gerardyunker

[khorazir]

14 years of Sherlock

30th October is my Sherlock Day on which I watched the series for the first time (back in 2010).

By now I’ve produced over a thousand pieces of fanart, over a million words of fanfic, two hand sewn Sherlock coats, many trips to the UK for Sherlock related events including cosplay sessions, there’s a graphic novel coming up … the list goes on, and even though Sherlock and John have recently got some competition from another pair of detectives (who are ghosts ...), I’m not done with them and their world.

I’ve made many friends in the Sherlock fandom, and would like to thank all the brilliant fanfic authors whose works have inspired many of the artworks above (you can find all my fanfic illustrations at my #fanfic tag, and all artworks at my #drawing tag, and those fics I particularly liked at my AO3 bookmarks), my fellow fanartists who constantly make me want to improve because they’re so good, the faithful readers who leave comments and kudos, and all my followers here and on Twitter for their support.

Those who have been following me for a while know the drill. To celebrate, I’m doing a giveaway for my followers on Tumblr, Twitter, Bluesky and Wordpress, running from today until 6th November 2024, 22h GMT:

there will be two winners, picked randomly, who each may choose a Sherlock inspired item from my Storenvy shop

you must be following me and reblog/retweet this post

no giveaway blogs, I will check

I will ship to most places. Please ask if you’re not sure if this applies to your country as well. Some countries are more difficult than others to ship fannish items to, especially if those items have queer content. You must be comfortable with giving me your shipping address and a name that corresponds with whatever ID you use to fetch items from your post office – I’m adding this because I had issues in the past with people giving fandom names and then being unable to pick up their parcels because postal employees rightly insisted on matching names.

Throughout November 2024, there’ll also be FREE SHIPPING FOR ALL ITEMS IN MY SHOP. New Sherlock, Tolkien and Dead Boy Detectives pieces will be added to the shop in early November.

Good luck, and thank you.

[laura1633]

i need to say this somewhere and i hope you won’t mind if i send this “rant” here. bc this is just a stupid smut pet peeve that i let annoy me so much.

but anyway every time i go to the lestappen tag i get really disheartened bc there is such a imbalance. there is so much bottom charles and omega charles and charles being loved and worshiped and i honestly wouldn’t mind that at all but the number of fics where max gets the same are pretty much nonexistent compared to charles-centric fics like there are bottom max fics but they get drowned out. pretty much all the popular fics that have thousands of kudos and that ppl recommend to everyone are bottom charles. seriously i saw a rec list once where the few bottom max fics had the fact that they are bottom max mentioned in the same manner as content warnings for some other fics. it was super weird but maybe the person who made that didn’t think it would come across like that.

i know there are lots of bottom max fics (i’ve probably read them all lol) and ppl who like both, like you. i’m happy about the ppl who comment on bottom max fics those fics still get a lot of love even when it seems so little in the grand scheme of things. but i’m just annoyed and a bit confused that it’s so disproportionate. probably bc charles is more popular than max and bottom charles has gotten so popular ppl are inclined to it and it's "safe" and gets more love.

then again there’s so much talk about omega max on tumblr and then none of that shows on ao3 weirdly. (except maybe on the maxiel side i literally became a maxiel shipper bc i wanted more omega max lol) some ppl on here who say they’re bottom/omega max “truthers” have like several top max fics on their account and no bottom max fics which literally not that deep everyone should write what they want and what they are inspired to write but not practicing what you preach confuses me a bit not gonna lie haha. i’ve written my own fics which are pretty much premises i want to desperately read but no one has written them (like fine i'll do it myself) and i've gotten a good response but i’m a slow writer so i haven't written everything i want to write. thank you for everything you’ve written laura!

I don't mind at all anon, I have added your second ask too <3 Sorry this ended up being a lengthy reply. I love that we can yap about the bottom or omega Max agenda though 😂

I started writing maybe about two years ago and at the time a lot of the Lestappen stories were definitely bottom Charles and omega Charles. I started writing because a little bit like yourself there was some stuff I wanted to read that didn't exist so I just wrote it myself. At the time I had no clue how to write but I have hopefully improved over the past couple years! I was just desperate for there to be some more soft Max or Max being looked after and cared for. I just think Max doesn't get enough love and there can never be enough fics where it's pointed out just how hot he is!

I also like the idea of sexy, hot alpha Charles and think it's fun to not always see him in that 'babygirl' role if that makes sense. Although I can see why he ends up in that role a lot, he is also very pretty

I used to read a lot of Maxiel for the same reason as yourself, in fact I do still read Maxiel because of that reason and also because there are some very talented writers writing it. (although I also think of Daniel as being quite omega like!)

I definitely agree that there is a lot more bottom and omega Max within the lestappen tag now compared to a couple of year ago.

For me, I like to swap it around. I like to write soft alpha Max and even bottom alpha Max. The main thing for me is that the dynamic works for the story I want to tell. I have started leaning more towards omega Max though because I know that there is plenty of omega Charles out there and there are plenty of people who can write omega Charles much better than I can!!

You are absolutely correct about the comments and kudos thing. Firstly I should say that there are some amazing writers writing some amazing bottom and omega Charles fics that deserve all the love in the world and I am not for one second suggesting that they only have so many responses because of the dynamic but (at least to start with) I found that my omega Charles fics got more kudos than the omega Max ones. That might have just been a coincidence but when I start writing a story I know it will get more attention if I write it with the omega Charles dynamic. I'm not for one second suggesting that that is what people are thinking about btw, it's just a fact I have noticed with my own work. These days I just write what I like and hope some other people like it. If I ranked my fics by kudos they definitely wouldn't be in quality order so I don't worry about that now 😂

Like you have said, everyone should write what they like as it's all for fun. I am just glad there are other people out there reading and writing bottom/omega Max or even just Max getting the love and attention he deserves.

I will read top Max and I enjoy top Max. The only Max fics I don't like are where the writer clearly doesn't like Max and is making him unnecessarily aggressive or just making him the butt of the joke in a mean way. I prefer to read Lestappen when I can tell that the writer likes both of them if that makes sense (obviously people have a favourite but that's different. )

The content warning for the bottom Max fics made me giggle. I don't know what context that was in as I didn't see the post but it definitely made me laugh. Maybe it needs a content warning because its likely to alter your brain chemistry and you'll not be able to see him topping again 😂

I will always write some bottom Charles and some omega Charles because it just works in certain contexts for me but I have felt myself leaning more towards the other dynamic. Hopefully most people don't mind because there are so many Lestappen writers these days so there is definitely plenty of omega Charles to chose from.

I am shocked there is not more Omega Max x Omega Charles though as that seems to fit quite well.

Sorry, I totally rambled there but I am a huge lover of omega and bottom Max and always will be. I am also a huge lover of Max being treated nicely and softly and getting all the attention and affection in the world.

[ziggykatzfan]

after a few days of tinkering and considering, i'm proud to say.. the ziggykatzfan SPN Kinktober 2023 is complete!

with 24 works spanning many (many) different ships and a total of 32,563 words-- an average of 1,356 words per work, btw-- i have officially given up on trying to complete all the prompts  🎉 🎉

read the whole series here (and please tell me what you think! i'll be replying to all my lovely comments now, so thank you to everyone who cheered me on :3 some of these works will Definitely be getting a chapter 2)

[myownwholewildworld]

uniformed!joel one shot - the police officer

series masterlist | main masterlist | part ii

pairing: police officer!joel x f!reader.

summary: you're driving back home and, unbeknownst to you, you've committed quite a few traffic offences, noticed by the one and only police officer, joel miller. he's not gonna let you get your way that easily.

a/n: umm hello?? idk what happened, but here we are. i threw this idea to the wind, people seemed to like it, so i started typing and this is what came out. read the warnings and do not judge me please lol this is inspired by this and this ask, so kudos to them! so basically i have decided to start a series of one shots where joel miller wears different uniforms. YEAH, i know, i'm not okay but that's okay. if you guys have any suggestions for this series, my askbox is open! also, i've decided that if i/you guys want, i can write the same uniformed!joel more than once (e.g. two fics of police officer!joel). if someone is interested in being in the taglist for this series, please do let me know. anyways, i do appreciate all comments, reblogs, likes and asks. as always thank you for reading! <3

warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. dark theme. filthy smut. dub-con. age gap, no age gap, you choose (joel is mid-late 40s, reader is at least of legal drinking age). power imbalance (joel is a cop). alcohol consumption (reader is sober by the time it happens). fingering. squirting. oral (m and f receiving). mouth fucking. slut shaming. cheating. rough, public sex. unprotected piv. creampie. joel is a bully and a dick, basically, so be warned. alternating pov. no description of reader apart from having hair that can be pulled. not proofread so i'm sorry.

w/c: ~4.6k.

tagging some people who seemed to be v interested (please let me know if you want to be removed, no pressure!):

@fartcloudfartcloud @liciafonseca @fan-fiction-floozy @sweetlummie

“Shit”, you mumbled as the car keys slipped off your fingers.

You crouched down and blindly dabbed the asphalt, your phone falling off your hand too. You grunted in frustration ― maybe you did drink a bit more than what you had intended. Not to the point where you thought it would be dangerous, otherwise you wouldn’t be driving home. You were already clumsy when sober, so this was no sign of anything, really.

The keys had tumbled under your car, so you got on all fours and bent over to reach. After a few trials, you finally got hold of them. Steadying yourself on the handle of the driver’s side of your car, you got up. Your tiny, fitted skirt had scrunched up at your waist, so you pulled from the hem to bring it back down. Looking around, you hoped you hadn’t flashed anyone.

You had dressed up for the occasion. As you grew older, your group of friends slowly drifted apart, so agreeing on a date and time to meet up had been a fucking miracle. You had been out since midday and sipped on many margaritas to quench your thirst. But knowing you would need to drive back home, you had stopped drinking a couple of hours ago. If you could, you would have gotten hammered. Living in the outskirts of Austin sucked.

You managed to finally open your vehicle and sat down. You hunched down, avoiding the steering wheel, to undo your heels. A satisfied sigh escaped your lips when you took them off ― your feet were hurting so bad, you questioned all of your life choices. A minute later the motor roared awake, and you were on your merry way without a hitch.

That was until you drove out of the city center onto not very well-lit roads. You were driving through an industrial estate when sirens went off behind you. Clicking your tongue, you looked through the rearview mirror, thinking it may be an ambulance asking you to give way.

Ah, no, you were very mistaken. It was a freaking police car, and it seemed like it was asking you to pull over. Great, just fucking great, you thought.

The headlights blinded you, so you couldn’t see the man approaching your car. Then you heard a tap, tap, tap on your window, the officer dazing you with the torchlight. You inhaled deeply, putting on your best smile, and rolled down the window.

“Good evening, officer. What can I do for ya?”, you battered your eyelashes at him, still dazzled by the torchlight.

Maybe if you played all sweet and innocent, he would take pity on you and let you go.

However, you were met with a deep, husky voice.

“License and proof of insurance”, he barked, no good evening miss, no please, nothing. So rude.

When he put down the torch, you caught a glimpse of the guy’s face. Bearded jaw with a prominent moustache, brown curly hair with slivers of silver, an attractive hooked nose, and some devilish hazel eyes. He was in his mid or late forties and was so fucking handsome you almost drooled at the sight.

You bit your bottom lip, a lopsided smile curling at the corners.

“Yes, of course, officer”, your voice was sweet and smooth as you bowed over the passenger’s seat, your boobs casually resting on the steering wheel.

You opened the glove box and handed him the papers, faking the most innocent, girly look you could muster.

“Is there something wrong, officer?”, you asked, leaning on the door frame, gifting him with the tentative sight of your deep cleavage.

His eyes wandered off the papers he was holding and lingered where you intended. You read the tag on his shirt: Officer Miller. Well, Officer Miller looked damn good in that tight uniform. The black shirt clung to his flexed biceps, the buttons slightly giving way to the bulge of his chest, the belt hugging his waist and… good fucking lord, those thighs, the size of a rugby player’s.

Your mouth watered.

You would lie to yourself if you said you were not affected by his presence. In fact, your damp cunt might as well fucking disagree with you. You pressed your knees together, unconsciously looking for some relief to the sudden wet heat gathering in between your legs.

His eyes drifted up lazily, locking on to yours. You swore a muscle on his jaw twitched.

“You were speeding, doing 40 on a 30-mph road. And your headlights are off”, he replied, his tone raspy.

Fuuuuuuuck, that’s why I couldn’t see shit. Were you that drunk? You didn’t feel like it.

Your face expression didn’t flinch, playing dumb might just do the trick. So you giggled, smacking your forehead with the palm of your hand.

“Ah, silly me. But it was well lit up until now, sir, so no harm done, right?”, your honeyed voice pleaded. “I swear this was a 40-mph road a couple of months ago?”

“It was but got changed. Did you not see the road sign?”, he seemed to be very annoyed.

You had no time to answer, because Officer Miller pointed to your lap. For a second you panicked ― surely your arousal had not drenched your clothes, right? You were aware of how wet your pussy was, but not to that extreme. Right? You looked down ― your phone was resting on your lap, but nothing else. A wave of relief overcame you and then you glanced up at him, confused.

“You were talking on the phone while driving, I presume.”

You gasped and promptly shook no with your head.

“No, no, officer. You see, I left it there when I got in the car, I forgot it was on my lap. I promise I wasn’t texting or anything like that.” Your explanation was genuine, but he cocked a brow. “I wouldn’t lie to you, sir.”

“Why? Because you’re a good girl?”. That question caught you off guard and turned you on at the same time, sending shivers down your spine. Your clit twitched. You gaped and nodded unwittingly. “I see. Step out of the car.”

Your heart was racing, attempting to jump out of your chest. Maybe you had been too suggestive. But he was the embodiment of the law, surely the officer had had his good share of temptation and would not yield so easily.

You got out of your sedan, slightly dishevelled, and tugged at your skirt so it would stop riding up your thighs. Officer Miller had taken one step back, his eyes measuring you from top to bottom, loitering on your breasts. His tongue quickly darted out to wet his bottom lip ― you were mesmerised by the simple gesture and pondered how it would feel if you choked on his tongue.

That thought made your cunt gush some more. You pursed your lips ― eyes on him, trying to convey normalcy.

“You’ve been drinking and have also been driving barefoot. That’s a total of, what, five offences?”. Miller clicked his tongue in disapproval. “It’s like you’re begging to spend the night in a cell.” His eyes flickered with malice ― and something else. Lust?

You really did not want to sleep in a cell tonight. You just wanted to get home, that was all. Also, most of your “offences” were bullshit. You were certain he couldn’t charge you with half of it, but his wickedness made you wary.

“I’m not drunk,” you said with a languid smile, touching his forearm, his arms crossed at his chest. “I stopped drinking two hours ago, officer.”

