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vivwritesfics · 22 days

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Set The World On Fire

Chapter Eleven

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Warnings:

Mafia AU

1.4K

Series Masterlist

A yawn left her lips. The television was playing in front of her, but she was hardly paying attention. How could she when she was this tired?

A knock at her door didn't even wake her up. Her eyelids were drooping, the world around her completely tuned out. The knock came again, but this one was more insistent.

This one had her jumping out of her seat and rushing to the door. "Coming!" She shouted quickly before a yawn could escape her lips. She didn't bother to check through the peep hole before she pulled open the front door of her apartment.

"Lando."

There he stood in his suit, but the jacket was missing. Sweat drenched his skin and his curls were stuck to her forehead. His chest was heaving as he stared at her.

Immediately she grabbed him and pulled him into her apartment, now fully awake. "Holy fuck," she whispered as she shut the door. "What the hell happened?"

Lando let out a breath as he leaned against the door. He took a moment to stare at her, a moment to breathe. She was okay, and that was what mattered. Lando reached towards her and pulled her close, pulled her against his sweaty chest. He pressed his nose against her neck and breathed in.

He released her and turned around to check the locks. And then he was rushing around her apartment, checking her windows were locked and pulling her curtains shut. He grabbed a chair from her kitchen table and placed the back of it beneath the door knob.

His fingers began working on his shirt, unbuttoning it. "I'm gonna shower," he said, his voice far away and dazed.

But he didn't make it very far before she grabbed a hold of him. "Wait," she said softly, her fingers around his bicep. "Lan, what's going on?" She looked up him, her eyes full of worry. "Come on, talk to me.

Lando sucked in a breath. His lips were parted, ready to speak. But he changed his mind and shook his head. "Let me shower first," he mumbled.

She let him go, but Lando grabbed a hold of her hand. He laced his fingers through her own and pulled his hand up to his lips, eyes shut as he kissed her palm. "Fuck," he whispered, voice shaking. He kept a hold of her and pulled her towards the bathroom.

The shower wasn't big enough for the both of them, but neither of them cared. They squeezed into the tiny cubicle, bodies pressed together as they huddled beneath the water. She squeezed shampoo into her hands and reached up to run it through his curls.

It was a silent exchange. Lando stared at her as she washed him, ran the loofah over his tanned skin. In that moment, it was exactly what he needed.

She climbed out of the shower and grabbed a towel to wrap around his body. "Have you eaten?" You whispered as she dried her own body. Lando shook his head as he wrapped his towel around his waist.

She left him to get changed into sweats and a t-shirt while she got started on dinner. Something easy. She hummed to herself while she the pasta boiled.

Lando walked through the apartment, his footsteps light. He anxiously looked at the windows, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he turned to the door. "Lan," she mumbled as as she leaned against the counter, back to the boiling pasta. "Talk to me, tell me what's going on."

He sucked in a deep breath. Lando didn't want to tell her what was going on, didn't want to tell her that he had been lying to her. There was no way she would ever forgive him once he told her. But what else could he say?

"Do you know how I ended up owning a night club?"

It was a simple question, one designed to ease into the conversation. A conversation Lando never wanted to have. He watched as she took her head and walked over to the couch to grab a blanket. "I thought your family was just really rich," she said as he stuffed the blanket against the bottom of the door, blocking out any noise.

The laugh that escaped his lips was dry. "Oh, baby," he said. "You're right, my family is rich. But there's more to it than that." He released a breath and sat back in his seat. "The world is run by families, crime families. And you've met the leader of almost every family that runs the world."

A small gasp left her lips.

"My sisters wedding. It joined my family to one of the families that runs Spain. You couldn't come to my dad's funeral because that was the day I became the head of my family and I didn't want you to see me like that." Lando sucked in a shaky breath. "We own properties and offer protection. Before I became the head of the family, if people don't pay their rent or protection fees, it was my job to... take care of it. We shipped... things internationally, to the other families to distribute and sell."

Her arms were folded over her chest, refusing to meet his eyes. "Drugs?"

His jaw was tight as he nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Just look at me, please! He just had to know she didn't hate him. He cleared his throat, biting back tears (mafia bosses didn't cry) and continued with his story.

"Someone broke into my house. A whole group of people, actually. I heard gunshots, so I hid myself up on the roof. As soon as I could, I got down and I ran to you."

The pasta was boiling over, but she didn't much care. At the sounds of hissing from the stove, she turned around and turned it off. "What did you mean by take care of it?" She asked, voice so quiet Lando barely heard it.

"What?"

"If people didn't pay their rent or protection fees, how would you take care of it?" The way her heart was beating, she thought it was going to burst right of her chest.

Lando swallowed. "Please don't make me say it."

That was all of the confirmation she needed.

Sitting at her kitchen table was a man with the blood of others on his hands. She mixed the spaghetti with the source, plated it up and placed it in front of him. "Baby-"

"Don't, Lando." The man who had killed people, her boyfriend, stared at her, eyes shining with innocence. But he wasn't innocent, was he? "Why did you come here?" She asked quickly. "Why not go to your mothers apartment?"

Lando let out a breath. "I had to know that you were okay."

Silence settled between them. Her chest ached as she watched him, watched how his hands shook when he stabbed the pasta with his fork. There was a part of her that wanted to kick him out of her apartment, that wanted to wash her hands of this.

But she couldn't. Somewhere along the way she had fallen for him. She had fallen for him and she wanted nothing more than to keep him safe.

Lando, her Lando, the man who was always so sweet to her, was a murderer. He'd murdered people, murdered them because they didn't pay. What kind of people were after him? Would they come here?

Lando finished his pasta and put his plate in the sink. "I need sleep," he mumbled as he walked over to her, ready to wrap his arms around her and breathe in her scent.

But she stepped away from him, pressed her back against the door of her fridge. His heart sank. "I," she began, but then she took a moment to breathe. The breath she sucked in was a shaky one, her entire body shaking. "It might be best if you sleep on the couch," she said.

Of course, Lando wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms while he slept, to know she was there, his body pressed against hers.

He wouldn't make her sleep in the same bed with him, though. If she wanted him sleeping on the couch, he'd sleep on the couch. He'd give her all of the space she needed. "Okay," he said with a nod. Whatever she wanted. She could have asked him to leave, and he would have.

"I'll get you a pillow."

Permanent taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @minseok-smaus @formulaal @darleneslane @hiireadstuff @urfavnoirette @goldenharrysworld @andydrysdalerogers @hrts4scarr @llando4norris @evlkking @lilymurphy03 @hollie911 @customsbyjcg-blog @honethatty12 @nikfigueiredo @not-nyasa

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latenightdaydreams · 2 months

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can you do the virgin königx virgin reader where she finally lets him take her virginity (they got married)

Of course!

Virgin!König x Virgin!Reader (fem) Part2

MDNI🔞

Part 1: Here

Master list

>CW: fem/afab, virginity loss, p in v, oral

2k word count

König sits at the Bride and Grooms table watching you do your father daughter dance, and you look beautiful. Today was the perfect day. Your white wedding dress clinging to your beautiful body while your hair is done up beautifully. He can’t believe someone that looks like him, acts like him, could find such a beautiful wife. A beautiful wife with such a perfect pair of tits and a fat ass that can take every inch of his cock…

His eyes stay glued to you the whole night, using the excuse of social anxiety to stay seated and not socialize; in reality he is sporting a rock-hard boner that’s clear to see in his pants. Can you blame him? You look ethereal and he has the honor of deflowering you tonight. It’s all he can think about. What will it feel like? Better than anal? No way. Can it? His head turns as your voice snaps him back to reality.

“My family said they would clean up if we want to get out of here since it has been a long day.” You walk up to him and sit on his lap. His large hands instantly find their way to your thighs and rear.

“That’s very kind of them Schatz,” he can feel his cock starting to get hard again now with your weight on his lap and knowing he is one step closer.

You both stand and begin to say goodbye to the remaining family. König was doing his best to not seem impolite by rushing you, but he was also gently guiding you to the door with his tight grip around your waist.

Finally, you both leave and make your way to his SUV. He scoops you up and begins to kiss your neck as he walks the last few steps to the car.

“Meine Liebe, du siehst wunderschön aus.” He whispers in your ear as he gently places you in the passenger seat of the car. You smile and blush in response as he runs around the car to get in.

“Are you ready to go to the hotel?” König grabs your left hand and kisses the wedding band that now hugs your finger.

“I am,” you giggle with excitement as he begins to drive off.

König walks up to the hotel room door with you in his arms carrying you bridal style. A wide smile on his face as he bends down and lets you scan the keycard. Walking into the room there are rose petals everywhere as well as a complimentary bottle of campaign and two glasses.

He places you down on the bed gently, his lips finding yours and kissing you passionately. His lips are hungry for yours now that you’re both alone and able to do things married couples do. Not only can he fuck you, but he can cum in you. He can get you pregnant. The thought of someone so…desirable pregnant with his baby is driving him insane.

König pushes his tongue against your lips and bullies it way inside of your mouth; he is hungry for you. His hand begins to grope your breast over your wedding dress, eager to get you out of it. His hand reaches around back and begins to be greeted by buttons. This wasn’t going to slow him.

Pulling down your tight dress to expose your breast König begins to kiss down your neck until he gets to your breast, his lips kissing every inch until his lips wrap around your nipple and sucks while twirling his tongue around. His hand grabbing bunches of fabric and picking it up until he can get his hand under.

His hand feels the heat between your legs and his cock begins to rise. He pushes past your thighs to touch the lacey fabric that covers his holy grail. He lets out a deep groan as he pulls his lips from your breast. Bringing his hand out from under your dress, he pulled his button-down shirt and popped the buttons off to get it off quickly. You couldn’t help but to giggle at his eagerness.

“Let’s get this dress off of you.” His arm wraps around your waist and effortlessly flips you so he can see the buttons. His eyes widen seeing how many and how small they are. The top four broke from him exposing your breast. “Schatz, would you be mad if I just ripped them?”

“Yes!” You respond quickly, shooting him a glare.

“Okay, okay.” He makes an “oh shit” face as his fingers begin to work at the buttons. After what felt like eons he finally finished.

With one swift motion he pulls the dress off of you and lays it on the chair in the room. His eyes rake over your body. He has seen it hundreds of times before but this time it’s his. His hands go to his belt and he begins to undress from the waist down. You get yourself comfortable on the bed and scoot back to the headboard. Your leg falls to the side slightly and exposed how your red lace thong barely covers your pussy as one lip hangs out the side. You shaved? This was unexpected, but whatever you felt comfortable with König was into.

“Are you ready to start Liebling?” König asks while gently stroking his cock.

You give him a nervous nod as he approaches you on the bed. His heavy body made the bed sink as he moved his body over yours. His lips pressed against yours before he slowly began to leave a trail of wet and sloppy kisses down your body. Goosebumps rising on your skin as you squirm slightly from the pleasure of his kisses.

When his mouth met your pussy, you let out a light satisfied moan. His tongue teasing at first, only lightly licking up in quick motions as if you were an ice cream cone. Your eyes gazing down at him with anticipation. His icy blue eyes meeting yours as a smirk comes across his face. He lowers his head and begins to rapidly lap at your clit making your legs twitch like crazy. Your hands grasping the bed sheets as you let out a shaky moan.

Hips slowly roll back and forth matching his tongue’s motion. “Yes, please…” One hand moves to his head, brushing his blonde hair back. His eyes never left yours as he watched your reaction to his tongue.

Pulling back, König begins to rub your clit with his pointer finger. Slowly moving his finger down to feel the entrance of your vagina. His gaze drops as he looks at your beautiful cunt. His finger’s part your folds as he looks down to see your untouched vaginal canal. “I’m supposed to fit in that?” He thinks to himself, kissing your pussy a few more times he moves his body back over yours.

“Are we going to do it like this?” You ask nervously as his body begins to nestle between your legs.

