#prompt: Set in Italy

[thatstudyblrontea]

The Charterhouse of Parma | ★★★★★/5

I've read this for the Set in Italy entry of the Tackle Your Classics reading challenge, and the Historical Fiction entry of the 2023 Genre Bingo. Tagging @lizziestudieshistory because we talked about Stendhal a while back – here are my thoughts on the book, it took me less than expected to finish it!!

Few books still prove to be as entertaining for the contemporary public as they (supposedly) were for their 19th century audience – The Charterhouse of Parma is one of these books for me. I enjoyed every page, it was a fun ride. Were the protagonists all perfect examples of moral conduct? Absolutely not, especially not to modern standards. But that's not why you'd read 1830s historical fiction. Yet, I loved the incredibly strong and complex female protagonists, whose actions lured me in deeper and deeper into the story, even in scenes where the "hero", Fabrizio, was being so egotistical it was getting ridiculous. The Duchess was an especially intriguing figure, showing all the strength and willpower it took to navigate the court of an absolute monarch as a woman, and to live as a widow, before that. Clelia showed a different kind strength, made of grace and perseverance, in sheer contrast to the passionate fury of the Duchess, but equally pleasing to read. Another thing that fascinated me was, to borrow Balzac's analysis, how Stendhal "surpasses the limits of the framework of the petty court intrigues of a small principality, [and] presents the typical basic structure of modern despotism. It shows us the constant types, which are necessarily produced by that society, in their most characteristic form" (adapted from György Lukács' essay at the end of my edition); in short, I loved the subtle irony and precise considerations with which he described the complex mechanisms typical of the absolute monarchies of his time. Representing all of their intrinsic contradictions necessarily called for morally ambiguous characters. And besides, I found many of the author's remarks really funny.

#bookblr #The Charterhouse of Parma #stendhal #tackleyourclassics2023 #2023 genre bingo #book recs #book review #books #book aesthetic #1800s literature #classic literature #classic books #book classics #genre: Historical Fiction #prompt: Set in Italy #light academia #reading #long reads #readblr #reader #read #reading aesthetic

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Explain

Requested: yes

Prompt: 18) "My mum thinks we're dating."

Warnings: Max being dumb asf

Y/n and Victoria had been friends for as long as they could remember. They would visit eachothers houses, carpool to school, go shopping on the weekends; you name it, they did it and they did it together. Now both girls had a set of rules for eachother and Victoria's number one rule was not a surprise at all; her brother was off limits. Y/n didn't have a problem with it because well, Max was older and they rarely talked. Even as children she didn't like him that way, mainly because as a child she thought he looked like a strange lizard of some sort. When Max became a Formula One driver, Y/n found herself with Victoria less and less due to her still having to stay in school, whilst Victoria travelled the world with her brother for a good part of the academic year. But it didn't tarnish their friendship in any way.

In fact, once Y/n graduated from high-school, Victoria managed to get her to a few races that the whole Verstappen family attended. She grew closer with the family as a whole and even became one of the regulars in the paddock after a while. However, Y/n went on to study in Italy and her paddock appearances were significantly lowered to once or twice a year.

The weekend of Monza 2023 was a special one to say the least. Y/n smiled as she walked into the paddock with Victoria, like she did every other time. The cameras took photos, like they did every other year and they walked straight to the hospitality. "I missed this place." Y/n sighed as she looked around the hospitality, holding her godson Luka's hand as he waddled about the place. "I know. They've changed a few things since you've been here last." Victoria smiled as she wheeled the stroller through the paddock. "And where is the golden boy himself?" Y/n asked, obviously referring to Victoria's now two-time world champion brother.  "He's with Mama. They're having their weekly lunch like they usually do." Y/n nodded. "I can't wait to chill in the hospitality. I'd argue it'd my favourite place."

Just as she said she would, Y/n sat in the  hospitality of Red Bull. She got her usual place; a table by the window that overlooked the whole paddock, and close enough to Ferrari so she could get a glimpse of Charles Leclerc walking by. All heads snapped around as the heard large footsteps pounding up the stairs and there appeared a delirious looking Max Verstappen. They locked eyes and Max began walking over to her quite quickly. Did he really miss her that much?

"Hi, Max. How are you-" Max sits down rapidly, making Y/n freeze and look at the dutchman as if he had two heads. "I have a problem. Well, no. We- we have a problem." Max said, stumbling on his words. "You look like you've just seen a ghost." Y/n chuckled as she continued to scroll through her phone. "I- I think I really messed up." Max muttered. Y/n scoffed in reply. "Can't be worse than the time you-" She paused and looked at the familiar face of Max's I fucked up face. "What did you do?" She asked, not putting the phone down. "I- You're going to hate me." Max said. "What have you done?" She asked again. "My mum thinks we're dating." Max blurted out, leaving both of them in stunned silence. "She what?!" She put her phone down and stood up. "I know! It was really dumb!" Max repeated over and over again. "Max! Why did you tell her that!"

"It was an accident!" Max replied defensively. "What exactly did you say?!" Y/n asked. "Well she said we would make a cute couple and I kind of joked that well, what if we were but nobody knew. And then she started smiling like that and asking questions so I just went with it so now-" He paused. "Now she thinks we're together." Max mumbled the last bit. "Max, you need to tell her we aren't!" Y/n said. "But why? She seems so happy-"

"Max! Victoria might actually murder me! I have known her since we were seven!" Y/n whisper shouted. "It'll be fine! She won't know, I am sure of it-"

"Y/n?" Y/n froze as she heard her loving friend Victoria call out her name. Max and Y/n turned to see Victoria walking towards them, almost in the same fashion that Max walked over just a matter of minutes ago. "Victoria, I can explain!"

"Oh I'm so happy for you both! It makes so much sense now! Why you were looking for him this morning, I mean." Vuctoria squealed, engulfing Y/n in a hug. Max stood up chuckling along. "You- you're not mad?" Y/n asked, audibly confused. "Mad? Of course not! Me and Mama have said it many times; that the two of you should be dating. It's about time, to be honest." Y/n smiled and looked between the two Verstappens. "And you! Oh thank goodness you found a nice girlfriend after that last one, she was horrible." Max nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Even Dad is happy about you two!" Max and Y/n didn't know what to say. "And you all want us to...date?"

"Yes! For the longest time. It was so obvious you liked eachother too. So, so obvious." Max looked down at Y/n. The pair's faces turned as red as the Ferrari garage next door. "Well, I'll let you two lovebirds have some alone time. Ill see you both later?" Victoria asked, getting ready to leave. "Yes. Definitely."

"That didn't go how I thought it would." Y/n muttered. "Are we missing something? Do we like eachother but we're just too stupid to tell?" Max asked. "I- I don't know." She whispered. "But, I think we should tell them we aren't together before this gets out of hand." Y/n went to walk, but felt her hand being grabbed. She looked back to see Max. "Or we just play along until it dies down." Max suggested. "That is possibly the most stupid thing you've ever said." Y/n retorted. "Bot really. We both get benefits out of dating. You get recognition for being my girlfriend which comes with brand deals, magazine shoots-"

"I would never date you just for the benefits. I date someone because I love them."

"So so you love me?" Y/n didn't really know how to respond to that. Her mouth opened and closed, searching for the words but she couldn't couldn't a singular sentence. Max's grin widened. "Don't even! I'll see you around." Y/n said storming off, her face red from embarrassment. "Okay. Bye my love!" Max teased. "Shut up!" Did she like him? Did she love him? No! Of course...well....maybe.

#f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen

[theostrophywife]

poly!mattheo and theo

date prompt

date | poly! mattheo and theo ♡

date nights were crucial for you, mattheo, and theo.

the three of you were always coming up with new things to experience together.

sometimes you'd get all dressed up and go to a fancy restaurant, making you the envy of the town when you showed up with not one, but two handsome dates.

sometimes you went surfing in ibiza or yachting in greece or vacationing in italy, which almost always ended with you and matty getting way too drunk and absolutely wearing theo down.

other times, you spent quiet days in theo's favorite museum or your beloved bookstores or the record store that mattheo's been raving about for weeks.

there was never a dull moment with your boyfriends.

but your favorite dates were the ones at home, in your shared flat.

setting the table with mattheo because theo kicked both of you out of the kitchen for disturbing his cooking.

"you know I love you both, but the next time either one of you asks me when the pasta will be ready, I might actually scream."

you and matty would definitely get a head start on the wine, drinking and sneaking kisses while you tried not to peer in on whatever delicious smelling meal theo was preparing in the kitchen.

the three of you would eat in comfortable silence, taking turns feeding each other pasta and bread.

at some point, matty would entice the both of you to dance with him in the living room. theo would sit back, watching as the loves of his life twirled around the couch, smiling so much that his cheeks ache. he'd chuckle to himself as you and mattheo hauled him out of his chair only to dance around him in the goofiest manner.

after you're knackered from dancing so much, the three of you would sit on your couch, you on the right, theo in the middle, and matty on the left. with a kiss on each cheek, you and mattheo would thank your wonderful boyfriend for another delicious dinner.

cuddled up together, you, theo, and mattheo say a sleepy goodnight with a stomach full of pasta and a heart full of love.