He raised an eyebrow ― Officer Miller didn’t believe a word you said.

“I can smell it.” You didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but his eyes drifted down to your pussy.

“I-It?”, you repeated, lips parted.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you for a long minute. Your bravery had flaked a bit, although your cunt was begging for him to do something about it.

Joel was having a hard time curbing his horniness. You were so inviting, so insinuating, it was like you were asking to be fucked there and then. Oh, yes, you were, he knew you were. Showing off your boobs, wetting your lips, rubbing your knees together, playing with the edge of your tiny skirt. He had noticed every single one of your seductive attempts.

His cock was hard, so much so that it was stretching against the zipper of his work trousers. He kept his arms crossed, but what he really wanted to do was to readjust his erection so it wouldn’t be so damn uncomfortable.

“Turn around, hands on the car”, he ordered with a steely voice.

You first looked muddled, but finally obliged, giving him your back ― your palms resting on the roof of your car, your knees pressed together. He was sure your cunt was pulsing, and you were just trying to calm yourself down.

The thought made him mad with lechery. His dick was throbbing already.

“I’m going to pat you down, and then I’m gonna cuff you. Understood?”, he warned you, getting close to you.

You suddenly looked over your shoulder, your smile unwavering. You tilted your pelvis back, your ass against his bulge. You glanced down and then back up at him decisively.

“I’m sure we can work something out, officer?”, you whispered, your butt pressing on his swollen lump.

No, Joel was not imagining things. You were definitely asking to be fucked senseless in exchange for just a warning. He was still contemplating whether to entertain the idea or not. You were tempting, he would give you that. Your body was built to satisfy a man’s pleasure ― he could see that even when you were clothed. Barely clothed. Your top was too small, your boobs almost spilling over the neckline; your skirt was too short, your ass cheeks almost visible ― and he was sure you had some slutty heels on before you jumped into the car.

His cock jerked at the thought of rearranging your guts. Because that was what Joel would do to you if he had the chance. He cupped his groin for a second now that you were not looking, pressing it slightly to relieve some of the tension.

It didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. He suppressed a frustrated groan.

Joel slotted his right knee in between your legs and forced you to separate them, his heavy boot grounding him. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, you’re under arrest for at least reckless driving. Now stay still.” He was fully aware of how the top of his thigh brushed your crotch, but made a titanic effort to ignore it, for his own sanity.

Your panties were so fucking drenched, you feared your discharge might start dripping down your inner thighs. In fact, you let your head down to check discreetly and sighed with relief ― nothing to worry about, he wouldn’t notice how fucking horny you were.

Then he forcefully parted your legs, and you felt the fabric of his trousers sliding against your wet panties. The subtle touch made you jerked your hips up and then back down in surprise, your clothed cunt flushed against his thigh ― you had to swallow the sluttiest moan of your entire life, it felt damn good.

“I’m― I’m sorry”, you mumbled, lifting your body up to break the contact.

You didn’t need to look down to know that there would be a wet patch on his black trousers.

“You should be, making a mess of my uniform like that”, he grunted, exasperated.

Pressing your lips, you inspected every inch of the roof of your car while he patted you down. His big, calloused hands lingered on your underboob longer than necessary, almost cupping them. Both hands travelled down to your waist, his fingertips slightly under the waistband of your skirt.

Your heart was pounding, suddenly unsure of the whole thing. What were you really doing? Were you so desperate that you would let him use you in exchange for letting you go? Were you getting more than what you had bargained for?

It was like the excitement had burnt the last drop of alcohol in your blood and now you were fully aware of what you had unleashed.

But you had no more time to question your attitude, because Officer Miller completely slipped one of his hands under your underwear and buried all of his fingers in your soaked folds, except for his thumb which quickly found your clit. You shut your eyes and moaned audibly, your knees giving way.

His free hand wrapped around your waist to help you stand up, while his fingers traversed your whole slit, from your perineum to your clit, buttering your cunt with your own fluids.

“You are so fucking wet already, you should be ashamed of yourself”, he whispered in your ear while he pushed your ass back into his bulge.

Your treacherous body had awakened at his touch, your clit felt like it was on fire and your cunt was pulsating so hard it was uncomfortable. You rubbed his dick with your buttocks, unconsciously looking for some more friction. Miller groaned behind you, jerking you closer, his cock hard pressed against your ass.

Two of his fingers dipped further down and found your leaking hole, his thumb still rubbing your clit languidly. You whimpered and stirred your hips when one fingertip circled your entrance tentatively. Your back arched, pushing your butt further into his erection.

“Aren’t you a slut?”, he hissed as both fingers slid inside you, your brain not registering his words.

Your moist pussy clenched around his fingers, squeezing them hard. Every time your heart beat, so did your cunt. Officer Miller started fingering you, first slowly, and then picking up a relentless pace. Unable to control yourself, you mewled like a kitten in heat, your forehead now resting against the cold metal of your car and a thread of spit hanging from your mouth. Your needy cunt was so stimulated, so hot, so slippery, you couldn’t stop yourself from coming, even if you wanted to.

So you let go. You orgasmed so hard, you squirted with his fingers still dug in your creamy pussy. But you coming didn’t stop Officer Miller from driving his digits inside of you over and over again, forcing another climax on you a minute later. Your inner walls palpitated so violently, you felt the emptiness of your womb. Then you noticed it: the trickle of your own cum streaming down your inner thighs.

Officer Miller forced his fingers out of you, a pop sound making it obvious that your pussy was drown in your own fluids. The cop tapped your pussy a few times, almost gently, as the last wave washed off your nerve endings. You had never come so hard in your life before. Not even your boyfriend of five years had been able to turn you on this bad.

When your limbs regained some strength, Miller let go of your waist and stepped back. You slowly turned around to face him, but as your eyes drifted down his uniform, you realised that there was a new wet patch on his trousers, this time on his bulge. You had leaked so much, you had drenched his own pants.

You tried to find the words to explain to him that this was not what you had intended. Or was it?

“You’re still under arrest”, his voice was resolute, as if nothing of what just happened had affected him.

Before your neurons could make contact with each other, he handcuffed you, your laced hands resting in front of you, conveniently covering your spent pussy.

“But―”.

“No but’s, blackmailing a cop is an offence too. So that makes it six now, right?”, he cut you off.

You huffed, not believing what he was saying. You had not blackmailed him, not even close, he was just making it up now. Before you could argue, Officer Miller removed the keys from the ignition, shut the driver’s door and locked your car. He then grabbed you by your elbow, forcing you to walk in front of him towards his cruiser.

“Oh, c’mon, you’re now just bullying me”, you complained, your sweet façade quickly toppling.

Miller didn’t reply to your taunting. He simply opened the back door of his Crown Vic and threw you in. You almost tripped but manage to stop the falling. You sat down on the seat, your legs still out of the car, bare soles against the asphalt.

You didn’t know what possessed you, but your cuffed hands darted up and played with the buckle of his belt. Maybe if you gave him some head, he would relax and let you go. You were already in too deep anyway, your whipped pussy living proof of your desire.

“Officer, please, I can make it worth your while if you let me go”, you muttered, your fingers unclasping his belt.

Miller did not say one word, he just stared you down while you held his gaze. His waist slanted forward in an unspoken invitation, his eyes swirling with lust and wickedness.

You were not sure why you were doing this, or if you wanted to do this. But you were a horny mess, your pulsing cunt urging you to keep going, saturating your panties even more. Sure, you could drive home and ask your boyfriend to take care of you, but by the looks of it, you were going to spend the night in a station cell if you didn't do something about it. About him.

With firm hands, you undid the buckle and unzipped his trousers. His big, meaty cock sprung out with no warning, swaying in front of you. He was wearing no underwear. You marvelled at the sight ― his dick was the longest you had ever seen with a considerable girth, veiny and hairy at the base. It looked scary, but also fucking tempting.

“Don’t just stare, do something”, he commanded, grabbing your cuffed hands to bring them closer to his erection.

Ah, someone is impatient, you thought with a smirk before wrapping both of your hands around his circumference. With your mouth agape, close to his leaking tip, you rubbed the precum against his slit with your thumb and then started pumping him. His cock was palpitating, hard and velvety under your clasp ― and warm, so fucking warm you could feel his blood rushing underneath.

His jaw clenched, his eyes transfixed on your moving hands as you upped the rhythm. And then, without prior notice, he fisted your hair in a ponytail and drove his whole dick down your parted lips. You retched when his glans surpassed your uvula and coughed with his cock still in your mouth.

You were suffocating, but he didn’t give a fuck. In any case, he pushed his cock further down, but it had nowhere to go. His pubic hairs tingled the tip of your nose as you looked up, silently asking for mercy with teary eyes.

Miller glanced down at you and the motherfucker just smiled as you were still gagging.

“Look at you. What a whore, you’re taking it so well”, he mumbled under his breath before pushing your head back.

His cock slid out and you coughed to clear your throat of precum, swallowing it. His brutish attitude, although unwelcome, made your traitor of a cunt gush.

“I’m gonna fuck your throat to teach you a lesson. Open up for me, darlin’.���

You didn’t know why, but you just obeyed. Without breaking visual contact, the cop slotted his cock back in between your lips. With his hands on your temples, he tilted his hips forward until his tip stroked the end of your throat. Then he pulled out harshly and started jackhammering your mouth relentlessly, driving his cock in as far as he could every single time, his hairy balls hitting your chin. With Miller taking the lead, your cuffed hands were free. They were lazily resting on your lap until you dipped them down, your index caressing your deprived clit.

You just took it like a champ. After a while, your gag reflex relaxed and you dared to press your lips around his girth, so it would be more pleasurable for him. His slick cock was drumming in your mouth, filling it up entirely, choking you.

Miller pulled your head back sternly ― you were panting like a puppy by the time he was done with your throat. Your eyelashes were damp with unspent tears. You were sure that tomorrow it was going to hurt like if you had caught the worst cold of your life. Your mouth was filled with his sticky precum, a bridge of it connecting your mouth to his cock.

“You’ve not thrown up, well done”, he chuckled darkly. “Clean this mess for me.”

Again, as if you were not in control of yourself, you did as you were told. You licked his throbbing cock, swallowing all the fluids you had swept off his groin.

He lightly patted your cheek. “Good girl, now get up and take that finger out of your pussy.”

You had not realised you had been fingering yourself all along and your clit was begging for some relief. With a trembling sigh, you removed your hand from in between your legs and stood up.

Only then you caught on: he had not come yet. Fuck, you thought.

Did you want this? You were not sure. Letting him finger you and giving him head was one thing, but letting him fuck you was a completely different story. You were not a slut nor a cheater, but he made you feel like one. Your dribbling pussy made you feel like one.

Joel snatched his fingers around your elbow once again and made you walk to the front of his cruiser. He was in extreme need of relief ― his cock was pulsing so hard it was driving him mad with lust. He was gonna fuck that cunt of yours till you begged him to stop.

Unceremoniously, he splayed you down across the hood of his car ― your chest against the metal surface, your ass up in the air and your legs spread wide. If he could take a picture to jerk himself off to, he would.

He needed to see for himself, taste for himself. He was sure as hell that your pussy was drooling, beseeching to be filled to the brim. So he knelt behind you and parted your ass cheeks to have a better look. You whimpered, tiptoeing to give him better access to your soaked flaps.

“You’re such a slut. I could scrunch your panties to fill up an entire glass with your cum. Your thighs are all wet and tacky too”, he couldn’t stop himself from pointing it out, driving his hands up from the back of your knees, up your inner thighs, until they reached your crotch, framing your pussy.

He leaned forward and sipped from the fountain of your underwear, his fingers digging in the flesh of your ass, smelling your sweet sex. You wept, moving your hips against his mouth. Ah, yes, he knew you wanted him to fuck you hard. Very hard.

Joel rode up your tight skirt, exposing your ass to the elements. And then he pulled down your panties and put them in the pocket of his vest, as if they were a trophy. Because they were.

He now could have a better look at your creamy cunt, all smeared with your wanton fluids. Spreading your pussy open with his hands, he lapped you entirely a few times, even your butthole. Joel heard your moans loud and clear, knowing that you had never had your pussy eaten this good before. So he kept on going ― lapping, licking, sucking, biting until you squirted in his mouth, leaking like a broken tap and whining like a bitch in heat.

Joel drank it all and when you were finished, he stood up. He spanked your ass and with a swift movement, impaled you until his balls were flat against your thighs.

You screamed, literally screamed at the top of your lungs, when he stabbed you with his cock. You tried to hold onto something, but there was nothing you could grab. This was exactly what your cunt needed, being stuffed like a goddamn turkey in thanksgiving. Officer Miller drove his cock in and out of you lazily at first, and then he started fucking you stupid with such vigour that your body was being rocked back and forth, the handcuffs sliding against the hood, scratching the metal underneath.

You just moaned uncontrollably throughout the whole thing, unable to quieten yourself. Your cunt clutched around his throbbing dick, squeezing it hard, so hard you felt your muscles strain. Your clit spasmed severely, another fucking climax creeping up on you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK”, you implored to the sky, to him, to whoever was listening.

The cop then fisted your hair in a ponytail and pulled backwards, forcing you up off the hood, your back arching against his chest while he drilled you mercilessly. You were sure the squelching sounds your pussy was making could be heard from a mile away.

Then you finally came again, shrieking ― your treacherous pussy clamping down on his dick, leaking absolutely everywhere, trying to desperately milk him dry. Your eyes welled up, your black eyeliner running down your cheeks.

“You’re gonna take it inside and you’re not gonna complain”, he moaned in your ear and even in your blissful daze, you panicked.

“I’ve got a boyfriend,” you mentioned, but you knew it wasn’t going to stop him.

“Ah, do you? Doesn’t seem like it right now”, and then he huffed heavily, letting go, driving his cock as far inside of you as he physically could.

His warm cum filled you to the brim, painting your walls of sticky white. Irremediably, you sighed, heaving, and closed your eyes, letting yourself rejoice in how full you were of his spent, of his cock.

And as soon as it started, it ended. His dick slid out of your crying, sensitive pussy, leaving your damp skin exposed to the cold air.

You took a minute to compose yourself and pushing down your skirt. When you looked at him, he had already tucked away his cock back in his work trousers, his cop uniform slightly in disarray. Now there were more wet, sticky patches adorning his groin area, a mixture of your shared pleasure.

“Can I have my panties back, please?”, you requested, extending your hand to him, with a sunny, albeit quivering, smile.

“No, I’m keeping them.” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Can I at least have a tissue to clean myself up?”, your voice grew smaller as you lost confidence.

“No. I want you to go home with your pussy bursting with my cum, so that boyfriend of yours knows you’ve been fucked stupid by someone else”, he explained, full of himself.