“Ja, Liebling just relax, okay?” König was nervous as well, but he didn’t show it so you could relax.

Peppering small kisses across your chest and up your neck to your lips. His heavy cock resting on your wet pussy. The feeling of the heat and wetness teasing him. He moves his hips slightly to create some friction as he is rubbing it against your swollen clit.

“I’m nervous,” you say looking into his eyes as your hands go to the back of his head and caress his hair.

“I know, I’ll be gentle, Schatz.” He brings his hand up to caress your hair and brush it out of your face.

König moves his hand gently, slipping down to your thigh and moving your leg slightly up. He leans his body back slightly so he is kneeling with his back hunched over. With his other hand he grasps his erect cock and lines it up with your entrance.

Slowly he leans forward and pushes the tip in. Königs eyes frantically searching your face to make sure you’re okay. He can feel his sensitive tip being squeezed by your gummy and inviting warmth. With every bit of his power, he is resisting the urge to just push all the way in at once. Instead, he slowly pushes forward. His eyes trailing from your eyes down your body to look at his cock inching its way in.

You feel a sharp sting and pressure as he pushes in. A pained mewl leaves your lips as you close your eyes, your hands reaching for the bedsheets to grab. You read on the internet that it was only going to hurt a little, but you also read the average cock is only supposed to be like 5.5 inches and two fingers wide. You feel soft kisses on your forehead as he pushes in more and you moan out.

“Are you okay?” König asks, his voice dripping with pleasure.

“Yeah, it just hurts.” You look up at him.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No, keep going.”

He is thankful you said to keep going because he didn’t want to pull out. With both hands, he pushes your legs back a little more as he watches his cock slowly pull half way out. There is a bit of crimson red on him, but he knew it was to be expected so he doesn’t worry.

Pushing back in he groans loudly, his hips pressing all the way against yours this time as he bottoms out. Your virgin pussy now squeezing the entire length of his massive cock. The feeling of your walls fluttering around him, trying to adjust to his size, was too much for him. Eyes rolling back, he begins to buck his hips forward into you. The sound of your wet pussy is all he can focus on as his mind becomes lost in a haze of euphoria. He understands why men have gone to war for this.

“Fuck y/n, you feel so fucking good.” König growls as his eyes open to scan your body. Your breast bouncing beautifully in rhythm with his thrust. His dick covered in a mix of red and creamy white triggering something primal within him.

You begin to feel the pleasure overwhelm the pain as König pushes your legs all the way to your chest and begins to fuck you even faster. His massive 300lb body slamming into your tight cunt over and over. Your eyes going crossed as you struggle to stretch for him, babbling in your native language and begging him for more.

His cock passing over your sweet spot repeatedly causing a strange pressure sensation to build up at your core. Your hands desperately grab at Königs sweaty arms, feeling his muscles flex with every thrust.

“I- I have to pee.” You moan out.

This snaps König out of his euphoric haze and he looks down into your eyes, maintaining pace as he begins to watch you, knowing that you’re about to cum.

“König!” You moan out as the pressure begins to become too much and your legs begin to shake. You look into his eyes looking down at you. “I- I’m,” you can’t even speak

“Cum for me baby,” Königs voice sounds low and sensual. He leans back slightly to move one of his hands and he begins to rub circles over your clit with his thumb.

The extra touch took you over the edge. Legs trembling and eyes crossing, you let out a screaming moan. Your back arches as you succumb to pressure feeling. Waves of euphoria wash over your body as you squirt on Königs abdomen.

“Mein Gott, ja.” König whispers as he lightly slaps your soaking wet pussy.

“Es tut mir Leid,” Small whimpers leaving his lips König begins to mutter apologies in German over and over for not lasting longer, his pace becoming more erratic until he reaches climax.

A mix of both of your moans filling the room as his cock twitches and pulses inside your pussy. The head of his cock pressed all the way against your poor beat up cervix as he released completely. His eyes closed as he pants, trying to catch his breath. Droplets of sweat dripping from him on to you.

Slowly he lowers his body and wraps his arms around you. He begins to kiss you all over, telling you how much he loves you and is thankful you allowed him this moment.

#konig #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader smut #könig x you #könig x y/n

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chr0llossexygf · 2 years

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RIBBONS, CHEERLEADERS, EDDIE

PAIRING: eddie munson x fem reader

SUMMARY: eddie is surprised to see a hawkins high tigers uniform in a heavy metal shop. but he’s even more surprised to see it belongs to hawkins high’s golden girl y/n l/n.

WARNING: fluff sm sm sm fluff. THIS IS CO CUTE OMG!2:!:7: creds to the original gif owners! idk their @ cuz i find most of these gifs on pinterest and they aren’t linked :((

eddie walks the streets of hawkins with his hands in his pockets. he’s wearing his hellfire shirt with his jean jacket. his skinny black ripped jeans. it’s the same thing he wore last week on tuesday. but it doesn’t really matter.

he looks at the shops, none of them seem to fit his style and taste. not that there are any to begin with in hawkins. it’s a shit hole made for stupid suburban rich families. not for people like eddie.

in the midst of his little breakdown of how shitty the town is, one shop catches his eye. he’s never seen this shop before. he walks a bit faster. his eyes widen. slayer heavy metal shop? holy shit. holy shit.

his face brightens up. there’s no way. a heavy metal shop in hawkins? what the actual fuck? he stops right infront of it. he looks at the inside from the big glass windows. holy shit it’s sick. there’s everything there. t-shirts. vinyls. posters. cassettes. jackets.

his eyes travel around the shop. his eyes widen. he stumbles.a hawkins high uniform. a cheer uniform to be exact. he stares. your hair is up in a pony tail. a dark green ribbon tying it together. your wearing white knee socks with white sneakers. he recognises you. it’s y/n. what are you doing at a heavy metal shop?

he pushes the door open. you turn around, your skirt twirling with you. a smile on your face. “ e-eddie?” you blurt out in surprise. “ oh my would you look at that! you remember me!” eddie says his eyes wandering around the shop. you smile, “ yeah of course why wouldn’t i?” you say folding a motörhead t-shirt.

“ i’m surprised you remember me y/n.” he says flipping through a bunch of dio vinyls. you laugh. eddie walks around the shop, “ you know, i am obviously not the one to judge people but uh. what are you doing here y/n?” he says shoving his hands in his pockets. you turn around crossing your hands, “ what do you mean?” you ask tilting your head to the side with a smile. eddie laughs grabbing a mötley crüe cd. “ you know your a cheerleader what would you be doing in a heavy metal shop?” he confesses turning the cd around to look at the price. you giggle, “ what your saying is i don’t fit in?” you mumble smiling.

“ no no totally not. it’s just you know you dont-“ you cut him off. “ fit in? i know. believe or not i like heavy metal.” you giggle looking through patches. eddie walks up to the cashier leaning on it, “ so let me get this straight. y/n l/n the most popular cheerleader of hawkins high works at a heavy metal shop.”

“ correct.” you mumble turning to look at eddie. “ is that a bad thing?” you ask smiling.

eddie quickly shakes his head. “ no no no totally not. it’s just- your not what i thought you’d be like.” he says grabbing a metallica patch. “ mean and scary?” you giggle walking to the cashier. eddie tilts his head to the side, “ yeah well i actually kind of thought you’d be kinda mean and scary too.” you mumble biting your lower lip. eddie chuckles, “ i certainly look the part.”

you laugh. “ so do i, i mean i look like your typical mean cheerleader.” you joke biting your nails. eddie covers his smile with his hair. “ who works at a heavy metal shop.” he adds. you smile nodding.

you look at the patch he’s holding. “ i have that one on my jacket.” you say looking up at eddie. he giggles, “ you listen to metallica?” he questions quietly. you nod giggling, “ yeah i do.”

he smiles again. he’s surprised. and shocked.

and happy? your so easy to talk to. no one from hellfire is gonna believe him if he tells them he saw y/n l/n in a heavy metal shop. but he also doesn’t wanna tell them. he wants it to be a little secret between you and him. how is it so easy for you to make him smile. how are you so easy to converse with. he feels warm. really warm right now. he feels secluded from the world. and that’s a good thing right now.

“ then i‘ll take this one.” he hands you the patch. you look at his denim vest, “ do you want me to sew it on?” you ask looking back at him. “ oh i wouldn’t wanna steal your look l/n.” he whispers furrowing his eyebrows jokingly. you roll your eyes.

he takes off his vest placing it on the counter. “ i put mine on the right side. do you want yours on the left?” you mumble opening a drawer, grabbing a sewing needle. “ i don’t really mind.” he says shoving his hands in his pockets. “ i’ll put it on the right side so we can match.” you mumble smiling.

his heart just melted a bit. heat rises in his cheeks. his ears get warm. he quickly looks down hiding his face.

“ all done!” you exclaim looking at eddie, he looks at his denim vest. “ oh that’s sick.” he chuckles. “ you like it?” you question smiling.

“ yeah of course i do.” he says admiring the patch. you feel your cheeks start to heat up. you cough looking around the shop. “ it’s uhm- it’s for free.” you choke on your words. he looks at you in confusion.

“ your cool eddie.” you mumble playing with the hem of your skirt. eddie chuckles, “ your cool too y/n.” he whispers gently grabbing his denim jacket putting it on. “ so uh are we just gonna go back to not talking to each other during school?” he says putting his hands in his pockets. you giggle. “ why?”

“ because i’m a freak l/n.” he teases biting his nails, you look at his rings. “ so am i munson.” you giggle biting your lower lip. “ you know what- here.“ eddie looks at you.

you remove the green ribbon from your hair. your hair falls down.

eddie stares at you. you look so beautiful right now. your eyes are beautiful. your hair is falling in slow motion for him. time froze. he examines your face, your eyes are sparkling. your smiling. you have the cutest most adorable smile on earth. his eyes bore into you. he can stare at you for hours and hours and not get bored. something soft snaps him out of his trance. he looks down to see you tying the green ribbon around his wrist.

“ here. if your so sure we won’t talk to each other at school. or if u forget to talk to me, just look down at your wrist. there’s your reminder munson.” you giggle tying the ribbon.

“ you deserve a reminder too then. for when your too busy with the shooting balls into laundry basket weirdos. with your little pom poms.” he reaches for his back pocket, he grabs his black hankerchief. you laugh tilting your head to the side. “ what is it?” you ask smiling. “ your wrist please?”

you extend your wrist to him, he ties his hankerchief around your wrist. you blush again. he’s holding your wrist. and holy shit your skin is soft. so so so soft. he doesn’t wanna let go. he double ties it just to be able to feel your soft skin against his. “ there we go.” he chuckles.

“ oh that’s sick!” you exclaim looking at your wrist. eddie smiles. “ yeah? you think so?” he whispers gently. you nod smiling. “ then i’ll see you at school freak.” eddie says turning around . “ i’ll see you freak.” you laugh. eddie opens the door turning around to look at you once more. you wave. he waves back. “ gosh your adorable.” he mumbles under his breath turning around to leave.

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somerandomdudelmao · 18 days

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Have to say I'm loving Marble Sky. It's clear you put a lot of thought into the story and I'm excited to see where it's going.

Figured I'd weigh into the Oscar commentary going on and I think honestly the shirt he was wearing in the flashback when Ward was talking about how he ended up in space might say a lot about his character as a whole.

If you don't look at the shirt closely it says "the earth is fla-" and naturally people will fill in the missing 't'. A shirt that seems to support flat earthers is particularly tone deaf given he'd just walked into a building dedicated to science and specifically space. It's the sort of thing people would instantly react to and think lesser of Oscar for. Much like the fact that he comes from a rich family. Or the fact that he seems to embrace the world with puppy like enthusiasm. It creates an image of someone who is ignorant, who doesn't pay attention, and is careless to the point of being arrogant about it.