#you guys...i need them so bad it's actually criminal that they are not my boyfriends #theo nott #mattheo riddle #♡ jess writes: harry potter headcanon;

[violetpixiedust]

based on this sinful gif set of joe keery ౨ৎ

making out with older!businessman!steve in his study, straddling his lap as he sits atop his herman miller chair, the mahogany door to the cozy room is locked shut. his facial hair is slightly grown out, longer than usual. dusting across the mature angles of his jaw and upper lip like flecks of bronze and gold, illuminated by the amber light of the emerald desk lamp. you giggle softly as the coarse hairs tickle you when he nuzzles the angled bridge of his sun-kissed nose against the perfume scented crook of your neck, large hands splayed behind your back as he pushes you closer to him. the gritty scent of tobacco and aged whisky envelopes you as he sighs hungrily, intoxicated, before his pearly teeth sink into the silky skin of your racing pulse point. he had been imaging the delicious jump of your heartbeat between his canines all throughout the charity gala he had hosted earlier that night- before he came home to you. all throughout his speeches, various introductions, countless firm hand shakes, one too many toasting’s of champagne. a soprano gasp tears through your bared throat, manicured fingers running up the rogue buttons of his patterned dress shirt, before meeting the smattering of curly chest hair from where it peaks out between his wide open collar, decorated with a gold chain that glints with every breath he takes. steve’s raspy grunt echoes between you two as your acrylic nails rake between the long, glossy strands of his chestnut / silver hair, scratching his scalp idly before playfully tugging on the thick roots at the nape of his neck. his large, calloused hands reach below your pleated skirt, squeezing the petal soft skin of your behind that escapes from the lacy panties you were gifted last week, relishing in your responsive squirm. steve had bought them for you while he was away on business, along with another twenty pieces just like it. baby pink and handmade in italy. you moan melodically, and steve swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. beating the endless symphonies he’s had to sit through in his fourty-five years around the sun by a landslide. his muscled forearms are on display, sleeves rolled up below wrinkled elbows. the bracelet he had gifted you for your most recent birthday, a delicate 14k gold piece encrusted with your birthstone, meets the genuine leather strap of his classic cartier watch as he lifts your hand in his, placing a firm kiss to the pulse of your wrist. a searing gentleness. a trembling moan escapes your strawberry chapstick coated lips as one of his long pointer fingers outlines the expensive panty hem that showcases the delightful curve of your bum, tracing the line all the way down to where it hugs just outside of your trembling mound. his slightly chapped lips pull up into a wicked smirk, before they smother your sweet sounds in a bruising kiss. the elder man unconsciously rolls his starchy dress pant covered crotch against your ever slicking heat, almond toned eyes practically rolling back into his skull at the delicious friction. your tongues meet. the tangy taste of lavender honey that emits from your mouth prompts him to sigh longingly, his wedding ring cold against your cheek as his left hand cups your angelic face. you languidly pull away from his dominating lips, a trail of saliva connecting you two as steve moans breathily at the sultry sight, attempting to torturously roll his hips up into yours once more. your plush pout forms a perfect ‘o’ shape much to his carnal longing, letting the soft wetness of your tongue brush the underside of his ring finger, before you enclose your mouth around the thick digit skillfully. you watch with glazed doe eyes as the almond ring of steve’s iris’s disappear within the blown ink of his pupils at your sinful actions. with a sharp ‘pop’ the gold band comes loose, sliding up his finger with the tight force of your warm little mouth, dizzying him with desire as you carelessly drop the offending piece of jewellery atop the imported carpet below you two. forgotten for now. you were only the babysitter after all… :)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x innocent!reader #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington blurb #older!steve #older!steve harrington #old money!steve #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #joe keery #pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚

[garbinge]

You, Me, and Italy

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader From these August Prompts:  Italy Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, angsty, mentions of suicide, death, grief, loss, broken heart, drug use, addiction, being high, someone close to ODing, uncomfortable, sad, mentions of sexual situations, it's based on canon mentions of suicide and death and grieving, but a little more in depth. So just be weary of any triggers one might have in reference to these things.

A/N: This is not apart of my Richie Jerimovich multichap. This is heavy. I try and steer clear of fics like this because of my own triggers and trauma around drug abuse and addiction but this just was an idea sitting in my head probably because of all that trauma. The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas

The kitchen was always your favorite place to be when you couldn’t sleep. Something about the ability to hear every single noise in a space where usually you’d be lucky to hear the person next to you speak at a normal tone. 

You had come in through the back, placed your stuff down in the locker that had your name written on a green piece of tape, your insanely patterned bandana was snug around your head just above your forehead, something you always wore when cooking. Now, the sounds of the water running as you washed her hands filled your ears and was followed by the clunks of pulling the knives out, the blade tinging as you set it free from its case. Now slicing, the quick quippy sounds of the thin slices of all the items you needed to prep. Basil, onions, garlic, fig, and parmesan cheese. All the ingredients you picked up from the grocery story that was still open this late. The chopping and the sizzling filled your ears in a similar way that music would fill someone else’s. It kept you grounded, kept you calm, kept you in the moment. 

“Late night snack?” A voice interrupted that tranquility but surprisingly, there was no reaction from your side. You kept steady as your hand tossed the garlic and basil in the olive oil, other hand equipped with a spoon ready to add in the parmesan ricotta mixture. 

“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily.” Your voice was steady as you focused on the pan in front of you. 

Mikey looked down and laughed before he made his way from the office over to his best chef and best friend. He leaned against the prep area, hands crossed as you had your back to him. 

“You should toast the breadcrumbs.” Mikey said as he took in what you were doing. 

Immediately, your head turned to look over your shoulder and shot the man a look. “I’m a one-woman show here, Mikey. I’m getting to it.” 

“You know, I can help you out.” He had crossed his leg over the other now as he waited for a response. “Only if you want to.” His arms were now uncrossed as he raised them in a surrender.

Your head tilted, the only invitation he needed to start helping out. 

“I’m making arancini, fig and garlic arancini.” You specified. 

“Rice balls. You’re making rice balls.” Mikey teased. “What inspired the fig?” He asked as he toasted the bread crumbs at the stove next to you. 

“Remember when we went to that bar the other night?” You looked up at him, despite being a few feet down from you, he still towered over you in height. “While you and Richie were off doing God knows what, I ordered shit from the bar. They had this fig, arugula, and goat cheese pizza.”

“Jesus Christ, what fuckin’ bar were we at?” Mikey laughed at the fanciness of how it all sounded. 

“That place, Porta. I’d say it was more hipster than fancy.” 

“God, I don’t even remember.” Mikey laughed before placing his attention back on you and continuing the conversation. “So the pizza was good?” 

“It was, and I just kept thinking what would go well with fig and landed at a rice ball.” 

“Arancini.” Mikey corrected you with the biggest grin growing on his face. 

A laugh left your mouth as you took the sauce off the heat, wanting it to cool down slightly before pouring it into the egg mixture that was already placed in the fridge. 

The silence fell over the both of you and you both continued to move around the kitchen. Mikey stood with the bowl of rice in his hands, resting it on the prep counter as you stood over and poured in the egg mixture. Mikey was whisking it around rapidly, that way the eggs didn’t scramble. The smell coming from the bowl was filled with savory scents of garlic and sweet touches of fig reduction. 

“You good, buddy?” Mikey was looking at you as he stirred everything around. It wasn’t so much in reference to your current state, which was focused as you concentrated on pouring the egg mixture in, but more in reference to why you were here late. 

Buddy. Such a Mikey term. The two of you knew each other for years, meeting when you were smoking in the back of the restaurant you used to work out. To put it in simple terms, he poached you. He had just grabbed a bite at said restaurant, with his brother Carmy, a detail you found out later since Mikey came alone to the alley in the back where you had been taking a break. He asked if you had made the slow braised beef and proceeded to tell you about his restaurant. You never walked back into that restaurant again and started at The Beef the next day. 