At least you were going home. Or so you thought until you saw him walk to the back door of his Crown Vic, holding it open for you to jump in.

“This means nothing, you’re still spending the night in the cell”, he said, matter-of-factly.

You scoffed, angry. “Are you fucking serious?”, you asked, although what you really wanted to do was cry.

But you swallowed your tears, contrite ― your pride was bigger than your shame. And right now, you felt mortified.

What had you done?

Well, you had gambled, and you lost.

But, on the other hand, he had fucked you so good, so filthy, you were not sure any other cock would measure up to his.

[kiwriteswords]

I Promise You This

Chapter One: All That Emptiness Knows Just Where I Live

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Trigger Warnings: Chronic illness, reader with past abusive relationship, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, language, future sexual themes

Rating: Mature for mature themes and future chapters.

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Y/N, the newest and youngest profiler in the BAU, is haunted by her past—an abusive relationship and an illness she keeps hidden from her team. Though skilled in her work, she distances herself emotionally, fearing vulnerability. Aaron Hotchner, her reserved and perceptive boss, begins to notice the cracks in her carefully constructed walls as they navigate high-stakes cases together. Drawn to her resilience, Hotch finds himself increasingly protective of Y/N. As their bond deepens, both must confront their own emotional barriers, leading to an unexpected connection amidst the darkness of their work.

AN: I originally posted this story back in 2021, but for a multitude of reasons, I stepped away from the fandom and removed it. Now, in 2024, I’ve decided to return and revisit this fic with a fresh perspective. I’m currently in the process of rewriting the entire 45-chapter story, adding new depth, and refining the plot. As I re-upload the chapters, I will be including trigger warnings (TWs) for sensitive content. However, if I miss something, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Your comments, shares, and likes/kudos are incredibly encouraging and motivate me to keep working on this rewrite, as well as inspire new content. Thank you for being here, and I hope you enjoy the updated version of this story!— Ki

Masterlist | I Promise You This | Ao3

You stare out the jet’s window, your eyes tracing the clouds below. Sleep eludes you, and the quiet conversation among your team members fades into the background. Music hums softly in your ears, a barely audible escape. You know the odds—three missing children—and yet your mind feels curiously empty.

Laughter breaks through your thoughts. You glance over and see Morgan teasing Reid, as usual. The whole team joins in, and even Hotch chuckles. If he’s laughing, whatever Reid said must have been good.

You smile faintly, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Isolation is familiar to you—whether you're buried in a book or lost in your music, you’ve always found comfort in keeping a certain distance. It’s not about not fitting in, at least not entirely. The team welcomed you when you joined. They accepted you. But you’ve never quite let yourself feel like you belong.

Only in your twenties, you’ve already lived more life than most people twice your age. A childhood overshadowed by responsibilities that shouldn’t have been yours, and a turbulent adolescence marked by health problems that kept you in and out of hospitals. You were the kid who missed weeks of school but somehow still pulled straight A’s. The one who didn’t go to prom, didn’t have a high school sweetheart, and definitely didn’t have a tight-knit group of friends.

Then there was him. The boy who promised you the world but only gave you heartache. The one who made you feel small, unworthy, broken—both with his words and his hands. The one who convinced you to stay, even when every fiber of your being screamed to leave. You did leave, eventually, but not without scars, some of which never quite healed.

No one on the team knows any of this. To them, you’re just Y/N, the youngest, least experienced profiler in the BAU. A fast learner, sure. Someone who pulls her weight in the field. But you’ve made sure your past is buried deep, nowhere near your file. Only Spencer ever asked why your academic timeline was a little... unconventional. You gave him the same story you’ve told everyone else: You took time to travel.

The truth? You finished undergrad earlier than most, and jumped into grad school while working at a local field office. It was around that time the BAU reached out, and suddenly, your life was moving at a pace you could barely keep up with. Your health remained an ongoing battle, but that was nobody’s business. You’ve never let it slow you down, and you’re not about to start now.

Therapy helped. It gave you the tools to face your past and, more importantly, to reclaim your future. Joining the BAU felt like a step in the right direction—a chance to put your trauma to use, to give your pain purpose. And if you keep your distance from the team, it’s not because you don’t trust them. It’s because trusting people still feels like a risk.

The jet dips, signaling the approach to Phoenix. Your body tenses involuntarily. You haven’t been back here in years, not since... him. You’re not sure how you’ll react once your feet touch the ground again.

"What are you listening to?" Hotch’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You jump, startled by his sudden appearance across from you. He watches you with that quiet intensity, and for a moment, you wonder how long he’s been sitting there.

"Nothing important," you murmur, pausing the music and slipping your headphones out.

Hotch’s gaze lingers, and you shift uncomfortably. It’s not that he’s unkind—far from it. But there’s something about his presence, his authority, that makes you second-guess yourself.

"You seemed deep in thought," he notes, a rare hint of amusement in his voice.

"Just zoning out," you reply with a shrug. "Long flight."

He nods but doesn’t push. Hotch is observant, more so than the others. He’s noticed the way you isolate yourself on these flights, how you always seem a little more on edge than you let on. But he hasn’t asked, not yet. You’re grateful for that.

"What were you all laughing about earlier?" you ask, more to fill the silence than out of genuine curiosity.

"Reid’s latest hairstyle," Hotch replies with a smirk. "Morgan’s convinced he’s trying out for a boy band."

You laugh softly, surprising yourself. "He does have that early 2000s look going for him."

"Maybe next week he’ll try the ‘classic detective’ look," Hotch says, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

For a moment, the tension eases. You almost forget where you’re headed.

"Have you gone over the case file?" Hotch asks, his tone shifting back to business.

"Yeah," you nod, glancing back out the window. The familiar skyline of Phoenix looms closer. You take a deep breath. "I haven’t been here in a long time."

"Family here?" he asks casually, clearly not realizing the weight of the question.

You shake your head quickly. "No, I just... used to live nearby for a while."

It’s technically the truth. But the memories attached to this city are ones you’d rather not revisit.

Before Hotch can respond, Morgan sticks his neck out from across the aisle. "You lived in Phoenix? How did I not know that?"

"It was a long time ago," you say, deflecting with a practiced ease.

Morgan grins and steers the conversation back to the case, but Hotch lingers for a moment longer, watching you. There’s something about you that doesn’t quite add up, something just out of reach. He’s known you for a year, yet you’re still a puzzle he hasn’t managed to solve. And maybe that’s why he keeps trying.

As the jet touches down, you pull your bag over your shoulder and follow the team out, doing your best to leave the past behind. But Hotch’s eyes stay on you, and for the first time in a long time, you wonder if someone might be able to see through your walls after all.

[fuckyeahlabynight]

Fang Fest 2024

EDIT: Apologies! The first image I made for this had the date wrong. it's fixed now, so please reblog this version. Thank you!

Hello Tumblr Vamily! first of all, thank you to those who participated in the Fang Fest poll(s) I posted. I read all your tags and comments and I decided to go ahead with this year's Vampire the Masquerade Fang Fest!

This year’s theme is “Tarot.” These prompts are intended to inspire fanart, fanfic, and other pieces of fanwork. Anything you wish to create and share with the vamily is very greatly appreciated!

The Fang Fest will run from June 1 - 22, 2024.

Each day, starting with The Fool on June 1 and finishing with The World on June 22, post whatever fan work you've made inspired by the Tarot card prompt (eg. art, fic, gifs, poetry, music playlists, mood boards, whatever). Please include the hashtag #vtmfangfest24 so they can all be collected here. I know there are a lot of prompts this year compared to past years, and if you can't think of anything for a particular prompt, or are otherwise unable to finish, it's perfectly fine to skip it.

Those who are not taking part in making fan work are encouraged to like, comment on, give kudos, and share their favourites! Collaboration is also encouraged, so reach out to your fellow Kindred and see what you can come up with!

Another list of the prompts and their general meanings will be available under the cut. See y'all in June!

The Fool Innocence, spontaneity, free spirits, new beginnings, (reversed) recklessness, taking foolish risks, being held back.

The Magician Being resourceful, inspiration, manifesting plans, (reversed) poor planning, manipulation.

The High Priestess Intuition, divine femininity, sacred knowledge, (reversed) keeping secrets, withdrawing, being silent when your voice should be heard.

The Empress Femininity, beauty, abundance, (reversed) over-reliance on others, suffering creative block.

The Emperor Authority, father figures, structure, (reversed) domination, excessive control, lack of discipline.

The Hierophant Spiritual wisdom and beliefs, traditions, established institutions, (reversed) freedom and challenging the status quo.

The Lovers Love, harmony, relationships (romantic or otherwise, but usually romantic), your values aligning with others', (reversed) disharmony, arguments, hatred.

The Chariot Taking action, success, willpower, being in control, (reversed) lack of direction, opposition.

Strength Courage, compassion, persuasion, (reversed) self-doubt, low energy.

The Hermit Soul-searching, introspection, being alone in a positive way, (reversed) unwanted isolation, withdrawing, loneliness.

Wheel of Fortune Karma, good luck, destiny, a turning point in your life, (reversed) bad luck, resistance to change, cycles breaking.

Justice Fairness, truth, cause and effect, (reversed) unfairness, not taking accountability, dishonesty.

The Hanged Man Surrendering, letting go, considering new perspectives, (reversed) stalling, delays, indecision.

Death Endings, unstoppable change, transformation, (reversed) resistance to change, unwanted purging.

Temperance Balance, moderation, patience, (reversed) imbalance, excess, needing self-care.

The Devil Addiction, who you are when no-one is watching, sexuality, (reversed) releasing limiting beliefs, exploring your dark side safely.

The Tower Sudden change, chaos, upheaval, (reversed) personal transformation, averting disaster.

The Star Hope, faith, purpose, renewal, (reversed) despair, losing faith, disconnection.

The Moon Illusions, anxiety, intuition, (reversed) letting go of fears and repressed emotions, inner confusion.

The Sun Positivity, fun, warmth, success, (reversed) disappointment, toxic positivity, overly optimistic.

Judgement Rebirth, retribution, (reversed) self-doubts, ignoring opportunities.

The World Completion, accomplishments, travel, (reversed) short-cuts, delays, not yet finding closure.

[the-golden-comet]

✨🌈🎉The Wingman: 600 Kudos!! 🎉🌈✨

WOW!!! 😳✨

Over 600 people have dropped a lovely little heart on my TLOZ fanfic!! Y’all are a VILLAGE, let me tell you!! 💛🌈✨

Seriously, I am astounded at all the support so far from Tumblr’s community and the AO3 community. Your kindness has inspired me to keep creating and crafting my stories, and as we approach the one-year anniversary of this fic releasing, I am humbled by all the comments people have left. ❤️✨

I appreciate everyone who has taken time out out their days to check out my works, leave a kudos, or even write a lovely comment of their own. 🌈✨

You guys rock. Thank you so much 🙏💛✨

If you haven’t checked out my fanfic, link is below. Just be mindful of all the tags. It’s explicit.

✨👇Tag list for writing snippets below. DM me if you’d like to be added 👇✨

Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -)

@autism-purgatory , @jev-urisk , @talesofsorrowandofruin , @ragin-cajun-fangirl , @wyked-ao3 ,

@glasshouses-and-stones , @alinacapellabooks , @gioiaalbanoart , @tragedycoded , @deanwax ,

@dyrewrites , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @paeliae-occasionally , @lychhiker-writes ,

@thatuselesshuman , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @zackprincebooks , @fantasy-things-and-such ,

@finickyfelix , @billybatsonmylove , @madi-konrad , @houseplantblank , @far-cry-from-finality ,

@froggy-pposto , @fractured-shield , @avaseofpeonies , @topazadine , @thecoolerlucky ,

@theaistired , @willtheweaver , @rivenantiqnerd @somethingclevermahogony , @noxxytocin ,

@leahnardo-da-veggie , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @illarian-rambling , @mysticstarlightduck , @the-letterbox-archives ,

@ominous-feychild , @saturnine-saturneight , @words-after-midnight , @sableglass , @cowboybrunch ,

@yourpenpaldee , @moltenwrites , @pixies-love-envy , @davycoquette , @writeahurricane ,

@nczaversnick , @greenfinchwriter , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @lavender-gloom , @smellyrottentrees ,

@aintgonnatakethis , @thecomfywriter , @pluppsauthor , @michellekarnold , @flurrysahin ,

@authorcoledipalo , @jadeglas , @spookyceph , @astramachina , @48lexr ,

@inseasofgreen , @agirlandherquill , @saebasanart , @leatafandom , @justabigoldnerd ,

@pippinoftheshire , @just-emis-blog, @aalinaaaaa , @badscientist , @dearunreliablenarrator

@worlds-tallest-fairy , @rhikasa, @eccaiia , @theink-stainedfolk , @theverumproject

[copper-16]

Chapter 8 has been posted - but before everyone goes to read, a little bit of an announcement on my end:

This is going to be my last longer Mapi/Ingrid story, and probably the end of me being super active/posting on ao3 and tumblr. I might write the occasional story here and there, but writing is not bringing me the same joy it once was and I want to dedicate my time to other things. I’ll still be around reading on ao3 and somewhat on Tumblr, but I just won’t be posting a whole ton on either. I’ve been so incredibly lucky to get to know all of you guys on here, and to receive so much love for my work. It means the absolute world to me - and thank you all so much for welcoming me into this little community so wonderfully! I hope the stories I wrote were able to bring just a little bit of happiness when you guys needed it (even if I constantly left everyone on cliffhangers - I truly am sorry about that).

The rest of this is long, and you don't have to read it if you don't want to, you can just go ahead to the story now if you would like. I'm not known for my ability to keep concise, that is for certain. If brevity is the soul of wit - perhaps we know why my stories aren't very funny!

I’ve especially enjoyed joining tumblr and really finding a little community here. Getting to interact with so many people, both those who read my works and those who don’t, has been such a joy for me. I love getting to hear when people like the things I've written, even if it touches them in a small way. I love getting to interact with so many brilliant minds and am forever in awe of how much amazing talent there is in this little corner of the internet! I've made some incredible friends from getting to be on here, and it makes me so happy to have a little community of people I love. Thank you guys for letting me have space here even if I don’t write reader works or know how this app works most of the time.