However looking closely that's not what the shirt says. it's just the text for the rest of it is small, harder to read and purposefully arranged so its divorced from the rest of the larger letters.

And I find that fascinating.

So reading the shirt properly it says "the earth is FLA-bergasting". This message I think has a lot of layers especially combined with Oscar's established fascination with aliens, biology and stuff that we have seen with him previously. It's a message that celebrates the world and all life in it. It's a message that acknowledges that understanding that world is impossible but compelling none the less. It's a message that says the earth is confusing and hard to understand and Oscar is not pretending to know everything about it. Some of this might be just my interpretation of the message so take that with a grain of salt. Still the difference between the first and second is interesting because in the first its a person asserting they know something as complete truth while the second basically admits they don't know anything at all.

Now apply this to Oscar. We're presented with a chaotic lovable doofus who is brimming with childlike wonder at the start of the story. We're presented with a "rich kid" who got into space because his parents paid for it. We're presented with a guy who seems okay with the slaughter of others in order to protect himself. A lot of people are looking at Oscar and seeing "the earth is Fla(t)"

However we've barely scratched the surface of this story or this character not to mention the situation as a whole. So I'm staring at the smaller hidden letters (metaphorically) and wondering exactly what is actually going on with this guy. Because I'm pretty sure "the earth is Fla-bergasting" and so is Oscar.

Thank you for indulging this long ask. I felt like ranting because I love Oscar and this story.

There are three things in this world I can look at forever. How fire burns, how water flows, and how someone carefully analyzes a character in whom I have invested a lot of time and effort.

Holy shit this is incredibly interesting and oh my fucking god you wrote the entire essay?? your brain?? is powerful??rjfkgi

#marble sky ask

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goldenamaranthe-blog · 6 days

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Baby Pictures: Hazbin Hotel

Lucifer: Alright, everyone! Gather 'round! (Reaches into his inner coat pocket and pulls out a stack of various styles of pictures) I GOT BABY PICTURES!!!

Charlie: DAD!!!! NO!!!! NOT MY BABY PICTURES!!!

Lucifer: I only have a couple of you in here, Char-Char. The rest are baby pictures of everyone else!

Angel: WHAT?!?!?! You're lyin'! Lemme see! (Swipes an offered photograph from Lucifer and barks with laughter) Holy Shit!!! This is me and my sister Molly at our cousin, Vinny's, confirmation as little tykes!

Charlie: Let me see! Let me see! (Looks over Angel's shoulder and sees two little brunette 18 month Olds wearing all white and looking almost the same. The o lying difference is one has shorter hair while the other has long curls) AWWWWWWW!!!!

Lucifer: Husk? Want yours? It's sepia toned, but still distinguishable.

Husk: Burn that shit....

Lucifer: (holds up the old photograph and frowns) Are you sure? There's a nice lady holding you-

Husk: (swipes the picture and tucks it under his hat) Gimme that!.... Asshole bringing my mother into this....

Lucifer: Alastor, here, you and your weirdness... (flicks the picture of Alastor to him)

Alastor: (Catches and looks at the photo with a sentimental smile) Awww, I was adorable.

Charlie: (watches as Lucifer passes baby/family photos to the rest of the hotel inhabitants, but skipping over Vaggie) Uh.... Dad?

Lucifer: Yes, sweetie?!

Charlie: Do.... you have a picture of Vaggie?

Lucifer: Hmmm.... (flips through the few he has left in his hands) No. No Maggie in here, sweetie. I'm sorry.

Vaggie: Babe, don't worry about it. Really. I don't remember anything outside of Heaven. It wouldn't make any difference-

Lucifer: OPE!!! I LIED!!! (Digs deeper into his picket and pulls out a baby Vaggie picture) I thought I had one in here! Here ya go, kiddo!

Charlie: (takes the picture gingerly and stares in wonder at the image of a little, light brown, straight haired baby with tanned skin, sleeping in a diaper and t-shirt while sucking her thumb) ...............

Vaggie: Charlie? (Looks over Charlie's shoulder) Woof.... that's one ugly little bitch....

Charlie: (grabs Vaggie's shoulders and presses their noses together) DON'T SAY THAT!!!! THIS - (holds up the picture) -IS THE CUTEST BABY I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!!!

Vaggie: (leaning away) Okay, hun. I'm sorry.

Charlie: We're making one!

Vaggie: ....Excuse you?

Charlie: (dragging Vaggie over to Lucifer, Digs around in her dad's inner pocket, and pulls out the baby potion before pulling Vaggie towards the stairs to their bedroom) YOU HEARD ME!!!!

Vaggie: (dragging her feet) Babe! Can we talk about this first?!

Lucifer: Atta Girl, Charlie!!!

#hazbin hotel #incorrect quotes #hazbin incorrect quotes #lucifer #alastor #angel #husk #chaggie #charlie #vaggie #baby pictures #the baby potion makes a reappearance #I'm pretending Vaggie was human before an exorcist here

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loveslibrarywp · 5 months

Text

Tis the season

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend, Aemond, hasn’t been paying much attention to you. He’s always so caught up in work or his books, so you decide to find your own way for him to pay attention to you.

Warnings: NSFW. p in v sex. Teasing. Lingerie kink. Daddy kink. Sub!reader. Light Subspace. Creampie. Unprotected sex. Aemond being a meanie. Aemond wears glasses.

Authors note: felt a little jolly so I decided to write this bs. It’s lowkey shit but Merry Christmas!

Aemond had been very busy this holiday season with his family’s business and other things that needed his attention. Yet, he didn’t realize his girlfriend needed his attention as well.

You had been very frustrated due to the lack of affection your boyfriend had been given you. So, you decided to…mess with him a bit. Maybe get him a tad bit riled up.

You had recently bought a red mesh piece from a lingerie store at the mall for Christmas. It came with a top that made your tits look amazing and some skimpy, lacy panties.

Aemond loved whenever you’d dress up for him in see through night dresses or lacy underwear sets. You knew whenever he’d see you in your little outfit, he would fall right into your trap.

You peak into your shared room with your outfit tucked behind your back. Aemond was sat up on your big bed with a book in his hands. His long hair was tied up into a bun and his glasses on the bridge on his nose. He was dressed in a tight black T-shirt and some grey sweats. Lord, the sight of him like that was enough to get you all worked up.

You quickly ran to the bathroom in the hallway and shut the door quietly to not disturb him. You took of your clothes and threw on the red lingerie.

You looked amazing. Your tits were pushed up and on display and the mesh on the torso showed off the top of the red lace panties on your hips. You fixed your hair to make it look decent and spritzed on some perfume.

You huffed, feeling a bit nervous to be doing this. What if he got upset for trying to distract him or just simply ignored you?

You pushed all those bad thoughts aside and took a big breath in to calm your nerves. You quietly walked out of the bathroom and into the room. His eyes never even looked up at you, they stayed onto his stupid book.

You huffed, but an idea came into your head. You climbed onto the bed and into his lap. Your ass was on his crotch and your hands on his lower stomach. “What do you need?” He asked, his eye were still on his book. You started to get frustrated with him. You huffed.

His eyes finally caught yours and your form. He leaned his book down and stared at you with wide eyes. “Holy shit..” he mumbled as he took your beauty in. You smiled at his reaction, you felt excited that you were about to get what you wanted.

“What’s all this for, baby? Not that I’m complaining…” he asked as he set his book down and laid his hands on your hips. “I want you to pay attention to me…daddy.” You said with a smirk. You knew exactly how to get him going.

“Oh, sweet girl. Have I not being paying much attention to you lately?” He asked with a sympathetic expression on his gorgeous face. You nod your head, your hands drifted up his shirt and traced his strong abdomen.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Daddy will treat you good tonight.” He smirked as he moved his hands to your ass, gripping it roughly. You moved your lips to his, pressing them into a rough kiss.

Your lips moved together in sync. Your hands moved up to grip his broad shoulders as his stayed on your ass, moving your hips down onto his crotch.

You whimpered into his mouth at the feeling of his hard on growing underneath you. His hands moved up your body, caressing every inch of your skin. You felt like you were on fire with the arousal you were feeling burning inside of you.

He broke the kiss, “I’m gonna fuck you in this little outfit, that okay baby?” He asked, pulling his shirt off of his torso. Your mouth began to water at the sight of his toned body.

“I’m gonna need an answer before I start, honey.” He laughed. “Just fuck me, Aemond.” You said as you brought your hands down to the hem of his pants.

“I’m about too, baby.” He said, moving your panties aside and dipping his finger inside your wet cunt. He groaned at the feeling on his fingers. He rubbed the tip of his fingers onto your clit, making you shutter.

He removed his fingers, earning his a whine from you. He pushed his sweats and underwear aside and took out his cock. He gave himself a few pumps before running the tip across your cunt.

He slapped his tip against your swollen clit, making you whimper once again. “Please..” you whined, he chuckled at your pleads, “so desperate..”

He lined himself up with your entrance and pushed himself in. You both moaned at the feeling of each other. You leaned into him and hid your face into his neck. He held you close as he helped you bounce on his cock.

The feeling of him thrusting in and out of you made you dumb, like you couldn’t talk or breathe or anything. All you could do was feel.

“Such a good little girl for me, aren’t you?” He cooed in your ear, his hot breath fanning onto your cheek. You nodded into his neck and gripped his shoulders to keep you propped up.

“Already going dumb on daddy’s cock, huh pretty girl?” He said, moving his right hand towards your cunt and his fingers onto your clit. You gasped at his touch on your clit, he added such an intense stimulation to what you were already feeling.

Your whimpers and moans filled the room, his soft and low grunts could only be heard by you. You felt your peak coming soon, it was racing to the edge.

“Daddy…’m close..” you whined into his ear as you slammed your hips down onto his. He smiled at you with such desire, “Cum baby, you deserve it since daddy hasn’t been treating you very good.” He said as he kissed your cheek.

His pace was fast and rough, his fingers moving fast on your clit. Your peak came fast and hard. You moaned loudly into his neck and Aemond helped you through your orgasam as he chased his own. His groans growing louder as his peak came.

He filled your cunt with his cum. You both just held each other for a moment as you tried to catch your breaths. “I love you, daddy..” you said as you laid your head onto his shoulder and looked up at him.

He looked down at you with his hair messy and his glasses fogged up and a lopsided smile painted onto his face, “I love you too, sweet girl. I’m sorry for not paying attention to you. It will not happen ever again, my pretty baby.”

You smiled up at him and nod. You felt so happy that he was finally paying you attention again. “Wanna go make some cookies and watch Christmas movies?” You asked.

“Is that even a question?”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond smut #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell smut #ewanverse

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apomaro-mellow · 9 months

Text

Matchmaking Harringtons 1

After a nice, hearty breakfast the Harrington family packed into the car and drove off to the mall for some shopping. They didn't have any set summer plans yet but that could always change. In fact, Steve's parents were formulating some schemes while he busied himself looking through a rack of shorts.

"He could always meet people on a cruise", Diane suggested.

"True, but Steve would need his own suite", Jonas said.

"Well we would've given him one anyway."

"What about a trip to Paris? The most romantic city in the world."

"And get his heart broken by one of those flighty Europeans? I think not", Diane vetoed.

Jonas shrugged. "It's a summer romance."

"There's a difference between a summer romance and a summer fling."

"....There is?"

"And besides, didn't we say we wanted him to get serious with someone?"

"True. A nice fella to settle down with", Jonas said, almost with a dreamy sigh as he thought about his son NOT being in the rumor mill for once.

"I didn't mean that serious", Diane said.

"Well all of this means nothing if we can't find anyone."

"Are you guys still talking about my love life? Which I remind you is none of your business?", Steve asked, chosen shorts in hand.

"Actually, we were talking about our love life", Jonas said before pulling his wife close and kissing her cheek.

It got the desired reaction from their son, a groan as he averted his eyes. After getting a couple of things to spruce up their wardrobe, Steve thought he could break free, but they truly planned to make a day of the trip.

