#that means this also kind of fits for the story-a-day prompt!

[fictionadventurer]

I've honored my tradition of loving the month of May by writing a poem in it's honor: "May"

I've lived up to my tradition of honoring Rietta's birthday (from @isfjmel-phleg's Blackberry Bushes stories) with blackberry lemonade and lemon cake (the photo counts as creating something).

And I've thrown together a "King Thrushbeard" retelling that revolves around some royal traditions: "The Beggar's Door".

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 1

Welcome to Day 1 of the Chesterton Challenge! The beginning of a month full of creativity! I can't wait to head on this journey with all of you!

Today's Optional Prompt is: Tradition.

Chesterton was an advocate for tradition in secular and religious contexts, and May 1st is a day associated with all kinds of traditions, from May Day to St. Joseph the Worker to the opening day of writing and art challenges.

You can interpret the word any way you want. Will you write about a fantasy world's traditions? Write an essay about your favorite springtime tradition? Create artwork within a traditional art medium? The sky's the limit!

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post.

Now go forth and create!

[nebbyy]

Please write a fanfic about King Baldwin IV from KoH, where he fell in love with female reader. The plot is up to you. Please make it a serious love story with slight fluff 🤗🤭

Baldwin IV x reader - Life always comes down to a game of chess

A/N: You have no idea how much I love you anon, this was one of the prompts I already wanted to write omgggg!! For this fic I kinda got inspired by this painting (which, for everyone interested, it’s “La belle dame sans merci” by Frank Dicksee), and you’ll see how and why reading it;)

Summary: King Baldwin IV receives an offer from an Italian nobleman to marry his daughter; unsure of whether to accept or not this compelling offer, Baldwin decides to do what he does best…

Warning: there are some mentions of christianity and religious references along with some hints at the misogynistic ideologies of the time (about the woman being “owned” by the dominant male figure in her life) ((I don’t condone this ideology at all but I thought it’d be fitting to add it anyway to give some accuracy to it)).

Word count: 2637

King Baldwin couldn’t quite wrap his head around you. The day that he was informed of your engagement, he felt himself quite skeptical of the idea of marrying someone. After all, ever since his leprosy had been diagnosed he had to get used to the idea of living a life of solitude, forced into a lifelong chastity, for no sane man would ever marry off their daughter to a leper. With time, he had found solace in nurturing his own knowledge and virtue, elevating himself to a level of wisdom that very few could boast at his young age.

During the following days, the young king's mind was plagued with thoughts, considerations he was making to weigh the choice. The benefits of marrying Lady Y/N were many, first and foremost securing a connection to the land of Italian speakers, allowing for easier trafficking of crusaders arriving in the Holy Land, not to mention the abundance that would be the young lady's dowry. And not only did marrying her mean strengthening the economical side of his reign, but it also meant giving the impression to the public that the king's health condition was improving to such an extent that he considered that to be an ideal time to marry. His most trusted men and all of his advisors kept repeating to him, marrying Lady Y/N would’ve been  comparable to a blessing.

But despite all the benefits this union seemed like it would bring, Baldwin continued to hesitate to make a decision. What left him so undecided was the possibility that this was some kind of deception, a conspiracy orchestrated against him, hidden in the form of the most convenient of marriages. It was up to him to decide whether it was worth taking these risks in favor of the benefits that would come if his concerns turned out to be unfounded. 

Like everything else in his life, this choice came down to a game of chess…

It was this idea that prompted him to make a decision. Baldwin had a messenger called, to be sent to Pisa to give the news to Lord Y/F/N that the king wished to report his decision to him live, at his court. For the lord to arrive it would have to wait, but Baldwin has always been a man of exceptional patience.

Four months passed, when at the dawn of Lent it was announced by a Pisan messenger that Lord Y/F/N and his daughter had come to Acre, and would soon be coming to Jerusalem. Another week passed before father and daughter, riding two white horses and accompanied by an escort of knights arrived at the royal palace.

When he first saw you, Baldwin could have sworn he saw Mary himself. You walked with such grace that you almost seemed to float. Your face looked serene, despite the anxiety that had been devouring you from within ever since the day the invitation from the king of Jerusalem reached you; a blue veil covered your hair, framing your face and falling over your shoulders. You bowed to Baldwin as was proper to do before a king, yet he felt so tempted to interrupt you, prevent you from bowing to him, perhaps even bowing to you himself.

At that moment he felt like Lancelot before Guinevere, completely mesmerized by your beauty, one who seemed more fit to an angel than a woman. But, he gave no sign of his true emotional state; after all, a gorgeous woman does not mean she can be fit to serve as queen. Her answer will be decided when she has had a chance to hear you speak, away from the judgmental stares of the court, free from any influence that might change what you really think.

As the sun shone bright in the sky, the banquet took place inside of the palace. The king excused himself before going to eat by himself in his chambers as usual, leaving his guests in the company of his sisters and his court. Loud chatter filled the room, goblets were raised to get more wine poured, courses flowed onto the set table, a tribute to thank Lord Y/F/N for making such a journey to fulfill the king's request. All this noise, yet in your ears all became quiet when a servant approached your chair, whispering a few simple words, "The king has requested your presence at dinner."

Your blood froze in your veins in surprise, and you could almost feel your father's thrill as you rose from your seat, having the servant guide you toward the king's study. Walking through the halls of the palace, you could do nothing but feel so small in comparison, you almost seemed to disappear, enveloped by the magnificence of everything around you that, if all went well, you would have called your own.

You were brought back to reality when the heavy doors of the king's room were opened by the two guards who stood at his sides. An enveloping fragrance, a mixture of myrrh and frankincense filled your senses with a feeling of serenity, an almost familiar feeling. In the center of the room, a hooded figure, dressed in silk as white as snow. "Come forward, my lady. I apologize for my absence at the table but," she interjected for a moment, rising from her seat and revealing her face-or at least, what was not covered by the veil-"many might find my appearance somewhat...disturbing during a meal." He chuckled a little at that last part. You wondered if irony had become a kind of means for him to soften his own hellish condition. 

As soon as he turned around you could not help but study the appearance of what will hopefully be your future husband. Rumors about his condition had been swirling since the day he was crowned, so you had been prepared to be confronted with a horrifically disfigured man. Instead, although part of his face was covered by the thin veil, it was like an instinct for you to try to study his features. You could vaguely make out the golden hair that adorned his face, although it was covered by the veil. His voice had intrigued you; it sounded so jovial and yet so deep. A melody that sang of the young monarch's endeavors. It intrigued you, you wondered what his lips looked like, whether they matched the sound of his voice.

But what really caught your interest were his eyes. They were blue, but of a color so deep, so intense, it reminded you of tales you had heard about the northern seas, of the waters that dark and deep seemed to beckon sailors, to lead them to drown within them. Likewise you felt mesmerized by such intensity. And you wondered, how much of this would remain the same as his illness progressed.

You recovered from that momentary trance, wasting no time to bow, but this time Baldwin stopped you before you were able to bow more than your head: "Don't bow, please. Such reverences are not necessary here." You looked at him a little dumbfounded, but despite the king's unusual attitude you did not object. He stepped to the side, revealing a finely decorated chessboard, with all the pawns already set in place. "Do you play?" he asked softly, and you finally mustered up the courage to speak "It's been some time since I last did," as you approached the table, taking your seat opposite Baldwin. He took his seat again, and for the first time in your life you found yourself face to face with a king. 

You quickly realised that he had assigned you the white pawns, the small courtesy of moving you first. You took a moment to think of an initial strategy, and moved your first pawn. A horse. Baldwin raised his eyebrows, surprised by your decision. "Aren't you going to move the pawns first?" You kept your gaze on the chessboard, partly out of respect and partly out of fear, still unsure why the king would call you to his chambers, if indeed it was all just to have a playmate. "I always prefer to start with the horse. I like to think that the pawns would be frightened to charge against the enemy without a knight to guide them." You looked up, meeting his eyes that studied you intrigued. Chuckling at what you had just said, you continued, shaking your head slightly, "Forgive me, it was just a silly thought."

"Not at all, my lady," he replied, studying your every detail, "I find it fascinating." It was his turn to move, and as per rule, he moved one of the pawns, the one in front of the queen. "So you think good leadership is better than letting the individual decide for himself?" There was a spark that had lit up in his eyes, something playful. It was clear that you were intriguing him, surprisingly in your eyes, since you had been instructed to stay behind your father's shadow, not to express your thoughts or externalize your ideologies.

Everything had to be perfect, one could not risk the futile mind of a young woman ruining the marriage that would have been so beneficial to her dukedom, but above all to her family. Yet at that moment she felt that expressing what resided in her own mind was exactly what Baldwin wanted from her. Something lit up in her too, and he in turn caught the same spark in her eyes. Could it be that she had figured out the trick...? 

Another pawn moved, it was Baldwin's turn to move again. Your eyes seldom parted from each other, just for that moment necessary to make your own move. "Independence is not always what benefits a man. Certainly, it is tempting, but in moments of indecision it risks leading to oblivion. An infantryman needs a leader, a young man who is lost in the woods needs a hunter to guide him out..." Another move, the white bishop points directly at the black king "...an indecisive man needs an outside opinion to make his decision."

You smiled, and like the sweetest of plagues you infected him too. You had deciphered his little deception. An innocent deception, with the purpose of seeing with your own eyes how you, in a condition so similar to what is the duty of a sovereign, would have acted. 

After all, his life always came down to a game of chess....

"So you understood..." Baldwin whispered, again sitting in his place. For the first time in his memory, someone had managed to leave him speechless. His witty mind seemed to have died out all of a sudden, the knight in him unarmed by the woman sitting in front of him. Maybe the deception wasn’t as occult as he had planned, or maybe this young lady was really able to stand up to him.

You smiled at him proudly, be proud of your intuition but also relieved that your thought had not turned out to be foolish. Your pride had removed from your mind every rule, every admonition that had been given to you from the moment you set foot in the Holy Land; your mind was now like a river in flood, finally free to flow out according to its natural course. "I do not blame you, my lord. I realize that this is a difficult choice for you, and that the factors at stake go far beyond your individual will."

"And what do you think about that?" Your smile acquired a bittersweet scent, and you answered without almost hesitation: "I am only a woman, my will is that of my father and it will be of my husband. My family prays that this role will be filled by you, and for this to happen I have been instructed to be fit to reign at your side."

“That I can clearly see, but what truly urges me is to know what your own will says. If we were to marry, you would be the bride to a wretched man, one whose fate has already been announced by God. My demise won't be far off, you’ll be left a widow in a foreign land. And before this… curse gets the better of me, there is no saying that it won’t get to you too. If it did, you would suffer the same fate I had been given.”

It took you a moment to let his words sink into your mind. He spoke the truth, a future with him would be filled with sickness and uncertainty; you would have to live in a court far from your home, where everyone was waiting for the king’s death like a flock of crows flying above a dying man. You took a deep breath, feeling as everything came down to this very moment. “I won’t lie to you, my lord, the future that awaits me while standing by your side is not an easy one by any means, and I’m very much aware of that. I do not expect my future to be easy, for it would be an excess of greed. So if I can have a saying in my own future, I’d like to say that I would much rather all the time that is given to me by the Lord standing by the side of a man filled with virtue, than by the side of a man too full of himself to see anything just an inch away from his reflection. There would be no greater honor for me than to stand by your side, for as long as you still have to live, my lord. And if I ever was to catch this disease as well, then I would have no other words to say other than God wills it.“

At your words, the young king had to shake himself up, now more than ever necessary for him to say something, anything really. “For you, my lady, I shall always be just Baldwin.” His tone was softer than ever, a soft breeze that reached to you and whispered I am but yours now. It was unsaid, but decided. Once this meeting would be over, the king would come to your father, and confirm his decision to accept the proposal. Only problem was, this meeting seemed to have become endless. What was supposed to be a quick meal, accompanied by a game of chess, turned into a lively exchange of political views, then silly childhood anecdotes, then again into a walk in the inner courtyard of the palace. Baldwin tried hard to keep you in his presence for as long as was deemed decent for an unmarried man and woman. He kept you with him as long as he could, and when that was no longer possible, he led you back into the great hall, gently holding your hand over his. Soon after the announcement of your engagement, the wedding was set to happen during the following Easter, and the banquet made in honor of his guests was prolonged until the sun had been long set, this time in honor of his betrothed.

You think back to that day fondly, as you lay on your bed, in the comfort of silky sheets and soft pillows. One of your hands holds your head while the others traces the patterns of the scars in your husband’s face that have considerably worsened during the years. Aside from the bed, sitting on a table, forgotten as long as the night reigned over Jerusalem, were two crowns, along with two chess pawns. A white queen and a black king. Both came from the set that had been used the day the two of you met, a reminder for Baldwin of the day God had merged your destinies in one.

A/N: wowww that came out longer than I though oopss. ANYWAY, this was my interpretation of your request, anon, hope you like it!! Also, for everyone who’s gonna read this, feel free to leave any constructive criticism since this is my first fic and I would like to improve a looot more in my writing skills. That’s it now have a nice day y’all <3<3

[fanovember]

Fanovember 2024 prompt list

(Written list below the line)

We decided to go through literary genres this time, although you can fit the prompt however you please (by using the literal word in your piece, a small reference, or writing in the style of that prompt!)

→We'll be posting some ideas every day to spark creativity if any prompt in particular doesn't work well for you. Although you don't have to complete the challenge 100% (I won't, more on that later)

→There's no limit on extension at all, whatever you need will be fine. (At least 200 words was the initial idea, but I, for instance, sometimes need less)

→You can write in any language you want, we'll repost anyway. It's also valid if you mix languages! (I'll use Spanish since the media I've chosen is originally in that language)

→Arists are welcome too, of course!

→Some people suggested creating an Ao3 Collection for this challenge and we have listened carefully (also had some help from @prettysophist, tysm again!) So here it is! Fanovember 2024 Ao3 Collection is now available for all of you. Remember to tag and categorize your works correctly so people can find what they'r looking for/avoid anything they don't want to read. Be nice!

→Remember to mention this blog @fanovember and use any (or all) of these tags both here and on Ao3:

#fanovember

#fanovember 2024

#fanovember 24

→Needless to say, this event does NOT allow AI generated content of any kind. We want to see the most human of arts and writings

Personally, I don't think I'm completing the full list, as I'm absolutely surpassed by daily responsibilities. But since Softober went well, I'll choose 12 or 13 of the prompts that appeal to me the most and write those throughout the month. You can do whatever works best for you too, we don't want you to feel pressured by any means.

Choose your fandom (or fandoms) and start creating! Let's have some fun!!