I started writing seriously in September 2022 and I can't tell you how much joy it has brought me in the last two years. As someone who doesn't enjoy the college degree they are currently getting, this was such a fun creative outlet for me. It was so cool to have this blank canvas to work with, to weave things together, especially as I began to write longer stories. Writing was a place to destress for me and interact with other people who loved football as I was coming to love it. Every single kudos, comment, and bookmark meant so much to me. Even when it was something silly like someone dubbing the 'Copper Monologue,' it made me feel so seen. Someone cared enough to read enough of my works to pick out the fact that I do that? Absolutely mind blowing to me. It's crazy to hear that people cared about the silly little stories I wrote. When someone told me that I was one of the things to help inspire them to write their own stuff - I think I properly sobbed. It meant more to me than anything has in this entire world, and it still does! Writing has helped me to process, it's helped me to grow, it's helped me learn to identify my emotions and struggles and think through my own thought processes. I hope that maybe for someone out there, it could help them do that as well. It's a little strange for me not to want to do that anymore. Writing this last story solidified to me that for the most part it was time to be done, and HDITA was more of a goodbye than anything else. But even with that, it feels strange not to be thinking of my next idea, thinking of how I am going to create characters and relationships and plot lines.

I think for me right now, I'm just excited to be myself. Maybe this vessel of writing was what I needed to get myself through the last two years. I wrote la princesa when I was at my absolute worst in life, and as I've grown and matured as a person, I like to think that my writing has. I no longer find myself in a place where it fills a huge void in my own life that I once needed.

I've grown a lot as a writer these few years (those who read my earlier works will understand), and I'm excited to one day come back to it, maybe in a different sphere. I love the idea now of writing a real book. It always terrified me before - I didn't know where I would start or if I would be horrible at it. But you all have given me the confidence that maybe at least one person would like it, and maybe that's enough of a reason to try. So thank you all for holding my hand and encouraging me. I hope that if nothing else, everyone remembers that a little bit of kindness on here or ao3 or anywhere on the internet costs nothing, and yet can go a long way.

It did for me.

But enough of my sappy rambling, please enjoy this last chapter of mine. I hope it brings you as much joy as it brought me when I was writing it. Love you all so so much!

Chapter 8 of How Do I Trust Again?

[steddie-week]

Steddie Week 2024 is officially over!

We're still monitoring for late works, but thank you so much to everyone who participated and shared their beautiful creations with us for the second annual Steddie Week! If you made something and we have not yet reblogged it, please send us an ask or tag us.

We had over 200 submissions for this year's celebration which is absolutely incredible. You're all amazing! Make sure to check out the fics, art, and works in the AO3 collection and to please reblog, kudos, and comment on those that you enjoy! 💕

A huge thank you to @pizzaqueen for creating the super inspiring prompts this year (and in 2023- check out those works too while you're at it!) and to @sharpbutsoft for making the wonderful promo graphics!

See you all next year for Steddie Week 2025!

-Steddie Week Mods 🦇⚓️

[kitchenisking]

April Fic Rec

Hello everyone! happy spring! I just want to say thank you to everyone who enjoys my recs. I was thinking of taking a break from posting the last two months but then I thought 'fuck it'. the response that I got from you guys showed me how much my recs are enjoyed! so to everyone that reblog and likes the recs - I see you! I see your names pop up every months and it brings me such joy! and to all the new follower - it makes me happy that new people are finding my recs and are enjoying these amazing stories written by these amazing authors!

please don't forget to kudos and comment for our authors and ill see you soon😘

Knot My Favorite Smell by KnottheWolf - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,470, sterek)

Day 1-Scent Marking: Derek just missed his mate, Stiles, so he decides to visit Stiles at college. Only to grow upset when his mate’s room doesn’t smell like him anymore.

Just Stopped Working For Me by dedougal - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 11,447, sterek)

Stiles never expected to meet Derek Hale. He definitely never expected the movie star to slide into his cab and ask for his help.

Clueless by IgnorantofTime - (Rating: G, Words: 1,775, sterek)

Scott comes to the realisation that his best friend is in love with Derek Hale. Now he just needs to make them realise it.

an awful curse by blinkiesays - (Rating: T, Words: 6,253, sterek)

Isaac is asleep in a chair. The angle of his neck makes Derek wince in sympathy.

"Isaac," Derek says.

Isaac snaps awake immediately.

"You're-"

"Where's Stiles?"

"Stiles?" Isaac asks.

Jesus. It's not like they know more than one.

"That’s fate." by EvanesDust - (Rating: G, Words: 2,256, sterek)

…the one where Stiles meets his future husband.

That I Miss You by Noname109 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,741, sterek)

The pounding of the water against the tenseness of his muscles makes Stiles let out a long, drawn out groan of pain and pleasure. After a hard day’s work, the proof of it is shown in the coil and rigidity of his shoulders, torso, and legs. 

And it’s not like he doesn’t love interning under his dad and getting to help out solving crimes and chasing down the bad guys, but at the end of his shift it leaves him gone to the world unless it involves a shower.

He’s so relaxed five minutes into it that he doesn’t even jump when two arms snake around his waist. Stiles just hums contentedly and lets his body go slack.

Things We Know, Unsaid by uraneia - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,036, sterek)

Inspired by this Tumblr post, and written for lupinus's birthday.

Stiles accidentally finds a trunk full of Derek's professional dom gear from when he lived in New York. They don't talk about it. Then Stiles turns eighteen, and they do.

*

If he thought Derek would be angry or embarrassed at Stiles finding a trunk full of quality BDSM gear in his closet, he’d have been wrong. “I used to do it professionally, in New York,” Derek says easily, and Stiles—Stiles doesn’t know how to process that. Because he’s seventeen and has eyes and an unfortunately vivid imagination, and if he lets it go there he’s not going to get any use out of any body part except his dick for several hours.

Cravings, Pack and Angry Sex by Jumping_Jess - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,953, sterek)

It's a Pavlov response okay?! Pregnant Stiles + Angry Stiles = Horny Derek

Little Red Prince by SterlingAg - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 48,974, sterek)

Running from a group of bandits, Stiles finds himself injured and on the land of none other than the Shifter Derek Hale. But what is a Shifter? Is this Derek a friend or foe? What about the secret Stiles himself is keeping? What will become of the odd pair in this tale set in a fantasy world?

Basketball Shorts and Highlighters by sffan - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,720, sterek)

The UST between Derek and Stiles finally reaches a tipping point.

[avoicebehindthestars]

TIAL&INGO ch11 - This Is Real (a colouring page)

As promised, here's another colouring page for my beloved fandom's enjoyment! :D

Once again, it's for one of @phoen1xr0se's brilliant works - There Is a Light & It Never Goes Out, chapter 11 to be specific.

(Obsessed? Who, me?)

As previously, you are all welcome to help yourselves to this colouring page! Please don't erase my signature and credit me if you post your coloured version anywhere. A comment and some kudos on AO3 will be much appreciated!

But you know what would be the most awesome thank-you you could possibly offer? Donating to PhoenixRose's crowdfunder! She's a gem to this fandom, an inspiration to so many of us, and a joy to even more. And this time we can do something for her in return!

@goodomensafterdark If you'd be so kind as to do your thing ;)

[rustingcat]

Celebrating the one year anniversary of my blog with a redraw of one of my first supercorp artworks!

That was my real first attempt at colouring. I've learned a lot and improved so much since then, and I feel like it's all thanks to this fandom.

So here's for all of you who reblogged, liked, and enjoyed my art. For the kind people who read my fics and left lovely comments and kudos. And for all the amazing friends I made thanks to this fantastic community. I love you all my darlings, and I hope we keep creating and inspiring each other in the future❤️

[amalgamateofficial]

Hey, y'all. DoctorHaifisch, the author of the Danganronpa V3 fanfic Amalgamate here <3

Some of you might've already seen the above video on my TikTok page, but I wanted this thank you message to reach as many Amalgamate fans as possible. I only found out about the fic having the 4th most hits of any DRV3 fic on AO3 a few days ago, and when I was told about it, I couldn't believe it. I went to AO3 to confirm, and that's when I found out about Amalgamate also being #7 in kudos, #4 in bookmarks, and #3 in comments. I'm still completely shocked because I truly didn't realize Amalgamate had reached such a level of notoriety in the DRV3 fanfic community

So, I just want to say thank you to everyone who reads and enjoys Amalgamate. Whether you've only read some of it, read all of it, reread it, left kudos, left comments, or even just sent happy thoughts in the fic's direction, I appreciate you all so much. 2 1/2 years ago, I posted chapter 1 of Amalgamate under the assumption that hardly anyone would even read it, and now there's an audio project, fanart, fan comics, dubs, songs, animatics, fics inspired by Amalgamate, and so much more. It still blows my mind, and not for one second do I ever take any of it for granted.

So truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you all so much <333

Amalgamate changed my life for the better, and I'm so glad it had such a huge impact on so many you too <3

-- DoctorHaifisch

[silenzahra]

Green, Orange and a bit of Purple✨

This story was originally written and posted on 14th February 2024 in two different posts. My dear friend @itsavee4117 reblogged them, which I obviously appreciate, but I'm afraid some time after he did, I edited both posts to add the chapters to Tumblr so people could read them here as well.

That's why I thought of redoing them, and I decided to share the entire story in just one post so as not to drive everyone crazy 😅 You can find the story on AO3, where you'll see it's divided into two chapters (and I even added a title to them 🤭), or read under the cut to find the entire story. It's long though, so make sure to grab a snack and/or a drink. Of course, likes, comments and reblogs are always more than welcome, as well as kudos on AO3! 💖

My original source of inspiration was @sarahrsketches's comic Plumber's Bouquet, which you can see dubbed here!

Special thanks to @itsavee4117 @whippedcremepi and @mario-movie-brainbug for reblogging the old posts and to @elitadream for leaving such wonderful feedback on them 💖 (You can find them here and here if you're curious).

For those of you who will read this for the first time or would even like to give it a reread: I really hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for your support, and please remember that my asks and PMs are always open for you. Reblogs are deeply appreciated 💖

Also, this story got many lovely comments on AO3, which I'm obviously very thankful for! Still, it didn't get much feedback here on Tumblr (no disrespect to those mentioned above of course 🫂). I hope it's not too much to ask, but would you please consider leaving some feedback here, even if it's just one sentence? 🙏 I'd love to hear your thoughts on my beloved Luaisy story! 🥰

@vulpixfairy1985 @bberetd @peaches2217 @ask-rosalina-and-her-family @aqua-peri

@kimasousparky @megamagimugi @jellyfishinc @pepperycar @keakruiser

@teegeeteegee @supergay-64 @kelbreyworshipper @dragon-fly34 @artycomicfangirl

(Of course, if you want your tag removed, just let me know! 💖)

Without further ado: Luaisy for the soul! 💚🧡✨

Chapter 1: The beginning of the date

Luigi can’t believe it.

What he has been wishing for months is finally going to happen.

His first date with Daisy is about to begin.

Nervously, he smooths out the green shirt he’s wearing, the most elegant in his closet, so that there’s not a single wrinkle on it. From the corner where he waits, the one closest to his building, he takes quick and constant glances at the pipe through which Daisy is going to arrive, located at his back. Fortunately, it’s hidden in a seldom-traveled alley, so the chances of New Yorkers stumbling upon it by accident are slim. Of all the pipes in Brooklyn that are connected to the Mushroom Kingdom, this is the one closest to Luigi and Mario’s former home.

Which makes it the perfect pipeline for the brothers and their new friends to travel between dimensions while going unnoticed by the inhabitants of Earth.

As he patiently and with growing anxiety awaits Daisy’s arrival, Luigi goes over and over in his head the places in his city that he wants to show her. Everything will be fine, he repeats himself. He has been planning this date for months, long before he could even muster the courage to ask Daisy to go out with him.

He recalls that instant in his head very often. The way his legs trembled. His dry throat. His back sweating from nerves. How he kept fiddling with his fingers as, step by step, he approached the spot where Daisy was sitting in the garden of Peach’s castle, with whom she was having a lively conversation. Mario’s words of encouragement echoed in his head, along with the sentences they had rehearsed together so Luigi could say them to Daisy later. He remembers that Mario was waiting for him not far from there, hidden behind a corner and ready to intervene should Luigi require his aid. He remembers that Peach, as soon as she saw him arrive, apologized to Daisy and hurried to join Mario, giving Luigi a quick nod of encouragement as she passed him.

He remembers that Daisy, upon noticing his presence, smiled and greeted him by waving her hand with her usual energy, which made a smile blossom on Luigi’s lips. He remembers that, when he finally reached her side, she got up to give him a quick hug, causing his heart to bounce in his chest and her sweet vanilla scent to envelop him, before inviting him to sit next to her.

Of course, Luigi obeyed. Smiling nervously, he listened to her chatter for a few minutes, his eyes fixed on the dimples that appeared when she smiled and on the constellation of freckles that dotted her cheeks. Meanwhile, he was trying to find the right moment to start talking and the courage to push the words out of his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he distinguished that Mario and Peach, from their hideout, were gesturing to him. She did so discreetly and sweetly, but he was waving his arms and vocalizing in an exaggerated way, to incite him to finally start.

And Luigi, after swallowing, chose to do it in the same way as when removing a band-aid: in one go and without thinking.

“Daisy.”

His voice was barely a nervous whisper, but it was enough for the desert princess to interrupt herself and give him a warm smile.

“Yes, honey?”

“Er...” Luigi looked down, flustered by the affectionate nickname, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I-I thought that... W-well, I thought that m-maybe... you’d like to... c-come to B-Brooklyn?”

He scolded himself for his stammering. He’d practiced endlessly with Mario until he managed to deliver his sentences without stuttering, but standing in front of Daisy, the first person he’d been drawn to in a very, very long time, and trying to carry out the plan as intended was a very different thing.

“Luigi.” Her voice, full of curiosity, caught Luigi’s attention, making him set his eyes on her at last. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Her voice sounded defiant, of course, but Daisy accompanied it with a mischievous and amusing look that Luigi even found... suggestive? No, he must have been imagining it, he was too nervous and his eagerness to spend more time with her was playing a trick on him, Daisy could not be...

... Or could she?

“Uh-huh... W-well, uh...”

What should he answer now? Why hadn’t it occurred to Mario that Daisy might react like this? Why hadn’t it occurred to him?

“W-well, uh, I-I don’t know, I mean, o-only if you want to, I mean, I thought you might want to, but if you don’t, it’s okay! Of course you don’t want to, why would you, it’s a stupid idea, I-I’m very sorry...”

With every mumble that escaped his mouth, he felt himself shrinking more and more, to such an extent that he wished he could disappear, bury his head in the ground like an ostrich and never have made that suggestion to Daisy. Why did he think she would be interested? Why did he think she would want to spend time with a simple, clumsy, skittish plumber like him?

However, Daisy surprised him with a soft chuckle in which there was no trace of mockery, but rather... tenderness?

“Oh, Luigi,” she exclaimed, and slapped him on the shoulder so hard that Luigi thought she had just broken a bone. “Don’t underestimate yourself, sweetie! Of course I want to!”

Despite the pain in his back, Luigi sat up like a spring and turned to her with wide eyes.

“R-really?”