His mom wanted some new sunglasses and his dad spent an inhuman amount of time searching for a new wallet. When he was younger, his parents rewarded his patience with an ice cream cone or something to that effect.

Now that he was older, he preferred other things. But his folks still knew his tells well, so it only took him glancing at the music store before Diane was leading them towards it.

"If we take a road trip, we need something to listen to. Pick something good."

She said this to both her husband and son, but Steve was the one moving, slowly towards a standee in the store.

"Holy...I can't believe it!"

"You like this guy?", Diane asked. The standee was of a man, with what must be their latest music in cassette form.

Steve looked at her like she was living under a rock. "Mom, you don't just 'like' Bon Jovi you...This", he picked up one of the cassette tapes, "Is something to be treasured."

"So you really like him."

"Not just him!", Steve said quickly, his face getting a little pink. "It's a whole band not just one guy."

While Steve was talking to his mother about what was apparently a well-liked music group, Jonas was having a moment of enlightenment. Because he saw the standee and then he saw the cashier. It was like the two of them were cut from the same cloth. Like they had the same mold.

Jonas wasn't crazy about the long hair and ripped jeans, but at least the t-shirt with the store's logo was clean. And he was wearing a nametag too. That showed some level of professionalism. He spent probably a little too long looking at him because the guy looked up as if he could feel eyes on him.

Jonas tried to meet his wife's gaze and bless her, she met his eyes right away. He sort of gave a nod towards the cashier and she looked, her lips widening into a smile as she regarded both the flesh and blood man and the one made out of cardboard. They were both thinking the same thing.

He's perfect.

Moving in sync, Diane kept Steve busy looking at other musical selections while Jonas stepped up to the counter.

"Sooo", Jonas started.

"Sooo, you ready to check out?", the cashier, Eddie said.

"I'm not actually purchasing just yet. But speaking of checking out...", Jonas turned slightly and to turn the attention to his son. "What do you think of him?"

"Umm..."

"He's a handsome fella, right?"

"Iiiis this entrapment?"

"Oh! Oh god no, don't worry, I'm his father."

"That doesn't make this any less awkward", Eddie said.

"Let me explain. My son...We want him to find someone special. And my wife and I think you might be a favorable suitor."

Eddie looked to Steve again, checking him out just a little. "And he's uh, you know, open to being courted? By someone like me?"

"Pretty open", Jonas nodded, keeping his voice low so their conversation remained as private as it could be in such a public place.

Eddie's hands were braced against the counter as he tilted his head and looked at Steve once again and Jonas could tell when someone was interested, even if they played for the other team.

"What the hell, I'll go for it."

"Perfect." Jonas beamed and moved away from the register.

After pretending to peruse for a bit more, Jonas sent Steve with some cash to buy the music they'd all picked out. He put an arm around his wife as they watched him approach Eddie.

"Well? Do I know how to pick 'em or what?"

"You got lucky", Diane said, annoyed but fond. "So, what's he like?"

"....I don't know."

"Jonas!", Diane hissed in a whisper and smacked his shoulder. "You sent our son to go flirt with a stranger and you don't even know what kind of man he is?"

"He looks like Steve's type. And he seemed nice. Has a stable job-"

"You're not a fan of the hair, are you?", Diane clocked her husband.

"It's a little lengthy. Not quite marriage material. But maybe he'll cut it before proposing."

"Who's talking about marriage?"

Jonas gave her a look. "He's a man now. And we said he needs to get serious."

"You'd let your son marry a bad boy?"

"You did", Jonas grinned.

Diane kissed his cheek. "You were barely a miscreant. And you mellowed out in your old age."

Jonas was about to say something back when Steve returned to them, music bought and bagged up.

"So uh, that cashier was somethin' huh?", Jonas said.

"What? Yeah, I guess."

While Steve was walking out of the store, Diane and Jonas shared a worried look. It had looked like he was having a fine talk with Eddie but maybe they had been mistaken. But even if they had miscalculated, they could still course correct.

Part 3

Tag Team

@tartarusknight

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #ive only had diane and jonas for 2 chapters #and i already love them so much #and eddie's here!

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epicbuddieficrecs · 3 months

Text

Weekly Recap | February 19th-25th 2024

I just realized this weekend that I'm gonna be away on a work conference the day of the premiere AND the next day 🙃 FML 🤦‍♀️

Complete

🔥 the kiln-blaze in my body by lamardeuse/ @lamardeuse (Post-S4 | 17K | Explicit): It's nearly six months before Buck tells anyone.

Leveling Up by lamardeuse/ @lamardeuse (Poker Date spec | 6K | Mature): When he rose to his feet, he found both Eddie and Maddie staring at him. “What?” “You, uh,” Eddie said, his eyes looking sort of glazed over. “You just did measurements by eye. And math.” “In your head,” Maddie said. “Huh,” Buck said. “Yeah, that was – weird.”

We blossom and ask no reason by lamardeuse / @lamardeuse (Canon Divergent, Florist!Eddie | 6K | Mature): “Hen!” Eddie turned at the shout to see a tall blond firefighter built like a brick wall jogging toward them. As he came closer, Eddie amended that to ridiculously pretty brick wall. Holy shit, now Eddie realized why those firefighter calendars were so popular.

🔥 The Definition of Love and All Things Ineffable by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Post-S5 | 29K | Teen): Maddie asks him, like she’s been waiting to ask him, “Does Christopher call you ‘Uncle Buck’?” “No,” Buck answers. “Why?” “He called me Aunt Maddie. You’re far closer to him than I am. I thought if I’m his aunt, you’d have to be his uncle. Why wouldn’t you be Uncle Buck?” And Buck doesn’t really have an answer. It’s just. It’s wrong. He’s not Chris’ Uncle Buck. Maybe he should be? Maybe he’s supposed to be? He shrugs and uneasiness settles in his stomach. What more could he ever be to Chris but an uncle? ~ In which Buck processes his breakup, learns his place in his family, has a huge crisis of sexuality, and finds the truth about love beating in his own heart.

🔥 counteroffer by buckleyseddie/ @buckleyseddie (Season 6, Getting Together | 25K | Teen): Or in order for Buck to make it up to Eddie, Eddie suggests that Buck gives him one hundred kisses.

That's What Friends Are For by phdmama/ @phdmama (Friends With Benefits to Lovers | 4K | Explicit): Eddie shows up an hour later. He’s clearly gone home and showered, as his hair is damp. He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt that Buck is pretty sure is his, and he smells of soap and bacon. No, wait, the bacon scent is coming from the bag of takeout containers he’s carrying in one hand. Buck’s eyes narrow at the sight of the object Eddie’s clutching in his other hand. “Tequila?” he asks, raising one eyebrow and then laughs when Eddie just makes a bitchy face back at him. “I mean, I’m in, obviously, but it’s like nine in the morning.”

Like Lovers Do by phdmama/ @phdmama (Accidental Sexting | 5K | Explicit): The thing is, Eddie knows Buck’s body as well as he knows his own, maybe even better. He’s seen Buck changing, averted his eyes from Buck striding naked into the showers in the locker room. Eddie has watched Buck push through a workout, he’s pressed his hands to Buck’s flesh as if he could stop the bleeding through sheer force of will. He’s woken up to Buck sleeping on his couch or stumbling around his kitchen, sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he pulls out the ingredients for pancakes. All this to say, he’s seen Buck’s body a million times, in a million different ways. But not like this. Never like this.

Flickers of Fate by steadfastsaturnsrings/ @steadfastsaturnsrings (S3E15: Eddie Begins, Soulmates AU | 1,6K | Teen): "Did-Did the man who helped me pull out the dead solider survive?" Eddie mumbled, "He-He....said he was right behind me but then disappeared...Is he okay?" "There was no other man, Diaz, You were the last one out of the helicopter. You pulled out that solider all by yourself" The official standing over him responded, looking at Eddie curiously.

Spinning Out by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (S7 Spec | 2K | General): The sun always rises in the east and sets in the west. What goes up must always come down. And if Eddie Diaz is in a helicopter with his team, it must fall from the sky.

(put some music on) soft and slow by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Canon Divergent | 6K | Teen): He walks up the stairs to the loft, and finds himself facing the backs of four office chairs. Over by the kitchen counter, Ravi gives a signal, and all four chairs turn around in impressive sync. “Saw you on TV last night,” Eddie says, still grinning. “Something you want to tell us?” OR: buck auditions for the voice. it goes about the way you'd expect.

🔥 Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 46K | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

Buttons and Patience by Tizniz/ @tizniz (PWP | 2K | Explicit): If anyone asks, Buck will blame Eddie’s buttons. Whenever Eddie wore those damn Henleys, he kept them reasonably buttoned up. But apparently not tonight. No, tonight those buttons were undone and exposing tantalizing skin, golden in the dimly lit bar lighting, and exposing Eddie’s collarbones. Buck wants to bite. Hard. Or lick. He’s not picky.

among the hungry and the patient by tinygiantsam/ @watchyourbuck (PWP | 3K | Mature): “Wanna make out?” Eddie blinked. Understandably so, by the way. He licked his lips, frowned, and took a step forward. “Excuse me?” Buck inhaled softly, somehow encouraging himself even more. “I said, do you wanna make out?” OR: Buck loses his patience with Eddie and asks him to make out.

Once Is A Mistake, Twice Is On Purpose by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Friends With Benefits | 5K | Teen): “Friends with benefits.” “Yeah.” “Just sex.” “Just sex.” Buck confirms, nodding.

Take It by Tizniz/ @tizniz (PWP | 2K | Mature): “Take it, Buck.” Eddie tells him when they break apart, squeezing Buck’s wrists. “Take it all.” “H-huh?” “This is about you and your pleasure.” Eddie gives his wrists another squeeze before he releases them, humming once more in approval when Buck keeps his hands there, fingers curling around the edge. And then Eddie grabs onto Buck’s hips, pulling him forward roughly against Eddie’s thigh. “Take what you want. What you need.”

WIP

if i need to rearrange my particles — i will for you. by dylaesthetics (Post-S6, Identity Porn | 4/16 | 15K | Teen): OR Buck joins a support app for first responders and matches with a firefighter who has PTSD and a kid who likes giraffes, apparently.

🔥 a foundation of trust and love we cannot see by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (FWB, BDSM, Sub Eddie, Dom Buck | 3/17 | 62K | Explicit): “It’s like I want to explore it and dive into it, but it’s not exactly like I’m seeing someone to try this all out with,” he explains, doing his best to keep down the annoyed huff that threatens to escape him at every other word. Buck nods to himself before steadily going silent. For a minute, Eddie thinks that this is the end of their conversation. “I can show you if you’d like.” Eddie nearly chokes on his beer.

🔥 because we'll all arrive in heaven alive by callmenewbie/ @puppyboybuckley (Post-S6, Disaster Fic | 6/9 | 41K | Explicit): During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, S7 Spec | 119/? | 357K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Re-Read

🔥Plus or Minus by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (S5 | 10K | General): “Why are you cleaning out the kitchen? Why is my stuff in boxes?” Eddie slows, then stops. “Figured you’d want it back.” It’s quieter. Pained. When he says it. “I haven’t decided anything. So unless you’re kicking me out—” “Buck. Come on.” He’s not angry or snapping. It’s still quiet, and somehow that hurts even more. He’s resigned and defeated, and Buck is a scooped out, gutted, hollow shell. “I know how this ends the same way you do. You want to be loved, you want to be married. You’re going to leave. Might as well…” His voice cracks before he can finish and get it under control. “Shouldn’t drag it out.” ~ Taylor is offered a job across the country and asks Buck to go with her. Buck has to figure out if he wants to start over or if he has a reason to stay right where he is.

#buddie #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfiction #buddie fic rec #epic buddie fic rec #911 fanfiction #911 fic #911 fanfic

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sp00pygal · 1 year

Text

Hot take: dc x dp, but with good parents Jack and Maddie fenton.