As time passed, things got close with Mikey. The two of you just fed off each other, you vibed effortlessly and one day that led to more. You spent a majority of the night locked in the office making a bed out of the table, the floor, the bookshelf, anything that had an inch of a flat surface, Mikey took you. That however, never amounted to more. It was always just sex. There was no label on what the two of you had, no real dates, no holding hands, just stolen moments around the restaurant, late nights in the kitchen, nights out at bars, and overnights spent at each others places. But that never made anything awkward because despite their being no label, everyone knew there was something between you two. It was impossible to miss. The way you two got along, the way you spent every waking moment together, whether you were at the restaurant or not. But what the real dead giveaway was, you two moved in the kitchen like you had perfected a choreographed dance, every, single, time. There was never any missteps, any arguing, no bumping into each other, you just glided by each other, calling out kitchen terms and directions. It was a sight to be seen, everyone thought so. Including the family. Sugar and Carmy were impressed when you came by for the first time maybe a month into starting at The Beef. Richie had already seen how the two of you worked together but both Berzatto siblings were shocked by it. 

“Hey, you good?” Mikey repeated himself and bent down a little to look into your eyes. 

“Yea, sorry.” You shook your head from your thoughts. 

“I don’t buy it.” Mikey pressed you again for more information. “What’s with late night rice balls?” 

“You ever feel stuck?” There was no point in trying to hide what you were feeling from Mikey. 

“Uh, just every day of my life.” You let out a breath through your nose in a sort of chuckle. “I just, wish I could get out of here.” The frustration was littered in your voice. 

“Where would you go?” He set the bowl down now that everything was stirred, and he turned to face you. 

“Anywhere.” You turned too so you were facing him. 

“So let’s go.” His voice raised, like what he said and meant didn’t need planning, didn’t need money, he spoke it outloud like it was the easiest thing to achieve. 

“Yea, where?” You were about to start naming off places around here in Chicago as a joke but he was quick to answer you. 

“Italy.” 

You frowned but a smile was growing on your face. “Italy?” You questioned. 

“Yea, let’s go to Italy, we’ll eat all the rice balls in the fuckin’ country, we’ll learn how to make ‘em like a true Italian. We’ll eat our way around Rome, Sicily, Naples, it’ll be great, just me and you and Italy.” He was so energetic in how he spoke, his hands were in the air, his voice was echoing off the kitchen walls. 

“You, me, and Italy?” You questioned him as your head nodded in agreement. 

“You, me, and Italy.” Mikey nodded with the biggest smile on his face. 

____

Time might’ve passed and a lot of things might’ve changed, but sometimes stayed exactly the same. You were pushing through the back door of The Beef, bag and kitchen tools in hand as the clock ticked past 1AM. 

“Mikey?” You called out, expecting to see him appear in the kitchen. You called out again and heard nothing. It was odd, but also maybe not. He had been distant lately, you picked up on that when most nights he didn’t come back to your place. You knew things had been tough for him, he was having money issues and as a result moved back in with his mother, he was stressed. Every time you did get the chance to see him, he wasn’t fully there, sometimes you’d taste alcohol on his breath, others you could tell his mind was caught in a thought or 20. 

Moving to the lockers, you saw the door open just slightly and the lamp on illuminating a ton of paperwork. You saw his hand resting on the table and slowly peaked in. 

Now, you had your suspicions, they were probably more than suspicions, you knew. You knew Mikey was hooked on something. But you didn’t want to accept it. But there it was, slapping you right in the face. It had been functional, he had been functional, which is what made it easy for you to question, for you to say nothing. After tonight, you’d regret it, you’d regret staying silent, not giving in to your suspicions, voicing them out loud. 

You took in the sight of him, he was so out of it, you could see his glazed over eyes even from the distance you were at. The giveaway as if everything else wasn’t so obvious was the pills scattered all over the paperwork in front of him. 

“Mikey.” The urgency hit you just as much as the the scene of him. You were next to him in seconds, shaking him awake. 

The smile that filled his face as he stared at you, the smile that warmed your heart, the smile that melted you, the smile of your best fucking friend was breaking you. 

“What–what’re you doin’ here?” 

“How much did you take, Mikey?” You moved forward to the table to search for a bottle, a pill count, see how many were on the table, but Mikey’s hands began to grab your arms. 

“No, no, no, no, no. Stop, you’re ruining the fun.” Mikey complained, his voice was slurred. 

You pulled back immediately, uncomfortable and unsure what to do. Your heart was beating fast and before your tears could even start falling, Mikey started yelling. “You’re ruining the fun!!” It was a repetition of what he had said before and all it did was secure your feet frozen to the ground. “That’s all anyone ever does anymore. Ruin the fucking fun.” He spun in the swivel chair like a child and when it stopped spinning he looked at the bookshelf and began speaking again, but this time more at a whisper. 

“Even my own fuckin girl. I can’t have anything.”  

You snuck out the door, searching for your phone in your pocket. The irony that in your hastiness, you spent more time looking for it than if you searched for it with purpose and patience. 

As you picked your phone up to your ear, your hand was shaking. “C’mon, pick up, pick up.” You mumbled, taking your other hand to pick at your lip. 

“It’s 1 in the fuckin’ morning, I’m neck deep in shit diapers, if this is you and Mikey asking me to go out, I’m blocking your number for eternity.” Richie seemed stressed in a completely different way. 

“Richie, it’s Mikey, he uh, I don’t know, there’s pills, he’s awake–sort of?, he’s angry, I don’t know how much he took but he, he uh, I just need help, I need you down here, can you get down here, please?” The shakiness in your voice was the dam holding back your tears. 

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Keep him up.” 

With that Richie hung up and you were moving back into the office, you squatted down and turned the chair so he was facing you. “Mikey, babe?” You tried to keep your voice soft. His red, glossy eyes met yours as he plopped his head down to look at you. 

“My girl.” A little bit of hope filled his face, he reached his hand up to cup your face. The impulse to pull away was strong but you stayed there, you stayed there with him and let him speak to you. 

“You’re so pretty, you know that? So pretty. And you’re so talented, you can throw down, you know that? Best fuckin slow braised beef I’ve ever fuckin’ had.” 

The amount of compliments he was giving you, it should’ve had you elated, floating, with butterflies but instead it was making you sick–uneasy. And you just had to sit there and let him say it, over and over again. You were counting in your head, hoping that once you got to the 10th 60th second count, that Richie would be here. 

“Hey hey hey, you listening to me?” Mikey moved slightly to look at you, even in his fogged state he could tell your mind was elsewhere. 

“Mhm.” You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared into his eyes. 

“You, me, and Italy, baby. You, me, and Italy.” The second time he said it, it was in a whisper like he was desperate for it to be true. Like if he said it low enough the world would grant him the wish. That’s when you really saw him, saw what was happening in his brain. Alongside that hopeful look was one of peace and happiness. The absolute gut wrenching emotion you felt in your heart when you realized it. How being high set Mikey free, set him free from his demons, in some weird twisted way this was the closest you’ve seen Mikey to his usual self. 

Before your heart could break anymore, you heard Richie’s voice behind you and he was slipping into your spot and picking Mikey up.

______

“You know I remember this one time, we went over to Mikey’s place, the one on Courtyard, me, Carm, and Richie, and it was Sunday, Braciole night. We walk in, Mikey’s got the game playing so loud in the background, we start prepping, cooking. I remember he told me not to put raisins in the braciole even though that’s how mom did it. And he just, he had this smile on for those first 30 minutes, like he had something planned, like he was in on the joke. But the thing is none of us knew what the joke was. And then, the door opened, we were all confused at who it was and then, this woman appeared. Mikey introduced her to us, he was so happy, and we were like shocked, cause Mikey, our big brother, the player, brought this girl over to our fucked up family Sunday night dinner. She didn’t care that the TV was loud, that we were even louder, that Mikey and Richie would tell the most insane stories, over and over again, and in fact, she moved around the kitchen like, well, like she’d known us all our whole lives. I don’t know if I ever saw Mikey so happy.” Sugar was sitting in bed, her phone on speaker while you sat silent on the other line. 

“You at the restaurant?” Sugar cleared her throat. 

“Standing right outside it.” You spoke up, trying to hide your tears from the story Sugar just told. 

“I’ll be there soon.” There was rustling on the other side of the phone, like she had started to get up and get ready. 

“Sugar?” You questioned, worried she was about to hang up. 

“Hm?” She hummed. 

“Thank you.” It was two words but sometimes you needed to hear it. How much Mikey loved you, he didn’t tell you often, but you felt it, you saw it. But now, that he was gone, that all that was left of Mikey for you was the things he left at your place, the memories you shared, you took the antidotes Sugar occasionally told you and kept them someplace special. 

“I’ll see you in the chaos.” Sugar replied back to you in which you did the same. 

For a few seconds after the phone call, you stood there, staring at the gutted restaurant, staring at the mayhem happening behind the glass, which was normal for the restaurant, whether it was in business or not. But right now, standing outside, in the peace of the quiet reminded you of those late nights in the kitchen, and you were destined to hold onto that peace for just a few more minutes. 

Eventually, you joined the chaos. Greeting everyone as you made your way through the renovation. Finding yourself getting swept up into something in the immediate first seconds you entered the front door. After an hour or so, when you wrapped up your job in the front, you made your way to the kitchen.  