“Of course!” Daisy nodded vigorously, her grin so wide that it brought back those dimples that made Luigi feel like he was melting inside. “I really want to see Brooklyn, and I can’t think of a better guide than you!” she added with a wink.

With his back leaning against the red bricks so characteristic of his district, Luigi smiles, his cheeks flushed at the memory. Daisy’s joy at his suggestion was genuine, as was her eagerness to tour Brooklyn with him. Luigi really hopes, wishes, to be up to the task and get Daisy to have fun by his side. He fiddles with the flower he holds in his fingers and wonders if the desert princess will be much longer in coming.

He can’t wait to see her again.

A hand on his shoulder startles him so much that he lets out a shriek and is about to drop the flower. At the last moment, he manages to hold it close to his chest and places his other hand around its petals to protect it. As his fluttering heart tries to calm down, he hears a well-known chuckle, and a familiar and adored vanilla scent reaches his nose.

“D-Daisy,” he mumbles with a smile, beginning to turn his head.

“Sorry, honey,” she apologizes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Luigi is about to reply that it’s okay, that it’s his fault for being so easily scared, but he can’t do it.

He’s speechless.

Daisy looks gorgeous. More than that: she looks stunning, dazzling, radiant. Her pretty auburn hair shimmers in the evening sunlight, and a sparkle under her ears reveals the golden, daisy-shaped earrings she has chosen for the occasion. Her lovely eyes, as deep blue as the sea, gaze at Luigi with affection. He notices the eye shadow that Daisy has applied, a beautiful shade of purple that matches the full skirt she is wearing, which reveals the lower half of her legs. Her sandals, on the other hand, are orange, and the heel of them causes Luigi to see her even taller and slimmer than usual. Her blouse, matching her shoes, is adorned with yellow flower patterns, and leaves her slender shoulders bare. As he notices them, Luigi swallows, wondering what it would feel like to put an arm across them and thus touch her beautiful skin, just to see firsthand if it’s as soft to the touch as it seems.

But what catches his attention, no matter how hard he tries to avoid it, are her lips. Daisy often puts on lipstick, but today she’s wearing a nice earthy color that matches her beautiful brown skin, and Luigi is seized by the sudden and compelling need to find out what they taste like. He reddens immediately and chides himself. This may be a date and they may have both dressed up for the occasion, but it’s not like him, nor right for Daisy, that that, kissing her, is all he can think about at that moment.

He wants to say something, anything, make some silly joke to try to relax and make her feel welcome, but only one word comes to his mind.

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

Daisy covers her mouth with her hand to hide a giggle as her freckled cheeks light up under the blush she has applied.

“You think so?” she says playfully. “How cute.”

Luigi gasps. Did he just say that word... out loud? He feels his whole face burning immediately with embarrassment, and he’s about to apologize when he finds Daisy looking him up and down intently.

Suddenly he feels ragged, disheveled, very far from the elegance of the young princess. Almost unintentionally, he takes a quick glance at himself, searching for any wrinkles or stains on his green shirt or his blue jeans, even though he has carefully washed and ironed them for the occasion. His brown shoes are also shiny, as he has rubbed them incessantly, and he has used more shampoo than usual when showering, as well as making sure that not a single hair was left out of place when combing his hair. Including his moustache.

All in the hope of making a good impression on Daisy, but it wasn't enough. How could it be? He works non-stop day after day, he gets dirty often, so he's sure he's left something out, some tiny detail that he's missed because of his nerves, and Daisy has noticed it immediately and is judging him and is going to leave at once, because how could she want to go out with him?

“Handsome,” she then says, slowly, looking him in the eye.

“Wh-what?”

“You just used an adjective to describe me,” Daisy says, and winks at him. “So I just used another one to describe you.”

Again, Luigi is speechless. He pants, trying to find his voice, but he feels like a fish that has been plucked from the sea and thrown to the bottom of a volcano. A green, clumsy fish that doesn’t know how to react to the fact that the girl he’s getting crazier and crazier about every day has just paid him a compliment. To him, no less. Does that mean, then, that there’s no problem with his appearance?

In a reflex action born out of fear that Daisy will laugh at him or, worse, get tired of waiting for an answer and leave, Luigi stretches out his arm in her direction. She gives a start and looks down, and a beautiful smile lights up her face when she notices the gift he is offering her.

“A daisy?” she says, delighted, and brings both joined hands to her cheek. “And it’s purple!”

“Y-yes,” he manages to murmur, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I-I grow them in my garden, in my house in the Mushroom Kingdom.”

“I love it! Thanks, Luigi!”

Daisy reaches out with both hands to take the flower, and Luigi struggles to ignore the tingle of excitement that runs up and down his body as her fingers brush his and send a pleasant electric shock sensation to his nerve endings. Daisy brings the flower to her face to inhale its scent and admires its pretty purple petals with delight. Luigi smiles tenderly as he sees her take the aster to her head to try and pin it in her hair.

“Wait,” he offers without thinking, reaching out his arms to her. “I’ll help you.”

Daisy slowly lowers her hands and lets him do it. Luigi holds the stem of the flower and carefully moves a lock of Daisy’s silky hair aside, taking care not to muss it. He places the plant so that it’s held securely to the side of her face and its purple petals sparkle almost level with Daisy’s lovely blue eyes. Which, Luigi suddenly notices, are watching him attentively. Surprised, he turns away from Daisy and takes a step back while letting out a nervous giggle, blushing again. He hadn’t even noticed coming so close to her, nor that his tongue, as it usually does when he’s focused on something, was sticking out between his lips.

Fortunately, although Daisy is observing him with interest and a wide smile on her face, she does not utter a word. She just stares at him, as if seeing him for the first time, and Luigi suddenly finds himself at a loss for what to do with his arms.

“W-well... D-do you want to...?”

He points forward with his hand, unable to finish the question, as his throat feels dry and he needs to drink urgently. Daisy’s jump, as if her mind had wandered away from there and just suddenly returned, disconcerts him and makes him wonder if he has inadvertently done something wrong because of his usual clumsiness.

But Daisy soon pulls herself together and gives him a dazzling smile.

“Sure!” she exclaims enthusiastically. “Where are we going?”

“Not far from here.”

Luigi starts walking in the direction of Punch-Out Pizzeria, which is almost at the end of the street. It’s one of his favorite places in Brooklyn and he can’t wait for Daisy to try their famous pizzas. He really hopes she likes them, because then he’ll always have an excuse to invite her to dinner.

As they walk down the street, Daisy stops to look in the windows of the various stores they pass. She points at them with her finger, which she presses against the glass, and talks to Luigi about how much or how little she likes the products for sale and how exorbitant or affordable she finds them depending on the price. He listens to her without interrupting and smiles, his heart full of tenderness at the genuine enthusiasm with which she examines everything.

When they get to the bookstore, however, it is she who listens to him talk. This is Luigi’s favorite bookstore, the one he goes to at least once a week to browse through the new releases and, if possible, take home a new book. The same thing happens when they reach the florist’s shop, although this time the enthusiasm is shared, as they both have a passion for gardening.

By the time they finally get ready to enter the pizzeria, it’s almost dark. Luigi can’t help but be surprised, as the walk from his house to the establishment usually takes him no more than five minutes. But he’s not going to complain, since, almost unintentionally, he’s had a chance to take a nice walk with Daisy and show her two of his other favorite places in Brooklyn besides the pizzeria.

Luigi opens the door and steps aside with an exaggerated bow.

“After you, milady,” he pronounces with feigned refinement.

He hears Daisy let out a soft chuckle that, unexpectedly, makes him feel connected to her in a way he’s unable to explain.

“Very gallant, gentleman,” she replies as she passes him, imitating his tone.

Luigi stands up straight, laughing as well, and enters after her. Daisy moves to a free table by the window and Luigi follows her without hesitation. He feels strange: on the one hand, he’s on familiar ground, in the pizzeria he has been coming to with his brother since they were teenagers, which floods him with an intense sense of security so powerful that he believes nothing could bring it down. In fact, he knows for sure that, if he’s been able to make that little joke with Daisy when opening the door for her, it’s thanks to that feeling.

On the other hand, his companion is none other than the ruler of the Kingdom of Sarasaland. A warrior and brave princess who’s won his heart with her exorbitant and inexhaustible energy, her desire to prove herself all the time and her lively personality. A princess, a young woman, who has the power to make him feel as if his limbs were made of butter, his face a burning coal and his heart, an organ foreign to his body that belongs entirely to Daisy, so that it accelerates like a runaway horse when she is near.

And now she is near.

She’s sitting across from him, flipping through the menu, but the tables at the Punch-Out Pizzeria aren’t too wide. Luigi knows that, if he stretched his arms out just a little, there’s a good chance Daisy’s hands would brush against him when she drops the menu. He swallows. Should he do it or not? Would it be too bold? Would it be too brazen to try to hold her hand? Would Daisy even want their fingers to touch?

“What do you recommend?” she asks, her eyes still fixed on the food list.

Luigi gasps. He feels as if he’s been caught red-handed, as if he’s been doing something wrong. He shakes his head a little and ducks it to see his own menu as he tries to sort out his thoughts to answer Daisy.

“W-well, Mario and I always order the bell pepper pizzas.”

“Let me guess,” she asks him, her voice laden with a challenge that causes Luigi to look up, curious, and their eyes meet over the table. “He orders the red bell pepper, and you order the green bell pepper.”

Luigi laughs and rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, embarrassed.

Daisy laughs softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, just below the flower.

“Actually, I just went by the colors you two usually wear. Is it a coincidence that your favorite colors match your favorite pizzas?”

“I guess so.”

Luigi shrugs and she giggles again.

“If there was a purple pizza, I’d order it,” she states, returning her attention to the menu.

“You can try mine if you want to.”

Luigi purses his lips as he realizes he just said that out loud. It’s just a silly idea that has crossed his mind, but Daisy most likely doesn’t want to share. Why would she? He should’ve thought better before saying such a silly thing.

To his surprise, however, Daisy looks at him decisively and nods.

“What’s your second favorite pizza?” she asks, very seriously, pointing her finger at him.

“Er… C-carbonara,” he stammers, dumbfounded.

“Perfect.” Daisy picks up both cards and winks at him. “How about we order carbonara and green bell pepper? Then we can both try each other’s pizza.”

Relief floods Luigi with the intensity of the swell. Daisy’s solution seems perfect, so, trying hard to overcome his shyness, he raises his arm to call the waiter and places their orders. When the man leaves, Luigi places both elbows on the table and drops his hands over the edge of the table, close to his stomach. He doesn’t know where to look, so he wanders his gaze absentmindedly around the room.

Inevitably, his eyes end up meeting Daisy’s, so he forces himself to compose a smile. He’s so nervous, however, that it comes out weak and insecure.

But Daisy doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well,” she says lightly, also leaning on the table, and watches him intently. “So what else do you like to do?”

“Uh... Sorry?” Luigi feels lost.

“Apart from reading and gardening,” she says, smiling sweetly at him. “What other hobbies do you have, Luigi?”

“Oh! W-well...” Luigi shrinks back a little. Will he bore her if he goes into detail about his other hobbies? “I-I like photography. I like... to be able to save an instant, a memory, a place, and freeze them in time so that they become eternal.”

“Wow,” she exclaims admiringly. “That’s very profound.”

“Really?”

Luigi looks at her with wide eyes, unable to believe that, as is practically his case with the rest of the world, Daisy doesn’t think he’s being too intense or ridiculous in expressing himself that way. The young woman nods vigorously, a sincere smile glowing on her face, and her expression of sheer interest is all Luigi needs to launch into speaking.

He tells her that sometimes ideas or images come to his mind, and he needs to get them out of his head, to bring them to life. They drive him to write or draw, depending on what comes to him, which is why he collects notebooks and sketchbooks. He tells her that, every Christmas, he gives his brother a wool garment he knits himself, because Mario is quite a mess and his clothes hardly last from one year to the next. He tells her that on Saturday nights, he and Mario stay up late watching a movie in the living room of their new home, and that they always have trouble choosing because their tastes are so opposite. She listens to him, attentive, and from time to time lets out a giggle or makes a comment but does not interrupt him. Luigi, finally, tells her that on Sunday afternoons, and sometimes also on Fridays, he and Mario play videogames, and at his explanation about them, Daisy’s eyes light up more and more.

“That sounds amazing!” she exclaims, excited. “Oh my gosh, now I need to try those... What are they called?”

“Videogames,” Luigi clarifies, and leans forward, his eyes sparkling, sharing Daisy’s enthusiasm. “And you’re more than welcome to come try them out! I’m sure Mario would love to play with someone who’s not as clumsy as I am,” he adds with a laugh.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not that bad.” Daisy playfully punches him in the shoulder, which makes Luigi’s giggles increase. “Keep in mind that I’ve never played. Of course you’re going to be better than me!”

“That is, until you get the hang of it,” Luigi says, massaging his shoulder. “And I’m sure it won’t take you long at all.”

“Well, thank you for your blind faith in me!”

Daisy laughs too and brings a hand to her chest, but, in the midst of their chuckles, she stops and gives him another intense glance. Luigi’s laughter barely lasts a couple more seconds before it stops abruptly, as he feels overwhelmed by the intensity of her deep blue eyes.

“You’re very sweet, Luigi. Did you know that?”

Daisy’s cheeks glow as she utters those words, but her smile remains, serene and confident, no trace of nervousness or embarrassment on her beautiful face. Quite the opposite of Luigi, who is convinced he could fry an egg on his forehead.

“Th-thank you,” he mumbles, looking away, and rubs the back of his neck again, flustered.

Daisy giggles.

“And you look so cute when you do that.”

Luigi’s blush grows, which causes Daisy’s laughter to increase in turn, and Luigi, despite his rosy cheeks, suddenly finds himself feeling that he can go on behaving like this forever if it will make her chuckle in such an uninhibited and sincere way.

At that moment, luckily, the pizzas finally arrive, accompanied by their drinks, and the young woman’s attention turns to the food. She contemplates both pizzas attentively, almost as if they were works of art, and this time it is Luigi who has to hide a giggle. He watches, expectantly, as Daisy takes her first bite of her carbonara pizza, and waits, on the edge of his seat, for the girl to pronounce her verdict. Her face, thoughtful as she chews, doesn’t even hint at a simple clue, which makes Luigi, almost without realizing it, hold his breath.

Until Daisy, after swallowing, gives him a beaming smile.

“It’s delicious!” she nearly squeals, waving her other hand in the air in excitement.

“Yes!” Luigi exclaims in turn and raises a victorious fist.

For the next few minutes, he finds himself devouring, not even knowing how, small bites of both pizzas, his and Daisy’s. He cackles, half surprised, half overwhelmed, when Daisy, without so much as by his leave, moves her head forward to take a rather savage bite of the slice of green bell pepper pizza he holds in his hand. Her expression is so delighted, so self-satisfied, that Luigi can only cover his mouth with his free hand to try to stifle the fit of laughter that assails him.

