had no interest in but with a little encouragement from your bestie westie, hiking is your newfound  favorite physical activity.

-Hair troubles

One night, you heard a ding on your phone. A text from your contact named“Loo-ee jee” appeared.

“Hey, are you busy?”

Responding back “No what’s up?”

Luigi facetimes you, in distress, discussing his hair problems. He explains that he cannot remember the shampoo he used as a child living at home, he had some event to attend in the afternoon so he wanted to wash his hair and try something different with his curls. He begs for your help and you agree to help him. Meeting him at a “beauty supply store” foreign in his world. You both grabbed some hair care products and went back to your apartment. You guided him through the process of taking care of his curls and even wrote down the step by step manual to follow on his “wash days”. He ended up spending the night because he was a little tippy from the wine he brought over(don’t drink and drive kids). Both of you indulged in a few glasses, he mentioned the wine was from a family member in Italy (hmm exotic you said to yourself). Both of you crashed on your couch, he laid in your lap wrapped in a large fuzzy blanket. You woke in the middle of the night to see Lulu in your lap, you liked it. He looked well rested and comfortable. This entire night wasn’t supposed to happen actually. Luigi faked his cries for help solely because he missed you and wanted to do something more intimate with you. You never realized if he was legit hearing about his mishaps you just wanted to help your friend.

-Styling Lulu

At Luigi’s apartment, you joked about his style playfully. “I bet in your closet you have no more than 5 things including your blue bali shirt, adidas hoodie, a random slightly used button down shirt and your Upenn shirt”. He rolled his eyes and tried to laugh because it was true. His fashion can be described as low minimum, he didn’t really care about having a surplus of clothing or being the most fashionable in the room. Fashion was foreign to him, while it was your way of life. He asks you to help with his style and you were treating this as a project. Spending some time in the downtown area to shop, you and Luigi went shopping. Stopping in the first store, you immediately see something with potential. Grabbing short sleeve crew necks in different colors, picking up the shirt to hold up to Luigi you were thinking this is a good start. Solid basic shirts yet it is upgraded to his current style. Intentionally you picked up the shirts a size down because you wanted to see Luigi’s muscles pop out. Picking out the casual black and white, you also grabbed a plum(deep purple) shirt and an olive green. Luigi liked the colors you picked for him and made a purchase. The next store you found many gems for him, a few pairs of vintage Levi’s jeans fitting him perfectly, an upgraded adidas hoodie, grey nike sweatpants, some linen shorts and even a Upenn varsity jacket. Dropping you off to your place, before walking out of his car Luigi thanks you for your help and leans in for a hug. The hug was warm and made you feel fuzzy inside, pulling away your cheeks turned red. He stayed parked until you made it to the elevator, turning around one last time to wave to him and even blew a kiss. He caught your kiss and motioned, putting it close to his heart.

-Making it official 

After befriending Luigi Mangione for an entire year. You expressed your feelings to him, it was difficult because of the fear of rejection. His reaction was something out of a fairytale, he reciprocated the same feelings you had for him. About a week after this conversation he planned a dinner for the both of you. It was at a contemporary sushi place, the architecture and interior design  in the building was seductive, lowly dinned lights and chirper music played. Luigi arrived with a bouquet of purple and white flowers. Your eyes beamed with joy to see them, he made a note from watching one of your youtube videos that purple and white are your favorite colors for flowers. He was wearing the same sweatshirt he got at the flea market, his hair was freshly washed and cut and added a detailed watch to his outfit. Smiling from ear to ear when you saw him wrapping your arms around him felt peaceful, a similar feeling to home. You guys talked and talked, a few cheesy but cute pick up lines were said to you. Luigi’s words were blissful, constantly wanting to make you laugh. Finishing up your entree, the waiter came to your table and said “Dessert?” replying back “No thank you”, Luigi replied “Yes, your best dessert”. A few minutes pass and the waiter places down a white plate in front of you. There was chocolate writing on the plate, reading off it says “Will you be my girlfriend?” with macaroons and chocolate covered strawberries. Coming to you as a sweet surprise you look up at Luigi with a nervous smile he says “So what do you say?” . Licking your lips before responding you say “Yes I would love to”. He smiles and balls his fist to say a silent “Yes” out of pride. He came over to your side of the booth to embrace you with your first kiss with him. His lips were smooth and gilded gently with yours, a little tongue was added by you and he loved it. When walking out of the restaurant to your car, you were on cloud nine. Luigi besides you holding your hand he opens your car door and says “Goodnight girlfriend” you smile at his words and say “Bye bye boyfriend”.

[bubsmiraculousau]

These are my OT5 brainstorm pages. Elaborations on how I got to these below! I reference concept pages so if you see any pictures you don't recognize that's why. <3

First up is Cat Noir who I think is already perfect lmao. For my version though I wanted to lean closer to his PV design because I love it, like his larger triangle nose (you can't really see it at the angle in my drawing but it's there I swear!), the bigger bell, the more elaborate belt, etc.... so basically everything ... just in my style instead.