“What’re you doing?” You placed your stuff down in the office as you walked past Richie, Fak, and Marcus who were gathered around someone’s phone watching a video, arguing back and forth. Natalie stood up from the chair in the office and placed a hand on your shoulder in a half greeting and walked over to the arguing men. Your eyes lingered on the office table and chair a little longer than normal, letting the memories flood into your brain for a short few seconds before you turned to put your attention back on everyone. 

“Scraping and painting and fighting over moving the lockers.” Marcus spoke up. 

You turned around and stepped out of the office, staring at them trying to attempt to move the lockers. Carmy had appeared now, yelling at them to keep it down and when the mention of Mikey’s locker still being locked was announced, that’s when everyone silences. 

“Just fuckin’ open it.” Carmy spoke up. 

A hat. June 5th, 2010. Taste of Chicago. The booth. 

You smiled at that. You weren’t there for the booth, but you heard all about it. From the family, but from Mikey, it was one of the many stories he’d tell you over and over and honestly, you’d do anything to hear him tell it 200 more times. 

Carmy handed the hat to Richie, and as he turned around his eyes fell on your. 

“Yo, uh, I got something for you.” He said and walked right past you into the office, searching for something. As everyone went back to working, you turned and took a few steps towards Carmy as he moved the papers around looking for something. 

“So, uh, we’re sending Ebra and Tina to culinary school, for them to stay sharp, learn some new shit, and uh, I–we, Syd and I figured you didn’t want or honestly really need that, so uh–here!” He proclaimed the last word louder than the rest as he found the envelope with your name written on it and handed it to you. 

You looked down at it for a second and then back at Carmy, you two didn’t talk much in general, but you definitely didn’t talk much about him. 

“You and Syd…” You started to say as you mindlessly tapped the envelope against your skin. “You uh,” You wanted to say that the two of them reminded you a lot of you and Mikey, the effortlessness in the kitchen, the way their ideas just bounced off each others and how they brought this new sense of life to each other. But it was that last thought that weighed heavy on you. There was a point that Mikey brought a new sense of life to you and you did the same to him but unfortunately that emotion, that feeling, had changed at some point, at no ones fault but it didn’t stop you from not cherishing it more. “Just, don’t take it for granted.” 

“Yea, yea.” Carmy nodded, getting where you were coming from but also not really wanting to get into it and you were okay with that because you didn’t want to get into it either. 

Carmy’s eyes moved down to the envelope and back to you. Taking the hint you nodded. “Right.” You said quickly and began to rip the envelope open. As your hand reached in and pulled out the papers in the envelope, you saw the word United and then followed by a seat and time and that’s when you saw the airports. 

ORD – NAP

Naples International Airport. 

“Carmy.” You looked up, eyes shocked. 

“It’s what Mikey would’ve wanted.” Carmy nodded and walked by you, taking his hand to rest on your shoulder and then tap it as he exited the office. 

You stared down at the tickets, trying to take in everything. 

“You, me, and Italy, Mikey.”  

#The Bear #The Bear FX #The Bear fanfic #Mikey Berzatto #Michael Berzatto #Michael Berzatto x Reader #Mikey Berzatto x Reader

[leclsrc]

i love your proposal drabbleeee! could i get another about time based one where theyre planning the wedding? happy 1k!! i love u and the movie so much<3

honeymooning – cl16

You find a creative way to quickly plan your wedding.

auds here... ik i said that was the last req but i have so many im just ignoring jshdhs and i just rewatched about time so this was Birthed... sorry

“We’ve officially broken the world record for time spent engaged and not married,” you announce, walking into the living room of your flat in a hoodie and loose pajamas. 

Charles looks up from where he’d been reviewing something—finances for the team, if you recall correctly—and adjusts his reading glasses (that he will never admit he has to use.) And he laughs, like this is all a joke. You place your hands on your hips, rolling on the balls of your feet as you stare at him menacingly.

“I am not joking. The only thing we’ve—you’ve—decided about our wedding is that I’m going to be walking down the aisle to some weird song you heard in The Godfather.”

“A lovely song,” he interjects, watching you walk until you’re just a few metres in front of him.

“Absolutely not.” You pause, breathing slowly. “And we have no other mutual free days for a while. So here’s the deal—for every decision you make about the wedding, I take one article of clothing off.”

He laughs outwardly, nodding and setting aside the thick stack of paper he’d been perusing. “Deal. You have my attention.” He settles further into the chair, staring at  you with want and amusement.

“Um, okay. Where do we get married?” You smile.

“Italy. Everyone knows everyone here in Monaco, and everywhere else is too far.”

“Okay,” you agree, wrestling the hoodie off and revealing your bra underneath. “Good.”

“You’re beautiful,” he says quickly before you slide into the next prompt.

“Sweet talker,” you retort, settling your thumbs into the drawstring of your trousers and readying them to pull downward. “Alright. Band or DJ?”

“Oh, shit.” He thinks. “Band. It’s got to be band. And if that goes to shit we plug in a phone and play Spotify the rest of the night.”

You laugh, nodding in agreement. “Smart,” you huff out, pulling your pajamas down. He stares, eyes running up and down, anticipatory. Fingers make their way to the clasp of your bra and you mull over the next question. You’ve both settled on a few things—catering and cake and the like—so you skip over those. Then you remember the reason why your guestlist remains unfinished and unfinalized.

“Best man?”

“Oh, nooo,” he moans. “Damn, no.”

“I need an answer,” you sing-song, playing with the clasp. “Or these stay covered all night.”

“It’s too hard, beautiful,” he groans, covering his face with his hands. “Okay. Fuck, okay—Joris.”

“Your choice,” you say, brows raised.

“He’s going to make a fool out of me during his speech, isn’t he.”

“Very likely.”

“Okay, no—Lorenzo.”

“You sure?”

“No—no, Pierre. Pierre.” He nods once. “Pierre.”

“Pierre, final answer,” you say smilingly, unclasping your bra. He smiles, giddy when he finally gets to see almost all of you.

“Yeeee—no, no, Lorenzo.”

“What?!” Your hands flee to cover your breasts and you narrow your eyes at him. “You are such a—that is cheating. Cheating!”

He just laughs, shrugging his shoulders as if to say what can you do. You roll your eyes, but maintain composure, nodding slowly. “Alright… oh, honeymoon.”

“Uh, uuuh—five days in Paris,” he says eventually, grinning.

“Oh, these panties are not coming off for Paris.” Granted, it’s a beautiful city, but both you and Charles are there nearly all the time for work, and it’s so near Monaco it’s basically the same thing. 

“It’s all I can do for my schedule,” he retorts, insistent. “Take off your panties.”

He has a glint in his eye that strikes both amusement and competition in you.

“I will not,” you shoot, smiling and stepping backwards once, hands still covering your chest.

“Take! Off! Your panties!” He hollers, getting up and making a beeline for you. You squeal, turning around and bounding up the stairs toward your bedroom; he’s hot on your tail, laughing.

“Never!” You yelp, a high-pitched sound as you take refuge in the bedroom. “I want three weeks in Hawaii!” 

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc drabble #f1 x reader

[syddsatyrn]

☆Pairing: - Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

☆Warnings: Fluff, sexual themes, Eddie takes nudes for the reader, smoking, Characters are all 18+

Minors DNI, scram!

☆Words: 1.8k

☆Summary: Eddie doesn't have a lot of money, but he’s determined to get you a Christmas present. He gets creative with a polaroid camera and comes up with a more "personalized" gift. (You're gonna want to scroll to the bottom lol, trust me)

☆Notes: This fic is apart of a holiday prompt challenge @hellfiremunsonn and I are doing for our Christmas event. You can find that post Here. We will be doing holiday prompts and request all month long so come join us!

༻✦༺ ༻✧༺　༻✦༺ ༻✧༺　

Eddie might not be the smartest, the strongest or the most well behaved person on this planet. But one trait he did possess was determination. Eddie had been saving up, selling extra weed, pinching every penny from his shows. But he just still didn't quite have enough to pay for all the things he wanted to get you. You deserve only the very best after all. It's the middle of December, he doesn't have very much time left to curate the perfect Christmas gift. Okay, maybe he did procrastinate a little. 

Eddie sits crisscross on his bed, sorting coins and loose paper bills. When he realizes he only has about 55 dollars, he sighs. Maybe Uncle Wayne was right about getting a real job. That wasn't going to stop him though. This is actually a rather important Christmas. In January, your parents want to take you to Italy as a graduation gift. Now, don’t get it wrong, he was happy for you . But he's never been away from you for this long and it worries him.