Fanovember 2024

01. Romance

02. Short story

03. Terror

04. Adventure

05. Art

06. Retelling

07. Historical

08. Journal

09. Theatre

10. Witchcraft

11. Religion

12. Fantasy

13. Astrology

14. Mithology

15. Poetics

16. Reality show

17. Press

18. Urban fantasy

19. Film/Movie

20. Family

21. Music

22. Epistolary

23. Sci-fi

24. Autobiography

25. Cuisine

26. Dance

27. Board games

28. Classic

29. Triller

30. Flash-fiction

[navybrat817]

He's wondering when you're gonna stop doing your boring work and do him instead

Of course, he is. 😏

Clocking Out

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky makes it difficult for you to get any work done.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Established relationship, implied smutty times, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning)

A/N: Late submission for Week 7 of Hot Bucky Summer for @buckybarnesevents ! Prompt - "Who's this?". ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. But thanks to @rookthorne for the inspiration. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You narrowed your eyes in concentration on your laptop screen, the clicking of your keyboard the only sound in your in-home office. You typically worked with some kind of background noise, whether it be music or even the television at a low volume. It helped the day go by faster. At some point though, Bucky ventured in and shut your playlist off to ask some random question.

"Who's this?" he asked as he shoved his phone in your face and blocked your view of the monitor. "And what is FYP? What the hell does that mean?"

You had to giggle after a moment. Your boyfriend had a habit of interrupting you while you worked to get some form of attention. It happened more times than you could count and you were lucky you got any work done at all when he was home. He told you in passing that after being alone for so long that he wanted to soak up every moment he could with you. 

I can't get mad when he puts it that way. 

"It means 'For You Page' and I have no clue who that is," you answered, gently pushing his hand away so you could get back to typing. "Why are you on TikTok, old man?"

"Why are you?" he asked, taking a seat on the loveseat near your desk. "Is this what you look at to get inspiration for your smut or whatever it is that you call it?"

"Hey!" you said, pushing away from your desk to turn and face him. "I write stories, thank you very much. Some of them just happen to include smut and there is nothing wrong with that."

Bucky had an all too smug expression on his face when he leaned back against the cushion and widened his massive thighs. He took up almost the entire two-seater sofa with his size. The gorgeous bastard finished up his workout earlier and didn't bother getting fully dressed after his shower. Just a new pair of sweatpants and no shirt, his long hair still slightly damp and daring you to run his fingers through it.

Showing off his broad torso like a harlot. 

"Sorry. You're right. You do tell stories and they are wonderful," he said, holding up his hands on surrender. His steel blue eyes had a hint of playfulness as he nodded to your laptop. "You almost done with your 'porn with plot' or should I come back later?"

You rolled your eyes as you spun away from him and pulled yourself back to your desk. "You're impossible. Turn my music back on and go back to watching TikTok videos."

"Or you could take a break and ride me," he suggested so casually your fingers froze on the keyboard. "Give you the motivation you need to finish."

With a defiant lift of your chin, you went back to typing. You did like his idea and it wouldn't be the first time you stopped writing to have Bucky pull an orgasm or two from you. The only reason you got a bigger desk was so he could fit under it. The image of him nearly getting stuck under your old desk brought a smile to your face. 

It also caused a tingling sensation between your legs when you remembered just how deep he stabbed his tongue into your aching pussy. 

"You can't ignore me, doll. Look at you. Already distracted and shifting in your chair," he said, his voice low. He knew exactly how it affected you. "So get over here."

Nope. His thick cock can wait for me to take a ride. 

"Bet you're not even working," he accused. It wasn't true. There were words on the screen. "You're typing just to look busy when we both know you're getting your seat wet through your clothes."

"Don't you have work to do yourself?" you asked incredulously, refusing to look over at him. If you did, you'd go right to him and he'd win. Both of you would win, but that wasn't the point. He cut into your work time when you couldn't cut into his.

It's not like I can show up in the middle of a mission and demand to suck his cock. 

"If by 'work' you mean your delicious cunt, yeah. I have a lot of work to do," he said. The unsubtle man he was, you knew he was about two seconds away from taking himself out and stroking his perfect cock. Anyone who said perfection didn't exist hadn't slept with Bucky Barnes. "I'll do overtime and you can pay me in orgasms."

Your head fell back against your chair with a groan. "Where is your off switch?"

"No off switch around you, doll. Only an on switch. You're lucky I don't knock stuff off the end tables since I'm practically a walking hard-on around you."

The sincerity in his statement had you beaming and laughing all at once. You wondered if something in the serum sent his libido into overdrive or if it was you who brought that side of him out. It did wonders for your self-esteem because no matter how you looked, he gazed at you as if you were the most beautiful creature to grace this planet. 

A small break wouldn't hurt. 

"If I step away for a few minutes," you began as you stared at the ceiling. "You have to transcribe the next few paragraphs for me so I can lay down and recover."

"Deal," he said, leaning over and gripping the chair handle to turn you toward him. "But I'm warning you. If you dirty talk, I'm gonna get hard all over again and we'll be right back where we started."

"It can't be any worse than the time you had me in your lap," you said as you lifted your head. He couldn't stop himself from running his hands along your body or kissing your neck. And that was before he had you warm his cock. "Don't look so smug. You owe me an orgasm."

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked. 

Lucky for you, Bucky always delivered on his promises. 

We can't resist Bucky, can we? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[rose24207]

Lando dating a princess for a while and they love each other alot and when it's brought to Landos attention by a friend like an off hand comment about how if he married into the family he might not be able to be an f1 driver, he panics. Because he loves f1 and loves his princess girlfriend as well. And when he brings it up to her reader says she can talk to her dad, but a few days later lando is still panicking and he says hurtful things about how he can't give up his biggest dream for her. So the reader breaks up with him and tells him he doesn't have to worry about it anymore. And Lando feels awful and to make it worse he gets a letter from her actual father saying how if they did ever marry that he can continue his career and that he's happy his daughter is happy with him and that he makes her happy. And it makes Lando resize the huge mistake he made and goes and wins his girl back. 💕

Racing hearts

Summary: Lando panics over the fear of losing his F1 career if he marries his princess girlfriend, says hurtful things, loses her, and later learns from her father that his fears were unfounded, prompting him to win her back and reconcile.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: breakup, doubts

A/N: it’s been a while!! Okay so I have like so many requests ready to post and I thinking do it through the week because I have my German exam tmr 🫡 wish me luck!!

English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando had never imagined his life could look like this. Fast cars, roaring crowds, and champagne-soaked podiums had always been the dream. But now, amidst the whirlwind of his racing career, he had something he’d never expected: love.

And not just any love—he was dating a princess.

You were nothing like he thought royalty would be. Grounded, kind, and utterly devoted to making the world a better place, you brought balance to Lando’s life in a way he hadn’t known he needed. You also fit seamlessly into his chaotic world of Formula 1. At races, you stood quietly in the background, proud and supportive. You didn’t mind the hours he spent on the simulator or the late nights studying data. You understood his passion because you had your own—a commitment to your people and your duties.

For a while, everything felt perfect.

It was during a casual dinner with some friends—Max Fewtrell among them—that things started to unravel. The group was laughing, trading jokes and stories, when someone tossed out a comment.

“Lando, you know if you marry her, you might have to quit F1, right? I mean, can you really imagine a prince flying around the world chasing lap times?”

The table erupted in laughter, but Lando froze. The thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“You’re joking, right?” he said, forcing a laugh.

“Maybe,” Max replied with a shrug. “But royal life has its rules, mate. They probably wouldn’t want you risking your neck in a car every weekend.”

Lando’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

That night, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Would he really have to give up racing? Could he? Racing wasn’t just his career—it was his identity, his purpose. But then there was you, the woman he loved more than he thought possible. The idea of losing you was just as unbearable.

By the time he brought it up to you a few days later, the doubt had consumed him.

“Hey, love,” he said one evening, his voice hesitant. You looked up from the book you were reading, immediately noticing his unease.

“What’s wrong?”

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Someone said something the other day, and I can’t stop thinking about it. If we, you know, got serious… married… would I have to stop racing?”

Your expression softened. “Oh, Lando,” you said gently. “We can talk to my father about it. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

But even your reassurance didn’t settle him.

Over the next few days, Lando spiraled. The idea of choosing between the two things he loved most—racing and you—consumed him. And when he finally couldn’t hold it in any longer, the conversation turned sour.

“I can’t do this,” he blurted one evening as you stood in the kitchen.

You blinked, startled. “Do what?”

“This… us,” he said, his voice shaking. “If being with you means giving up racing, I can’t do it. I can’t give up my dream for you.”

His words felt like a slap.

“I never asked you to,” you replied quietly, your voice trembling.

“But what if it comes to that? What if I have to choose? I don’t know if I can.”

You stared at him for a long moment, tears welling in your eyes. “Then I’ll make it easy for you,” you said, your voice breaking. “You don’t have to choose, Lando. It’s over.”

And with that, you walked away, leaving him standing there, hollow and stunned.

Days passed, but Lando felt no relief—only regret. He missed you with an ache he couldn’t ignore. Then, one morning, a letter arrived. The royal seal on the envelope made his heart race.

It was from your father.

Dear Lando,

I wanted to thank you for bringing so much happiness into my daughter’s life. She speaks of you with such pride and love.

I’ve heard there may be some concerns about how your career would fit into our family. Let me reassure you: should the two of you decide to marry, you would have our full support to continue racing. Your dedication and passion are qualities we admire deeply, and we would never want to stand in the way of your dreams.

Sincerely,

[Your Father’s Name]

Lando stared at the letter, guilt crashing over him. He had let fear drive him to hurt you, and he had been wrong—so wrong.

Lando didn’t waste another moment. He booked the next flight to your country, rehearsing what he would say a thousand times in his head. When he finally arrived at the palace, he was a nervous wreck, but determination pushed him forward.

You weren’t expecting him when he showed up at your door, looking disheveled and desperate.

“Lando,” you said, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“I messed up,” he said, his voice cracking. “I was scared and stupid, and I hurt you. I should have trusted you, trusted us. You mean everything to me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this.”

Tears filled your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from pain.

“I got a letter from your dad,” he continued, pulling it out of his pocket. “He said I could keep racing. I didn’t have to choose. But even if I did… I should have chosen you. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, you just stared at him. Then, slowly, a small smile broke through your tears.

“Do you mean it?” you whispered.

“With everything I am,” he said.

And when you pulled him into a tight embrace, he knew he had finally crossed the finish line of the most important race of his life.

Months later, Lando stood on the podium, another trophy in hand. But as he looked out into the crowd, his eyes found you—his princess, the love of his life—cheering louder than anyone.

He had his dream, his career, and his girl. And for the first time, everything felt truly perfect.

Thank you for reading!

[seiya-starsniper]

"I love your smile" with dreamling from the gentle prompts

Hello I am 8 million years later answering this anon, sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy it!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Also available on AO3

----------------------

It’s the kind of perfect spring day that the poets used to write about. Cool in the morning and warm, but not hot by mid-afternoon. There are sparse clouds in the sky, and the air is fragrant with the smell of flowers, of new life, of new beginnings. The fact that this perfect spring day also falls on a Saturday means that Hob Gadling is out with his camera, photographing every leaf, every small creature, happy couple, and passing vehicle that catches his attention.

And of course, his boyfriend.

It may be a beautiful and warm spring day, but Dream Endless is dressed like it's still the middle of winter; black jeans and black Doc Martens paired with a black tee and black pea coat to complete the ensemble. Hob had managed to talk him out of wearing the black scarf, at least. He knew Dream ran cold even in the summer, but the scarf would have definitely been too warm for today. In contrast, Hob is out in just a plain white t-shirt, cargo shorts and sneakers, and he’s certain that the two of them must strike their own kind of picture walking side by side through the park. Perhaps he’ll ask someone to snap a photo of them on his phone later.  

Right now though, Hob’s having too much fun taking photos of Dream. Dream feeding the ducks with the small bag of seeds he’d brought along for just this purpose, Dream stopping to admire the various sculptures scattered throughout the park, Dream stopping to re-lace his boots. 

“You take far too many photos of me,” Dream tells Hob eventually, rolling his eyes as he stands back up.

“What can I say?” Hob laughs, snapping another photo of Dream’s unamused face. “I love your smile.”

“Hob,” Dream says, leveling a flat stare at him. Hob continues to click away. “I am not smiling in any of the photos you’ve taken.” 

He’s right, but only by a technicality. Dream hasn’t smiled once while looking at Hob’s camera. But the ones where he isn’t paying attention to Hob’s lens, well. That was a different story. But Dream didn’t need to know that right now. Later in the day, maybe. 

“I know this may be hard to believe since it ruins that whole tortured poet look you’ve got going on,” Hob quips back at his boyfriend, amusement clear in his tone. “But you do smile.” He says it like he’s sharing a secret, and Dream looks at him in disbelief, before he sighs in exasperation. It's a fond exasperation though, Hob’s learned to tell over the years.   

“Come. We are missing the goslings. We must catch them before they swim away,” Dream says, grabbing Hob by the hand and forcing him to put the camera down to rest around his neck. They walk over to where the geese and their recently hatched chicks are idling, and Dream approaches them slowly, kneeling and eventually sitting on a patch of dry grass closest to the pond’s edge. The geese eye him warily at first, but then Dream pulls out some seeds from his pocket, scattering them away from his person and sitting still as a statue while they slowly approach him.

Hob stays back away from where Dream is sitting; geese seem to hate him for some reason, but Dream has yet to meet a bird that doesn’t instantly take to him. It’s one of the things that Hob had noticed about the other man. 

They’d met a little over two years ago in this very park, and Hob had been enraptured by Dream feeding the pigeons. He’d only meant to snap one or two photos of the strange goth man, but then one of the pigeons had flown up onto Dream’s shoulder and cooed happily as the man fed it straight from his hand. Dream’s smile had been small, but absolutely radiant in that moment. Hob fell in love at first sight. 

Dream, decidedly, had not. He thought Hob to be a nuisance, had thrown a fit about having his photo taken without his knowledge or permission when Hob approached him. Hob had promised to not post any of the photos anywhere, and even offered to delete all of them if Dream saw them and really hated them that much. It would’ve killed Hob to delete such stunning photos, but he would’ve done it. 

Luckily for him, Dream had softened when Hob had shown him the photos, then demanded Hob print them for him for free.  Hob agreed, and then, because he had absolutely no self control around beautiful people, had asked Dream if he’d let Hob buy him dinner as an additional apology. Dream turned him down, and then also refused to give Hob his name when asked. Hob was hopelessly charmed.