After finishing the pizza, Luigi suggests they have some tiramisu. And, if Daisy was already impressed by the flavor of the pizzas, she’s completely thrilled when she tastes the dessert.

“Oh my goodness, Luigi,” she mumbles after devouring the last slice. “No wonder this is your favorite place in Brooklyn. You have to bring me here often!”

“Anytime,” he offers before finishing his tiramisu.

“How about...?” Daisy begins to say, casting a casual glance around the place before laying her eyes on Luigi as she rests her chin on her hand. “Tomorrow?”

Luigi almost chokes on his tiramisu. Daisy hurries to bring his drink closer to him, and even though there’s barely a sip left, it’s enough for Luigi to stabilize himself. Speechless, he stares at Daisy, astonishment dancing in his expression.

“T-tomorrow?” he repeats, still gasping for air.

“I mean, if you want to,” Daisy replies, though she keeps smiling.

“Yes!” Luigi almost shouts, unwittingly stretching out on the table. “Yes, I mean, yes! Of course I want to! B-but you…”

“Me what, honey?”

“You...” Luigi lowers his gaze, unsure, and begins to rub the tips of his index fingers together, wanting to look at her, but not daring to do it. “Y-you want to?”

“Of course!” she assures him. “I love what I’ve seen of Brooklyn so far. I want to see more... and I want,” she adds, gazing at him purposedly, “to see my handsome guide again.”

The air disappears from Luigi’s lungs. His heart is racing, galloping so hard against his chest that he thinks it’ll end up opening a hole in his skin and running away to Daisy’s arms. She, in the meantime, stares at him casually as she bites her lower lip.

“I know I’ve told you this before,” she says softly, “but I love it when you do that.”

“A-actually,” Luigi replies with a nervous chuckle, “y-you said I’m v-very... cute... w-when I do th-that...”

His voice trails off as he realizes what a stupid thing he’s doing. Why does he stop to point out something so silly when the important thing is the message Daisy is conveying? Why is he unable to come up with an answer according to what she has just told him?

“Both options are true,” she replies without raising her tone, shrugging her shoulders.

Still flushed and uneasy, Luigi gives a weak smile. He is thankful that Daisy hasn’t for an instant pointed out the ridiculousness of his remark. In fact, it doesn’t seem to bother her one bit that he’s been the awkward, embarrassed bundle of nerves he’s always been all dinner. Quite the contrary: judging by her words and the intensity with which she contemplates him, Daisy loves that Luigi is so... like this. So him.

And he loves that Daisy is so her.

He swallows slowly, determined to tell her so too. His eyes remain fixed on the wooden table. His fingers, again, fiddle with each other. His cheeks burn, as they’ve been doing for most of the night. His voice comes out hoarse at first, as if it wants to remain a prisoner inside his mouth, and Luigi is forced to clear his throat to force himself to speak.

“I-I t-too... like you. V-very much.”

He lets out a small sigh of relief, pleased with himself for finally daring to say it out loud. He even breaks into a small smile, the urge to laugh bubbling in his throat.

“Just... very much?”

Daisy’s voice sounds suggestive. Insinuating. Provocative, even. Luigi, very slowly, dares to raise his head. Daisy hasn’t wiped the playful, cheeky smile from her mouth, as mischievous as the wink she gives him when their eyes meet. Luigi purses his lips. Blushing as he is, he plucks up his courage and holds her gaze, even though inside he feels like he’s made of jelly. When he speaks, he gives his voice all the seriousness he can muster so that she understands that he’s not playing games or exaggerating.

“Very much so.”

He almost feels like applauding himself for being able to say it without stuttering. He smiles again, trying to appear confident, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Daisy’s. He wants her to read in them the sincerity with which he speaks, just like him, in her gestures, in her smile, in her beautiful gaze, has been able to see from the beginning that she was not joking when she expressed how much she liked the way he is.

Daisy’s smile widens slightly, in a barely appreciable way, as she hears the vehemence of his tone, but Luigi notices it. She then places her hands on the wood and leans on it to stand up.

“Luigi, you are adorable,” she states as she gets up, and the way she says it, her voice filled with fervor, her face as if she were simply talking about the weather, completely disarms Luigi. “I’d love to take a walk with you. Would you like that?”

“Oh!” Luigi’s throat has gone dry at the compliment, but he struggles to find his voice and stands up too. “S-sure! Th-there’s a park near here. W-we can... stroll there. I-if you want t-to.”

Daisy smiles and nods, smoothing her skirt with her palms, and touches her hair for a moment to make sure the flower is still firmly attached to it.

“That would be great.”

She places both hands on her purple garment and smiles at him, and Luigi grins too, staring at her. It takes him a few seconds to realize that Daisy is waiting for him to move first, as he is closer to the exit than she is. Feeling clumsier than he has ever felt before in his entire life, Luigi stumbles until he reaches the door and, again, opens it and steps to the side to give way to her.

As Daisy walks past him, she gives him a low chuckle that has no mockery in it, and Luigi, his face burning, imitates her, though his laughter sounds a little louder because of his nerves, which, though they had settled during dinner, have returned more impetuously. When she steps out into the street, Luigi closes his eyes for a moment and takes a slow breath, trying to calm himself, before following her.

The blush on his cheeks increases when his eyes meet Daisy’s, who gazes at him with a smile full of affection. After clearing his throat, Luigi puts one hand in his pocket as he raises the other.

“The park is that way.”

As he drops his arm, a slight electric shock elicits a soft cry of surprise. He staggers back in surprise and carefully examines his hand. Behind it, he notices Daisy’s confused gaze, watching him in astonishment, her own hand raised. They both drop them slowly, their breaths a bit shaky, their eyes caught in each other’s. Luigi does not understand what just happened. Bewilderment washes over him, and Daisy’s expression tells him that she, too, feels disoriented.

Until, suddenly, she smiles a somewhat... shy smile?

“Wow,” she says. “Looks like we have chemistry.”

“W-what?” Luigi raises an eyebrow in confusion.

Daisy covers her mouth with her hand to hide a giggle.

“We accidentally brushed against each other,” she explains. “And sparks flew.”

Luigi lets out a low “oh” and looks down at his hand again as his brain processes what has just happened. His cheeks start reddening again as a smile, much more self-conscious than Daisy’s, blooms on his lips. When he returns his attention to her and finds her as flushed as he is, Luigi feels again that tug of affinity inside him that pulls him towards her and makes him understand that, without a hint of doubt, they are somehow connected.

“I guess we’ll have to be careful,” says Daisy, “or we’ll short-circuit each other.”

Luigi laughs and nods, though the immensity of his feelings doesn’t diminish for an instant. Then Daisy extends her arm, smiling warmly at him, and Luigi stares for a second at those fingers waving in his direction in a silent invitation.

“Shall we try again?” Daisy suggests.

Luigi looks up at her again with a cheerful grin and, without hesitation, stretches out his own hand. At the first touch of his skin against Daisy’s, he does not feel a new electric shock, but a mixture of excitement and disbelief that only increases as his fingers slowly intertwine with the princess’, their palms touching, as if this is their place, as if this is where they belong, as if this is where they always should be.

United. Glued. Together. Being one.

That’s exactly how Luigi feels when, as he lifts his fascinated gaze from the union of their hands, his eyes meet Daisy’s. She smiles at him, a slight blush covering her tanned skin, but Luigi, to his surprise, doesn’t feel insecure or embarrassed for the first time all night.

For the first time, he knows that what he’s doing, holding Daisy’s hand and pressing it lightly, feeling his bond with her deepening, is okay. It’s more than right. It’s perfect. It’s the right thing to do. It’s what he wants to experience all the time, every day of his life, if she feels that way too.

And, judging by the speed with which Daisy is quick to return his squeeze, Luigi has no doubt that the young woman does, indeed, reciprocate his feelings.

With a soft chuckle, Daisy nods her head in the direction Luigi pointed when he left the pizzeria. Luigi responds with another giggle and, not letting her hand go, starts walking.

Chapter 2: The end of a wonderful night

Walking with Daisy hand in hand is a very different sensation from walking with her by his side. Now, even if Luigi still finds it hard to believe, he is touching Daisy’s warm skin, which turns out to be much softer and silkier than he had imagined. He is feeling her slender fingers wrap around his hand. He is feeling her palm press against his, seeking his touch the same way Luigi seeks hers.

He feels so exhilarated, so euphoric, so blissful, that, almost without realizing it, he begins to swing his arm, rocking Daisy’s as well. She laughs when she notices the movement, but she doesn’t try to stop him, quite the contrary: she starts swaying her arm with so much momentum that soon is she who leads the motion, which makes Luigi laugh out loud while, thrilled, he lets himself be carried away.

They soon leave the hustle and bustle of the city behind to dive right into the greenery of the leafy park where Luigi goes for a walk from time to time. Daisy smiles, delighted, as she notices the dense nature around them, and reaches out her hand to brush the trunk of one of the trees they pass. She can’t take her eyes off all the beautiful flowers that populate the area, her eyes wanting to capture it all, and Luigi gazes at her with a deep feeling of tenderness flooding his heart.

“I used to come to this park a lot when I was a child,” he tells her, his eyes also wandering around the place. “My Mom used to bring my brother and me here when we were just babies. We’d play together in the sand,” he adds, pointing to a section in the park where a children’s area is visible, “although at first Mario preferred our mom to swing him. It was too scary for me,” he confesses with a chuckle, “so I’d rather stay there building castles with my colored blocks.”

Even though he was very little, Luigi still remembers one of those occasions when, after he had finished building a big fortress with his blocks, a boy suddenly stormed in and stole the flag he was trying to crown it with. Luigi recalls the feeling of helplessness when the boy, with a brutal kick, smashed his castle, and the momentum caused him to fall backwards and crumple to the ground while the boy cruelly taunted him. 

Until, behind his aggressor, something red unexpectedly appeared, hit him on the head and snatched the flag from his hand. Luigi still remembers how surprised he was when he noticed Mario, who, standing protectively in front of him, held out the flag without turning to him, his defiant and furious expression fixed on the boy. The latter, after getting up, gave them an angry look before running away. Only then did Mario turn to Luigi with a reassuring smile from ear to ear, and Luigi, still somewhat stunned by what had just happened, tried to return the smile, though he could barely compose a weak grimace. 

From then on, however, Mario began to play more often with him in the sand. He still went on swinging, of course, and soon began to go down the slide without their mom’s supervision, but he never took his eyes off Luigi. Years later, moreover, that park was crucial in Mario’s recovery after his first love breakup, since Luigi, after several days of taking care of him and comforting him while his brother cried his heart out in his arms, managed to convince him to leave the house and go for a walk together. The fresh air of nature felt so good and cheered him up so much that, soon, it was Mario himself who began to look for Luigi to go for a stroll in the park.

A sigh escapes Luigi’s lips as he recalls those memories. This park is very important for him, so he’s glad to be showing it to Daisy. Since she wanted to see his favorite places in Brooklyn, this little garden hidden in the heart of his district could not be missed.

“What do you think?” he asks, turning to her, his hand firmly clasped in hers.

“I love it,” Daisy declares, looking everywhere to soak in the beauty of the park. “It’s a very beautiful place.”

She turns her face towards him as she takes a step to cover the short distance between them. The fingers on her other hand lightly brush Luigi’s arm, making him give a start. The touch is so faint and intense at the same time that he feels himself melting.

“Thank you for sharing it with me, Luigi.”

Her head rests gently on his shoulder as she releases a sigh, her hair, and the purple flower, tickling his ear. Luigi’s heart, at this point, has jumped into a runaway gallop that brings a smile to his lips, nervous and plethoric at the same time. His skin burns so much, it’s been burning so much all night, that he wouldn’t be surprised if the next day he finds burns all over his body, as if he had gone to the beach and forgotten to apply sunscreen.

By then, their footsteps have led them to the pond that rules the place. It’s a large lake inhabited by several families of ducks, where, during the day, passers-by can sail in small boats. Luigi promises himself to bring Daisy here again soon, so that they can ride together in one of the boats in the sunlight. He knows for sure that she’ll like the experience.

Right now, all they do is gaze at the calm waters under the bright light of the full moon, along with many other couples also strolling through the park. Luigi notices that there are some clouds scattered across the sky but hopes that they won’t rob the moon of its brightness and allow them to continue enjoying the peace and warmth of this summer night. 

“Luigi, look!”

Daisy’s alarmed voice, together with the light tapping she gives him on the arm, makes Luigi lower his eyes again. He gapes at a duck that is approaching them, swimming calmly across the pond, tracing a clear straight line that emerges from the small house in the center of the lake, where all the ducks live, and concludes, without any doubt, at the exact point where Luigi and Daisy are standing in this moment.

“How strange,” Luigi murmurs, puzzled. “I thought all the ducks would be sleeping at this hour.”

“Maybe it’s a vampire duck,” Daisy suggests.

Luigi gives a snort and looks sideways at her. 

“You think so?”

“Maybe it’s coming to drink your blood,” adds Daisy, running two fingers along his arm.

“Or yours,” Luigi counters, ignoring the shudder that runs through him at the young woman’s touch. 

She laughs, and the sound of her laughter makes Luigi’s heart beat faster, full of tenderness.

“I don’t think so. My blood is blue,” Daisy points out, gazing at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m a princess, remember?”

“Then maybe it’s a bewitched prince who needs to be kissed by a beautiful princess.”

The words have come rushing out of his mouth, not even thinking them, his eyes fixed on Daisy’s. He scolds himself once again, convinced he’s gone red in the face again, but Daisy’s sly smile silences the apology that was about to burst from his lips.

“I can think of a much better candidate than a prince to kiss this princess.”

Again she runs her fingers along his arms as she speaks, so slowly that Luigi thinks he’ll pass out. Her eyes, two glittering sapphires, gaze at him with intensity, even brighter in the moonlight. Luigi is breathless, but the beauty of her look so mesmerizes him that he is unable to take his eyes off her. 

A sudden squawk startles him so much that it makes him stagger and fall backwards, a shriek of surprise escaping his throat. Luigi closes his eyes just as his lower back hits the grass and he lets out a soft moan of pain, but Daisy’s screams immediately catch his attention.

Opening his eyes, Luigi gasps when he sees that the princess has placed herself in front of him in a protective attitude to defend him from the duck, the cause of his fall.

“Get away from here!” she shouts at it angrily, trying to shoo it away.

The animal flaps its wings, still quacking, but Daisy’s impetus, her eagerness to keep it away from Luigi, ends up causing the duck, although reluctant, to begin to waddle in the direction of the pond, to which it finally returns. Only then, Daisy lowers her arms, her breathing accelerated, and turns to Luigi with concern painted on her face. 