Yes, Danny is part of the batfam. Yes, Bruce has legally adopted Danny and would have adopted jazz (if she didn't insist she was too old to be adopted). Jack is still their loving father. Maddie is still their devoted mother. Both parents recognize that their children love the batkids and the batparents (Yes, this includes Alfred and Maybe Selena) as family, and as the family doesn't seem abnormal (by amity park standards) they let their kids develop healthy relationships with whoever they want.

Madie fenton is Bruce Wayne's science nemesis. She doesn't buy "Brucie" for a second. Millionaire playboy who? Every time she picks up her kids from his house as per the shared custody agreement, she finds him tinkering with some strange device and casually points out "yknow, you have something, but it could be better if you....". She's so used to correcting her husband's math errors and design flaws that the first time she catches Bruce with an unsafe device, reflexes kick in.

Jack, on the other hand, pulls an uno reverse on Bruce. Bruce thought he was adopting a black haired and blue eyed teen with angst issues. Nope! Jack now has a new reclusive rich best friend! They're family, practically brothers! You want to run for gotham mayor and end city crime? Anything you say B-man!

Jack and Maddie start showing up to batkids's civilian events for moral support. Cassandra has a ballet recital? They're in the front seat; cheering her on! Tim has a big presentation in front of the company board of directors? Yet again, Jack and Maddie somehow got past building security; and holy heck, why do they have a "support Tim Wayne" t-shirt cannon?!!? After the 5th cookie care basket with sugar snaps that tried to eat his stapler at the bludhaven police station, Dick now has to politely ask them to stop sending food. He appreciates the effort, but the gingerbread men caused a queen of fables scare and tried to eat a convict.

Jack and Maddie know Danny is phantom. The "threats" to shoot him? He's their son! They'd never! But they can't let him know that they know, so they keep up the act half heartedly. They realize their invention killed him. They realize everything they thought they knew about ghosts was wrong. But how do you say sorry to your kid if he isn't ready to forgive you? Especially if you've wronged him infathomably. You don't. You love him unconditionally; and you live each day with him as the gift it is. And you keep his secret, even from him. You fight infathomable and terrifying monsters each night, over and over, praying that once they're gone he can sleep safely. If he ever wants to forgive you, he'll tell you; when he's ready. And if he can't? You live with what you've done, regret and greif forever seered into your soul. You know he is loved and cared for. He is protected. To you, that's all that matters.

#good parents jack and maddie #danny phantom #dp x dc #batpham

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customizedstore · 9 months

Text

Christmas Cake T-Shirt, Tis the season Christmas T-Shirt, Christmas T-Shirt, O Holy Night T-shirt

#Christmas Cake T-Shirt #Tis the season Christmas T-Shirt #Christmas T-Shirt #O Holy Night T-shirt #ChristmasShirt Christmas Shirts #Christmas Shirt #Family Christmas #Happy Christmas #Merry Christmas #Most Wonderful Time #Christmas Gift #Christmas Tree #New Year Shirt #Farm Fresh Truck #Family Christmas Tee #Christmas Squad #dead inside shirt #skeleton Christmas

0 notes

luveline · 2 years

Note

hi jade!

baby blurb of reader giving steve food as her love language and steve being totally in love with it?

shy!reader giving steve food as her love language (this didn’t stay a baby sorry) featuring lots of nice hand holding ♡ fem!reader | 1k words

You hesitate outside of Family Video, the tupperware heavy in your hands. You can't teeter for long – Steve sees you by the door and waves his hand, ushering you inside.

The bell jingles. You cover the tupperware with both hands and make for the desk, nerves eating you up as you go. Are you walking weirdly? You totally are. Your shoes are really loud.

"Hey, Y/N," Steve says. His voice cradles your name like something treasured, softening ever so slightly at the end.

You hide the tupperware below the lip of the desk and give him your best, still painfully-shy smile.

"Hey Steve," you murmur.

"What's in your hands?" You bite your lip and his face morphs with suspicion, brows furrowing and eyes pinching into a squint. "Getting kinda nervous here."

"It's…" You look down at your hands, the container within them suddenly feeling very heavy and very, very stupid. "It's for you. But…"

"For me?" He sounds so happy you almost hand it over there and then.

"I'm embarrassed," you declare suddenly, quite unlike yourself.

His eyebrows jump up. He leans forward, forearms braced on the counter, the fabric of his t-shirt sleeves taut over his biceps. You blink rapidly and look at his hands instead. A second mistake, his veins are stark, his arms a marble carving.

"You should be. You realise you're dressed way too nicely to be in here, right?" His hip juts to the side. You think you might be losing touch with reality. "Way too nice. I've been wearing the same polo for two days."

You wrinkle your nose. "Steve."

"I'm clean enough!"

"I beg to differ," Robin says from somewhere unseen.

You're surprised that she's here. Your reluctance to hand over your small gift grows, her presence only making it harder.

"I've been kind of busy lately with the idiots. With Lucas' first teenage heartbreak," he explains sheepishly.

"Right," you agree. "I know. Uh. And, and I wanted to-" You almost drop the tupperware, your heart racing as you catch it in both hands and straighten, face flushed with heat. "I know you've been busy. So I made you something."

You set the tupperware on the counter. It's a pretty big one, as they go, about double the size of his hands. Every inch of space is filled.

"It's tomato soup. But-" You shake your head and look at the lip of the desk, trying not to stammer. "But, I know you said that- that the canned stuff is too sour. So I made it. From scratch." You cough.

He wraps his hands around the soup and pulls it towards himself quickly, arms wrapping around it like he's protecting it. "Holy shit."

He bends at the waist to peer at it through the clear plastic side. "It looks awesome. The colour is amazing, nothing like the artificial shit."

"It'll keep for a week, maybe longer. I thought you could heat it up in the microwave when you're too busy, or have it with grilled cheese, or-"

Steve's eyes click onto yours. He smirks at you but it isn't in triumph against you, it's triumph with you. You're on the same side, and it feels amazing.

He stands at full height and slides his hand across the desk, palm up. You glance at it, totally perfunctory, you swear, you're not obsessed with every little movement he makes or anything.

He wiggles his fingers.

You stare some more.

"Take it," he says gently.

You put your hand carefully on top of his. He pushes his own further under yours to curl his fingers around the back of your pinky finger and palm, forcing you to hold his wrist. Your thumb bumps over his pulse point.

He readjusts his grip and then squeezes lovingly.

“Thank you, baby. I mean it. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” you say hoarsely.

His fingers move over your skin, almost as if he were playing the keys of a piano into the back of your hand. He leans down incrementally.

“You’re so fucking cute.”

You can’t stand to look at his face when he says stuff like this, his expression so sincere it aches, it starts a riot of butterflies in your chest, their wings a cacophony of sound. Or maybe that’s the blood rushing in your ears.

“Look at you,” he mutters to himself, half-indignant.

You risk a look at him and find him staring at your hand, his fingers moving with purpose, so soft you can barely feel them. Frustration lines his face.

“I can make you something else, when you’re done. I’d like to,” you offer.

“I’d love that.”

He bends over the desk and kisses the back of your hand.

Your breath catches at his lips on your skin. Warm, a little bit chapped, a pillowy suppleness that you hadn’t expected and won’t soon forget. He rubs his kiss mark with care as he pulls away, his characteristic frustration inlaid with fondness, as lovely and elusive in its rarity as mother of Pearl. Steve’s too cool for softness, or so he thinks. To see affection displayed so clearly on his face has you weak in the knees.

“You’re…” He gives up before he’s truly started, his tone — disbelief, some measure of confusion — replaced with a feigned anger, “Dressed all pretty to come see me at my shitty job. You’re cruel, you know that? Really cruel. What a way to show dominance.”

His word choice makes you gawp. “Steve, what?”

He takes in your face with less evidence of his favour, though there’s a residual warmth in the way his eyes crease like he’s smiling even as he scowls.

“Well, how am I supposed to one up this?” He tugs your hand towards him as he leans forward. You can picture the light bulb above his head as he decides, “I’ll cook you something. What do you like?”

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to. You’re gonna have to let me, babe.”

You giggle and clasp his wrist tighter.

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things

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vivwritesfics · 12 days

Text

Slow Down, You're Gonna Crash

Chapter Three

Summary: Being a Verstappen means realising that you'll never be as good as her brother. She knew it. That was why she ran away to California. Of course, she's gonna fall for the older, naval aviator. And, of course, it pisses her family off.

Bradley Bradshaw x F1!Driver Reader

Warnings: Allusions to smut

1.5K

Series Masterlist

Would she have stayed in San Diego if it wasn't for the handsome aviator she had spent the night in a few days ago? No. No she would have been on her way, off to the next state.

But here she still was, in San Diego, staying in that shitty motel. She had called on Bradley Bradshaw, more times than she cared to admit. Every day he was working, but then he'd pick her up once he was finished, in his aviator uniform (you know, those hot overalls), and take her... wherever, showing her around North Island.

On her third night of overstaying her welcome in San Diego, she returned to The Hard Deck. Bradley had said he was going to be there and that she should join him, and who was she to say no to that?

She pulled up in the McLaren, parking herself beside the Bronco. Bradley's Bronco. She couldn't stop herself from smiling as she climbed out of the McLaren.

She didn't know about the group of aviators inside, updating Bradley about the super cool car they'd seen a few days ago. The car that Bradley definitely hadn't seen because he was 'too busy making eyes at that girl'.

Bradley said nothing. He didn't tell them that he knew who the McLaren belonged to. He didn't tell them that she'd be on her way now.

He lifted his beer to the lips, looking towards the door as she walked in. And, when Bradley looked, the rest of his old squad did to. Simply because he wasn't listening, and Mickey and Reuben wanted to know what on earth could have been more interesting than the fucking cool McLaren they'd seen a few days ago.

But then they saw it, outside of The Hard Deck. That fucking cool McLaren they'd seen a few days ago. "No way," Mickey couldn't stop himself from saying as Bradley ordered her a drink (gin and tonic, he'd learnt that by now).

"Hey," he said, passing her the drink as she tucked herself into his side. It looked far too domestic for two people that hardly knew each other.

"Hey," she replied, mirroring him as she looked up at him. She pulled his aviators from his face and tucked them into his shirt pocket.

And just as Bradley opened his pretty mouth, just as he was about to say something, he was interrupted. "Rooster!" Mickey shouted. "That McLaren is back! The person that owns it has got to be in here."

Bradley simply looked from Mickey to her. "Do you wanna tell him?" He asked, gently squeezing her shoulder

"Fine," she said and rolled her eyes, but it wasn't malicious. She shoved her gin and tonic into Bradley's hand and held her hand out towards Mickey. "Yeah, it's my Mclaren. Or, I'm borrowing it from a friend."

"Dude, who the hell are you friends with?"

She wore a sort of mischievous smile as she shrugged her shoulders.

But she didn't get a chance to say much more. Not before another, much older man approached. His smile was so white it was almost blinding as he greeted the woman behind the bar fondly, and then greeted the squad.

His eyes locked onto her. "Holy shit," he couldn't stop himself from saying as he pulled down his sun glasses. And then he said her name, the pronunciation of Verstappen perfect.

Her heart dropped as everyone, including Bradley, looked at her. But she let that painted, PR smile cross her lips. "Big Formula One fan?" She asked as she took her drink from Bradley's hands.

"Incredibly big," he said as a drink was passed to him. "I was in Vegas last year, saw your drive, it was incredibly impressive."

She paused, straw between her lips. The grumble she released wasn't supposed to be audible, but she couldn’t exactly control that. "Yeah, Vegas was a shit show," she mumbled. "Celebrated the end of it like the sun would never rise, though."

She didn't say the things she wanted to about Vegas, that it was the best drive her team had seen all year, but it still wasn't enough to keep her seat. There was anger that burned in her chest, but she pushed it away as she finished her drink.