After bringing the other man the agreed upon photos a week later, Hob promised not to photograph him if they ever ran into each other again. Dream looked at Hob like he didn’t believe the other man, but Hob kept his word, and for a time they maintained a pleasant, but distant acquaintance whenever they happened upon one another on days when the weather was nice.

It was Dream, surprisingly, who decided to approach Hob with a rather lucrative offer a few months later.

“I’m interested,” Dream had told him.

“In me?” Hob asked, surprised and flattered all at once. 

“In your photography experience,” Dream clarified, though his cheeks had pinked at Hob’s words. “My sibling is getting married in a few months and they have yet to find a photographer they like.”

“Well, I can give you my website so you can show them my portfolio—” 

“They’ve already seen it,” Dream interrupted him, blushing all the way from the tip of his nose down to his neck. “I—they wanted me to ask you if you’d shoot for their wedding. Personally.”

The rest, they say, is history. Hob hasn’t stopped photographing Dream ever since—with permission, of course.

In the present, Hob watches Dream’s patience and gentle tenacity pay off. The goslings eventually crowd around him and chirp happily, while the parental (Mother? Father? Hob can’t tell) goose angrily hisses at every other passing person who gets too close. They seemed to have claimed Dream as one of their own. 

Hob’s camera clicks away until he hears a low warning beep signifying that his memory card is full. 

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have taken that 25 minute video of Dream feeding the crows the other day. But well, they’d all crowded around him and he’d looked so happy. The crows looked happy too, probably because Dream may as well look like them. It was cinematic art, and Hob would not be convinced otherwise. 

When Dream eventually runs out of seeds, he bows his head and holds out his empty hands, a universal sign for the end of their interaction. The geese seem to realize quickly he will no longer feed them, and so they wander off into the nearby lake, the babies eagerly and awkwardly following their parent on tiny legs still unused to traveling by land. Hob waits until they’re all safely in the water before he takes a seat next to Dream. 

“Have you finally tired of photographing my face?” Dream asks before resting his head on Hob’s shoulder. 

“Never,” Hob answers with a small laugh. “I ran out of memory.”

Dream lets out a dramatic sigh. “Finally.”

“Oh hush, you,” Hob replies, jostling Dream with his shoulder. The other man groans at having been disturbed, and Hob takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around Dream’s shoulder, before planting a kiss to his hair. 

“Show me?” Dream asks, reaching for Hob’s camera. “I want to see just what it is you find so fascinating about watching me feed waterfowl.”

Hob chuckles.

“Everything, love,” he answers honestly as he pulls up the photos for them to review on his camera’s tiny screen. “Absolutely everything.”

[ask-train-trio]

~.~.~𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎 ~.~.~

INTRODUCTION MASTERPOST!!!!!

(ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏ ᴀᴜᴅɪᴏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ, ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs sᴜᴘᴘᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ɢɪꜰ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʟᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴛᴏᴏ ʙɪɢ ᴏᴏᴘs)

This is an askblog for @lunozapp 's Indigo Park OCs! This post contains everything you need to know about this ask blog/AU and its characters! Context, boundaries, references etc. Asks are contextualised a little differently here, so check the blog description for the tl;dr on the context.

Check out issue 1 here!

CONTEXT:

This is DappleTilez24, also known as Tilez. He's a relatively small streamer in his universe's indigo park community, and is known for tirelessly completeing run after run, trying to beat his personal records (with.... varying sucess).

One day, he tries to speedrun a build of the game that he's never seen before...

...and stumbles across 2 MORE Rambleys than usual, much to the surprise - and confusion - of the Rambley we know and love!

Naturally, our hero Tilez is pretty damn confuddled... so he (mistakenly) asks his live chat for an explaination.

This is where YOU fantastic askers come in!

You act as Tilez's live chat. This means you don't even have to answer his queries, just say whatever you want to this interdimentional triplet of trash pandas, just like a REAL insufferable livechat would!

...within reason, of course (jokes aside, please read the boundaries)

[updated as of 04/07/24] CHARACTER REFERENCES: (in the animation i forgot twimbly's GT badges lol)

CHARACTER BOUNDARIES:

I want to make it entirely clear that i see the raccoon trio as brothers, especially with their very similar origins.

This is to say that I would not feel comfortable with any of them being shipped with eachother and I forbid the public sharing of that kind of content. If you see that kind of stuff around, please just mention this to the OP and block them if they refuse to respect it.

FURTHERMORE, please keep in mind that I ( @lunozapp ) am a MINOR. SO DON'T PUBLICLY POST NSFW/FETISH ART OF MY CHARACTERS, PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

However, shipping Twimbly, Ranglore, Rambley and Tilez with other characters that aren't related to them is fine by me (e.g. any of the original indigo characters x any of them, since they're not related)!

Again, please just keep it sfw.

ASK BOUNDARIES:

Pretty basic criteria, really. Just please don't spam the same ask over and over, I will guaranteed see them all unless this thing gets an explosion of attention out of nowhere lol

if i don't answer, its probably because either the question doesn't really fit the kind of story i have in mind for these characters or i just don't feel comfortable answering it. please respect that.

If you have a question for me specifically, start your ask with '[OOC]' (Out Of Character) or just ask me directly: @lunozapp

FURTHER INFO:

Asks are moreso used here as a prompt for conversation rather than the basis of an entire issue. More often than not there will be more than 1 ask in an issue, so going forward I'll make sure to tag everyone who asks without annonymity.

Also, please TRY to keep them as actual questions and not goofy 1-word sentences, the asks help me actually formulate a coherent premise for an issue

I don't OWN the concept of making ocs based off lore.mp4 and the GT thumbnail. if u see someone doing the same, try not to be all like 'OMG TWIMBLY/RANGLORE!!!! THEY ALREADY EXIST THIS IS PLAGARISM YOU CAN'T DO THAT!!!!!11!!11' unless it is blatant plagarism. Just use ur common sense ig

In terms of fanart/other fanworks, A MILLION THANKS IF YOU FEEL CALLED TO MAKE THAT!! The stuff i've gotten so far is genuinely so awesome, make it all you want if you feel called to do so. I'll try to reblog any fanart I find on here. If you want to go straight to asks, just click on the tag '#train trio asks'

alright, that's everything. Now what are you still doing here? Throw 'em a question! Or a compliment!! Or an insult.

or don't idrc just have fun here haha

fun fact!! putting everything together for this took a WEEK

[skatingbi]

Yo we out here with some more Ace lives AU but i'll make them little bullet points so I dont have to write a whole essay. Enjoy my little headcanons!

Warning: Theres. So many. Im not sorry tho lmao

Ace joins the strawhats after the time skip, nobody really minds and theyre happy to spend time with luffy's older brother. He quickly becomes best friends with Nami. I just feel it in my soul that they would gossip together.

Both Ace and Luffy suffer from awful PTSD symptoms after Marineford. With Luffy, his crew eventually learn how to help him. With Ace, though, he only has Luffy to lean on for support until the crew get aquanted with him.

Actually, to add onto that bc im a sucker for acesan, Sanji is the first after Luffy to reach out during one of his bad days when even really small triggers can make Ace spiral into a panic attack.

More acesan sorry lmao. Ace is usually either out on the figure head of the sunny looking at the ocean when Luffy isnt occupying that spot, in the gallery when Sanji is working, or just out on the deck laying on the grass. He especially likes being around sanji in the gallery.

Pre timeskip Ace is extremely different than this AU's Ace because yes he's silly and carries an air of confidence with him still, but he's never shirtless around others anymore. For a long while, Ace doesnt leave the ship or pick fights. His confidence is a facade for a long time.

Depression hits ace like a truck in this AU and its only eased with the help of Luffy and Sanji. Chopper also helps the best he can with what he's got. Ace is grateful for this, and eventually his old self starts to emerge more and more. Luffy is there with him the entire time.

Ace has insomnia, but so does Sanji and Zoro. He'll hang out with them during late night hours either on watch with zoro sharing stories or with Sanji talking to him while he's doing prep work or inventory. He'll probably also fend off luffy when his little brother tries to break into the locked fridge lmao

But more funny headcanons!! Im getting depressing here sorry!! Ace will mess around with Luffy and entertain him before meal times by play fighting. Their asses will be duking it out on the deck and Chopper will be all concerned and Zoro and Nami will be like "Siblings." Like thats the most obvious answer in the world.

Tbh, the crew members with any type of sibling or sibling bond will get it. Luffy will deadass try to steal Ace's food and Ace will smack his hand lightly with haki and Luffy will dramatically exclaim how mean his big brother is.

"Ace is so mean! I'll starve to death!" "Yeah, sure, you little menace"

Ace regaining strength over his devil fruit powers by making little shapes out of fire for chopper, luffy, and usopp. Franky and brook join the group to give ace prompts. It becomes a nightly occurance at this point.

The first time he decides to go shirtless in front of the crew, they realize his old tattoo is replaced by scar tissue that covers nearly his entire back. Nobody says anything, but I think Franky and Nami would be really understanding. Also luffy. Luffy would be like "We match! Ace has a cool scar like I do!" and it reassures him but also breaks his heart simultaneously.

Ace eating nearly as much as luffy and Sanji being like "Are you sure youre not blood related? Because youre both gonna run my kitchen dry"

Ace not really having a defined role in the crew and them not really minding it. Ace floats around basically. It kind of fits him more that way since he knows a bit of everything. He'll look at maps with nami to chart a course to the next island, He'll fight alongside zoro and sanji, he'll tell usopp about different ways to use combustion and heat in weapons or ammo, etc.

Ace and nami using the power of their good looks to scam people lmao and ace being able to swindle men and women. Nami is impressed and also jealous.

Luffy growing his hair out so him and Ace match, but luffy apparently has curlier hair than Ace so its just a fluffy mess until usopp caves and teaches them how to actually take care of their hair (luffy does not absorb a single thing and ace now has to help luffy with his hair when it gets as long as his)

Ace noticing one day how zoro looks at luffy and being like "yikes...you got it bad, man" and zoro just being like "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP-" but ace is fucking cackling and now zoro cant be too mad about that. He's still embaressed as fuck about it though.

Expanding on that actually: Ace actually being supportive because he knows how loyal zoro is. He isnt worried. Plus, Luffy is extremely strong and it takes a lot to actually hurt him. So he's like "dude you gotta just tell him straight up he is dense as hell"

Ace the ultimate wingman for zoro. Not luffy, though. That's what Nami is there for. Him an nami are definitely working together and placing bets on when and who asks who out with robin, usopp, sanji, and franky. I wont say what they chose for their bet but robin definitely wins.

BUT luffy, nami, zoro, robin, usopp and franky place bets on Ace and Sanji. Ace is never subtle. He flirts openly and is proud of it. Sanji is very subtle with ace, though. The crew immediately see past his bullshit of trying to be straight. Its painful to watch. Poor sanji is trying so hard to remain closeted but the closet is literally glass. I wont say who betted what as per my last bullet point, but surprisingly zoro won. Everyone (nami) is outraged by this incident. Luffy is here for a good time.

The crew playing card games except they learn sometimes ace cannot handle flammable objects because he will burn them accidentally. Competitive card games are now banned if ace is playing.

Ace is also banned from using his devil fruit powers while sparring on the deck. The poor grass on there has been burned so many times. Nami has kicked his ass over it.

Ace and zoro get really competitive. Not like zoro and sanji, but they'll spar without weapons and at least one of them will leave with a busted lip or eyebrow and a lecture from chopper. Theyre chill though they just forget to hold back on their punches. Ace one time used haki and had to help franky fix the deck afterwards.

[luv4fandoms]

Best Christmas ever! (Dwayne x Fem!Reader)

I'M BAAAAAAAACK!!

So this idea hit me when I read these prompts and I couldn't resist writing it. It seems I am a sucker for Christmas themed stories with Dwayne and Laddie lol. This is kinda in the same universe as "When you're unaware" since it mentions a brother who owns a truck

late night drives to see all the christmas lights in the neighborhood

Pairing: Dwayne x Fem!Reader

Word count: 885

Warnings: Overload of cuteness

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Ko-Fi

"The Carter's still got the biggest light display back home?" Your brother asked as you walked down the boardwalk to meet up with the boys, it had only been about five months since you had met them and already you couldn't picture your life without the rowdy group.

"Oh yeah, every year Jenny is adding something new. I think now it's a competition between them and the Gonzalez family that moved in down at the old Jackson place, they go all out too"

"I remember how pissed George used to get when mom would get dad to decorate"

"Yeah times that by a hundred and you now know the first Christmas after the Gonzalez's moved in" you laughed just as you caught sight of the boys.

"Y/N!" Laddie called, running down the boardwalk to hug you.

"Hey sweetie! Having fun so far?"

"Paul took me on the rollercoaster and Dwayne got me cotton candy" he smiled up at you.

"Hopefully in that order right?" You laughed.

"Paul knows better" Dwayne nodded earning a 'Hey!' from the blonde vamp.

"So what were you two discussing?" David asked while Paul passed a blunt to your brother.

"The families that go all out for Christmas back home"

"Should have seen this one, I swear they must spend a grand a day in electric with how many lights they have" your brother told them.

"Whoa really?" Laddie asked, now invested in the conversation.

"Oh yeah, think of like every light on the boardwalk but on just one house" you laughed.

"Paired with light up animatronics of Santa, reindeer, and snowmen" your brother finished.

"That is so cool!"

"It really was" your brother nodded.

"It definitely made Christmas" you smiled

"That it did"

"I will admit, I'm gonna miss not seeing it this year...I feel like it's not Christmas time until you see the lights"

"Yeah I know what you mean, it's childhood"

"But I get to spend this Christmas with you so I'm happy!" You smiled, leaning down and grabbing Laddie in a bear hug, listening to the smallest vampire laugh, unknown of the eyes that were watching the scene unfold with a soft smile, and a plan forming in his head.

It had been a couple weeks since then, the boardwalk had decked itself out even more for the Christmas season with various lights and window displays, but that wasn't what Dwayne wanted you to see that night when he pulled up to your house. He parked his bike in the garage, Laddie jumping off the back to go get you while he grabbed the keys to your brother's truck. He had already told him his plan, so he had offered his vehicle since it would be able to fit the three of you, and because he kept it at your house instead of at the cave near the ocean air. He watched you stumble out, quite literally, due to Laddie dragging you, he may only be half vamp but he was still stronger than a human. A bag of homemade cookies in one hand and a smile on your face as you gained your balance.

"I have been retrieved" you laughed, making your way over to him.

"I also come baring goods, but please kind sir, why have I been fetched from my kitchen?"

"Because fair maiden, we are going for a drive" he smiled, holding up your brother's keys, which caused you to raise an eyebrow.