With my designs I think that whenever someone transforms into their miraculous persona it's based on what they think a hero looks like or what they think is cool. I think Adrien reads a lot of comic books and is a fan of characters like Batman (relatable for him LOL), Catwoman, and Nightwing, so his suit reflects that kind of vibe.

Extra: I decided that Ladybug and Cat Noir's masks go all the way up their foreheads because it looks nicer in my 2D style with their bangs haha.

Next up is the one and only Ladybug! Unpopular opinion but I actually like the all red suit! My hypothetical series would be a webcomic, and I feel like in action scenes the red differentiates her from Cat Noir esp at a distance, and more red style keeps their color ratios even.

I like the ladybug designs with a bunch of black sections they're very cute! Just not for my au. (I think it's just me but I find drawing the ladybug designs with inverted red dots to feel sacrilegious in a way,,, just my neurodivergent brain lol)

And I am a long ribbons truther, I love them and they can be very expressive. Also I knew I wanted Marinette to have a more vertical circular eye shape because her shape vibe is definitely a circle (Adrien's is triangle) and it reminded me of the eyes for the main girl in princess jellyfish (I've never seen it, love the style tho)

Her hair is a more bright blue to contrast her hair against her suit, and make her look more cartoonish. I imagine her idea of a superhero comes from kids shows and some magical girl anime. So her hair has a plastic shiny texture to it because when she thinks 'superhero' she thinks of kids toys. Also I just like color! The blue kinda gives comic spiderman vibes imo (the version with the light blue instead of the navy)

Queen Bee definitely changed the most throughout the design process. I really like her in-show design so I just tweaked it to be more my vibe. Adding a crown because she's a Queen.

Something that I've noticed is that Alya and Chloe actually share a lot of traits (There's even some old concept notes where I believe Alya and Chloe either switch names or roles at some point?? The miraculous concept info rabbit hole is real y'all) and I think this comes through in their final designs.

Like they both share a middle part, which bothers me for some reason, so I decided to give Chloe a little Ariana Grande side part into a ponytail.

I wanted each character to have a cool little piece on their costume, so I tried these little hip things to make her more commanding and girlboss, but currently her weapon is similar to ladybug's (but more like one of those hair ties w the little disco balls on them) and it would sit on her hip and would clash w her hip thingies, so I just decided to make her weapon the hip things instead, combining the two.

Something else that bothered me a lot was that Rena was the only one with white on her costume. Everyone has black but she's the only one with white... my brain says that this cannot be. So I tried to give Bee some fun white fuzzy bits but the texture just was too different...

And then I had the mega-brain idea to make her hair white to tie in the white from Rena. Her and Cat Noir both having blonde hair irked me as well LOL so this hit two birds with one stone. I wanted her hair to be sharper and more aggressively drill shaped because of her abrasive personality haha.

After that, is Carapace. I had an idea for him from the start because I felt like his in-show design just doesn't match his personality... I couldn't make his outfit all loose because I wanted to stick generally to the miraculous suit formula, but I feel like 'skin tight suit' just isn't his vibe. So he has a kind of hammer pants situation.

I think they capture Carapace's b-boy ninja turtle vibe while still looking like a miraculous outfit. Though I decided later that I wanted the pants to be a lighter color for contrast and the visor to be white (to tie in that Rena Rouge white).

Lastly is Miss Rena! Something that bothered me (back on the similarities to Chloe) was that they both have ponytails (yes I know I'm crazy). Even though they have very different textures I just wanted each of them to be distinct from each other. So I put her hair down and just dramatized her regular hairstyle.

Also her and Queen Bee both have black gloves to their upper arms, which, you guessed it, bothered me. So I shortened Rena's to just reach her elbow.

I wanted her to look like a magic-man, her illusion powers evoke a showmanship energy to me. I imagine her and Cat Noir are quite the dramatic theater kid-esque duo.

So, for drama I tried some flowy arm bits, which I think ended up just looking a little strange, so I'll pocket that idea for something else. Then, I tried to add her coattail from the show, but it ended up looking a little frumpy, not the drama I wanted.

I ended up making her coat more triangular in the front, to give off the vibe of a magician's vest, and changed it to solider red/orange double coattails, which I think makes her more magic-man-ish. And I think the white ends made it too busy.

So those are my hero designs! I'm still working out Hawkmoth and Mayura, esp Hawkmoth because I am not good at drawing masculine older men...

If y'all want LESS of the artistic process let a girl know lol! I know some ppl like it but this is very long,,, all my drawings will not have text this long! thx for reading if you did tho xx

[newtonsheffield]

Would you ever write another fic with Neddy as a kid? Maybe Kate and Anthony had a one night stand, but Kate only got his middle name (in a little game of them not saying their first name) and when she finds out she is pregnant she can't find Anthony to tell him until one day, years later, she sees him on the tv on the Royal Wedding, "Viacount Bridgerton" written under his face.

Oh my god.

It’s the shock of her life. Even more shocking than sitting in her bathroom hoping the test wasn’t going to be positive weeks after she hooked up with a guy in a hotel.

She knows exactly two things about that guy

1) his middle name is Edmund

2) The night they hooked up was the anniversary of his father’s death.