What if she meets some hot Italian guy with money and class? You come from a pretty wealthy family, it’s never been a problem before, but Eddie can help but feel a little inadequate in comparison to what he imagines you should go for. He taps his chin, trying to turn the wheels in his brain. “C’mon, Eddie, think…”

Eddie’s mind wandered for a bit but his eyes suddenly focused on your polaroid camera hanging off his bedroom door handle. You had left it here and Almost immediately the thought popped into his head. He gets up and grabs the camera strap, trying to remember how this thing works. He inspects it carefully, noticing the timer on the lens barrel, “Seems easy enough…”

Eddie has never done this before for girls he’s dated in the past. He’s thought about it, but he didn't feel like he could be spontaneous or confident enough. Eddie trusts you far more than you know, and wants to show you that he does. He feels completely safe with you and knows you love him no matter what.

He places the camera on top of his amp and removes his shirt, tossing it somewhere. He sets the timer and sits on his bed, leaning forward, elbow on his knees, and an evil look in his eye. His long brown curls cascade around his face. The camera flashes and makes a whirring noise then the polaroid slowly prints. Eddie takes it between his fingers and shakes it gently. After some waiting, the picture was clear enough to see.

He was initially rather surprised it came out looking exactly how he wanted. With heightened confidence, he grabs the camera and hops onto the bed. Eddie leaned against the wall and angled the camera low. Another flash and another polaroid but this one featured his waistline in a pair of low hanging sweatpants. Examining his work, he’s kind of proud of himself, they actually look really good.

Eddie grabs an envelope from his desk and places the photos inside for safe keeping. He pulls a cigarette from the pack near his bedside table and lights it. He takes a second to think, staring at the camera on his bed, maybe he should take a couple more?

༻✦༺ ༻✧༺　༻✦༺ ༻✧༺　

Loud chimes from the alarm clock fill the room, shaking Eddie from his sleep. He scrambled to hit the button on the top to silence it. He lets out a weary sigh and pulls a cigarette from the pack on his nightstand. He lights it and saunters over to his bedroom window, it has stopped snowing, but a blanket of white coated the trailer park and it didn't look like it was going away anytime soon.

It's Christmas day, he's been looking forward to giving you this gift for over a week now and the suspense is killing him. Eddie opens his bedroom door, figuring now is a good time to make coffee. But to his surprise, sitting in his doorway is a red paper bag with a note attached to it.

“Nephew, I know we agreed not to get presents this year but I couldn't pass this up. I went to town to help some folks get their cars unstuck. Be back before dinner.”

Merry Christmas, Ed

- Uncle Wayne

He peers into the bag and pulls out a pair of chunky black boots. Great timing considering he has to leave the house in this weather. Uncle Wayne really came through today. He makes a mental note to thank him later tonight. Eddie proceeds with his normal routine, a cup of coffee with a joint and then he gets dressed. He layers up with a long sleeve shirt under a black hoodie. Eddie added a red flannel on top of that, then his leather jacket. The boots Wayne gifted him are extremely comfortable. His other pair are completely tattered and the tread is worn down to nothing.

Eddie grabs a large dark blue bag out of his closet. He goes over his mental check-list before heading out the door. Keys, wallet, smokes, lighter, present. When he opened the door a rush of cold air cut through him like a knife. He shuts the door and locks it behind, the snow crunches under his feet as he makes his way down the front steps and to his van. She started right up and Eddie breathed a sigh of relief.

You didn't live far from him, about a 15 minute drive. The roads had been plowed so the operation doesn't seem so treacherous. Eddie popped an Iron maiden tape into his vans cassette player, music always helps him concentrate. He parks down the road a little and trudges his way through the snow and up your driveway, gift in hand.

He took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell to your family home. He could hear all sorts of clamor behind the door. Children laughing and playing, conversations, and classical music meld together. Then you open the door, a bright smile on your face, the same smile that melts Eddie’s cold heart every time.

“Hey! Merry Christmas!” You say as you throw your arms around his neck. Eddie uses his free arm to pull you closer, you look down at the black paper bag then meet his gaze. “What do you have here, handsome?” Your voice is smooth and sweet, it sends a chill up his spine.

“Just a little something for the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He peppers your face with kisses and you pull him inside by the collar of his jacket. Immediately after that, your mom walks around the corner and visibly gets excited.

“Eddie! I’m so glad you made it! Are you hungry?” She asks, always offering him food every time he visits.

“Yes ma’am, of course I am. It’s always nice to see you again.”

“Oh you too, sugar.” She notices the bag, “Awe! How sweet! Did you bring that for y/n?”

“Should I open it now?” You laugh at your mom’s usually nosy antics.

“No! No…uhh it's very personal.” Eddie falters, attempting to save face.

“Okay, whatever you say. We can go to my room.” You giggle at how worked up he is, the curiosity is killing you, what could be so “personal” in this mystery bag. You take Eddie's hand and lead him upstairs, once you pass the threshold of your bedroom, Eddie shuts the door behind him.

“Oooo so secretive.” You giggle and Eddie smiles, his eyes however tell you that he's a little nervous. Eddie hands you the bag and you sit on the bed. The first thing you pull out is an envelope, but Eddie tells you to open that last. The second thing you grab is a hoodie, you unfold it and immediately recognize the texture. It’s the Metallica hoodie you steal from him every time you come over.

“It's yours now.” He says with that signature smirk you still can't get enough of.

“Eddie I–”

“Nope. I will not be taking any criticism at this time.” He retorts and crosses his arms. Next, you pull out a small, rectangular black box with a red ribbon. You open it and gasp softly and stare in awe at the beautiful stainless steel chain with a small heart shaped lock pendant.

“Oh my god, Eddie, this is so pretty. ” You turn your back to him and motion for Eddie to help you put it on.

“Only the best for my girl.” He says proudly, grabbing both ends of the chain and clasping them together. You push all your hair to the side and reposition the pendant. You look at him for approval but all he can do is smile. His nervous thoughts about not being able to spend more on you faded the more he saw how much you love it. “Okay, okay. Now you can open the envelope.”

“Saving the best for last?” You tease as you carefully tear open the front of the envelope.

“Maybe.” Eddie can't stop smiling, but there is a slight red tint spreading across his face as he watches you open it.

Upon looking inside, you see a piece of paper, most likely another one of his hand written love letters you adore so much. But there are about 5 polaroids in there. You take them out and carefully examine the first one, you can feel your face growing warm. You flip through each one very quickly and immediately hide your face in your sweater sleeves.

“EDDIE! Oh my god!” You’re absolutely shocked. This was definitely a surprise to you. Your face felt like it was on fire. Why does he have to be so hot at unexpectedly, Eddie always seems to keep you on your toes.

He starts cackling and saunters over to you and cups your cheek. “I didn't want you to forget what you’re leaving behind when you visit Italy.”

“A very good reminder indeed.” You giggle and lace your fingers with his other hand, “I couldn't forget you even if I tried.” Eddie presses his lips to yours, starting off slowly, you hook your index finger around the collar of his hoodie and pull him just a little closer. Eddie carefully crawls on top of you while his lips travel across your jaw, pinning you to the bed.

“Do you wanna know what I got you for Christmas?” You coo in his ear as you card your fingers through his long brown locks and tuck some of his hair behind his ear.

“Hmm..?"

“ I can't tell you because it's personal.” You mock his earlier statement and he chuckles under his breath followed by a huff.

“But I could show you.”

༻✦༺ ༻✧༺　༻✦༺ ༻✧༺　

“I wanted to do something different, make it so you can’t get me out of your head, you know? These are FOR YOU only. Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Enjoy your Vacation, you deserve it.”

-Love,

Eddie ♥️

Disclaimer: (Not my photo, I shopped this with photos from Pinterest)

#eddie munson #eddie fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie fluff #eddie the banished #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem reader #stranger things eddie #reader x eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things eddie munson #holiday fanfiction #holiday fics #christmas fics #christmas fanfiction

[theseshipsshallsail]

“Of everything I have seen, it's you I want to go on seeing,” he whispers, cracked and brittle around the edges. “Of everything I've touched, it's your flesh I want to go on touching.”

Until now - this - them, Oliver’s appreciation of poetry leaned more towards the philosophical, however Neruda’s words escape unbidden as he brushes a sweat-damp curl from Elio’s forehead.

True darkness has fallen outside, but the moonlight pouring through the shutters bathes his face in shadows, leaving it reminiscent of the Praxiteles sculpture they’d salvaged just days prior. A ridiculous notion - and one he would normally scoff at - yet Oliver’s been circling the absurd since the moment Elio fell asleep in his arms, stunned by the realization he doesn’t know himself at all. 

How could he? When he’s neverfelt this way before?

Not in his previous relationships. 

Not after sex.

Never. 

It’s a defence mechanism, of sorts. The meticulous compartmentalisation that keeps his emotions in check. Yet that level-headedness - his ability to close himself off - has always served him well. Kept him on an even-keel throughout school and his career, alike. 