"Come on!" Laddie cheered, pulling you towards the old truck before you could say anything, you laughed as you helped him up into the cab, before getting in once he settled in the middle of the bench seat, Dwayne soon getting in and starting up the old girl. You weren't sure what he had in mind, but you knew he wouldn't do anything reckless, not only was he not that type, but he also had Laddie in the vehicle, your brother's vehicle at that. He drove for a while before you found yourself in a more populated part of town, but not as populated as the boardwalk area, more of the suburban type of place...And that's when you saw them.

Lights were strung up on just about every house, in ever color, and every shape. Some houses had full blown Christmas trees out front while others had the wire reindeers. Some had Santa on the roof while others had the classic blowmolds that looked like they had been passed down for generations.

It was Christmas.

Dwayne smiled as he watched you and Laddie stare in awe at the houses, the radio softly playing a Christmas station while he drove slowly. Laddie had already dug into your cookies as he offered them both one with a smile.

"This is so...magical" you smiled.

"This street continues on into the next town, they do this every year. I always take Laddie to see it" he explained.

"It's my favorite part of Christmas! When we heard you talking about missing the lights Dwayne wanted to show you too!" Laddie spoke around a mouthful of cookie. You tried not to tear up as you looked over at the man who held a soft smile while looking at the two of you, his two favorite people he concluded.

"Thank you, this is the best Christmas ever" you spoke softly. He simply nodded as he watched Laddie curl up against you, pointing excitedly to his favorite displays. He couldn't agree more.

'Best Christmas ever'

I'm so happy with how this came out! Short but sweet lol. I really do lean towards Dwayne and Laddie for Christmas stories 😂. I hope everyone enjoyed it!

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

Free Time

Free Day

And now it is time for you're regularly scheduled programming of "Introverted Artist Blabbers About Their Work While Slightly Showing Signs of Instability (the fun kind??)"

Free Time - Decided to try and stage this one as if they were actually hanging out during the FTE's in the game with obvious embellishes here and there. Byakuya wasn't canonically reading the "Introvert's Guide: How to flirt with very cute boys" which just makes me think of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy but gay/hj Side note, though I am aware of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, I am only aware that it is a book and I have only watched the movie and it was when I was a kid so I don't remember much of it besides one scene in the movie with a rock monster that was a reference to that one bad Star Trek film with William Shatner and because of how exhaused I am from these pieces and probably just this week as a whole, the only thing I can think of now is "Ha ha Shatner has the word "Shat" in it". I cannot be salvaged ;-; AHEM... I got on a tangent. So, some other thoughts I have about this one is that I'm happy with the heir's expression. It's giving me the very specific feeling that he's glancing at the book a few times before glancing at Makoto before mentally spouting something along the line of "Erm, I don't think this very applicable to my life". That just cracks me up. What an idiot. Free Day - Staged this one as if they were having a free day to themselves instead of the literal meaning of it being the free day for the prompt. Thus, this one's more domestic. They're marathoning bad movies by the way. Cus I say so and good bad movies are awesome. So many good options too. For instance, maybe it's a classic like "The Room" or maybe something more obscure like 2006 movie "Dream Home". Maybe even one of the many assortments of terrible animated films. What matters though is that they're being cute and do the cuddles. Also, I can also see this drawing maybe be them not watching a movie or TV of some sorts but maybe just conversing to one another as well. That also fits too! Some other things I wish to say is that I'm really proud of their expressions here. I feel I did them well though I really wish I could do a thinner line art style that was a lot more loose. Due to my set up, there's no way I can really accomplish that since what I'd want involves a lot of variation in the line weight to add to the softness of the image. Another thing is, as for why I like their expressions, I feel it tells a cute story. Like, Makoto's a lot more of an open person so he's laughing freely without shame while Byakuya looks like he's trying his hardest to hide his expression even in the comfort of Makoto, his favorite dude! His buddy 'ol pal 'ol friend. Also, holy crap. Why is Makoto absolutely rocking that jean jacket? Like, he's rocking it so well in my eyes and I love it. Think this is a sign I gotta draw Makoto in more jean jackets.

Edit: Oh my gosh. There are so many run on sentences here. How on earth am I an inspiring author???

[farfromstrange]

Tupperware | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: A conversation about kitchen supplies leads to something more...

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v (wrap it b4 you tap it), multiple orgasms, aftercare

Word Count: 6.7k (This is a literal Smut Beast)

A/n: Yeah, whatever you think the title means in context, I guarantee you, this is different. But also, maybe not. I found this in my drafts because it was originally planned as an FG One Shot, but I decided to just throw my plans off the board and turn it into a reader insert (I've written this a while back, but I reread and edited it). Funny story: I found this writing prompt and it reminded me of the accent I have and how I say Tupperware (and how everyone in my State says Tupperware, the German version ofc), and I found it funny because that is definitely something I did when I said it in English for the first time. Anyway, enjoy!

The couple sat on his couch, the lights of the Billboard growing more distinctive as the sun started to set. He was working on the paperwork that had piled up over the days while she was reading something on her laptop. The steady typing of her fingers synchronized with her steady breathing. He didn’t mind the sound of her working. He enjoyed the carelessness of it all. Just two people seeking the comfort of each other’s presence while doing two completely different things. It wasn’t weird, it was productive.

At some point, he reached for her leg that was poking his side and placed it in his lap. She smiled at the casual, domestic action. His fingers stroked her calves absentmindedly while his mind continued to occupy itself with the information on the case that reached in through his headphones.

He heard her laugh at something. He smiled as he asked, “What?”

“I was looking for some accessories for our kitchen,“ – his heart bloomed at the pronoun, – “And now Google is trying to sell me  Tubberware,” she stated. “I don’t even use Tubberware anymore.”

The headphone fell from his ear.

“What are you saying?” Matt asked.

His lip twitched, more in disbelief than amusement, but it was also weirdly adorable, the way the ‘b’s’ rolled from her tongue.

“Say it again,” he told her.

Her eyebrows crinkled. “Tubberware,” she said, remaining serious and clueless throughout.

“Say it again. Slow.”

“Tubberware.”

“Slow, very slow– actually, say the first syllable.”

Her frown deepened. “Tub,” she said confidently.

Matt bit his cheek. “Wrong.”

“What do you mean, wrong?”

“I thought I caught that. You’re saying tub. It’s P.”

He had to keep telling himself not to laugh, but it was so incredibly hard with the pout on her lips growing by the second.

She removed her leg from his lap and sat upright, laptop moving dangerously close to the edge of her thighs. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Tupperware,” he stated. “Tupper.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. “It’s Tupperware?!”

He couldn’t hold it any longer. The laugh rolled off his lips like a serenading song. “It’s Tupperware, always has been, always will be,” he choked out.

The pout came back, stronger than before. A frustrated pout. This was entirely different from the confused and irritated one. “I thought it was tubberware because it kind of looks like a tub,” she muttered.

“Oh, baby,” he laughed.

“It looks like a tub,” she said.

“I know it does. I’m sorry.”

“Stop laughing at me, you dick!”

“I’m really sorry, sweetheart. It’s just… say it again. Please. For me.”

“So that you can make more fun of me?” she asked. “No thank you.”

“I’m not making fun of you, I promise. It just sounds so cute when you say it. Do it for me, please. I want to hear it again.”

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of laughing too. She was supposed to be mad at him, but she somehow couldn’t because looking at it from this angle, she realized how stupid it was. Tubberware. It was hilarious, even.

“Tubberware,” she said again, trying to breathe through the fit of laughter bubbling in her throat.

Matt laughed. “Again,” he begged.

“Tubberware.”

“It’s so cute, I can’t-“ his voice cracked.

“I hate you!”

“I know you want to laugh,” he titled his head knowingly, “so laugh.”

“No,” she said.

“Please."

“Don’t tell me what to do,” but at this point, she was already laughing. The sound he loved so much grew louder by the second.

Her stomach hurt. His did, too.

“I’ve been saying it for years,” she said between breaths. “And no one’s ever told me. Oh, God!”

“I’m sorry,” said Matt. “I didn’t mean to… Tubberware.” He giggled. “It’s adorable.”

“Shut up!"

"I'm sorry, I'll stop." He wiped some more of his laughing tears.

Grateful for his attempt to compose himself, she nodded. "Okay,” she turned back toward her laptop, “While we’re already on the issue, do we need anything else?"

He threw his head back, thinking. “We could use some new spatulas,” he said. "And lunchboxes. Tupperware has some great choices, you should take a look."

Her laugh died into a smile. “You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“What I’m saying is, we’re not getting Tubberware.”

“Why not?” He cocked an eyebrow. “They’ve got great kitchen stuff and it’s easy to use. You know, for me as a blind man…”

“Matt Murdock, are you one of those Tubberware grandmas?” It was her turn to laugh.

He pouted. “Shut up.”

“Oh no, we need to talk about this.”

“No, I’ve got work to do. You should buy what I just said. We definitely need that.”

“Alright, let me see what Amazon has," she said.

“No, we'll get it from Tupperware," he retorted. "I've been using nothing else for years."

“That's not my problem. There are cheaper options. Amazon, same-day delivery.  Why do we have Prime if we don't use it? And don't say because of the Podcasts, we have Spotify, which is ten times better."

“Tupperware has better quality.”

“I'm buying the spatula and the lunchboxes from Amazon, end of discussion.”

There was a playful smile on his lips, already telling her what he was about to say next was merely a joke. “You’re not the man of the house,” Matt argued. “As the man of the house, I dictate where we buy our kitchen supplies.”

She gasped, her mouth hanging wide open as she processed his words. Even though it was a joke, she couldn't help but feel slightly offended at even the prospect. Shaking her head, she cocked her eyebrows at him and said, “And as the woman you depend on to suck your dick, I strongly suggest you think about what you just said.”

He bit his cheek. “Oh, so we’re going there?”

She smirked. “I thought you could handle it, tough guy.”

“Okay, that’s it!” He tossed the case file aside, tore the laptop from her hands, and pulled her into his lap in one swift motion.

Matt was always the first to suggest a gentle game of teasing, but he barely had any tolerance for it. He was always the first to get riled up, no matter what. Perhaps she should have thought twice about her words, but it was so much more fun to see him like this than give in too soon.

He rolled her hips down into his, his fingers sure to leave bruises as he guided her along his slacks. The moan she let out was guttural.

Matt bit down on her earlobe. “Mouth off on me again and this is all you’re gonna get for the next week,” he said.

Her thighs fluttered around his own. The heartbeat between her legs bounced off his muscles. The room suddenly grew too hot to breathe the toxic air in.

“On second thought,” she began, though when Matt’s lips wandered from her ear to her neck and down to her cleavage, the words got caught in her throat.

He ran his hands under her shirt. Her skin was hot. The rough callouses of his fingers pulled the fabric aside until it slipped off her shoulders.

“No bra,” he smirked. “Nice.”

She whined. “I really need to buy kitchen supplies now, Matt,” she tried again.

He sucked one of her nipples into his hot mouth. If they were hard due to the cold air in the apartment or because his touch sent her into overdrive she wasn’t sure, but once he was on her all she could think about was his stupid mouth on her tits.

Her nipple slipped off his tongue with a pornographic plop. “I want you to do as I say,” he said.

“You can't use your bedroom voice when we're talking about the apartment. Oh, fuck!”

He slapped his hand flat on her ass.

“You were saying?”

She wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his perfectly wet lips.

“Stop teasing me.”

Matt leaned back from the mess he made on her chest, eyelids fluttering innocently, hands rested on her hips again. “You said you needed to buy kitchen supplies,” he said.

And he was instantly back in his teasing mood, believing he finally got the upper hand.

“I lied,” she said.

“No, you didn’t. You really need to buy kitchen supplies.”

She huffed. “Fine, guess I’ll do it myself.”

He wanted to laugh.

Her shorts accompanied her shirt on the floor. Half naked, she plopped down next to him on the couch again.

Matt choked on nothing at all, her scent thick in the air. When her thighs moved, the sound it made was wet, hot, and sticky. He loved that sound. He loved it most when it was as close to his ears as possible, squished between those perfect thighs that made the sound unbearable.

She threw her head back, throat exposed. She sighed. Her fingers ran over her body, barely touching, only testing the waters. All hairs on her body stood at full attention, the ache between her thighs thudding so hard to the point where she could hear nothing but blood in her ears. Her heart sped up, half because of embarrassment, the other half because of excitement. She wasn’t sure what was stronger. They’d never done anything like this before and she doubted he’d even let her. Up until this point he hadn’t done anything but listen closely though, fists clenched around the soft fabric of his slacks close to his crotch.

Her fingers ghosted over the waistband of her panties. Black silk. He liked the feeling of lace on her, but after some time it began to tickle and he hated the way it itched at his skin, so she barely wore lace anymore. He had his hands on her at all times, she had to adapt.

Matt’s hand shot out instantly. Her fingers barely breached her panties and he already had enough. “Don’t you dare,” he said.

“Why?” she challenged. Her voice was nothing but a series of breaths.

“Because it’s mine.”

“If you won’t touch me-“

He shoved his fingers down her underwear.

“Fuck!” Her head fell even further down the armrest.

“You were saying?”

“I’m sorry. Keep going.”

“Why?” his thumb stopped over her clit. “Why should I give you anything?”

“Because I will buy or- or do anything you want from now on, I promise!”

“Watch your tone, sweetheart,” he bellowed.

“Please,” she squirmed, searching for any kind of friction. His hand kept her hips restrained without even trying, any move grazing her just enough to make her body jolt, but not nearly enough to be pleasurable.

“Hm,” he hummed.

“Please?”

“Okay,” and he pressed his thumb down so hard, she swore she saw stars dance around her clouded vision.

She moaned just the way he liked it. “Fuck.”

“Will you keep quiet?” Matt resumed his work. Even though his pants were painfully tight, he acted like nothing had happened. “I need to finish this paperwork,” he told her. “I won’t ignore my responsibilities just because someone decided to be a needy whore today. So if you want to cum, you better stay quiet so I can concentrate.”

His thumb worked its way up and down her clit, circled, and drew patterns she’d never seen before. She bit into her bottom lip until it drew blood.

He knew her body better than anyone else, better than herself even. He knew what she liked, what made her squirm, what she didn’t like, and what could make her body shake instantly.

Her body was an altar. He had every last inch mapped out to perfection. Her skin was soft like a sunny day in spring and it smelled salty like the sea, sweet like the field of flowers in Central Park, and distinctive like summer rain. Every time he touched her, he was on fire. The temperature in her body changed with every flick of his fingers. Every hitch of her breath he caught onto. She didn’t even have to tell him to keep going, he simply knew.