Suddenly there was a crowd of aviators around her, asking her question after question. She tried to answer as best as she could, but the questions just kept coming. It was too much, all too much, and she couldn't get away. Back pressed against the bar, she answered as many questions as she could.

But she couldn't stop herself from looking around in panic for Bradley. He'd been next to her just moments ago, where the hell had he gone?

When she stumbled over an answer, she was ready to throw up. But then the bell from the bar rang. All of the aviators stopped and looked towards the bar owner. "Who's tab?" One of the younger ones had asked.

The bar owner shook her head. "No tab, just leave the poor girl alone," she said.

The aviators backed off, returning to the pool table and the darts board. She sat up at the bar, ready to order herself a drink (since Bradley had apparently ordered her a new one and taken off with it).

But, as she sat, the older aviator, the one who had recognised her, sat on the bar stood beside her. "Sorry about that," he said as he finished his drink. "I can't help but think I started that."

She shrugged her shoulders as the bar owner placed the gin and tonic in front of her. "Just surprised that somebody out here recognised me. I thought most of the states was into Nascar," she muttered.

Maverick laughed, his way of trying to ease the tension. But she didn’t laugh back. So, he took the next logical step and shifted the focus of the conversation away from her. "How d'you know Bradley?"

Her shoulders raised and fell in a shrug. "Oh, you know. From around, sleeping together, all that shit," she mumbled and finished her second gin and tonic, piano music starting up from somewhere in the bar.

As soon as her glass was back down on the bar top, she slipped out of her seat. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for Bradley and, more importantly, her missing gin and tonic.

She found Bradley at the piano, pressing his fingers to the keys. His fingers were big, she knew from experience, but they played such delicate music. She sat on the bench next to him and took a drunken minute (which, in reality, was a minute and a half) to listen.

"I thought you said you were a car mechanic," said Bradley, over the delicate sounds of Billy Joel (yes, he was particularly fond of Jerry Lee Lewis, especially after all of the stories his mother had told him about his father, but he saved that for when the bar was packed, when there were oh so many people gathered around the piano, singing along with him. While the bar was quiet, Bradley played other songs he had learnt through his childhood.)

She let out a breath. "Would you have treated me differently if I was honest?" She asked and laid her head against his shoulder.

Bradley couldn't answer that. He didn't know if he would have treated her any differently if he knew who she was. A rather large part of him knew that he wouldn't, that he'd be the same gentleman that he had been since the moment he met her, but the was that small bit of doubt in the back of his mind.

The music dimmed with less notes to fill it as he reached up for her gin and tonic. He passed it to her and placed it in her hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Sing along with me," he said and went back to playing.

That she was happy to do. She couldn't couldn't play the piano, she couldn't sing, but she was still having the time of her life.

And, as she got into it, the door of The Hard Deck opened. Bradley didn't turn around the greet the person, so she didn't greet them either. She was having too much fun, shouting the lyrics to the song at Bradley as he did the same to her.

It took all of her willpower to keep singing, to not stop him to kiss him.

"Have you guys seen that sweet McLaren outside?" Asked the person who walked over to the piano, interrupting the singing. She rolled her eyes when he let out a whistle.

But, after all of their prodding, the rest of the dagger squad thought the McLaren was old news, too. Why wouldn't they when they had a Formula One Driver singing with their Rooster. "Shut up, Bagman," One of them called, and the singing resumed.

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kscheibles · 8 months

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e la vita ch. 2

~ ch. 1 here ~

content warnings: f! reader, fluff, smut, semi-public sex, oral sex (m receiving), smoking, religious trauma, bisexuality

word count: 7.1 k

When I meet Matty the following Thursday, it’s in the city center. Feeling nervous and awfully out of place, I cover my eyes with my hand as a kind of mock-visor and search briefly for his familiar face in the square that’s packed with older gentlemen gossiping and families blowing bubbles each bigger than the last. I take a seat on a bench near the middle of the piazza when I don’t see him, hoping I’ll be somewhere he can spot but not as awkward-looking as I might be if I stood still watching the scene like some sick, American voyeur.

Matty walks up with the gait of a bad Mick Jagger impersonator. I can see now that he’s all limbs though not in a bad way; in a way that exaggerates his movements and announces his presence to the world around him. He seems comfortable with the reality that people will look at him. I suppose it makes sense, given his choice of career, but it still mesmerizes me.

I watch him as he walks towards me. He’s wearing a fitted t-shirt that exposes his arms to me for the first time. They’re golden and covered with a variety of tattoos in different styles; from his biceps all the way down to his wrists. Eventually, he notices me looking and his face breaks out into a smile. He nods up to the cathedral to my left as he approaches me, giving me a quick, fraternal hug.

“How do you like it, then?” he asks, eyes trained on the holy building.

“Matty, that’s a church,” I state plainly, “I spent my childhood in places like that, and I’m pretty sure I’ve learned that God doesn’t like girls like me.”

“If God exists, I promise you’re one of his favourites,” he laughs as he says it, as if it’s not one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me in my life.

“What do you know about God?” I ask.

“Oh nothing, really,” he concedes, “Just that he’s the most vicious, generous bastard in the world.”

I eye him as he says the words. I suppose that must be true for him. I resent the idea that our accomplishments and qualms are all consequences of our virtuous or sinful behaviors. It’s asinine. But if God is real, he’s certainly blessed Matty – with beauty, intelligence, love, money.

If God is real, he’s cursed me to be something immutably unlovable. Damned to rot from the inside out for the rest of my life. I don’t believe what Matty says, even for a second. There’s no way I’m one of God’s favorites.

Matty waves his hand in front of my face, snapping me from my thoughts.

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. I didn’t consider that you might have…religious trauma or something,” he assures me.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” I say, though truthfully I’m less sure than I say. I wonder if entering the cold, marble palace will transport me back to my youth; to standing primly in church as a child, scared to make a wrong move. Scared to think a sinful thought. Considering each older woman around me, their beautiful hair covered by cotton squares in a performance of modesty. I envied them, how easy they made it look to live by the rules. How little they seemed to struggle with keeping their mouths shut and their shoulders covered and denying themselves the indulgence of imagining another woman’s warm, sweet lips on their own.

Matty seems to clock my hesitance. He takes my hand and leads me in and I was so wrong.

It’s not cold inside, it’s breathtaking in a way that makes me feel welcome. On the outside of the central atrium are alcoves, each decorated more elaborately than the last. My senses are overwhelmed by the smell of incense, the sounds of hypnotic Latin chanting, the sight of refracting, colorful light. It feels Heavenly. I suppose it’s meant to.

Matty draws me towards one of the scenes that’s painted on the perimeter of the nave. It depicts a woman washing Jesus’ feet. Her head is bowed in submission, focused completely on the task at hand. In her hands is her long, black hair, which she uses to wipe at the top of Jesus’ feet. The chiaroscuro of the scene illuminates the action; everything else is noise. All that exists is her devotion.

“She was a sinful woman,” I say, “A prostitute, I think.” Matty raises his eyebrows in consideration.

“Was it like a punishment or something? Making her wash his feet?”

“No,” I breathe, “She did it to show him that she knew who he was. Knew he was worthy of being revered.”

“So her taking care of him was a sign that she understood him? Or what? Loved him?”

I shrug. “Isn’t that what we all do for the people we love? If we’re loving them right?”

“I suppose so,” Matty turns his head to look at me. He must see something on my face – a flicker of an emotion or a thought – that he recognizes because he adds, “But it’s no one’s fault if they haven’t been loved right. It doesn’t make you unloveable. It makes the other person a bad lover.”

“Well I suppose we can’t all be as easy to love as Jesus, can we?” I sigh, moving away from him, towards the center of the church.

I sit in one of the pews towards the back. In front of me are tourists and locals; people of all backgrounds, colors, and ages approaching the altar. Some of them have brought candles, hold rosaries. They appeal to God, beseeching his benevolent will. I empathize with them, even though I have serious reservations about the efficacy of their methodology. It’s beautiful how much they care about their fellow man.

When you see a woman wearing sheer tights, gray hairs combed perfectly into an updo, and kneeling on the cold tile floor with her hands pressed together, twins conjoined in supplication, you know that her motive cannot possibly be her own wellbeing. As selfish as we humans can be, it would be blasphemous to come to God’s house and light a prayer candle for yourself.

Matty sits down next to me, close enough that our legs are touching: his corduroy pants to my bare legs, pebbled by the cold air. I remember sitting in church with my crush as a girl, feeling wretched for wanting to inch closer to her. When I finally let our legs touch through layers of wool fabric, the excitement of touching faded instantly, giving way to the all-encompassing shame of the sin I’d committed. I reject the shame now, gently pushing my thigh further into Matty’s to prove to myself that it’s something I’m allowed to do, even in church. I’m allowed to touch him. I’m allowed to look at him and be distracted by his handsomeness. I’m allowed to think about his lips, plump, rosy, and left open wantingly. I’m allowed to think about his hips, how easily they swayed to the music the night I saw him in the club, and how deeply the rhythm seemed to be embedded in him. I’m allowed to think about his sculptural arms and nimble, calloused fingers. I’m even allowed to lust after him, to daydream about how good he could make me feel, if he wanted to. If I wanted him to.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, breaking my train of thought.

“I don’t know,” I shrug, trying desperately not to feel caught, “You?”

“Thinkin’ about the people who made this place. All of the gold light fixtures they had to weld. I mean fuckin’ hell look at this,” he points to a sconce on the wall. It’s carved in the shape of winding vines and inlaid on the front are mother of pearl accents positioned in the shape of a cross. “They did it with much more primitive technologies than we have as well.” I nod along.

“The devotion,” I muse.

“What’s that?”

“Think about the devotion they must have had to God in order to create such a beautiful thing for Him. It would show if the constructors didn’t believe. They would have phoned it in; cut corners on the carvings in the pews and the intricate architecture of the dome,” I tilt my head to get a better view of the dome in question. Inside of it, windows filter perfect yellow light into the building and angelic sculptures stand guard over the heavens.

Matty throws his head back completely, looking up towards the sky like there’s something up there that will save him or give him a more profound understanding of the place where his feet dwell. It’s misguided; I’ve spent enough time looking up to know that. There’s nothing good God can teach us that we can’t learn on our own. It’s nice to imagine sometimes, though: that if you look a little harder or listen to the silence on your knees for a minute longer, all of a sudden the answer to your problems will be revealed.

With his head towards the sky, Matty’s neck is open and vulnerable to me. A strong vein is prominent on the right side of it and his Adam’s apple protrudes, a silhouette that’s so thrillingly masculine. It feels intimate that he would let me see him like this: all awed and curious and unguarded, like a dog that’s rolled over to offer me his belly. I’m flattered that Matty feels safe getting lost in front of me.

I admire how open he is to the beauty of it all. It’s because churches aren’t places that make him instinctively put his guard up. On the other hand, churches for me are places where I was fed lies, Sunday after Sunday. Where old men seized upon my innocence and insecurity and forced poison down my throat until I swallowed every last drop. I’d had to go through withdrawal when I finally got the antidote. It was arduous, sweaty, painful. I learned to question everything a little too well. I don’t believe in any kind of magic anymore; I can no longer believe anything that’s not right in front of my eyes. God took that from me. Matty is lucky God didn’t take it from him, too.

I look up, following his eyes. It’s all so beautiful it almost loses its meaning. Everything is marble or silk or stained glass. It’s too much all at once. I can tell it’s all spectacular but in the flurry of everything, each individual marvel loses its luster. As I tip my head further and further back, I get a little dizzy and the colors that float above me begin to bleed into each other in a kind of kaleidoscopic haze. I snap my head back up; back to reality. I reach out to hold on to Matty’s arm.

“Can we go now?” I whisper to him, still wanting to preserve the sanctity of the place for the other patrons.