So perhaps it’s better this way: the silent understanding between them.

The things left unsaid.

But right now? 

In a villa in Northern Italy? 

Oh, he’s falling to pieces. 

Overwhelmed to be holding the man who’s stolen his heart along with his name.

The man who’s more Oliver than Oliver himself. 

And it’s… 

Fuck, it’s -

“I’d give you the world if I could. Steal you away to New York. Have you with me forever.” 

There’s something achingly vulnerable in the gentle rise and fall of Elio’s chest, so Oliver flattens his palm over the hallowed cathedral of his ribs, fighting down the swell of emotion that threatens to choke him. 

“Everything…” he breathes, vision prickling when Elio’s fingers dig into his forearm, clinging on just as tight even in his dreams. “I’d keep you safe. Make you happy…”

A foot twitches against his calf.  

“So very happy, Elio…”

An unintelligible murmur reaches his ears. 

“I’d worship you,” he continues, sliding a hand up the length of his spine, tracing each dip and ridge until he’s once more resting peacefully. “Because I can’t get enough of you.” A beat. “Because I love you,” he confesses, voice shaking with conviction.

A quiet sigh is his only response, and Oliver presses a kiss to Elio’s temple in order to hide the tell-tale quiver of his lips.

The words, he knows, are wholly inadequate for the depth of longing contained within. 

This isn’t love. 

It’s so much more. 

But the truth is a bitter pill to swallow, and if three broken syllables are all he has to offer he repeats them verbatim, already bracing for the coal-black storm clouds that gather up ahead. 

Prompt: Love confessions/things left unsaid. (To a conscious set of ears, anyway...)

#cmbyn fanfic #elio x oliver #cmbyn bingo #angst #midnight

[useless-catalanfacts]

By the way, these days that (thanks to hbomberguy's new video) many people are talking about plagiarism and stealing material without sources or obfuscating the sources, I'd like to point out how blatantly that happens here on Tumblr with images.

I follow various tags related to the contents of this blog, mostly the names of places in our country, and you wouldn't believe how many posts I get on my dash with "because you follow #[name of place]" and it's a photo of some completely different place, with no link to source nor name of the photographer, misattributed to a different location, even to a completely different country, or very often that is simply using that tag for ~aesthetics~. And I've also seen it the other way around, photos of our country and it says it's Italy, and the same happening with other pairs of countries. These posts also tend to come from the same few blogs: blogs completely dedicated to stealing photographers' and/or other artists' work, where post after post it's all they never say where they got them from. And, like in the case of some tags, it seems to me that often they're using these place names just to add on to the "exotic factor".

In the last months, I've also seen this happen increasingly more with AI-generated images. By not including the source and saying it's X place, they pretend it's not an AI but a photo. Some of them are very realistic (until you zoom in into the details) but some of them it seems to me like they shouldn't be believed, for example this one I got on my dash because I follow #Mallorca:

First of all, that's obvious AI (look at the flowerpots, the supposed hieroglyphics, and there is another bathtub in the next room, so this person has 2 bathrooms but neither of them has a door?). I had seen this same image as part of an image set being shared some time ago titled something like "Ancient Egypt-inspired interior design", which makes much more sense and was in fact the prompt for the AI to create it. This AI created a bathroom (bath-courtyard?) inspired by the aesthetic of Ancient Egypt, but somewhere down the chain of people sharing the images someone decided to say this is in Mallorca, for some unknown reason.

The thing is, this aesthetic has nothing to do with Mallorca. Mallorcan architecture doesn't look anything like this, but many people are reblogging it and still tagging it #mallorca, which I assume means they believe this is a real place in Mallorca or at least has something to do with Mallorca.

Most people around the world won't know what Mallorca looks like, what its architecture looks like, they probably don't even know what language is spoken there or maybe even where it is on a map. And that's normal, because we can't know about every far-away place in the world! I don't mean to shame anyone who fell for this. But if they don't know anything about it, from now on, will this Ancient Egyptian style be what they associate with Mallorca? Is this the kind of image that they will associate with the island?

I don't have any point to make with this post, I only wanted to share this situation as a reminder not to believe everything you see on the internet, and especially when they're not telling you where it came from.

#not ucf

[amournoir]

Wait are you really back?! Also, can I ask for fluff prompt, #3 for Clark Kent? I didn't know you wrote for HC characters??!

Fluff Prompt | C.K {request}

℘ prompt — listening to s.o rant/vent (#3)

℘ warning — none, just fluff

℘ pairing — clark kent x f!reader

℘ count — 1.1k

In the heart of Metropolis, his cozy apartment offered a refuge from the bustling city streets. Today, it served as a safe haven for Y/N, who had endured a particularly trying day. Tears welled up in her eyes as she slumped on the couch, seeking solace in the arms of her loving boyfriend, Clark. He came down the stairs and into the living room to find her brooding on the couch. Concern etched on his face, Clark made his way toward her and gently sat down as though the slightest movement would set her off.

He wrapped his arms around Y/N, pulling her close. "Hey, what's wrong, my love?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness. "You can always talk to me about anything."

Sniffling, Y/N leaned into his comforting embrace. "It's just been a horrible day. Everything went wrong and I feel so overwhelmed."

Clark gently stroked her hair, his heart breaking for her. "I'm here for you, Y/N. You don't have to face this alone."

Y/N let out a huff then instantly got up and began pacing around the room. Her arms were folded then unfolded, they were on her hips then scratching her head, she was a mess to say the least. Still, the alien sat quietly and watched her closely.

“Don’t do that.” She suddenly said.

He cocked his head in confusion, “Do what?”

“Scan me.” She stopped and faced him, “Clark.”

“Honey I need to be sure you’re alright.”

“I will be.” Was all she said before swiftly turning on her heel towards the stairs.

He knew better than to follow so instead he figured he might as well ensure that the rest of her day went swimmingly. An hour and a half later, Y/N was back downstairs, freshly showered and dressed. Clark was nowhere to be seen or heard so she made her way to the kitchen and made tea for the both of them. Y/N sighed as she filled both mugs then took her seat on the island and quietly drank.

Almost half an hour had passed and right before she could reach for her phone to call him, the doorknob jingled. Her hand flew to her chest but a loud sigh escaped when she recognized the large figure. Leave it to Clark to fashion a distress alarm into her anniversary necklace. These were the rare moments that she was grateful to be dating a hero.

“I couldn’t find it at your usual place so I got it from our little spot.”

Y/N rose from her seat and leaned against the archway between the living room and kitchen. “Got what?”

He lifted the silver bag with a beaming smile, utterly proud of himself. “Gelato.”

“Clark, tell me you didn’t.”

“Honey, when have I ever lied to you?” He replied as he walked past her.

Y/N scoffed and turned to the kitchen. “You flew to Italy for ice cream?” She asked incredulously.

“Of course not, that’d be a bit silly.” Clark placed the bag on the island then in long strides, he was standing in front of her. “I flew to Italy to make you happy.”

She stared at him surprisingly although she didn’t know why. She should be used to this by now but in all honesty, who would? All she could do was offer a small smile before pressing a soft kiss on his lips, tip toes and all. His arms circled around her waist and pulled her closer, his left hand cupping her neck gently. He could hear her heartbeat slowing, the energy within her calmed. Clark couldn’t lie that he enjoyed being the one to ground her as she often did him. Who knew all it took was Italian ice cream?

Eventually they both pulled away and sat next to each other. Clark drank his tea and Y/N happily ate her ice cream in silence. Peaceful, quiet, calming silence enveloped them whilst they stole a few glances between each other. Soon Y/N began to vent about her day, Clark listened intently. His super hearing allowed him to pick up on every nuance in her voice, every hint of sadness and frustration, making her feel truly heard and understood.

"I hate feeling like this," Y/N admitted, her voice shaky.

Clark kissed her forehead tenderly. "It's okay to feel that way sometimes," he reassured her. "You're human, and you're allowed to have bad days. I'm here to support you through it all."

Y/N's heart swelled with love for him, grateful to have him as her rock. "Thank you for being so understanding," she whispered.

He cupped her face, gazing into her eyes with affection. "You're my world, Y/N. I'd do anything to make you smile again."

With his encouragement, Y/N felt safe enough to share her vulnerabilities. She opened up about her fears and insecurities, knowing he would cherish her words and hold her feelings close to his heart. These are the moments that made her forget completely about his origin. She didn’t see him as this superhuman being that had the gift of flight, she saw him as the love of her life. In these moments, he was as human as human can be.

As the conversation continued, Clark offered words of comfort and love. "You're so strong, Y/N. I believe in you, and I know you'll get through this," he said, his voice filled with unwavering support.

Feeling the warmth of Clark's love enveloping her, Y/N's tears began to subside. His presence alone was a source of strength and solace.