Matt worshipped her body like he would kneel on the bench at church. She was a row of burning candles before the cross and he knelt before her like a pathetic disciple willing to do anything to please the divine being.

Her stifled moans through the palm of her hand drove him crazy. Usually, he was a lot more composed than that, but it was late, he was overworked and he was horny, and he couldn’t concentrate with the wetness of her arousal lying thick in the air. He licked his lips to taste it. He tasted the air like a starved man.

Matt growled. “Fuck this,” he said.

She protested silently when he retreated his thumb. She sat up against the armrest, staring at him. His hair stood in all directions from the hand he ran through it, his lips plump, seeking friction.

“Come here.” He grabbed her hips and placed her back on his lap, legs on either side of his thigh. “I need you close to me,” he breathed into her mouth as they met halfway. “Ride my thigh.”

She swallowed. “What?”

“Ride my thigh. Be a good girl and ride my thigh. You want to make yourself cum, hm? I’m giving you an opportunity here, unless, of course, you’re too pathetic to do it yourself. Do you need me to help you, hm?”

She swallowed again. “Please,” she said.

His hands gently began to roll her hips against him. “Like that?” he asked.

The moan she let out was answer enough.

“Feel good?”

She bit into her lip, nodding wildly.

“Use your words,” he said. “Don’t hold back.”

Her head fell on his shoulder, hand seeking something to hold onto behind him at the back of the couch.

The silence earned her another hard slap on her ass.

“Answer me.”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Feels good. Keep going, please.”

Matt smirked. “Good girl.”

The leather was dented under her fingers. She held onto the couch for dear life. His hands guided her hips deliciously over his thigh, the fabric of his slacks mixed with the silk of her underwear sliding against her sensitive clit over and over again driving her closer and closer to the end.

She saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Her eyes rolled back. The pressure in her lower abdomen began to build slowly but steadily. She involuntarily sped up, sloppily fighting against the slow pace he’d set. He would’ve stopped her if he hadn’t been so riled up already, so he let her. He let her chase for the sweet relief the knot in her stomach prepared her for.

“Matt,” she whined his name.

One of his hands began to stroke her back. “I know,” he said. “I know, baby.”

Her thighs twitched around his, her entire body shaking underneath his touch. It was all too much. His rough hands on her hot skin, his fingers digging in sure to leave bruises, and the gentle coax of his hand on her back, stroking innocently to help her through it. His touch was too much to bear.

Matt instantly reached out when she threw her head back. The moan sounded delicious in his ears. He caught her head with his hand around the back of her neck, making sure she wouldn’t fall over and hurt herself. She clenched around nothing, thighs threatening to close but his own kept them open.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wasn’t crying, not at all. The tear came from a place of pure pleasure. Her body couldn’t handle it. The sensations he put her through left her speechless every time he touched her. She couldn’t breathe. Her throat was dry.

His thumb drew circles on the back of her neck. He brought her back to earth after it just shattered before her very eyes.

“Fuck,” she choked out.

Matt guided her back into his chest and she took the support gladly. His heart beat against her bare breasts. The bulge in his pants became painfully clear once she regained feeling in her limbs. It brushed her thighs where it lay between his own.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“That was…” she couldn’t find the right words.

“I know.”

She didn’t quite trust her legs when she twisted to swing the one between his thighs over the other one. She kept her hands on his shoulders to straddle him without falling over.

Matt tilted his head, eyes searching for hers. “What’re you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Looks like you need some help,” she stated. She played with his belt buckle.

“It’s fine. You know I don’t need anything in return for making you feel good.”

“I know, but I want to. That looks painful.”

In one swift motion, she pulled the belt out of his slacks and tossed it aside.

Matt chuckled at her eagerness. “You are insatiable, you know that?” he dove in to kiss whatever bare skin he could reach.

His lips sloppily kissed down her neck and up again, chasing her lips. She kissed him back as hard as she could. Their teeth clashed, tongues fighting each other for dominance, knowing he’d win anyway. He swallowed every breath she took, sucking her dry and breathing new life back into her mouth.

She opened the button on his pants, trying hard to pull it down enough to get his aching cock out of them.

He caught onto her plan. Shifting his hips, she managed to reach into his boxers.

“Wait,” he said.

“What?” she blinked at him.

Matt reached for the hem of her panties. His fingers flexed.

Rip.

She gasped. The silk fell to the floor in nothing but flaps of fabric.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

“Fine.” In response, the buttons of his dress shirt flew in all directions. She ran her hands down his chest, satisfied with the ripped front of the shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders.

He chuckled. “That’s fair.”

She kissed down every exposed sliver of skin on his torso. Her tongue ran over the jagged scars, the freshly healed bruises from a couple of nights ago. He was beautiful. With the billboard casting a pornographic red light on them, eyes closed, he looked like the child of an angel and a demon. His entire existence was ephemeral, his body a wonderland.

She sucked one of his perky nipples into her mouth. He arched almost entirely off the couch.

“I love you,” she breathed against him.

She liked the way the words sounded. For someone so afraid of admitting her feelings not so long ago, she’d come quite far. It had become her new favorite thing to say. Though the true weight of the statement came in the moments they were intimate. She could chant the same three words to him all day, but the second they were close to each other, touching where only they could touch, those three words regained their true meaning. It was sweet, almost innocent. The kind of love everyone wished for. An endless spiral of butterflies danced around in their stomachs.

Matt chuckled. The very same sound turned into a moan once her teeth dug into the flesh around his nipples.

“I’m worshipping you now,” she told him. Her kisses traveled down his body.

Her warmth on his chest disappeared. Instead, the hot trail of kissed lead to the opened button of his slacks. Her tongue played with his belly button, the happy trail leading into Neverland.

She kissed each scar on either side. “Perfect,” she hummed. “I don’t deserve you and yet you’re mine. This is mine. Only mine. No one else’s.”

“I’m yours.”

“Mine,” she kissed the lower part of his stomach. “Mine,” her lips landed on the hem of his boxers. “Mine,” it was an animalistic growl. She pulled down his underwear swiftly.

Matt didn’t have time to comprehend what was happening. He was so in awe of the way she touched and spoke of his body, he listened to her for the sake of having her praise him over and over again. The words carried innocence in their sinful ways.

He choked on air. His scars long forgotten, her mouth opened around its original destination.

“Lord have mercy!” he grabbed a fistful of hair.

Her tongue licked a thick stripe down his shaft.

Matt was a religious man. He prayed regularly and went to church and Sunday Mass. He swore never to take God anywhere other than he needed to be, but that woman and her cursed mouth made him see God in the fiery land of his unseeing vision. What they were doing was outright sinful. He knew he’d go to hell for saying the lord’s name in vain. He’d go to hell for everything he’d ever done and yet, while that was the truth, he didn’t care because, at that moment, he was living. He was alive. He’d gotten used to the thought of going to hell, seeking penance almost every day since. With her though, something had awakened inside of him. He couldn’t let it go. The Devil inside of him wanted to play.

Her mouth danced perfectly to the gospel of his moans, he forgot who he was. He tried hard not to push her head further down his cock, although the warmth of her throat sent him into pleasurable overdrive.

The cold air hit the head, falling from her lips like a wet towel. “It’s okay,” she said. “Take what you need.”

It was all the confirmation he needed.

His hips bucked up into her throat. She had laid off the gag reflex the first time she had his cock in her mouth, knowing the act alone could turn her on for more than one day. She could cum from simply touching him, hearing the dirty sounds slip past his swollen lips, and she’d be more than okay with it. The sounds he made were heaven’s gift to her, she was sure.

His cock twitched against her throat. She braced herself, eyes already closed. 

“Stop,” he choked out.

She instantly sat back on her heels, naked and worked up.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“No, not at all.  I just… I need you.”

His chest heaved with the denied orgasm. The one he had denied himself. Anticipation rutted through his veins.

She swallowed the precum mixed with spit inside her hollowed-out mouth. The skin tingled. “You want me to-“ she pointed to his lap.

Matt sensed the motion. “If you want to,” he said. “But you can lay back and let me do all the work if that’s what you want. Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Her thighs trapped his. She’d never been so comfortable doing that before. She was completely naked on top of him while he sat there, half-dressed, eyes searching for what he couldn’t see. Blood rushed to her cheeks. The position was compromising.

He pulled the hair from her face. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I don’t know what I’m doing but yeah, I’m sure.”

“You don’t have to. I’ve got you.” He pressed his lips to her collarbone. “Mine,” he licked a stripe up her pulse point. “Mine,” the spank landed right on her ass. The next touch of his fingers made her shudder. Her cheeks flooded red with blood. “And mine,” he parted his fingers between her thighs to spread the lips of her pussy wide open.

Part of her wanted to scramble away. He couldn’t see but he could feel everything. It was just about the same as having him watch every inch of her body closely. Every last crevice he wanted to memorize. She wasn’t sure what to think. Her brain refused to function. She was entirely bare to him.

“Matt,” she said his name.

“You’re beautiful. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He kissed her again. Passionate, loving. “Remember our safe word?”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me.”

“Red.”

He flicked the switch. “Okay, good girl,” the dark sound of his voice made all the embarrassment vanish. Instead, heat shot through her core. “Good girl, having your good little cunt spread for me. Just want to look at you the way I can. Want to see what’s mine. Want to feel how wet you are from riding my thigh. Oh, look at you!” he smirked. “This is turning you on, isn’t it? Your heart’s going crazy and you’re literally dripping.  You’re making such a mess on my good pants. You want to make a mess on my cock now too, don’t you? You want to be my good little slut and ride my cock?”

She only whined.

His hand slapped across her ass harder this time. The collision stung. “Use your words,” he demanded. “Use your words or I’m leaving you like this.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice came out sobbing. “I’m sorry. I want you inside of me. I want to be your good girl, I promise.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yes, please! Please fuck me, Matthew. I’ll do anything. Please!”

“Don’t cry.” He wiped her cheeks. “I know I’m good, but no need to cry. You’ll get what you want. Want to make you feel good, hm. You deserve it for always being so patient.”

“Yes, I’ve been patient. I’ve been good. So good.”

He laughed. “You’re already so dumb for me, baby. You sure you can take this?”

“Yes!”

“What’s your color?” The always caring Matt Murdock peaked out from under the dark, sex-crazed facade only she got to see.

She shuddered. “I-“ words came harder than they should have.

His head titled. Worry spread across his face, ready to take back whatever he said.

“Green,” she eventually managed to say.

She only wanted the ache between her thighs to be numbed. She wanted him so incredibly deep inside of her, she could feel him bulge her stomach, everywhere he could be inside of her.

Matt smirked, and it only grew darker from there.

“Good girl,” he praised again.

She slapped her hand on her mouth. He bottomed out quickly, without warning. He penetrated her without thinking twice about it, burying himself so deep inside of her, he could feel her walls contracting around him with every inch. She sucked him in and she screamed. She was sure she screamed. Her hand was the only thing keeping the neighbors from knocking on their door. His name slipped from her lips like a prayer, like she was singing his name in church and the word echoed off the walls for everyone to hear. Except no one was supposed to hear this. It was just them. This was their safe space. They could be however they wanted to be like this, and only then they could touch each other so sweetly when the world wasn’t watching them and they didn’t have to worry about anything other than themselves.

The sound was new, even for Matt. He too was sure he let out the nastiest sound known to man, but unlike her, he had no intention of masking it. He bottomed out and he chose to stay like this for just a little while longer, waiting for her muscles to relax, waiting for her to enjoy this.

The impatient roll of her hips eased his worries.

“Okay?” he asked quietly.

She breathed through her nose, “Okay.”

“Then ride me.”

And she did.

She started with a slow pace, taking her time to adjust to his size. Every inch of her felt perfectly filled out. He managed to reach parts of her she never could’ve found on her own. He had this way with her body, it was like a high that never ended, the endless train on the river of sugar rush.

Her eyes trailed up his body. Head tilted back, his eyes fluttered with every thrust of her hips. One arm flexed with the pressure he applied to the leather seat, the other was placed softly against the flesh of her hips. He made sure she knew he was there if she needed him to take control, though, at the same time, the move seemed almost domineering, leaving her no choice but to do as he wanted. She was completely at his mercy. Even the slightest touch made her cave. He knew it and she knew it.

If he’d told her to drive to hell with him, she would have.

The slow and steady pace felt like heaven to him. Her hips drew patterns to chase that spot so very deep inside of her, only he could reach it. The swirl was delicious around his cock, the hot, soft flesh of her insides rolling against him, up and down and up and down. He listened to her heartbeat, strangled breathing, and the goosebumps on her skin. Moan after moan escaped her lips, growing louder and louder until she couldn’t hold it anymore. He filtered out every hint of discomfort or frustration. What she liked, what she continued doing, and what just didn’t seem to work. She explored herself without even realizing and it turned him on even more. He could’ve sworn he felt himself getting harder inside of her if that was humanly possible.

His ears only picked up on rushing blood and labored breaths. There was nothing else but the feeling of her body, the scent of sweat, and bittersweet arousal on his lips and tongue. He was entirely enveloped in her. Everything was about her. Her body, her wetness, her heart. The heart between her legs, loud and dominant.

She whimpered at the sight before her. Matt Murdock in all his glory, half naked with his shirt ripped at her fingers, fabric, and skin clutched between her nails. Sweat coated his forehead, mouth slightly agape. His lashes fluttered around his unseeing eyes. She didn’t even have to move. If she wanted to, the sight would’ve been enough to make her come undone in a matter of seconds. He was so comfortable in her presence, his shoulders slouched in absolute relaxation as her movement urged him closer to his own release.

The next time her hips rolled down into his, he met her movements. His hips jerked up with a purpose. That purpose lay deep inside of her and he knew where it was. The thrust from underneath made her cry out. The spongy spot inside of her danced with euphoria as the head of his cock brushed against it.

He chuckled breathlessly. “There it is,” his head stayed hung over the back of the couch.

She braced herself. The new wave of pleasure only spurred her on. The way he dove impossibly deeper into her with every brush against that sweet spot had him reeling, gripping the leather for any kind of support. She followed close behind, her hips beginning to move as if her life depended on it. With every thrust, she sped up. Although her legs slowly grew tired, all she could feel was the tingling knot deep in her stomach blossoming into a beautiful flower and waiting to blow.

The hand that had once laid around her waist landed around her throat instead. The leather wasn’t nearly enough to keep him composed if that was even possible.

Hell’s Kitchen always haunted him. Noise and smell followed him home, and the sound of innocent people getting hurt kept him from falling asleep most of the time. He couldn’t tune it out. The city was a part of him. Even asleep, he dreamed of all the bad that was out there and all the things he’d done in his life, the things that lead him there, the people he’d hurt. The city never slept and neither did he, not really.