“Oh, my, Luigi, are you all right?” she asks, holding out both arms to him.

And Luigi, who had been staring at her, completely fascinated, blinks suddenly, trying to get out of the state of confusion in which he’s immersed, and shakes his head.

“Y-yes,” he murmurs, laughing nervously, as he raises a hand.

Daisy clutches it at once, her fingers closing tightly around his palm and wrist, and Luigi feels that warm, pleasant shock again as soon as his skin comes into contact with the princess’. Daisy pulls him to help him up, and he embarrassedly massages his back with his free hand. His other hand is closed tightly around Daisy’s, and he has no intention of opening it. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, embarrassed. “It caught me off guard.”

Daisy, not letting go either, lets out a faint giggle.

“Don’t apologize.” She removes her hand from his wrist, only to place it under his chin and sweetly turn his face towards her. “It wasn’t your fault, but the vampire duck’s.” 

They both laugh, sharing a knowing glance, and Luigi can’t help but stare at her, spellbound, still unable to take in the fact that this brave princess has just saved him. Even if it was from something as random as the attack of a duck from the pond.

“Thank you, Daisy,” he says wholeheartedly, his eyes shining with emotion. 

Daisy’s face lights up with a smile that, once more, brings out the dimples in her freckled cheeks. 

“You’re welcome, Luigi.” Her eyes stare at him again. “You’re... so charming.”

Luigi’s legs tremble, and not because of the fall. He feels that his smile is like jelly, flimsy and unstable. A scream rises in his chest and spreads throughout his body but does not reach his throat. His cheeks, of course, burn, even more intensely. And his heartbeat is so loud, so booming, that he’s convinced Daisy can hear it clearly.

She keeps looking at him, her expression full of warmth. Is it Luigi’s impression, or is her face now a little closer to his? His eyes, as if deciding for themselves, drift to those beautiful lips, so full and suggestive, that he so badly wants to kiss. Is it possible that Daisy... also wants to... kiss him? Him?

Suddenly, a soft melody reaches his ears. With his eyes still locked on Daisy’s, Luigi doesn’t lose any detail of her reaction: a new sparkle, naughty this time, shines in her eyes, while her smile turns mischievous. With a giggle, the princess puts a finger to his chest and pushes him gently, making him back away, at the same time that she herself takes a step backwards. Luigi laughs, stunned, though his mirth dies when Daisy’s hand slowly slides across his palm until the touch is broken, leaving him with a sensation of emptiness that makes his chest feel hollow.

“Wow,” Daisy exclaims playfully, as she places both hands behind her back. “This music is perfect for a dance, don’t you think?”

Luigi laughs again, but, somewhat confused, he takes his eyes off Daisy for a moment to search for the source of the melody. He then notices a figure, under a tree near the pond, sweetly sliding a bow over the strings of a violin, inviting the many other couples strolling around to dance to the beautiful song and take in the intimate and romantic atmosphere.

A throat clearing from Daisy impels Luigi to rest his gaze on her again. The princess does not look directly at him, but her eyes are raised to the sky.

“I wonder,” she says, pretending to be oblivious to his presence, “if there’s a handsome gentleman around here who would like to ask this lady to dance.”

Luigi gasps as he realizes Daisy’s intentions. His heart pumps wildly at the fleeting wink she gives him. Dancing? Together? Like in those romance stories set in bygone eras? His throat goes dry. Of course he loves to dance, and of course he’d love to dance with Daisy, but pretending to be a gentleman asking a lady for a dance? And a princess, no less. He’s just a simple Brooklyn plumber – how can he possibly live up to her expectations?

But it’s Daisy. The girl who has driven him crazy practically since the first time he saw her. The warrior, feisty princess who won his heart with her impulsiveness and her spontaneity. The bold, sassy woman he has fallen for head over heels. And, besides, she looks so beautiful, with her pretty orange blouse, her cheerful full skirt, the purple flower pinned to her lovely auburn mane, shimmering under the moonlight...

He wants to do it. He wants to dance with her. He wants to feel her close, he wants to feel her hand in his again, fitting together like two pieces of a perfect puzzle. He wants to please her, to whirl with her until dawn if necessary, to be carried away together by the sweet melody that flows from the violin and floods his ears.

So, without a second thought, Luigi plucks up his courage, shortens the distance between them in two strides and, with a slight bow, extends his hand to her.

“Would you do me the honor of granting me this dance, beautiful lady?”

Daisy’s smile widens at his gesture, her dimples appearing once again on her cheeks. She brings one hand to her chest in feigned surprise and slowly reaches out the other to place it softly on Luigi’s palm.

“With pleasure, handsome gentleman.”

Luigi’s fingers unconsciously close around her delicate hand. When he straightens, however, Daisy lets go, but does not pull away from him. With her eyes fixed on Luigi’s, the young woman places one hand on her partner’s shoulder and reaches for his fingers with the other, so that, at last, their hands are joined again, palm against palm, the fingers of one of the back of the other’s hand. Instinctively, Luigi raises his other hand to, with some uncertainty, rest it on Daisy’s waist, whose smile widens, and she gives him a slight nod of approval. Luigi sighs in relief, his grin a little more confident, and then, to the rhythm of the music, they both begin to move.

At first, of course, Luigi’s feet stumble, his legs shaking like a leaf. Daisy laughs faintly at his embarrassed expression, but she gently squeezes his hand and, whispering, begins to set the beat to help him. 

“One, two, three... Now!”

And Luigi obeys, and strives to follow the pace she sets, and manages to complete the steps so precisely that he surprises himself. He watches Daisy with enthusiasm shining in his eyes, and she, smiling tenderly at him, falls silent, because she understands that he no longer needs her to guide him.

And suddenly, they’re dancing.

Luigi can’t believe it. The delicate cadence of the melody propels his feet, which move in near-perfect synchrony with Daisy’s. They whirl around the park together, close to each other, Daisy’s purple skirt tangling around her legs. She, with her eyes closed and a serene smile on her lips, rocks in Luigi’s arms, feeling the music, living it, and he soon catches the passion with which the young woman dances. The song floods his mind, reaches his heart and urges him to dance with his soul, devoting himself entirely to the beauty of the music.

Without letting go of Daisy, Luigi reaches out his arm to spin her around, and watches her beautiful hair float behind her, making her look even more attractive in his eyes, if that’s even possible. The purple daisy, still clinging to her mane, slips a little to rest on Daisy’s ear, and, at the conclusion of the spin, she falls into Luigi’s arms with a soft exhalation of awe. Luigi holds her, one arm behind her back, his hand gripping Daisy’s firmly, and breathless, she gives him a rapt smile, her free arm coming up to encircle his neck. Luigi, to his surprise, finds himself smiling gallantly at her, completely immersed in the music and the intimate atmosphere of the place. He helps her straighten up and resettles his hand on her waist, as Daisy’s hand slides back to its place on his shoulder. As they continue to dance, however, her fingers lift slightly to graze his ear, sending a tingle of pleasure to every nerve ending in Luigi’s body.

By the time the harmonious melody concludes, they’re both breathing heavily, their hearts beating fast to the rhythm of the other’s. They glance, smiling, their hands still intertwined, Luigi’s palm still on Daisy’s waist, Daisy’s fingers still resting on Luigi’s shoulder. Their bodies are very close, their chests almost pressed together due to the posture. Luigi, for the umpteenth time that night, finds his eyes entwined with Daisy’s, caught by that depth that so reminds him of the ocean. She too seems unable to stop gazing at him, a pretty smile gracing those beautiful lips that Luigi is so eager to taste. His heart gets a little faster if possible at the thought, but the princess drives him so crazy that he can only think of having her closer, a little closer, just a little bit closer. He feels totally imprisoned by her spell, hopelessly wrapped around her finger, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

His breath intermingles with Daisy’s. Hers is a bit shaken, while he feels like a bundle of nerves. Still, Luigi’s instinct is screaming at him to keep his head down a little, and who is he to resist.

“Luigi,” he hears her say then, her voice barely a choked whisper, “if you want to stop... you’d better do it now.”

Despite her words, Daisy doesn’t sound too convinced. Luigi can’t stop the corners of his lips from lifting slightly, his heart full of tenderness, and his voice comes out hoarse and low as he manages to answer her.

“I don’t want to stop.”

Fleetingly, Daisy returns his smile. She continues to move closer, raising her head a little higher, and Luigi continues to tilt his, both anxious and excited with anticipation.

Until, at last, their lips meet.

And Luigi feels like he could die in that instant.

Daisy’s lips are sweet, soft, far more delicious than Luigi could have imagined, and he melts inside with delight. He thinks he might burst into tears from the joy of finally seeing his greatest wish fulfilled. Is Daisy, the princess he’s madly in love with, really kissing him? Is this not a dream? But no, the touch of her velvety lips against his is so real that he’s about to lose his mind.

He wants to give himself completely to this madness and never let go. 

They linger for a second with their mouths pressed together, enjoying each other’s touch, until Daisy begins to move her lips. At first she does it slowly, tempting him, tasting him, and Luigi, delighted, lets himself be guided by her lead and enjoys the movement.

Then Daisy opens her mouth, inviting Luigi to explore her, and lets go of his hand to wrap both arms around his neck. Luigi barely notices, so lost as he is in the kiss, so fascinated by the flavor of the young woman that he can’t even realize that now both his hands are squeezing her waist, instinctively pulling her closer to him. 

They both raise their tongues at the same time, so they meet somewhere in the middle of the union of their mouths. Luigi moves his away for a moment and allows Daisy to be the first to explore his mouth, and he feels his legs tremble at the gentleness and tenderness with which she does so. Next it is Daisy who pulls her tongue away and, again, opens her lips, and this time Luigi accepts the invitation and marvels again at the intoxicating taste of the pretty princess.

They continue to kiss and savor each other, not wanting to stop, not wanting to move away from the other, not wanting this sensual and exciting experience to end. They press more and more against each other, the kiss is more and more ardent and passionate, Luigi feels more and more flushed and heated, but he doesn’t want to stop for anything in the world. He feels that he could spend all his remaining life kissing Daisy, lost in her lips and in her flavor and feeling how she entangles her fingers around his neck in an attempt to bring him even closer to her.

Suddenly, Luigi begins to feel a slight discomfort on his arms, something cold and wet that makes his skin prickle, but he ignores it, for Daisy’s lips are more important. However, the discomfort increases, now falling on his hair as well and slipping through Daisy’s fingers. She lets out a little cry of surprise against his lips and Luigi can’t help but smile, but doesn’t release Daisy’s mouth, eager to prolong the kiss for all eternity. 

Nevertheless, even though she doesn’t seem to want to break away either, she begins to say his name giggling as she places her hands on his chest to try to push him away a little, gently but firmly. Luigi, thinking it’s just a game, laughs and pulls her a little closer, ignoring the cold he feels in his arms and head. Daisy presses her lips on his for a moment more and, to Luigi’s disgrace, she moves away and says his name again, still chuckling, raising her tone a little. He finally opens his eyes but doesn’t erase the infatuated smile from his face nor take his arms away from her waist.

“It’s raining,” she points out with a giggle. 

“How nice,” he mumbles, enraptured, and seeks her lips again. 

Daisy is about to burst into laughter, but it’s drowned out by the intensity of his kiss. However, after a few seconds of kissing him back, she pulls away again and places her hands on his cheeks.

“Luigi,” she insists, amused. “It’s raining!”

Oly then does he manage to process her words.

“It’s raining?” he repeats as he instinctively raises an arm to place it over both of their heads.

When he glances up, he realizes in frustration that the clouds he saw when they arrived at the pond have ended up hiding the moon and have broken the magical moment he was sharing with Daisy. He purses his lips in annoyance. They’ll get soaked, and the flower he gave the princess will be ruined. 

She, however, covers her mouth to hide a giggle, amused at his reaction. Luigi, without a second thought, grabs her hand and runs away. She laughs heartily, letting him lead her, and Luigi guides her through the flora of the park and back to the city. He runs, pulling Daisy and catching her loud laughter, unable to help it, and takes her to the only place he can think of: his parents’ house. They enter and stand in the doorway, close to the ascending stairs, sheltered from the sudden storm that has burst over their heads. Breathing heavily, they look at each other, wide smiles on their faces, their hands still clasped together.

Luigi, lost in Daisy’s beautiful eyes, raises his free hand to check the condition of the flower, which, to his surprise, is holding firm, resistant to the rain. On impulse, Luigi begins to stroke the princess’ freckled cheek, and she widens her smile and tilts her head a little to enjoy the caress. Luigi’s heart fills with tenderness, and he, captivated, wishes to be lucky enough to see this girl every day.

He wishes to be lucky enough to kiss this girl every day.

“I had a very great time,” Daisy says softly.

“Even with the storm?” Luigi asks, giggling to hide his blush.

“Even with the storm,” she nods.

They laugh again, feeling deeply connected once more, and Daisy’s hand rises to rest on Luigi’s, who hasn’t stopped brushing her cheek with infinite fondness.

“Although...” Daisy stands on tiptoe so she can whisper in his ear. “What we were doing just before it started raining was my favorite part.”

Luigi is sure his whole face is now redder than Mario’s hat. He swallows, as his throat has gone dry, and notices his heart hammering in his ears. When Daisy looks at him, he smiles and nods in an awkward attempt to tell her that this was his favorite part too.

“We’ll have to do it again,” Daisy adds suggestively.

Seizing the fact that she was still on tiptoe and that their faces are close together, she rubs her lips against Luigi’s, just for an instant, just a quick caress of her mouth on his. For Luigi, though, it’s more than enough: he grabs her waist again and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. Daisy gives a soft giggle, but immediately reciprocates his gesture and cups his face gently.

This time they’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps running down the stairs. Startled, they separate, although their hands remain in the same places, and they look up just in time to see Mario arriving, at full speed, at the hallway of the building.

“Wow,” he exclaims with a chuckle. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Luigi gives him an embarrassed smile and hopes that Daisy’s hands, still resting on his cheeks, hide his blush. She, without a trace of shyness, widens her smile and leans a little towards him, so that her hair grazes Luigi’s chin. His legs automatically turn into butter again. 

“I see the date went well,” Mario observes, smiling mischievously at them.

“Better than that,” replies Daisy, and her fingers begin to affectionately squeeze Luigi’s cheeks, making him feel the urge to laugh and hide underground, all at the same time. “Your brother and I are boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Her words fill Luigi’s heart with so much joy that, not caring that his brother is present, he gives Daisy a fully beaming glance. 

“Does that mean I can treat you like a sister now?” Mario asks amusedly.

“Weren’t you already doing that?” replies Daisy, following his joke.

“Maybe, but I guess it makes more sense now.”