With a gentle smile, Clark wiped away the remaining tears from Y/N's cheeks. "You're not alone on this journey. I'm right here by your side."

Y/N's heart fluttered with love for Clark, knowing she was truly blessed to have him in her life. "I love you," she whispered, her voice filled with sincerity.

"I love you too, Y/N," Clark replied, his eyes shining with adoration. "And I'll always be here to listen, to comfort, and to support you."

As the night unfolded, Y/N and Clark decided to spend the rest of the evening cherishing their love for each other. They shared tender moments, expressing their feelings and devotion, and basked in the comfort of their embrace. In the arms of her superhero, Y/N found solace not only in Clark's superpowers but also in his super love. Together, they knew they could conquer any obstacle life threw their way, because their love was as powerful and unyielding as any superhero's strength.

🏷️ taglist:

⤷ @mrs-maximoff-kenner @thatfanficstuff @elijahmikaelsontrash @mxacegrey @thatfictionalwh0re @catmikaelson20 @loverswillowed @sweetwrathoflilith @panic-at-the-fiction @iiskittles16ii @original-siphon @onlyfreds @onlyfredslibrary @imgoingtofreakoutnow @slinthoex @mikaelsonsdeservedbetter @i-love-nora @multiversediaries @decoffinated-vamps @hopester08 @aloneatpeace @hopes-wife @dreamingwithrafe @softcoremaybank @klaustopia  @sweetestdesire @cottontears @cottonreads @buckysbabydoll-x

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#request 💌 #aurora’s writing prompts #fluff #aurora.r fics #clark kent x reader #clark kent #superman #henry cavill & company

[paddockbunny]

Max prompt 1 please! your writing is brilliant

"Welcome to the club..."

Summary : Max remembers an earlier conversation and makes sure your initiation into a certain well known, smutty, club is down to him. Rating : 18+ Pairing : Max Verstappen x Reader Word Count : 1,607 Warnings : NSFW, adult material, 18+, language, intimate touching, PinV sex, unprotected sex, detailed orgasm talk, Mile High club, sort of public sex Prompt Number : 1. Join the Mile High Club Gif Credit : @ferrarisbulls

As you took to your seat, you chucked your bag into the large cream leather seat you would be spending the next few hours in. You heard your boyfriend laugh with the pilot and the air stewardess over by the door and glanced around to see a familiar look plastered on his face.

“What ya plannin’ Verstappen?” You joked and he looked over at you as if he had just been rumbled, like a naughty child would if they had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He feigned he wasn’t planning anything but the look he flashed the stewardess as she walked past said the total opposite. You finished up taking out your things you needed for the flight from your bag and Max took the opportunity to press up against you from behind. “Can’t you wait till we’re home to celebrate?” You lulled but secretly you loved it. Your boyfriend was so hot and horny for you – especially after a race – that it made you feel like the most desirable woman on the planet. “Baby, if you only knew…” He practically growled in your ear and it sent an excitable wave throughout your body.

An hour into the flight

As time passed you realised how restless Max had grown beside you - which was strange because usually on the flight home after a race he was spark out within a few minutes of take off. You chalked it up to the fact it was only the pair of you on the flight back to Monaco tonight. Usually quite a few others would join, from Jos or Victoria, to some friends and even Christian and his wife had caught Max’s jet somewhere before. But tonight, it was just the two of you. As he huffed beside you (and you felt his eyes on the side of your head) you glanced up from your phone. You usually spent this time replying to emails and enquiries or on social media interacting with some of Max’s fans but you knew he wanted some attention tonight. So when he huffed again, you finally clicked your phone off and set it down on the little table.

Your head fell backwards and then to the side, his side. He was staring back at you with a soft, gentle smile and you could see how tired he was in his eyes. “Why don’t you close your eyes, baby? We still have a while before we land.” You suggested and it was met with a firm head shake and then a smirk grew on his mouth. Glancing down when you felt Max’s hand slowly creep on to your thigh and a surprised scoff left your mouth. You knew all of his tricks. You knew each and every one of Max’s “lets have sex” signals. For some reason you glanced at your watch, wanting to know precisely how long he would have to wait till you were home, in bed, fucking. “Do you remember a month or so ago when we were flying home from Italy?” He spoke softly. Most of the flights all seemed to merge into one and other so unless something specific happened, none of them really stood out to you.

“Remember when Lando mentioned the Mile High Club and you said you were not a member?” You side eyed him. You could see where this was now going and you bit your bottom lip – an action you knew always got to Max. The hand that was still working on your thigh seemed to grip it a little harder and you watched as he swallowed somewhat nervously. “No one is going to interrupt us.” He had somehow moved closer in the seats and his hand was now dangerously close to dipping under the hem of your skirt. The feeling was enough to make you want to moan for him but you sat still, positively radiating shock at what Max was suggesting. “Max….” His name flowed freely from your lips “We can’t” You added but it seemed like a useless protest. He had deliberately taken a jet home tonight. He had deliberately made sure no one else was with the pair of you. He deliberately paid off the staff. He had planned every second of this.

Giving in to him was so easy. As you thought of a way to stop the inevitable, Max took the opportunity to slide his hand past the barrier of your skirt and slowly ghost over your lace panty covered slit with his fingers. Everything you could have said in that moment had evaporated and disappeared from your mind. He knew you couldn’t resist him. You were just as horny for him as he was for you. You matched each other perfectly and your minds both went to sex as soon as a race was over so with that forgotten about confession, jet sex was only a matter of time. You felt his finger pull aside your panties and his skin touched you were you needed it most at a torturously slow pace.

“Look at how wet you are just thinking about it.” He teased but he was right. You had gotten so wet in what felt like seconds. Panties soaked and your juices already coating Max’s fingers. “They won't interrupt?” You whispered, already succumbing to the feeling of pleasure Max was giving you – even if it was nothing compared to his cock. He nodded and confirmed they wouldn’t dare so you threw all caution to the wind.

Everyone was right. The Mile High Club was really the best exclusive club to join. There was nothing quite like the thrill and feeling of fucking at 40,000 feet. Every sensation felt heightened and the feeling of ecstasy was better than ever before. You had started off in Max’s lap. Riding him as his hands clamped tightly around your throat. His praise of “good girl” and “fuck you feel so tight” seemed to echo around the jet cabin. And the jet, fuck! There was something about the way the jet’s vibrations seemed to synchronise with the same rhythm as you rode Max’s cock at that started teetering you closer and closer to climaxing. But Max didn’t let you. No, he wouldn’t let you get off so easily and so quickly. With reassurance no one would interrupt so you could do it however you liked, Max held you in place and set you down on the edge of the sturdy, bolted down table. His name – which had come from you in whimpers and whispers – now fell from you in loud moans. The angle was everything. His thick, big cock was able to continually hit your most pleasurable spot over and over and over again with every single powerful thrust. You gripped at his Red Bull team issued shirt with tight fists. His groans and gasps were intoxicating. Then, as if it couldn’t possibly get any hotter, Max reached between you both and started doubling the pleasure by rubbing over your clit with his fingers without any kind of warning. His smugness at being so in tuned with your body and your needs was one of the reasons you absolutely adored him and couldn’t imagine ever fucking anyone else ever again. No one could ever make you cum like Max could.

Then just as you thought about cumming, Max confidently told you;  “Fuck, I can feel how close you are.” With a heavy pant and groan straight into your ear. “Keep going…please….” You begged him. His movements got ever so slightly lazy and his rhythm was disappearing, he was getting close to his own orgasm and yet was still continuing for your sake. He desperately wanted you to get off. He desperately wanted you to cum. He wanted you to feel the high along with him and that was evident in the way his fingers quickened their pace on your clit. You managed to mumble a quick “right there” and you felt the sudden, shocking high and you felt like you were floating. Your thighs trembled and your walls fluttered around his cock. The feeling of the high flooded you and shockwaves rippled throughout your body. You cried out his name and rode out the feeling as he leaned in further to your body and huffed out yours straight back to you. With one stronger, powerful thrust you felt Max empty himself inside of you. Through the aftershocks of your own orgasm you felt his. The jerking, convulsing movement of his cock inside of you as he gave you every last drop of his milky seed. Max’s knees almost buckled from how hard he climaxed. You were positive you had never orgasmed like that in your life and so you were confident that Max hadn’t either.

As he pulled out of you he let a shaky chuckle leave him. “Welcome to the club…” And within an single instant you grabbed his neck and pulled him straight back to you, his mouth on yours. You needed the simplicity of his kiss after the high that you were coming down from. You knew what it felt like to be drunk on him but this was far beyond drunk. You felt paralytic from him. You couldn’t help it. He hadn’t just fucked you. He hadn’t just given you the best, most otherworldly orgasm of your entire life. He had planned it. He had remembered what you had said over a month ago. He made sure it was him that was going to be the one to experience this first with you. And that was the biggest turn on of all.         