Though with her, for the first time, he was able to breathe. She overwhelmed his senses to the point it almost became unbearable. Her touch singed his skin yet calmed his mind down to the point he could tune out everything else and just focus entirely on the woman atop him. Sight was overrated. He didn’t need to see to know the way she moved was graceful in itself. Everything she did, she did with passion. The rolls of her hips were angelic. With her head thrown back, sweat and tear all over her face, she was the most beautiful person he’d ever come across. He could feel every inch of her, smell her, taste her. The whole wide city disappeared in the wake of her existence.

She was his salvation. He was drowning.

“Matt,” she sighed. His name rolled sweetly over her lips like she was singing him to sleep.

He squeezed his fingers around her pulse point. The pressure caged her in, sending moons across the stars in her galaxy. She reached for his wrist, not sure if she wanted to keep him or push him away. The tingling traveled from her stomach into every last crevice of her being.

He twitched inside of her. His muscles tensed. She rolled against him again, chest to chest. Hard nipples brushed against each other.

She dove in for a taste. Sweat had nestled into his stubble. Air was overrated. She kissed him until her lungs had nothing left to give. Until there was no other way but to swim back to shore to take a deep breath.

They’d fucked before. They had sex before. They’d done a lot of things. Whatever this was though, it counted as neither. Time was of the essence. Not too little, not too much. Just the right amount of time, simply savoring each other, getting to know each other as much as humanly possible in the most intimate sense. Subconsciously, they’d both been carrying way too much pressure. It showed in the way they craved each other. Starving animals in the middle of the desert preying for sustenance.

She scratched her nails through the hairs on his chin, leaving red marks down his throat. He groaned ever so softly into the depths of her mouth.

“I love you,” she said. His name came in serial moans. She breathed hard, heavy. Lost all sense of space and time, as if she couldn’t even believe it herself.

Matt tasted the salt on his tongue, wet strains of tears carried from her drenched cheeks to his. She was crying, whining, begging, and as lovely as it was to hold her like this, the words were the last straw to destroy his composure completely.

“I love you.”

He flipped her over like she was a doll, easily handled, thighs opened to grant him the space he needed to get between them. All the while his hand remained on its throne around her throat.

She moaned. The red lights of the billboard shone at him from behind, fading into hues of purple and blue with each thrust. His hips brushed against her clit every time he dove forward, hard and relentless, deeper and deeper. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. The lights became a distant memory. Nothing mattered but the hot pressure inside her lower abdomen, his weight on her, the twitch of his cock against the spot inside of her at the same time he brushed the spot outside of her and all eventually just became too much.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he demanded. “Look at me!”

She forced her eyes open. He loved it when she looked at him, vulnerable, exposed. And though she tried hard to obey, his pace made it almost impossible to keep her eyes open long enough. Not much longer and the only was about to snap.

“Who do you belong to? Who’s making you feel good?”

“You,” she gave him the answer he wanted. “Always you.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Me, only me. You’re-“ he thrust his hips forward, “Mine. Mine.” he dug his teeth into her shoulder.

She sobbed. It was too much. Too good, too much. Her entire body was on fire.

“Matt, please.”

Waiting for permission, anything.

Fingers intertwined above her head on the armrest. She clawed onto him. His hand traveled down between their bodies, catching her clit just right between his fingers. Just a little more. Circles and triangles and more circles.

“All of this is mine, understood?” his face buried in the valve of her breasts. “I’m so in love with you,” he said. “So fucking in love with you.”

The Billboard outside exploded in fits of color. The coil snapped. She gave up the little control she had left, clinging onto him, shocks of pleasure wreaking havoc. Her pussy clenched around him. It was tight, so tight, and she kept him there until she could milk all he had to give her.

Matt stiffened. His mouth stayed open in a silent moan. Sound only came back to him once he came, hard. All the pressure from the week before unloaded and he fell on top of her, moaning, panting. His body vibrated with the aftershocks. The heat inside of her walls sucked him in until every last drop was spent, dripping along his softening shaft, out of her. 

The world stood still.

“I love you,” the admission blew hot against her sternum. Her hands raked through his hair, holding him.

She sighed blissfully. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Matt was a sensitive person after sex. During, he took control. He hardly left her any time to breathe or think. After though, the world came crashing back in, his senses so overwhelmed by everything, he just needed someone to ground him. His mind wasn’t back yet, ears rushing with blood and every nerve in his body straining. The only thing keeping him sane was the beating of her heart against his ear.

Not sure if she could trust her legs just yet, she gently rolled them over. “Come on,” she whispered. “I’ll clean us up.”

He lay there, eyes directed at the ceiling. Her warmth disappeared only to be replaced by a lukewarm washcloth on his stomach.

She helped him out of his pants. The cold air of the apartment eased the burning.

He had regained most of his consciousness by the time she laid back on top of him. The sofa wasn’t spacious and for the first time, he was glad there was no space for her to move anywhere but his bare chest. The skin-to-skin contact made the sudden awareness less unbearable. He needed to focus on the feeling of her. He needed to remember what it felt like to breathe.

She traced patterns on his skin. Eventually, she asked, “You okay?”

“Thank you,” he said.

“You know, I love you too. More than anything.”

“I know.”

“I’m in love with you,” she looked up at him. “I don’t just love you, I’m in it. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He couldn’t help it. “Oh,” the tears flowed freely.

“Hey-“

Matt choked out a laugh. “You’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said. "And I don't even know why I'm crying because I'm not sad, I'm happy."

Her eyes softened. She touched his cheek gently. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, kissing her palm, down to her wrist, and back up.

“I was thinking,” she broke the silence.

“Dangerous,” he muttered.

“Hey!” she slapped him only slightly, but it was enough to make him groan.

“I was thinking,” she began again. “How about, you and I,” her fingers traveled down his exposed chest, “take the day off tomorrow, stay in,” she kissed his throat, “and have absolutely filthy sex everywhere in this apartment until I can’t walk anymore.”

He moaned. “That won’t be so hard,” he said.

Needless to say, he didn’t buy any kitchen supplies that day, the day after that, or the day after that. Truth be told, she never got the chance to buy them.

“We can start today.”

The second they stepped into the shower, her chest was pressed to the cold tiles as he took her from behind.

Even if she’d wanted to, the throbbing between her legs the next morning made shopping for something as useless as kitchen supplies an impossibility. And as she sat on the kitchen counter in the morning, back arched with his head buried deep between her thighs, she realized she wouldn’t regain feeling in her limbs anytime soon.

[plussizefantasia]

Shaggy and Velma

Flufftober Day 25: Costume Party

Peter Parker x f!reader

Word Count 1.0k

AN: I have officially finished writing all of my prompts for Flufftober, I'll be proofreading the last few before I post them. The problem is, I've really enjoyed all the writing I've been doing and how much everyone has liked my stories. So I want to ask for some requests that I can write after my short break! If you could send a request that would be amazing. As always, Reblogs and Feedback are really appreciated, and I'll see y'all tomorrow!

divider credit @royallaesthetics

“I am not wearing that.” You deadpanned at Peter who was smiling toothily at you. In his hands, he held one of those awful foam costumes, a matching set. “I am not wearing a piece of foam that makes me look like jelly on toast, not to a party.” You didn’t think that gaveling a couple's costume was a bad idea you thought it might be fun but you drew the line at food.

“C’mon Babe, match with me.” He encoded his strongest pair of puppy dog eyes and aimed them right at you.

“I will match with you, just not as PB and J” you laughed. “What about Shaggy and Velma.”

“Who would be who?” He asked.

“We’ll you’re the smart one so you’ll probably be Velma and I look good in green so I’ll be shaggy.” You shrugged.

“Do they even make male Velma costumes?” Peter began scanning the store for a gender-bent version of the character. 

“Probably not but we could always go to the thrift store.” You suggested

And so you did, two hours and the thrift shops later you had your costumes for the costume party on the NYC campus that your roommate had invited you to.

Parties weren’t your thing but when you had told Peter about it, he had gotten excited. “I’ve never been to a college party, or a Halloween party, or any kind of party that wasn’t a birthday party.” So you cast aside your desire for a cozy night in with your boyfriend, watching movies in spooky pajamas and eating candy that you go from the gas station. You went costume shopping with your dork and basked in the joy that radiated from him all day.

Now, the two of you were about a block away from the party, you’d decided to walk, partially because you didn’t have a car and partially because you wanted to be able to check out other people’s costumes on the way. “Do you think people will know who we are?” Peter asked you. You looked down at yourself, wearing a short corduroy mini skirt and a green top tucked into the waistband, along with a pair of old brown dress shoes you usually saved for special and formal occasions. Then your gaze landed on Peter, you were surprised that you had found the orange turtleneck right away but it fit him well. He also wore a pair of red jeans that you had to force him into a pair of glasses that you popped the lenses out of.

“I’m sure baby, we’re killing it right now.”

“We are, aren’t we?” Peters's voice got soft and he looked at you. He placed a kiss on your temple and kept walking. 

When you arrived at the warehouse the party was at, it was obvious that most of the people there were not in college. Party crashes weren’t rare, but it did mean that Peter would need to keep a close eye on you. This many strangers in one place was bound to be trouble. You had made him promise that he wouldn’t be Spider-Man tonight, that was your condition for going to the party at all.

“I’m not going if you’re going to have to race out of there right away and leave me there.” He agreed it was fair after all, you hadn’t wanted to go, so leaving you alone wasn’t the nicest thing he could do.

So instead, he danced with you, he held you close and he laughed with you when you saw funny costumes. Multiple people complimented you on the outfits you were wearing and every time it happened you watched Peter perk up just a little bit.

As the night wore on, you got a little sloppier, not drunk. You wouldn’t get wasted when you were so keenly aware of how many people you didn’t know and how far from home you were. But you were loose and Peter wasn’t. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to drink, he just metabolized it way too fast.

By three a.m. the party still hadn’t wound down, but as Peter watched you yawn and lean on him a little more than usual he decided that it was time to go.

“Wanna go home, babe? Put in our PJs and watch a movie?” You eagerly nodded and grabbed onto his hand. 

It wasn’t easy getting you home, you seemed to trip on every little thing and had a serious case of the giggles but eventually the two of you made it back to his apartment. Peter helped you up the stairs and in past his door. When your eyes landed on his couch you groaned pleasantly and flopped down onto it. Burying your head in the throw pillows you had bought.

“C’mon babe, we gotta brush our teeth and change into PJs”

“Don’t wanna, comfortable”

“I know babe, but you’ll be mad at me tomorrow for not making you do some sort of routine.”

Even tipsy you knew that you would want to take off your makeup before you went to bed, so even though you groaned and whined the whole time, you let Peter help you take your makeup off, and brush your teeth and hair. 

Peter gently guided you into the bedroom where he pulled out the Halloween PJs you had bought for the two of you before you knew that you were going to the party. He helped you into them, his eyes never starting from your face as he did.

When all your routines were done and you were ready for bed, Peter pulled you to his side and kissed your head like he always did before you fell asleep.

“Thank you for coming with me Shaggy,” you laughed.

“You’re welcome, Velma” was your deeply sleepy response, as soon as the words left your mouth, your eyes shut and you fell asleep immediately.

[mercy-burning]

(1) the landlord. || THE DOCTOR.

in which the landlord sets off to bring the doctor out of his shell and acquaint him with the town. content: strong language, inebriation

word count: 3.1k

series masterlist || main masterlist

———

Four snowfalls have graced Sardinia in the past month, and Y/N is starting to wonder if the poor doctor had gotten stuck in his house, or even frozen to death outside. With limbs thinner than the pine needles scattered all through town, he's probably snapped in several places. She jokingly wonders if she'll see dismembered fingers and legs in his yard, but finds that in actuality, Winter has seemed to treat the doctor well.

At least, well enough to where he can handle the yard.

There's a clear, albeit jagged, pathway from the gravel road to the front door, and even the narrow driveway and the pale vintage Wagoneer parked in the middle of it aren't completely caked in white. It's not perfect by any means, but good enough to get you on the move in a hurry. Kind of important for an on-call doctor.

That being said, no one has seen him in almost a month.

News doesn't take long to travel, especially regarding new and important residents since they only come around once in a blue moon, and still, not a single visit. No stories, no "I heard"s, no calls... Whether it's a testament to the population's good health or unwillingness to let in the new remains to be seen. And as a lifelong resident of Sardinia and landlord to the new doctor, Mayor Stanton has tasked Y/N to get him out and about to get things back to a sort-of-normal.

Either he'll get settled in and fit in nicely, or everyone is going to ask for a trade-in. She hopes it's the former, because a repeat of The Revolving Arsenal of Dentists sounds like an absolute nightmare, but even if it ends up being a disaster, anything would be better than this limbo of not knowing. It's like a tarp of tension has settled over the top of Sardinia and trapped everyone underneath. It's a weird feeling that Y/N hopes will go away after today. If not to bring the doctor out of his shell and into public, then to relay information about him or his credentials to get everyone more comfortable with his presence.

She's also decided he isn't horrible to look at.

Not that that's relevant...

She knocks on the door three times, loud and staccato. Her knuckles sting at the contact and she holds back a hiss, hearing her late grandmother's trill warning, "You've lived here all your life, Moonface, you know better than to do anything outside without gloves!" It's true, but this is the only stop she has to make today, and then she's determined to go back to the safety of her own home and live out the rest of her 'day off' in peace.

"Doctor Reid, are you home?"

The door swings open in only a few seconds, and the doctor appears before her, a soft smile adorning his perfectly sculpted city-boy face. They don't have faces like those in Sardinia... "Oh, Y/N, hi... Is everything alright?"

"No. Uh... I mean, yes. No one's sick or injured or anything. But no. Everyone in town is just reasonably hesitant about a stranger being their primary care provider, so we thought it would be best to... Help you get acquainted with Sardinia. We wanted to—"

"We?" he prompts with an arched brow, looking over her shoulder.

"Everyone," Y/N answers dumbfounded, and suddenly a little irritated that he interrupted her.

He blinks for a few seconds, seemingly unsure whether or not she's being serious, and then breathes out a laugh, a small cloud forming in front of her eyes. It annoys her for some reason, and she swats in front of her face, trying to get his essence away from her.

"Why don't you come inside? It's cold out today," the doctor says, stepping aside to make room.

Y/N shifts and places her hands on her hips. "The thing about this town is that we know almost everything about everyone. I'm not saying you should read us your diary, Doctor, but Mayor Stanton and everyone else who came to the town meeting last night agree that you should come out and introduce yourself to some of our residents. It might help them warm up to you. So—"

"Here, you should really come inside."