He nods in wordless understanding and leads me out.

–

The scorching heat of midday eventually breaks and yields a brisk night. When the sun sets, my skin remains sensitive, showing temporary, pale markings when I press my fingers into it. It hurts a little; a reminder of the fun I had that made me forget to reapply my sunscreen.

I sit at a table with Christina, Nina, and her friends. Some of us indulging in an aged wine from the region and others vying for an Aperol even though the sun is long past set and the orange bittersweet liquid now looks opaque.

“You know the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new,” says Nina, grabbing another glass of the chianti.

“Like I’ve never tried that before,” I answer. It comes out meaner than I’d expected; though how could it not? I’m not a teenager dealing with a first kiss who pied me off for a blonder, more popular girl, I’m an adult who built a life with someone and rearranged my guts to fit her into every place that was important to me. Who introduced her to my parents and friends and was now having to wait for the dust to settle in an explosion that blew the whole thing to pieces.

There are so many life-or-death questions that remain unanswered: Which friends will take my side, and which will take hers? If I have a fling with a toned Italian Adonis this summer, which of our so-called friends will stop inviting me to Dyke Night at Ginger's? Which of them will forget I exist just because I’ve left the city?

No, getting under someone new won’t help any of that, I decide.

“Sometimes we all need a distraction,” remarks Nina. “Look, the truth is that a breakup uproots your whole life. You don’t know which way is up, you don’t know which places are safe from them, especially in New York. I remember when Mason and I broke up, I didn’t go below 16th Street for a whole month, just because I knew I’d be safe from him if I stayed uptown. My point is more that you don’t have to worry about any of that. You’re in fucking Italy and she’s gone back to Michigan while she figures out her next move. So do exactly what you want for once, it’s not as though you can do that when you’re in a relationship.”

Exactly what I want. The words echo in my mind as the savory wine causes my neurons to sing. What exactly do I want?

–

It’s just past ten when I meet Matty at a cafe near our homes. A late night up with the girls means I’m cursing myself for not arriving early enough to order a cappuccino. Matty is leaning up against a chair with his sunglasses on, looking down. He holds his phone in both hands, a cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his right. He exhales some smoke from his lungs and looks up to see me walking towards him.

“Y/n!” he smiles, immediately putting his arm around my shoulders and kissing me on the cheek, “How are you, darlin’?” I can feel my cheeks getting warm due to our proximity and his openness.

He has a European self-assuredness to his movements. I’m not stupid enough to think that all of Europe is the same, but there’s a facility with which he takes my hand. Whereas, if I were to touch somebody, I would pause and hedge and overanalyze before reaching out. Even more so if it was someone I liked—which I’m slowly realizing I do.

“I’m good,” I smile at the dark lenses of his sunglasses. I hate those little pieces of plastic for keeping me from seeing his brown irises in the sun. I bet they would sparkle. I want to steal them from him and hide them so he can never wear them again and I’ll always be able to see the magic that happens in his eyes. Maybe it would hurt him, maybe his crow's feet would become more pronounced but I don’t care even a little bit. I want to know what it feels like to look into his soul again.

“So what’s the plan for today?” I ask.

Matty nods toward a light pole a few meters away. Propped up beside it is a shiny black Vespa.

“Thought we’d take a little day trip to the lake,” he says.

“Oh no, I can’t,” I say out of instinct.

“Oh,” he deflates a little, “why not? Have you got somewhere to be?” I look at him embarrassed.

“My mom would kill me if I got on a motorcycle,” I say. Truthfully, I’m scared more by the feelings that bloom in my stomach at the thought of holding onto his waist than the thought of riding the vehicle itself. He breaks into a toothy smile and crinkles sprout at the edges of his eyes.

“Your mum’s not here. How old are you, again?” he asks. I decide that doesn’t deserve an answer, instead opting to roll my eyes pointedly at him. “Besides,” he continues, “it’s a Vespa, not a motorcycle.”

“Do you have a helmet?” I question, timidly. He reaches out to my tote bag – embroidered with the familiar emblem of Shakespeare and Company – and tugs my silk scarf from it. His hands move tentatively towards my head, face questioning softly if he can touch me. I give an imperceptible ‘yes’, and soon his warm hands are cradling me. He places the scarf lightly on my head and then moves his attention down to my chin, tying it in place delicately. He reaches out to caress my jaw.

“There you go, princess,” he coos. The nickname doesn’t have the sting of taunting it once did. It feels sincere; like Matty really believes I should be treated with the utmost care. As soon as I can begin to smile up at him, he’s gone again, throwing his leg up to straddle the bike. With his Wayfarers covering his eyes, slicked-back hair, and tan skin, he looks every bit the rockstar Nina’s friends say he is.

I find myself skipping to him and straddling the bike behind him. I can’t see his face but I imagine it must be twisted into that ridiculous, self-assured grin I witnessed on the first night I met him. Where it once produced acrid bile that stained my throat with hatred, it now endears me to him. It’s indicative of a boyish playfulness, a thrill-seeking tendency that I so admire. Girls can’t afford to be silly and I’ve been surrounded by them for so long. I want to walk around in Matty’s skin for a day and learn what it feels like.

What does it feel like to him when he walks home alone at night? It must be how I feel when I walk during the day. No– it’s even more free, it must be. Even during the day, I cringe imperceptibly away from every man I pass on the street, no matter what part of town I’m in or whether I have my headphones on.

When Matty meets a girl and chats her up, he must not feel any of the apprehension that I do. No poking and prodding to see if she’s the one straight friend that’s tagged along to the gay bar because she’s just “so tired of men” or the sweet, bi-curious loner who’s looking for her first girl-on-girl action. He can just approach them without pretense and genuinely try to get to know them. He can entrance them with the arcane physics of his adorably curly hair and the spellbinding timbre of his speech.

When he speaks up, people must listen to the deeper, commanding pitch of his voice. They must be piqued by the melody of his Mancunian accent. They must believe him, perhaps even when they shouldn’t.

Do I want him? Or do I envy the ease that seems to come with being him?

Do I want to feel his insides? Or do I want to feel him inside of me?

I snake my arms around his middle, trying not to dwell on the soft cotton and lithe muscle that cover his torso. I clasp my hands together just under his ribs.

“You ready?” he asks. I press my cheek to his back, bracing for impact. I nod against him.

“Yeah,” I whisper. He chuckles at my hesitance and hits the accelerator.

And we’re off, bumping down old cobblestone roads, bathing in daylight, and meditating to the sounds of the city – babies crying, birds chirping, music playing, meat mongers yelling like showmen – and it’s not scary. Matty is solid underneath me, resilient. He runs a hand through his curiously straight hair like it’s nothing to him.

On our way to the lake, Matty slows down at a fruit market packed with old ladies haggling with one another. He puts the kickstand for the Vespa out, twirls the keys around his hand, and pockets them. Then he strides over to the gaggle of nonnas greeting each of them in due course.

“Come stai, Matteo?”

“Come sta l’america?”

“Che rockstar!”

They clamber for his attention like he’s a grandson they haven’t seen in several years.

“Tutto bene, grazie,” he manages, his English tongue contorting around the Italian. He still sounds anglophonic when he pronounces the words, but they cheer and coo all the same. Matty beckons me from the bike over to the fruit stand. “What do you want, darlin’?” he asks when I arrive next to him.

I look down at a ripe selection of fruit that’s bursting at the seams with juice. Apricots the color of the sunrise, jewel-toned berries, and peaches: fuzzy, soft, and yielding – not unlike human flesh, I think. My thoughts wander to Matty’s hands and cheeks and thighs. What would they feel like if I touched them? Would they give? Would they warm me? Could I squeeze him hard enough to make him burst?

“Andiamo a Lago di Garda,” Matty explains. The nonnas grab a paper bag and begin pointing to the selection of fruits. “Albicocca, pesca, frutti di bosco,” they gesture to each in turn. Their voices undulate and vary in pitch as they describe the fruits. It sounds like verse to my ears: romantic, melodic, and exquisitely idyllic.

Matty turns to me, “They want to know what you want.”

I look at them – their pink noses and wiry eyebrows and floral aprons – and smile. I mime how many of each I’d like and they pack our bag to the brim. They pass the fruit to me as Matty pays what he owes, bidding them farewell. He runs up behind me as I approach the Vespa and takes the bag from me, setting it at his feet. Then he reaches into his pocket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. He grabs one with his teeth and lets it stay there, nestled between his lips. My eyes remain trained on his every movement and he notices, tossing me a lighter as he starts up the bike.

“You light it for me, sweetheart?” he asks. My hands fumble with the lighter, bringing it to the end of the cigarette and idling there while Matty inhales. When it doesn’t light right away, he brings his hands up, cupping them around the end and they graze my fingers on the lighter. We look like two school children telling secrets and the moment feels as intimate if not more. How I’d love to know his secrets, each and every last one.

I release the lighter and Matty lets the cig hang languidly on his bottom lip.

“You want one?” he asks.

“I’m good,” I say.

“Too right you are,” he replies, “hold on tight darlin’.”

–

Matty drives calmly down the motorway as I clasp my hands together as hard as I can. The breeze whips against my face and chaps my lips but I don’t mind. With the sun on my face and Matty underneath me, I feel unreal, unstoppable. As we reach the lake, the trees become more abundant. They flank the roads that lead to the beach and smell like fresh-squeezed lemonade, refreshing and revitalizing.

We finally slow down and sit on the rocky shore. Matty hands me a basket of berries and I immediately pop one in my mouth, enjoying the sweet juice that explodes on my tongue.

Next to me, Matty bites into a peach. The juices run down his chin and he uses the back of his hand to wipe them off.

The sticky juice glistens on his hand as he puts it down on the rocks to support himself. I’m mesmerized by the way the sheen that covers his hand catches the sun. I’m like a magpie drawn to anything shiny and ripe and sweet, not content enough with the fruit that’s bursting in my own mouth. I need to have his too.

“Can I try it?” I ask. Matty turns to me mid-bite and hands the peach to me as he chews the bite in his mouth. With the fruit in my hand, I inspect the marks his teeth have left, the place where his tongue has been. The thought that the tangy, sweet flavor will be laced with the taste of Matty’s mouth is absolutely delirium-inducing. It intoxicates me like a drug: the thought that I want him inside of me, that I could have him inside of me if I only lick the spot in front of me. I take a bite out of the yellow flesh and suck the juice into my mouth before passing it back to Matty.

It’s better than I expected. Warm from being outside, not cold and refrigerated and sterile like the fruit Claire and I used to buy in New York. It’s soft, yielding easily to my teeth and tongue. And it’s sweet, sticky. The surface of the flesh is covered in Matty’s saliva and it seems to make me hungry, truly hungry, for the first time in months. I want to devour the peach and then the berries and then every other perfectly imperfect food I can find. It tastes like vitality. It tastes like desire.

“That’s really fucking good,” I declare.

Matty inspects the dents I’ve left in the fruit. Then he runs his tongue over the fuzzy skin and yellow flesh before biting into it. My skin burns from the sun and the eroticism of the situation. We’ve each been inside of one another now, him in my mouth and me in his. I want to taste him properly, from the source.

“How come your hair is straight today?” I ask, reaching my hand out to touch a strand that’s fallen over his face to partially obscure his eyes. It’s stiff and crunches beneath the pressure of my fingers.

“My natural hair would have fallen in my face and gotten us into an accident, especially given the fact I have to drive on the right side here,” he answers, leaning back on a boulder on the beach. I consider his face, trying to imagine his absent ringlets.

“I wanna see your curls,” I say. I kneel next to him to get a better vantage point. From above, I see each gray strand of hair that invites the light into his mop of curls. I hold his gray streak up to the light and let my hand linger as it falls into his hair and then down to his face, feeling the rough stubble beginning to form on his cheeks.

“Yeah? You like my hair curly?” he teases, a blush gracing the tops of his cheeks as he looks up at my face.