Daisy responds with a laugh, her hands coming down to Luigi’s shoulders. He manages to emit a nervous chuckle, and his eyes suddenly meet Mario’s, who, slowly, has continued to approach the door. At that instant, however, Mario stops, his gaze filled with understanding and affection, and Luigi’s heart swells in his chest, his smile a little hesitant at his brother’s sincere joy for him. Luigi nods slightly, hoping Mario catches the appreciation in his gesture and in his eyes, for, after all, his brother has helped him from the beginning in everything concerning his feelings for Daisy. 

Luigi would not be experiencing his exciting first date with Daisy were it not for his beloved big brother’s invaluable help.

Then Mario, not taking his eyes off Luigi’s, approaches him in two strides and gently pats his shoulder.

“See you later at home, Lu,” he says, a warm smile tattooed on his lips.

Luigi nods, feeling a little reassured by his brother’s familiar touch, and takes one hand off Daisy’s waist to place it on Mario’s shoulder.

And, for an instant, Luigi holds in his two hands the two most important people in his life and for who he would gladly give his last breath.

Not even realizing it, he tightens his grip around Daisy’s waist as he gives a light squeeze on Mario’s shoulder. His brother, after a final pat, slowly pulls away from him and turns towards the door.

Then Luigi realizes something.

“Mario,” he calls out to him, worried. “It’s raining. Didn’t you take your umbrella?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Lu,” Mario replies, waving his hand to play it down. “The pipe is quite close. I won’t have time to get wet.”

Luigi smiles and shakes his head slightly, resigned. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” he scolds him affectionately.

“And then I’ll have two Moms instead of one, I know,” Mario says in the same tone, making both Luigi and Daisy giggle. “See you, lovebirds!”

And before Luigi or Daisy have time to answer him, he’s gone. 

Luigi sighs, the resigned smile still on his lips. His brother will never change, and he adores him for that very reason.

Then he turns to Daisy, who also turns her face towards him at that instant, and they smile at each other, knowingly, their cheeks reddened. There’s something Luigi wants to ask her, but he doesn’t know how to broach the subject. Daisy, however, is faster in taking the initiative.

“Where were we?” she murmurs, running two fingers provocatively across his chest.

But Luigi, despite the embarrassment, despite the shudder of pleasure that runs up and down him, still needs to get something off his head, to ask her something about what she just declared in front of Mario.

“D-Daisy,” he mumbles, and rubs the back of his neck for the millionth time that night. “Th-that thing about... us being... y-you know... b-boyfriend and girlfriend... W-were you s-serious?”

“Absolutely,” she says without hesitation. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

“Yes!” Luigi shouts, almost at a faster speed than when they were at the pizzeria. “Y-yes, Daisy, I-I mean, o-of course I do, I...” He stops for a moment and takes a deep breath, trying to order the words he wants to pronounce. “Of course I want to go out with you, Daisy. I-I r-really l-like... you.”

She laughs softly, a bit blushed, and bites her lower lip, still running her fingers down his chest and sending shivers down his spine.

“I really like you too, Luigi,” she confesses, her voice a faint whisper. “You’re... so sweet. In every way.”

She places a tender kiss on Luigi’s lips, which makes his heart skip a beat. But before he can reciprocate, she pulls away for a moment and looks at him with sparkling eyes.

“See you tomorrow, my sweet Green Bean?”

Luigi jumps at the affectionate appellation and flushes again, but finds that he likes, no, he loves it that Daisy addresses him that way. A smile blossoms on his face and his grip around her waist tightens.

“I’m looking forward to it, my Desert Princess.”

She grins and, to Luigi’s surprise, reddens too. Captivated, he caresses her cheek as she watches him intently. Then he slides his hand into her beautiful, velvety auburn hair, taking care not to drop the purple daisy, and she cups his face again. And, lost in each other’s eyes, they lean in until their lips meet once more.

But this kiss, even if it is also intense and sweet and deep and passionate and intoxicating, tastes like a farewell.

“I’m already counting the hours until we meet again,” Luigi murmurs, pulling away for a second, only to kiss her again as soon as he finishes speaking, with greater intensity and passion.

“I was about to tell you the same thing,” she replies, resuming the kiss a second later.

And they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and his hands stroke her waist and her mane, and hers get lost in his tousled hair and encircle his neck, and their tongues dance a dance that both would like to last forever.

And in that moment, not being aware of it, they both inwardly promise themselves the same thing.

That, someday, it will be.

[chronically-ghosted]

i totally agree that it’s ridiculous for people to write fics for films that haven’t been released yet, but the problem isn’t the smut itself. people have every right to write porn if that scratches the itch.

i think your main point is the most important: it’s impossible to write a thoughtful, inspired fic when we don’t even know the story it’s based on. no one knows who this character is or what he’s like.

at this point, everyone should just call a spade a spade and write pedro rpf. all they care about is seeing his face in different situations.

so my earlier post was not so much a statement on Pedro Pascal Character fanfiction/porn, but the commercialization of art and I interpreted the thoughts and opinions of others through the lens of the medium I most often express myself with, which is fanfiction.

let me be clear: i have no problem with smut - pwp or otherwise. people are allowed to write whatever they want, about whoever they want, with whatever tropes make them happy.

my overall focus (and granted it was probably very muddled by the end of those - what, like three reblogs?) was an interrogation of fanfiction as art, and the state of art in this modern era. and after doing some more thinking and listening to more people much smarter than me (thank you to everyone who dm-ed me directly to talk further about this), my opinion is thus: the creation of content (not art) is more ubiquitous today is not because we are getting more stupid as a society, not because of our failing attention spans, not because we are on the brink of moral collapse but because we physically do not have the mental strength to be intellectually curious as a direct result of constant, distracting, emotionally-draining stimuli.

i can explain what i mean below the cut with two primary examples, specifically regarding the shift in fanfiction cult, and yes, the prominence of smutty oneshots in the pedro pascal character fandom of which this blog is a part of.

I have been in various fandoms for almost twenty years. I have been writing fanfiction for almost that same amount of time. In recent years, I've noticed two trends that initially discouraged me, but that I now believe is a symptom of our adjustment to a modern, constantly online era.

A severe lack of engagement within the artistic artifacts of a fandom

The quality of the fanfiction itself (because yes I do consider fanfiction to be an artform) has gone down hill - mostly.

Lack of engagement:

Art is inherently created to be shared. This is especially true for fandom because the community lives or dies by how many people are interacting with each other and sharing ideas (news, theories, fanart, fanfic, etc). If you say a fandom is dead, it means there haven't been any new posts or fic about it in years. So I don't wanna hear it when people say, "oh write for yourself, you shouldn't be chasing engagement" because that is antithetical to the very concept of fanfiction.

In recent years, I have seen and experienced myself engagement in my work only so far as a like or kudo. This is not how it used to be. Message boards (yes I am that old) and niche fandom sites were constantly abuzz with media sharing and excitement, and everyone enjoyed some version of praise (unless you got hit by the antis but they're never fun anyway). Initially I blamed this drop in engagement on laziness: people just want the next thing, they can't be bothered to appreciate the hard work writers put in and they just see content and art as the same thing - stuff to consume.

But I myself am GUILTY of minimal reblogs and comments and I LOVE what I'm writing - the impact certain works leave me with is long, long lasting but for some goddamn reason, I can't sit down and praise the author's works. Am I lazy? Possibly, but this is also not an isolated behavior and it's on the rise: people do not have time to engage with fandom/fanfic like they used to. Most people I know have worked at least two or three jobs at some point in their lives to just to make rent. This gen z is the first generation in DECADES to be worse off economically than their parents. With an interest rate at 8%, who the fuck can afford the security of a home anymore? We work ourselves to the bone for scraps and the realization that The Dream has officially died. And so what do we want to do in the free time we do have? Engage with the very bare minimum. We want to read things that we can at best skim, things we don't have to think about or engage with in any meaningful way. We want a way to turn off the noise of the next apocalypse and sometimes the best we can do is the tap of a thumb.

Which brings me to my next point: what the fuck happened to thoughtful fanfiction?

But this question is inextricably linked to the points above: oneshots are easier to write, faster to write, and if you write fic that is basically "Mad libs porn" (without ever engaging in the actual medium because it is literally not released yet), you are doing the most minimal work for the most amount of engagement. But I can't fault ANYONE for doing that. It feels good to be told your smut is "so hot" or "this exploded my panties" and in this era where the time available to create is so fucking small and minimized of course you're going to write for the most popular character, whether or not you're interested in the source material because we want our art to matter to someone. Intellectual pundits loooove to lambast our "shorter attention spans" but fuck, when are we allowed the time to think - in between this "100 year storm" that's happened twice in the past five years, or the global pandemic that turned millions of deaths into a political punching bag, or the next video of a white woman crying wolf to the police over an innocent black man, or - or - or - or

In a day where reality and the world as we know seems to be holding onto a thread, we turn to comfort: comforting tropes (dbf to rape/kidnap fantasies), comforting fanfic (pwp), and comforting ways to engage with fandom. There is nothing wrong with wanting your art to be appreciated and there's nothing wrong with inherently wrong with pwp - but I do believe its symptomatic of a MUCH larger and more sinister movement within ALL art right now.

I come from the generation who banished fanfic authors for scrubbing off the filing numbers to their fics and publishing it as original content because, in our communities, they were selling out. Fanfiction is inherently an act of rebellion. Every time you write fanfiction you break canon, an established structure with its own rules and boundaries. So by trying to appeal to the masses, to curb your own writing to fit whatever is mainstream, you are doing a disservice to yourself AND to the art of fanfiction. If something you write becomes popular, wonderful, great, you are very lucky and there is nothing wrong with that either. But do not sell out your 13 beloved fans who WILL take the time to leave a comment, who WILL take the time to reblog because your weird little fic spoke to them on a fundamental level and now is with them for the rest of their lives - in favor of a 100 thumb taps.

If you've made it here, thank you very much for reading. I've added some links to some additional references to see how this concept of "populist" art is having a serious negative down turn in the quality of art, but is also not any one individuals personal failings:

Why the world is addicted to background tv by Kayleigh Day

How Modern Audience are failing cinema by Like Stories of Old

Rupi Kaur episode of Rehash podcast

I'm always here to talk fic and art and what makes you excited about your writing. Much love and please rest. We need you here.

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in February 2024. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #59 |  ko-fi | fic recs

- Louis/Harry -

🩷 with venom on your tongue by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze

(E, 91k, enemies to lovers) a boarding school AU where Harry and Louis are academic rivals until they realize they’re more similar than they thought

🩷 another dream but always you by you_explode / @nobodymoves

(M, 60k, superpowers) Harry is a Dreamwalker; he has the ability to visit people in their dreams and help put them on the right path. He's assigned to Louis, who's struggling after the break-up of his band.

🩷 through walls of trees by @ineverateakiwi

(T, 41k, fantasy) Elesdon is a country divided into five kingdoms and had long been considered peaceful. After a coup in the heart of the country, Lady Sulia ascended to the throne and imprisoned the four courts, stripping them of their powers. With the exception of King Louis Tomlinson, who submitted to her favors.

🩷 Get Out Of My Head (and I'll get out of yours) by Imogenlee / @imogenleewriter

(E, 29k, exes) “You really that desperate, are you?” Despite it being a shitty thing to say, Harry didn’t mind too much, as the bitterness in Louis’ tone sounded like music to Harry’s ears. Harry was winning tonight. “Can’t find anyone new to be interested in you, so you try to hit on Zayn.”

🩷 this love is alive by @stylinsonwritingpalace

(E, 10k, writer Louis) When Louis's favorite fictional character, Harry Styles, comes to life, it's up to him to decide if he should stay.

🩷 Pretty and Preposterous by @brightlyharry

(NR, 5k, neighbors) Harry donates a copy of Pride and Prejudice to his little free library. He never expects what comes next.

🩷 In Jest by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 4k, soulmates) Louis, who smiles at Harry as he reclines in his chair. Louis, whose soulmark is visible thanks to his low-cut top. Louis, Harry’s soulmate, who seems to either be blissfully ignorant of that fact or maliciously ignoring it.

🩷 All This Time (I was Waiting for You) by @ohharold

(E, 4k, vampire/fae) Harry and Louis have always been destined for each other. Some time apart has Harry reminiscent of their first meeting.

🩷 Jealousy Looks Good On You, Baby by cigarettesbeforesex

(M, 4k, pwp) A flirtatious stranger wanted to entice Louis by buying him a drink from the bar. The handsome 29-year-old tavern manager with curly hair, who Louis (often) flirts with, is currently working on shift...Poor Curly, because he's the one that has to deliver the drink to him.

🩷 the "Falling" series by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 4k, exes to lovers) Harry looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, and just nods, putting the CD in a box that’s filled with all kinds of knick knacks from their bedroom. Or, no. Louis supposes it is his bedroom now. Or will be, after today.

🩷 spring in your eyes by @nouies

(NR, 3k, fake relationship) “Just Go with It” inspired AU where plastic surgeon Harry pretends to be married to his assistant Louis to avoid unwanted attention.

🩷 Dirty Diana by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(E, 3k, epistolary) In the month leading up to his 30th birthday, Harry writes to his confidante Diana every day, sharing his fantasies about Louis.

🩷 From the Dining Table by @littleroverlouis

(E, 3k, established relationship) Harry's thirtieth birthday hasn't gone as expected. Things start looking up from the dining table.

🩷 You Could Give That Aspirin the Headache of Its Life by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(M, 3k, exes) the one where Louis is a football player who gets stuck on a flight with his ex-boyfriend Harry. The universe might be conspiring against him, or is it?

🩷 What’s in a Name by @hellolovers13

(T, 2k, soulmates au) Louis had always known Harry was his soulmate. The name on his arm disagreed. But what did his soulmark know about true love anyway.

🩷 miles away from seeing you by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(T, 1k, social media) Harry is in his final year studying marine biology, and is doing an international exchange at the University of Auckland. His boyfriend Louis stays behind in England, but they keep in touch regularly through texts, snapchats, video calls, and more.

- Rare Pairs -

🩷 Can You Feel Where the Wind Is by @fallinglikethis

(M, 3k, Zayn/Liam) He remembers arguing that he had no real power over anything, so no one would care about him, let alone try to hurt him. But that assessment had proven to be untrue today.

🩷 Skin on My Skin by Layne Faire / @laynefaire

(E, 2k, Zayn/Liam) Let me touch you where you like it Let me do it for ya

🩷 Stray by @haztobegood

(E, 1k, Zayn/Harry, Harry/Louis) Finally, Louis catches a glimpse of familiar curls weaving through the crowd. The man’s arm is firm around Harry’s waist until they stop in front of the booth. “I found this stray wandering around. I believe he’s yours.”