"Why do you keep interrupting me?"

"You're bleeding."

Doctor Reid nods down towards Y/N's feet, where drops of crimson stick out against the snow like a murder scene, and she frantically looks down at her knuckles, which had, in fact, cracked open against the door.

"Shit," she hisses, shoving her hand in her pocket. "I should go take care of this. Sorry to bleed all over your porch."

"Y/N, it's what I'm here for. Let me clean you up. Please, come inside?"

Despite the deep embarrassment she's feeling, she agrees and steps into the small cabin home, instantly twitching her nose at how different the space smells after only a month. Not in a bad way, of course. It went from a near-abandoned basement-smelling fixer-upper to a homely winter vacation residency in such a short time, it's almost impressive.

You sure do take your time settling in...

The doctor laughs, and Y/N realizes she'd said it out loud, feeling embarrassed again as she removes her coat and drapes it over the coat rack.

"Forgive me. I'm used to train stations and apartment buildings, this is all very new."

She turns and can't quite meet his eye. "I'm sorry. I want to say I can understand, but I've lived here all my life, so... Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for. Have a seat, I'll get you fixed up here in just a second." It sounds like he's smiling, but she wouldn't know. She refuses to look at him.

"Well, you've made the place look very nice," she says, trying for some recovery. "To be honest I wasn't really sure if it'd be livable. I've been working on it for almost a year, but Stanton deemed it 'good enough' and I just hoped he was right." Especially since I scrubbed the fuck out of these floors for days... If there had to be one perfect thing about this place, it was going to be a shiny foundation to walk upon...

"Well, then I'm glad you like what you see."

She can't tell if the words hold playful suggestion or if she's just really gone that long without a fling. Suddenly the room is hot, and she wishes she'd just turned around and left the doctor alone.

When he touches her hand, she jumps, and he pulls back. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says with a laugh, reaching for her hand again and getting to work cleaning the wound.

The floor is suddenly very eye-catching despite how it hasn't changed at all. The hardwood is swept nearly to perfection without so much as a speck of dust, and in a way she's relieved to know he keeps the house as clean as she keeps her own. If nothing else, the Landlord/Tenant relationship should be a solid one.

"Can I ask where you studied medicine?"

Another laugh from him. She's starting to really dislike those...

"Gathering information to relay to Everyone, are you?"

"No," she exaggerates. Her eyes flick upwards to see him and almost retreat immediately. He's looking straight at her with amusement dancing over his features. "I just... I'd like to know my doctor's credentials, that's all."

"Hmmm. Understandable." He finishes cleaning her cracked knuckles, starting to apply gauze.

He doesn't answer, though, and Y/N sighs. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"There's nothing wrong with being curious, Y/N... And... I understand, there's probably some... uncertainty about inviting a total stranger to be the town doctor. I apologize to you, and to Everyone, for being elusive. But I haven't been this far away from home in a long time, and it's taking me a little longer than I'd like to... make myself at home, so to speak."

His vulnerability is a shock, and suddenly Y/N feels terrible about bombarding him, so she softly squeezes his hand, since he hadn't let go of it after taping up the gauze like a metaphorical bow on top. She even manages to hold his gaze for longer than a millisecond, feeling herself warm involuntarily at the tenderness he's exuding.

"You don't have to apologize," she tells him earnestly. "Sardinia is lucky to have you."

Doctor Reid smiles and squeezes her hand back before letting go and turning to put away his first-aid kit.

The moment had passed just as quickly as it came. No Thank You? Not even a nod of thanks?

Y/N huffs and stands, walking to her coat. "Sorry again for bleeding all over your porch. And thank you for the help. Everyone is eagerly awaiting to meet you, so don't be a stranger. Stanton sent me here to invite you to BAR for dinner and a tour of the town. I told him that might be a little lame, but he insisted, so... Show up if you want to. I'll be there at 6, but I'm sure Stanton will be there all day in the event that you decide you just can't wait for a town tour."

All enthusiasm has left her voice in favor of sarcasm as she dresses and reaches for the front door. She's ready to put the doctor and his first-aid kit in the past, and then he calls out her name, stopping her in her tracks.

"Tell Everyone the answer is Johns Hopkins."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, confused for a split second before her question echoes in the back of her mind. Can I ask where you studied medicine?

She finds herself throwing one of his laughs right back at him. "Tell them yourself, Doctor."

And then she opens the door and meets the bright white Alaskan winter, unaware of the shit-eating grin he wears on his face behind her.

———

Dear Mom,

My landlord, Y/N, came to visit me today. My first patient in Sardinia. I'm not sure what type of omen that is, considering I'm pretty sure she's the most easily irritable person I've ever met, but... She is also my landlord, so maybe I shouldn't push her buttons. The last thing I need is an eviction in a town that may as well be the living equivalent of an eviction itself.

I digress.

She and Mayor Stanton want me to come into town tonight for dinner and a tour of Sardinia, which I can't imagine will last very long unless we go underground somewhere or I end up being interrogated—I mean interviewed—by every single person who lives here.

I'm really trying to settle in and make myself comfortable, but... I miss home. I miss my family. I miss you.

Starting over always sounds like the perfect plan, but in all honesty, it's exhausting. Clean slates are too clean. There's room for all sorts of lies, like telling your landlord you studied medicine at Johns Hopkins when you haven't academically studied medicine at all. Soon everyone in town will know, and the giant lie I've been living in will only grow deeper until I can't reach the bottom and I drown.

I don't know what to do, Mom. I wish you were here to give me some advice, or even just some comfort.

For now though, I suppose I'll get ready, for dinner at a place called "BAR". I hope it's an acronym for something.

———

"Very creative, Sardinia..."

Spencer sighs and shakes his head amusedly as he pulls up to the town's supposed "only restaurant". He won't know until he walks inside, but there's a sarcastic feeling he can't shake, that BAR isn't actually a restaurant.

Plowed snow crunches gently under his feet as he shuts the door to his hand-me-down Wagoneer, and the sun has set to the point of near-dark. Against the snow, it casts Downtown Sardinia in a purple tint that feels desolate and liminal. The bright neon BAR sign blinks green, giving the street a little bit of life, but not much. He imagines it's probably more lively during the day.

Spencer focuses on breathing in the sharp cool air before bracing himself for the inside of his dinner destination.

He's surprised (and admittedly relieved) to discover that BAR is truly a healthy half-and-half concession of bar and restaurant. Booths and tables stretch over the entire floor, each one practically full, with families and singles and groups of friends. Despite the snow outside and the multi-colored Christmas lights wrapped around the high ceiling beams and on every pillar one could possibly spot, he's grateful for the lack of Christmas music in November.

The bell above the door rings as he steps inside, and a few heads turn. The man behind the bar looks out to Spencer, and then to two individuals seated in front of him with a nod. Y/N and Stanton turn around, the former with a quirked eyebrow and the latter with an energetic wave and a bellowing "Doctor! Welcome in!"

It wasn't enough to silence the establishment, but there's enough of a shift in volume that Spencer feels on the spot, warming under everyone's scrutiny. He decides to ignore it, smiling as brightly as he can to the mayor and weaving through tables to approach him.

"Lovely to see you again, my boy!" Stanton greets with a firm hand to the shoulder. He has to stand up on the edge of the bottom of the bar chair to reach, and Y/N nearly falls to the ground trying to steady him.

"Stan, sit down!" the barman scolds. "If you fall and bust your head on the bar again, I'm putting it on your tab."

Spencer swears he almost sees Y/N loosen her grip on the mayor, a hint of consideration flashing behind her eyes. The thought makes him laugh.

"Don't worry, I've got a steady hand," Spencer offers, taking the burden from his landlord and helping Stanton down into his chair. He's obviously pretty inebriated, though it wouldn't be a surprise to learn that he always is in some capacity.

"Right. Sardinia's new doctor, in the flesh."

Stanton chugs the last of his bottle and smiles at the barman. "Sonny, this is Spencer Reid. Doctor Reid, this is Sonny, the best bartender Sardinia has to offer."

"I'm the only bartender Sardinia has to offer," Sonny counters, but he smiles anyway. "But I have the best team ready to cook up whatever you're hungry for. What'll it be, Doctor? You want a menu?"

"Umm... Sure, a menu sounds great."

Stanton scoots over to another stool, slapping his palm down on the one he was just in. "Sit, Doctor! Make yourself at home!"

Home, he thinks somberly as he sits down, only slightly uncomfortable by how warm the seat is. I suppose this really is my home for the next... He doesn't even know how long he'll be in Sardinia. There's no predicted timeline for any of it. No way to know how soon he can go back to his regular life.

"Y/N came to visit you, I see," Stanton says, drunken suggestion dripping from every word. "I sure hope she didn't injure herself on purpose just to scope out the new help..."

"Stan," she sighs, sliding her menu over to Spencer. Red-faced at the mayor's insinuation, he glances down at her hand, which is still wrapped. "If I were going to injure myself on purpose for the sake of a man, it wouldn't be in Sardinia."

His gaze lingers on her a little too long, like a challenge, until she notices and scoots off the chair. "I'm gonna use the restroom. Excuse me, boys."

Stanton waves her off, and Spencer watches her path to the far corner of the room until she disappears, and he's forced to look down at the menu.

He settles on a cheeseburger and fries, and gets an odd look from Sonny when he orders an iced sweet tea instead of beer.

"Not a drinker?" the mayor asks.

"Not really... Plus, I am an on-call doctor now, so being under the influence probably doesn't give a good first impression."

"How true that is! I knew I liked you, Doctor," Stanton bellows, breaking apart a peanut from the dish in front of him.

"Please, call me Spencer."

"Nonsense! First names are for strangers. You're part of the Sardinia family now, and an important one at that. Doctor is a fine title, so keep it you shall!"

He doesn't see the point in arguing with him, but he also wishes he'd stop speaking like a character from a 40s movie. It's taking him out of an already foreign atmosphere he's trying to adjust to.

Part of him wishes Y/N would come back quickly to tether him to normalcy. Despite the obvious distaste she has for him and his innate inability to keep down his nervous laughter when she's around, his morning with her had him craving good, quick conversation since she left. She's witty and snappy, and his years of profiling have led him to believe there's something beautiful hiding under that cold exterior she has.

He kind of wants to keep digging until he finds what it is.

But, as it stands, she is his landlord, and he gets the feeling that one wrong move could have him sleeping outside. Perhaps on a frozen body of water where no one will ever find him.

She returns just after Sonny serves up Spencer's plate, and before he can do anything with it, she reaches over and steals a fry before taking the coat draped over the back of her chair.

"And where do you think you're going?" Stanton questions. "There's still a tour to be had!"

Y/N smiles. "Stan, if Sonny's the best bartender Sardinia has to offer, then you're the best tour guide. You don't need me for anything. Doctor Reid is in good hands." She looks at him and he almost crumbles under the weight of mischief in her eyes, like she's read his mind and became determined to pawn him off to the drunken mayor as some sort of game. A part of him wishes he could play along and convince her to stay, but all he can do is watch as she throws her jacket on over her arms and turns to the barman. "Thanks for dinner, Sonny," she says brightly. "It was a ten out of ten, as always."

"A pleasure, Moonface, as always," Sonny throws back with a smirk, and Y/N groans.

"When are you all gonna let that go?"

"Never," Sonny and Stanton, and another woman at the bar seated next to her, offer in unison.

Spencer can't help but smile at the inside joke he knows nothing of. It's like he's back home, roped into watching a sit-com with Penelope half-way through the season where he doesn't quite yet understand everyone's backstories and dynamics. Only, this time he actually finds himself eager to figure it out.

Y/N zips up her jacket and steals another fry before she bounds off, the bell chiming after her.

Even with a plate full of food gone in about twenty minutes, Spencer still feels a lingering hunger.

[angsthology]

𖤓 intro to camellia ayudisha (ft. the commentary by yours truly)

-> series masterlist

Camellia, oh, Camellia.

She is as pretty as her namesake and as delicate as its petals.

If Jupiter was a hail-storm disrupting one’s lives (the so-called journalists are very dramatic, they should try writing a screenplay instead), Camellia was the gentle breeze in the early morning greeting your skin. If Jupiter has the sky and storm in her control, Camellia was the wind god that has control over whether or not your hair is going to stick to your lip gloss.

Not everyone can understand her beauty but anyone who does has been blessed with the right retinas.

Her presence is one that people debate whether she should be driving at all when she feels like royalty (and let’s be honest, a passenger princess), someone in deserving to the throne under that crown.

She is the person you think of when you hear the phrase ‘pretty girl’. Fitting to her name, she looked like she was hand-picked in the prettiest flower field; sweet dark chocolate-colored eyes under her long lashes (everyone, me included, very jealous of those) — her dark, once black hair turned brown from her continuous sun exposure (especially the one that is in her hometown), her skin that warm-toned tan color. And you could never miss her delicate face, cheekbones high and visible on her round face—(something everyone goes crazy for? Post-race glistens where all of her light makeup is either gone or has become one with her skin giving her face that glow).

When people throw around the term ‘Grid Princess’ it only truly sticks to her and only truly serious with her.

Everyone knows the story, the ‘myth’ of Camellia Ayudisha; had her father not meet her mother, had he not marry her, had he not created Camellia, she would be a princess—well, she’d also be nonexistent but if she did exist—she does, but under different circumstances—she would be.

You get what I mean.

She is how one might say… perfect.

The perfect role model, perfect ‘intro’ of sorts, the perfect woman.

She was, the firs and foremost of ‘her kind’, she set the path for women in motorsports, and there was no one better to do it than her. She is perfect.

Perfect Camellia is the media angel, perfect Camellia would never go against the rules, perfect Camellia would never out-do her teammate in equal machinery. (well, she still did.)

The perfect male fantasy as to what a female Formula One driver should be.

Well, she was perfect to them. For the first three years of her career, she was as well-behaved as everyone expected her to be, she didn’t fail anyone’s expectations. The perfect fantasy.

“WHAT IS THIS? Camellia Ayudisha’s Toro Rosso has overtaken Nico Rosberg in the Mercedes! If she keeps this up for a few more seconds she will be making history as the first ever woman to win a Formula One Grand Prix… Oh my Goodness! SHE CROSSES THE FINISH LINE! THE CHECKERED FLAG HAS WAVED FOR THE FIRST TIME THIS WEEKEND! CAMELLIA AYUDISHA HAS WON THE TWO-THOUSAND-SIXTEEN JAPANESE GRAND PRIX!” the commentator yells into his mic, cheers following in the background at what just happened.

The crowd was loud with their gasps and cheers, even those who weren’t her supporters managed to had the jaws slack.