“A lot,” I nod.

“I’ll never wear it straight again,” he says to mollify me.

“Good,” I state. I stand up and take my sundress off so I’m standing before him in a white cotton bra and underwear. Matty’s eyes go wide as I remove my clothing and hold my hand out to him.

“Come on then,” I encourage. He stands up smiling, unbuttons his shirt, and removes his trousers, leaving him more naked than I am.

I thought I was beginning to know Matty, but seeing his bare chest reminds me of how much I have left to discover. It’s littered with poems and phrases, crests and colors. His shoulders are broader than mine and they’re covered in sturdy muscle that continues down to his pectorals and upper abdomen. I’m staring, I’m sure of it. He’s hard in all the places I’m used to softness and wide in the places I’m used to encircling in my warm, small hands. I grab his arm and drag him towards the lake, submerging my head in the cool water as soon as it’s deep enough. When I emerge, I push my hair back and toss some water in Matty’s face.

“Oi! What was that for?” he exclaims.

“You said you’d never wear your hair straight again,” I remind him, “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Matty kneels before me as I scoop handfuls of water onto his head until he’s totally soaked. It feels thrilling, having a man on his knees before me, at my mercy. I’m not used to gentleness from boys; only jeers and catcalls and hands obnoxiously placed at the small of my back in clubs. But I don’t want to use my position for anything other than sweetness. I rub his curls lightly, removing the gel from each strand. Matty looks up at me as I massage his head watching my eyebrows scrunch.

“Your hair is soft,” I tell him. He smiles up at me and moves his arms around my hips to hold me as I continue my ministrations on his hair. He breathes through his nose and I feel the warmth that emanates from him as it seeps into my skin. He’s centimeters away from my core, no doubt feeling my heartbeat wildly in my chest and smelling the faint, musky aroma of the wetness that’s beginning to gather between my thighs.

“Thanks,” he says, lips kneading the soft flesh of my tummy as he does. It tickles and my eyes snap to his, gasping. His gaze remains trained on me as he moves his mouth to kiss me there. He uses only his lips at first, pecking and rubbing at me, but soon he grows impatient. He leaves open-mouthed kisses just above the waistband of my panties, sucking the skin below my navel, nipping at it, and smoothing his tongue over to soothe it. He moans into my stomach as he does, letting out a sound muffled by my belly.

I whine in response, grasping tightly at his hair to keep myself steady. He jerks back quickly.

“Ah!” he hisses.

“Oh fuck, sorry,” I duck down to him, holding his face to make sure he’s alright.

“I’m fine, sorry,” he shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s okay,” I say, “actually, you’re all good now if you want to, um, rinse off.”

Matty ducks into the water, smiling brilliantly at me when he meets my eyes again. I crouch down, reaching out to him, wringing out his curls, and scrunching them up onto the top of his head.

“Better?” he asks, standing up. Beads of clear, freshwater pool in his collarbones and race across his torso down to his hips. They catch on the sunlight and make him glisten. I want to lick them off his body, trace their path, and make him whimper.

I smile and nod, standing up to more or less even our heights. He wraps his arm around my neck, looking down at my body once we’re close enough that I can’t follow his eyes. I tremble. My arms are decorated with goosebumps, my breasts are peaked from the cold, and my white undergarments are soaked, plainly revealing what lies beneath them.

“You chilly, huh?” he asks. I nod into him. “Let’s get you warmed up.” Matty drags me back to the rocky shore and covers me in his button-down shirt, beckoning me to sit between his legs. He envelops me in his arms like my own personal human-sized blanket and holds me until I stop shivering.

–

“Oh shit, have you ever been in one of these?!” Matty shouts. He doesn’t need to yell to be heard, I’m right behind him on the Vespa. But he’s so excited at the thought of the old 35mm photo booth that stands tall on the side of the road. He leaps off the Vespa and digs around in his pockets for the 10 or 15 cents he needs to get it to work. “This is so fucking sick!” he exclaims. “Y/n! Come over! This is amazing!”

I dismount the bike more methodically than him, taking care not to get my skirt caught on the seat. I push the velvet curtain to the side and am met with a very eager Matty. He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the bench, instantly winding me up in his arms and tickling me. I’m caught off guard as the bulb in the center of the wall flashes, CLICK. I push Matty off playfully, turning back around to him – CLICK. I look at him, chest heaving for a moment – CLICK. It draws his attention and Matty’s eyes flit to my breasts, I notice – CLICK. I launch my body towards his, unable to contain myself anymore. His lips catch mine as I bring my arms up and around his neck – CLICK. Matty’s hands reach around my shoulders, feeling my bare skin, warm from the sun. I move my mouth hard against his, eager to taste the leftover juice from the fruit, tobacco from his cigarette, anything. Anything as long as it’s Matty. I reach into his soft frizzy curls and hang on to them to steady myself and push further toward him until he’s completely up against the wall of the photo booth. Matty’s hands find the smallest bit of my waist and pull me into his lap. His hands fall to my knees and rub all the way up my thighs, caressing the velvety flesh and stopping only when he’s reached the top to grab two handfuls of my ass.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes as he releases me slowly.

Using my newfound leverage, I push his head back onto the wall and attack the exposed skin on his neck and chest. I lick his Adam’s apple and kiss the ink peeking out from under his button-down.

“Fuuuuuuck, y/n,” he moans, lifting his head up to watch me as I unfasten each button on his linen shirt. His abdomen is hard under me and it feels so divine; almost painful but in a way that I deserve, that I revel in. I caress each tattoo on his torso with my tongue and his hands fly to my hair, massaging my scalp. I look up at him when I reach his ‘we are kings’ tattoo, partially concealed by his trousers. My tongue darts out to wet my lips as my eyes question him. “Please, go ahead,” he says, needily. His pupils are blown out and his hair sticks up in places it shouldn’t.

I hook my fingers under the waistband of his trousers and boxers, feeling giddy and nervous with anticipation. It’s hardly my first time – boy or girl – but it’s new in the sense that I’ve been used to one person for so long. How she sounded and tasted. Seeing his cock spring out, hard and red, makes me feel like a schoolgirl. I’m intoxicated by everything I don’t know about him and what I’m about to learn. I move his clothes down below his knees and tentatively kiss his inner thighs. The skin there is thin and warm and it smells musky. I reach my hands up to touch the hair that grows at the base of him. Then I lean my head towards the same spot and kiss the skin there. I run my tongue around the bottom of his cock, wetting him as much as I can and kissing him everywhere as I make my way to his tip. When I get there, I look up at him. His head is backed up against the wall and he’s sat on his hands, surely in some semblance of politeness. I move the left one up to cup my jaw.

“Show me what you like,” I plead, “I wanna make you feel good.”

He groans through his lips as he pushes his thumb into my mouth. I wet it the same way I wet the rest of him and then I suck on it, just a little, moaning as I do.

“That pressure’s good,” he tells me. I nod and he takes his thumb out of my mouth and rubs it against my cheek. “Honestly though I really wasn’t expecting this. I don’t think it’s gonna be an issue for you.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re turned on?”

“Very,” Matty chuckles.

I smile at that: an innocent, sweet, reassured one. His words give me the confidence to cover his tip with my mouth, my right hand falling to the base of his length and encircling it.

Matty’s hand flies to the back of my head, under my hair and grips it like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. My eyes fly up to his face as I take him further in mouth until I meet my hand. I move up and down on him, relishing in every whimper and squeeze and twitch he unleashes.

I begin to feel Matty stirring under me, and I look up at him, surprised at what I see. His eyes are open watching me with religious devotion. His right hand travels down my shoulder, blindly searching for the straps of my dress and bra and pushing them down until my breasts fall out, spilling down my chest. Matty wastes no time grabbing a handful of one as I continue my pace on his dick. He squeezes me gently but soon opts to pinch my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out teasingly and keeping time with me. It feels fucking delicious and spurs me on. I remove a couple fingers from him and take him down further, hollowing my cheeks and moaning around him as he twists my nipple with sadistically erratic pressure.

“Please,” I groan around him. It’s possible he doesn’t understand what I’ve said, but he gives me what I want anyway, touching me rhythmically and gently fucking my mouth as he chases his orgasm.

“I’m almost there,” he pants, reluctantly bringing his hand to my face and pushing it off of him, “You can stop.”

I keep his tip on my tongue and shake my head side to side.

“Please?” I look up at him begging, “Want it in my mouth.”

“Fucking hell, okay,” he breathes, manouvering himself back inside of me, fucking my face harder than last time but still shallowly enough that I can take it without gagging. I need him. I don’t know why or what I even expect to gain from it but his release is the only thing on my mind. It consumes me. I move my hand from his thigh and squeeze his balls gently, then cradle them in my hand. I taste him not long after, salty, warm, and pooling on my tongue. I can feel him pulse in my mouth, giving me more and more. Though the load gets smaller, and each burst further apart from the last, I find myself hoping it won't end. I feel content, consumed by pride and pleasure.

I hold him in my mouth until I’ve caught every last drop, savoring the feeling of him filling me up and the flavor of him on my tongue. I swallow and lap at his tip and shaft to clean him up, and then I tiredly lay my head on his left thigh. It's been a long time since I let someone drip down my chin and licked them up, desperate to get every last drop. It feels good to need someone like that. Like water. Like medicine.

He leans over just a bit to cradle my head with his hand, pushing the front pieces of my hair behind my ear, dragging his thumb to my lower lip, and lingering there. I breathe heavily while my eyes pierce his, mouth wantonly open.

“Fuck, that felt so good, thank you,” he breaks the silence. I take his thumb in my mouth in answer, sucking at it delicately. I release him and kiss the pad of his finger gingerly. Matty takes hold of my hands and lifts my body back to his, holding me in a hug for what seems like an eternity. Time stops for a moment in the booth – it could be the year 3000 or the 80s, there could be a parade outside or a silent street that echoes with each of our breaths – it’s just the two of us, chests pressed against each other, the air thick with elation and longing.

Eventually, I have to peel myself off of him. Matty stands and stretches his arms above his head, displaying his toned triceps and delts. He bends at the waist to retrieve the strip of photos, fingers over each frame as he admires them. He folds the strip just before the last still, hiding the photo where our lips are meeting. Then he rips it off completely.

“There you go, princess,” he places the film with the first four photos gently in my hand. I look up at him confused and just a little sad. “This one’s for me,” he amends, tucking it into his back pocket. “So that I know I didn’t dream it.” He holds my face between his hands as I gaze up at him.

“Angels usually only visit me in dreams.” I roll my eyes and try to avert my gaze from his. He doesn’t let me, tilting my head up toward his by putting his finger under my chin. His eyes search mine with a fervor that would scare me if it came from anyone else. He closes them as he slowly leans forward to catch my lips in a slow, sweet kiss that tastes like goodbye.

“Don’t make me leave,” I mumble into his mouth.

Matty wraps his arms around my back, pulling me further into him, and rests his head on mine. He’s warm and wet and smells like sex.

“Why did you want to do that?” he whispers into my hair.

“I don’t know,” I say. I don’t really. It wasn’t logical, it was more instinctual than anything, a natural progression of my feelings and of the direction in which I was kissing him. I wanted to kiss him there; it felt natural.

“It wasn’t to, like, get over your ex or something was it?” he pulls away to look at my face as he asks, “I’m fine if it was, but I just want to know if you like me or if you’re just going through something.”

“I try not to make a habit of blowing people I don’t like,” I tell him teasingly. He chuckles, rubbing his nose against my cheek, tickling me with his five-o’clock-shadow. He kisses the edge of my face, right next to my ear.

“I like you, too.”

For a moment, I allow my mind to run free with the knowledge of his admission. To imagine date nights and naps on his bare chest on the sun loungers at the villa. My stomach flutters. I want it so badly.

I reach my arms up around his neck and touch my lips to his.

“Will you take me home, now?”

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