When she realised she was pregnant she really did try to find him but neither of those facts gave her a lot to go by and he knew less about her. It was the way they’d designed their game. He picked a nickname for her and she only used his middle name after that. They’d gotten a hotel room rather than go to either of their homes. Another part of the game. And now she has a three year old who’s starting to ask questions about his Dad that Kate can’t answer.

She didn’t have any plan to name him Edmund, but the second she held him she saw how the name suited him. The only thing he would have from his father even if she hadn’t told Mary and Edwina that. Neddy is the most beautiful little boy. He’s sweet and kind and he loves cuddling with her and Newton.

But imagine her surprise when she’s sat in Mary’s living room with Neddy on her knee and none of them are paying attention to the news segment about a Viscount campaigning for a new library in Kent until Kate freezes when she hears his voice.

“Holy fuck!”

It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it because there he is. Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton apparently. The man who’d given her a wry smile when she’d said Edmund didn’t suit him. You aren’t the first person to tell me that. He looks exactly how she remembers him and she barely has time to process the fact that Neddy’s father is a member of the aristocracy.

“What?” Edwina frowned. “Do you have huge opinions about public libraries?”

Kate shook her head, cradling Neddy who was about to fall asleep. “That’s N-E-D-D-Y’s D-A-D.”

Both of them are stunned. Kate is as well. And maybe she should have just kept going about her life but she didn’t know how. So there she is, standing in the office she googled. Clearing her throat when the receptionist asks if she’s expected.

“I doubt it, but I really do need to see him.”

“Are you and he acquainted?”

“We… he might not remember…”

At just that moment the door to another office down the hall opened and out he strode, Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton, just as handsome as she remembered. He stopped dead when he looked at her, his lips parting in surprise before a slow smile spread across his lips.

“Ah, Trouble. We meet again.”

“You have no idea.”

[comicdolle]

PINS AND NEEDLES

pairing : logan howlett x bambi!seamstress! reader warnings : none a/n : this is my first time writing something like this so ntm (⸝⸝๑ ̫ ๑⸝⸝⸝), either way I'm super happy to start off by introducing a !reader that I've been wanting to work on for a while.

you were a mess to say the least. when you were enlisted by the x-men to work on new suit designs you thought it'd be easy considering your impressive background and being the best seamstress in the area it seemed like a walk in the park and it was, for the most part but it soon became a lot harder when you finally met Logan.

you'd seen Logan around, heard about him, some good, some bad, but nothing could prepare you for how difficult he'd be, constantly dismissing all the work you put in because it was"too modern", always giving his unsolicited opinion on the fabrics, and you can't even say the word "mood board" without him looking at you with utter confusion and asking "the fuck is that?", he was one of the most difficult clients you've ever worked with and it didn't help that he was one of the most handsome ones either

his rugged appearance and natural masculine aura was attractive, the gruffness in his voice was just as tantalizing as his size, but that wasn't the focus right now, you're currently sitting in your room wearing a beautiful white, frilly baby-doll you've graciously made for yourself, diving into all of your vintage fabrics and clothing analysis from the different eras feeling through all the materials while trying to keep Logan's opinion in mind.

as you were continuing your analysis you heard a knock at your door, not sure who it could be at this time, maybe it was Rogue, again, possibly to requesting some new nightwear, to your surprise it was Logan as stoic as ever, you couldn't help but wonder what he could possibly want at this time nonetheless, welcoming him into your room before going back to your analysis

as you continued to work Logan took in your room curiously, and caught a glimpse of you in your hand-made baby-doll. as much as he didn't wanna admit it to himself he'd always found you attractive and interesting, how when you'd met him you had been wearing this very flattering top, a pink miniskirt, and white thigh highs, pairing them with some heels you had found in the back of your closet, just that alone immediately had him sprung and he was thinking about it ever since then

he didn't wanna dwell on it though, he knows he's been nothing but an asshole to you, and you've done more than enough to express that, he was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard your voice ask him "is there anything I can help you with, Logan?" his eyes snapping to yours taking in your captivating eyes and long wispy lashes, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes move over your hair and down to that damn baby-doll again

"I came to see where you are with the suit designs" he says as he casually leans against the wall, you nod kind of surprised considering the time "really? this late at night?" you respond with a light amused laugh prompting a smirk from him as he counters with "yeah, just wanted to see if you were actually doing your job? and with a playful roll of your eyes you ask him "and when did you care about my work ethic?"

"since it became my suit you were workin' on darlin and I just wanted to see the good work'" he jabs back in a teasing tone and you could've sworn you felt your heart jump at the pet name, this was... new. feigning annoyance at his tease you couldn't help but respond "and here I thought you hated me" noticing him checking you out you smooth out your baby-doll

the space between the two of you seemed to shrink by the second, realizing that his face was mere inches from yours, you feel his breath tickle your face as he finally responds with an amused chuckle "I wouldn't say that"

as disbelief and surprise spread across your face you can't help but realize that maybe the most handsomely annoying man you've ever met just might like you too.

if there's any thoughts you have or requests feel free to ask, constructive criticism is very much welcome ( just be nice I'm sensitive lol)!