Her radio was much worse,

“THAT IS P1! MEL, YOU JUST WON A GRAND PRIX! YOU’RE THE FIRST WOMAN IN HISTORY TO WIN A GRAND PRIX! CONGRATULATIONS! P1 oh I can’t take this, take it in Mel… you’ve just made history.” Her engineer and entire team celebrated in her ears, prompting tears to form in her eyes.

When they heard her voice again, her emotions were contagious, “Demi apa… Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God… I did that…” her voice giving away her tears. “I can’t believe it…”

“Oh, you best believe it, this is your day! A day for women and girls everywhere, we all thank you.”

“Okay, Ray, I mean this in the nicest way possible… please shut up.”

And when they thought she was done talking to cry by herself, they were wrong.

“THIS IS FOR YOU MALIQ!” she cried into the radio, saying the words with her Indonesian accent heavy on her tongue.

They’ve just witnessed history live in front of their eyes.

Then there are the luckiest interviewers to have been blessed to get her first few words minutes by the history-maker herself.

Right after she was done getting weighed, Camellia walked over to her post-race interview. Her mouth in a permanent smile, one might mistake her for having just inhaled glue with her entire face.

“Look at you!” the interviewer greeted happily, “You’re glowing!”

She laughed lightly, “First time I’m hearing that. Thankfully not in a different circumstance…” her comment making the reporter and herself crack another laugh.

“No, seriously, you’re beautiful!” she can only smile at the compliment, “I guess winning does that to one, huh?”

She chuckled again, “I guess so…”

All-the-while she didn’t realize the visible tears that had ran down her cheeks, the tears that were still running down.

“Are you crying?” he asked with a light-hearted laugh.

When it came to her attention, Camellia immediately wiped it away and looked at the tear on her knuckle, “I can’t stop it, I swear…” she replied with the same light-hearted laugh.

“You just made history! I wouldn’t be able to stop crying too if I were you!”

It was known from then on, Camellia was not afraid to show emotion, her vulnerability. She took it all with great pride.

Many says she was ‘weak’ but more stated that she was unafraid, she was fearless.

“Wow, look at that, only nineteen-years-old and had just marked her spot in history by winning her first Grand Prix.” The commentator narrated as the dark-haired girl was seen walking towards the podium with the 1st cap in one hand and the other pushing her hair back.

“Even the way she walks, just look at her! So elegant.” As she stepped on the top podium, teeth shining with her smile. So sweet, so beautiful.

“Now let’s hear it for the Indonesian national anthem.”

The smile on her face was the smile no one has seen before — which was saying a lot cause Camellia smiles for ninety percent of her life.

As her anthem plays, she removes her winner’s crown only for it to be replaced with the sun as if she wore a halo as her crown.

To the world, she could’ve done no wrong.

Until,

Ugh, until…

Jupiter Nightshade once again ‘ruined something that was once great’. — the media claimed.

Maybe there was always a flame inside of Camellia that the world had yet to see before ever in her Formula One career, a flame that was only set the season she met the rookie in Renault.

When the rookie won the driver’s championship in a Renault—it triggered something in her.

A rookie… had won… a championship before her. —In a Renault of all things! The first Renault driver with a championship since 2006! That was three histories she made in her first year.

In the early days of 2019, after months-long silence from the driver and her team, emotions and tension bubbled over the internet over their radio silence.

Until eventually, it broke out:

BREAKING: Camellia Ayudisha to leave Red Bull.

BREAKING: Camellia Ayudisha to join Mercedes in 2019.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

The reactions to her move grew opinions from the internet.

One spoke, ‘I need to lie down.’ (me too, and I did kinda) — another yelled, ‘her and Lewis as teammates… SIR LEWIS HAMILTON AND THE PRINCESS, I won.’ (they do look beautiful together, who doesn’t love colonizer and colonizee royals as teammates) — unfortunately another man spat; ‘who does she think she is? Red Bull quite literally boosted her career.’ (she is Camellia and she did everything she has achieved herself, thank you very much and shut the fuck up.) — but when a man speaks (again, unfortunately) another person (as delusionally great they are) says; ‘CAMELLIA AYUDISHA 2019 WDC!’ (I like the spirit and enthusiasm, keep it up, you’re going to need it.) — ‘damn, no more Indonesian colonial times teammates [broken heart emoji]’ (I mean, well. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that.) — and you obviously cannot forget the ones who is always going to be there for her; ‘I’m glad she left, I did not like the way they treated her there. To hell with that rocket ship, as long as she’s happy and okay that’s all I’m going to need for now.’ (she appreciates that a lot).

I mean, it’s not like any of that will matter, Camellia was known to be chronically offline. A grass-toucher, if you will. But by her profession, you could say gravel-toucher… enough.

Her name eventually became the equivalent to ‘surprise’. ‘Cause somehow, just somehow… she shocked the world again the time 2021 came around.

BREAKING: Audi to join Formula One for the 2021 season.

Carlos Sainz Jr. to drive alongside Camellia Ayudisha in Audi for the 2021 season.

The Royalty, the Flower, L’Angelo; Dewa Ayu Camellia Anisha Primaningtyas.

not proofread | taglist; @disneyprincemuke @eugene-emt-roe @nikfigueiredo @treehouse-mouse @sadieurlady @trouble-sistar @almostjollypizza + ask to be added (crossed out means i cant tag you)

[planetpiastri]

“permission to lean in?” “permission granted.” w rooster cos that sounds just dorky enuf for him 💘

ruby i really leaned into the dorky here i hope it shows<33 i hope u like this even tho u don't go here hehe | [wc - 1.2k] | join my prompt party!

“And so I was like, oh, shit, they are definitely into me. This is your moment, Bradshaw! Don’t fuck it up!” Rooster said, dropping his vocal register to represent his inner monologue as he recounted the story of his most recent failed date. “So I looked them in the eyes—gave ‘em the look, you know—and I asked if I could kiss them, and they said—get this—they said, Well, I wanted you to until you asked.”

You couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that burst out of you. “Are you kidding?”

“I wish!” he exploded, gesticulating wildly. 

“So what did you do then?” you asked.

“I didn’t know what to do!” he said. “I think I said something super intelligent like, Oh, okay, and then we stood there awkwardly for a second and they were like, Okay, I’m gonna go in now, and I said, Okay, and then they just…left.”

You pressed your hand to your lips to stifle your giggles. “Is it safe to assume that they haven’t called you back?”

“Yes, y/n,” said Rooster flatly, turning and fixing you with a dull stare. “They obviously haven’t called me back.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said, your stifled giggles descending into embarrassing snorts. You stopped on the sidewalk, one hand covering your mouth and one clutching your knee as you bent at the waist, trying to recover from your fit of the giggles.

“Okay, okay,” said Rooster. You could tell by his tone that he was also fighting back a laugh. “Get it all out now.”

Your friendship with Rooster was a delightfully unexpected bonus of moving into your new apartment. He rented the room across the hall, and you’d met him on your very first day, when he graciously offered to help you carry some boxes up the stairs since the elevator was broken. After you’d moved in, he’d offered to take you for a walk down by the waterfront and show you around your new area. Pretty soon after that, nightly walks by the reservoir had become your new normal. 

Conversation came easily with you and Rooster, in no small part because of his endless catalog of dating fiasco stories. It seemed like every single week he had a new story about how some date of his had ended with a crying waiter, red wine on a white dress, or a decidedly unsexy scraped knee. You’d never met someone with such a talent for being bad at dating.

This new story really took the cake, though.

“I’m sorry,” you said, finally catching your breath and leaning against the fence looking over the water below. “I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“I would have been offended if you hadn’t,” said Rooster, which just made you laugh again. He stood next to you, just close enough that your shoulders would occasionally brush, and loosely laced his fingers together, draping his forearms across the railing. He sighed. “Is it me? Am I losing it? I used to be good at this.”

“It’s not you,” you said sincerely. “Honestly, if someone thinks asking for consent ‘ruins the mood’ or whatever…that’s a red flag.”

“That’s what I thought!” he blurted. “I think it’s kind of hot if someone asks before they kiss you.”

“Me too,” you agreed, determinedly not looking at him when you said it. The day Rooster realized that you were silently wishing that you’d be the one he asked out on a disastrous date was the day you’d probably move to a different state.

It was quiet for a moment, and you began to feel nervous, worrying that you’d said the wrong thing. But then Rooster asked, “How do you usually do it?”

“Wh-what?” you asked, turning to look at him in alarm.

He winced. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be weird. I’m trying to gather information. You know? You don’t have to answer, that’s awkward.”

“No, it’s okay,” you said quickly, choosing to focus on the starlight dancing on the water instead of the warmth of Rooster’s shoulder pressing against you. “I mean…it’s been a while, I won’t lie. But usually I wait for some kind of signal—like the look you mentioned. Then, if I’m feeling bold, I go for the ol’ lean-in. Kind of like asking without asking, you know?” Your cheeks grew warm. “This one time, I was feeling really confident, and I just said, I really want to kiss you.”

“Whoa,” said Rooster. “How’d that go?”

“It worked.”

“Yeah, I bet. That’s hot.”

“Um. Thanks.”

“Oh—shit, I didn’t mean to—sorry, that was weird. I shouldn’t have said that.” Rooster took half a step away from you, and you immediately missed his warmth.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you said, hoping he couldn’t hear how your heart was racing. “I don’t mind. Really.” You sucked in a deep breath, bracing yourself for what you were about to say. “The main line is, asking permission is cool. It’s hot. It is sexy. So you shouldn’t think it’s a problem on your side. Just…keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll find the right person.”

“Hm,” said Rooster, but that was it. He stepped back next to you, and when you glanced over, he was staring at your face with a furrowed brow, like he was thinking really hard. That scared you a little. Had you said the wrong thing? Had you given yourself away? Shit, you totally had. You’d totally just blown this whole thing.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Oh, god. You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away from him. “O-of course.”

His mustache twitched as the corner of his mouth pulled into half a cheeky smile. “Would you count this as a date?”

All the breath left your lungs like you’d just been punched in the gut. “What?” 

He blinked, his smile dropping. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I definitely shouldn’t have said that. That was so stupid of me. I—”

Before he could pull away again, you grabbed his sleeve, holding him in place. Your stare was frighteningly intense as you demanded, “Would you count this as a date, Rooster?”

“Maybe,” he squeaked out.

“Oh, my god,” you gasped, clapping your hands to your cheeks. “I’m an idiot. I’m a moron. This is totally a date, isn't it? Oh, my god.”

“I just ruined this, didn’t I?” he asked, sounding tired. His head sagged on his neck, his broad shoulders deflating.

You grabbed his sleeve again, your grip insistent. “Bradley,” you said sternly, “you didn’t ruin anything. I thought—I thought—I don’t know what I thought.” You paused and then asked softly, “You like me?”

He stared at you then, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Of course I like you,” he breathed.

"Oh," you whispered. "That's nice."

This time when his mouth stretched into a crooked smile, you weren’t as scared. He squared his shoulders, turning to face you fully. His voice was husky and thick with amusement when he asked, “Permission to lean in?”

The laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Your fingers loosened in his sleeve, resting gently on his bicep. “Permission granted,” you answered.

As the lights twinkled over the water and Bradley Bradshaw stooped to kiss you for the first time, you’d never felt stupider. But you also couldn’t think of a time when you’d felt happier.

[bullet-prooflove]

The choice is so plentiful, it's always hard to pick, but I think I found a good prompt for Sonny Quinn from your Thursday 'Bring the Noise' Prompt List: 24. "She's mean and she's mine" 🤭 Also the song I think fits him is "Angel loves the devil out of me" by Jace Everett. I'm curious if you agree!

Also: Thanks for sharing your writing! 🩷 I really appreciate it!

I love that song for him! I've added it to my Sonny playlist!

The first argument you and Sonny have is about the shotgun you keep loaded under the bar. He finds it when he’s trying to fix one of the taps because it’s gone a little hinky.

It’s a Winchester, one of the older models. The serial number scratched off.

There is no way this thing is legal and that presents a problem for Sonny, a big one. If it comes out that he’s around an illegal weapon then he faces a court martial and the possibility of being kicked off Bravo. You, though, you face jail time.

“You have to get rid of it.” He tells you when you come back up from the basement after taking inventory.

“No fucking way.” You tell him, gesturing towards the gun. “Sometimes that’s the only thing between me and a bad Thursday night.”

It takes him a minute to realise what that means. He forgets that when he’s away there’s nights that you’re here alone. You have a couple of veterans that you hire for the busier periods but sometimes it’s just you and you’re a dainty fucking thing.

“We need to get rid of this…” He begins again but you cut him off.

“And I said no.” You snap at him. “You don’t get to come in here and tell me…”

He sighs because he knows what you’re like when you’re in this mood. Your tired because it’s been a rough couple of days, pissed off because he’s deploying in twelve hours and it’s fucked up a trip the two of you have had planned. He decides to ask for forgiveness instead of permission. He picks up the shotgun and walks out to the sound of you cursing up a storm behind him.

You don’t speak to him after that and he doesn’t blame you. It usually takes you a good few days to calm down when he fucks up. He tends to give you a little space but he doesn’t have the luxury of that kind of time because he’s shipping out so he breaks the stalemate between you with a text from the plane.

“Don’t be mad baby.” It reads. “I’ve left you something under the bar.”

He’s almost three thousand miles away by the time you pick up that text. He sees the three little dots before the picture comes in. It’s a brand new Winchester with a red gift bow resting on the barrel. The paperwork is tucked in an envelope underneath it. You’re fully legal now, if you have to protect yourself you won’t face any recriminations for having an illegal fire arm on the premises. On top of that he’s also recommended the place to a few buddies of his, they’ve promised to make it their new watering hole while he’s away.

“I’d never leave my girl without a way of protecting herself.” He responds from his hammock. They’re all bedding down for the night so that they’ll be fresh and operational by the time the plane lands.

You send him another picture, this time something a little more risqué and he clears his throat so stifle the moan that threatens to leave his throat.

“You enjoy torturing me don’t you sweet thang? Knowing I’m on a plane full of other guys, that I can’t touch myself when you’re sending me shit like this.”

You send another picture and his jaw clenches as his hard cock rubs across the zipper of his cargo pants.

This, he thinks as he studies the image of you in nothing but a pair of black panties with the Winchester in your hands. This is the sweetest revenge.

Love Sonny? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

@totalstitchlover19 @switchbladeclub @kind-wolf @@mariashane @floydsglasses @firecountryqueen666 @caffeinatedwoman kmc1989 sca3a jeysbae hufflepuffgirl hgs-11 meera10 f1babe98