#max verstappen #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 blurb #f1 driver x you #f1 driver x reader #f1 drabble #max verstappen drabble #mv1 #mv33

[mantis-dea]

Bruno Bucciarati X Reader - Drunk Friends

Prompt: Bruno helps reader with her drunk friend then finally asks her out.

I, myself, drank a lil today. So I ain't too sure what's going on. Watch me come back and regret.

Contentment washes over you as you settle into the welcoming embrace of your couch. With a sigh of satisfaction and a glass of red wine in hand, you reach for the TV remote and press the power button. This has become your nightly ritual ever since moving to Naples, Italy.

As your soap opera runs in the background, you absentmindedly reach for your flip phone. To your surprise, you’re met with a barrage of notifications from none other than Matteo, a close friend of yours. 11 miss calls. 14 text messages. All within the span of an hour.

“He cheated on meeee.”

“Pick up, I need you bestie.”

“Bestie :(”

“I NEED YOU, BITCH. PICK UP.”

“WAKE UP. GET UP.  GET YOUR ASS UP.”

Your brows knit with worry as you make four consecutive attempts to reach Mattero, your calls met with his voicemail. You look at the home screen of your phone for the time.

22:00.

You sit back on the couch, placing a finger thoughtfully on your cheek. You recall him insisting on taking you to a club tonight. However, you declined his invitation, not too fond of clubs, or crowds in general.

With that in mind, you get up, get dressed, gather your belongings, and set out into the night.

Your first attempt to locate Matteo at a club he told you about proves unsuccessful. Disheartened, you sit at a metal chair located near a fountain, a sinking feeling of worry gnawing on you. As you reach for your phone to see if Matteo has responded, a sudden realization strikes; your phone was left behind on the coach in your haste to find him.

You sit there, contemplating your next step when you hear a familiar voice calling your name.

“Is something the matter?” He asks.

“Oh, Bruno,” your frown instantly turning into a smile, “It’s good to see you.”

You first crossed paths with Bruno a little over a month ago. You were walking home, clutching a bag of oranges an elderly lady gifted you for helping her. As you approach your abode, you overheard a conversation about a kind old lady gifting him a bag of apples; he couldn’t refuse the apples, he told his friend, but he isn’t too fond of apples. Mustering up the courage within you, you approach him with a nervous smile, mentioning that you were also gifted a bag of fruit, but it was oranges. You offered to trade, mentioning that you loved apples.

From that moment on, you began crossing paths with Bruno on a regular basis, which prompted a growing friendship. You never actually hung out with Bruno, but you did share a cup of coffee together a few times.

“I’m actually looking for a friend of mine. They-“

As you explain your situation, you see him reaching for his phone. Giving an apologetic smile, he holds up a finger before answering.

“Bruno? Where are you? Giorno said you had important matters after the conference … WAIT. Are you finally going to ask your crush ou-“

He hangs up abruptly and glances your way, hoping you did not overhear what Mista just said. When he sees you smiling at him, the soft moonlight casting a gentle glow on your face, he feels his heartbeat pick up.

He clears his throat, “I sincerely apologize. Can you tell me once more what the issue is?”

“It’s no problem-“

“HEY CUTIE.”

Once again, you’re abruptly interrupted. However, this time, it is by the source of the problem – Matteo. He comes sprinting towards you with the goofiest smile, arms outstretched, looking for a hug. Before he can even get close to you. Bruno swiftly intervenes. He extends his arm, blocking Matteo’s path and fixes him with a stern, disapproving glare.

Matteo scoffs, “Bro, nah, she’s mine, bitch.”

Bruno, taking it as fighting words, readies himself to exchange harsh words with Matteo. However, the sound of your laughter breaks the tension, drawing his attention. When he looks over and sees you smiling and laughing, his stern expression melts away, a soft smile taking its place.

“He’s my friend, Bruno,” you begin, getting up and walking over to Matteo. “He’s the one I’ve been trying to find.”

You outstretch your arms. With an exuberant leap, he tackles you, and you both tumble down to the ground with an “oomph.”

As Bruno stands there, his gaze fixes on you, a pang of longing tugs at his heart. He didn’t know you had a partner. The revelation fills him with a mix of emotions. How long have you been together? Is he overthinking this? You did just say he is a friend.

 He wishes that he could be the one to hug you like that.

“Why didn’t tchu ansswer my calls?!” he asks, crying. You can tell he had too many drinks tonight based on all the words he slurred.

You attempt to get up, but Matteo keeps you down, his face in your chest, much to Bruno’s disdain.

You place a hand on Matteo’s head, giving soothing pets. “I think you had too much to drink tonight.”

“I am not think as you drunk I am.”

You chuckle, “Yeah? Well, can I at least get up?”

“No, your boobs are nice.”

Before you can utter a word, Bruno moves swiftly, almost in an instant. He assists in gently helping Matteo get off you and onto his feet. Slinging Matteo’s arm over his shoulder, Bruno hoists him up.

“Oh, Bruno. It’s okay. I know you must be tired. I can do it.”

“It’s not a problem,” he responds, “I can help him get to where he needs.”

Amid your insistence, Bruno decides to take charge. With a semi-conscious Matteo who can barely stand, Bruno begins walking. With a smile, you hurry your way over to Bruno.

During the journey back, you and Bruno engage in small talk, sharing stories about your days and experiences. The exchange of conversations makes the trip feel like an enjoyable adventure, one you wish you could continue forever. However, all good things must come to an end, and you finally arrive back at the apartment.

Bruno places Matteo gently down onto the couch. As he takes a moment to look around the apartment, he is pleasantly surprised to find it matches his expectations. The space exudes a warm, homely atmosphere with its cozy and charming décor. The delightful aroma wafting through the air only adds to the overall welcoming ambiance.

He’s surprised to see nothing that looks like it belongs to Matteo.

“Does he live here?” Bruno inquires.

“No, he used to live with his boyfriend.” You answer, “His boyfriend cheated on him, and I don’t want him back there until I know it’s safe for him.”

Boyfriend, Bruno chants in his head. They aren’t a couple. Bruno feels a breath of relief amongst hearing that. While he processes his thoughts, Bruno’s phone continues to vibrate. He takes out his phone to see if it’s anything of urgency.

“Just ask her out, ffs.”

“Did you do it?”

“Y’all fucking or what?”

While Bruno reads the colorful messages Mista sent with a darkened face, you crouch down and offer comfort to Matteo by gently stroking his hair.

“Do you need to throw up?”

“Nnn. Nyoh.”

With Matteo in a more stable condition, you determine it would be safe to leave him alone momentarily. You follow Bruno out of your apartment.

“Thank you so much, Bruno,” you express your appreciation sincerely. Is there something I can do to pay you back?”

“Dinner. Go out to dinner with me.”

Your face flushes with hues of red and pink. You hide your face in your hands, embarrassed by your reaction. “Are you sure… with me?”

Bruno gently removes your hands from your face and places a finger under your chin, tilting it slightly so you would look at him directly. He laughs at your adorable reaction, finding it endearing and charming.

“I’m very sure, with you.”

Extra:

“Mista.” Giorno starts, eyes closed in an attempt to remain composed. “Please exit my office. Now.”

Mista, phone in hand, lays on the only other chair in Giorno’s office, his legs dangling from the chair’s edge, swinging back and forth as he awaits a response from Bruno.

“You think they’re fucking?”

Giorno pinches the bridge of his nose, “Volevi questo, Giorno. Volevi unirti alla mafia.”

#bruno buccellati x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #jjba x reader #golden wind x reader

[renx01]

Betrayed

Prompt: Your father is the head of a criminal enterprise, one which has come onto the kingsman’s radar. Galahad has the task to get closer to said head, so he starts dating you. After a lot of apprehension on your side, you finally let your walls be broken down by him. That is until you find out that he’s been using you all along.  Pairing: Harry Hart x (GN!)Reader Fandom: Kingsman Tags/Warnings: angst, manipulation, established relationship Word count: 2569

A soft knock on the front-door of your apartment draws you from the book you were reading, pride and prejudice. You had started reading it after your boyfriend, Harry, had recommended it to you. Standing up, you quietly walk to the door and look through the peep-hole. It was him, which was unexpected and unusual, but it excited you nonetheless, as it had been quite a while since you last saw him. He had been away on a business trip to Canada for two weeks and the time difference made calling a challenge, especially with his job requiring to stay up late often. Opening the door, you notice that he’s wearing a new suit. While it still fits his usual colour-scheme with it being a darker grey with a white pinstripe, it has some red detailing around the buttons. The fit of the three-piece-suit was impeccable as always, accentuating him in all the right places. ‘Evening Harry.’ Your voice is cheerful as you greet him, ‘ I wasn’t expecting you to be back yet.’ He smiles softly at you, ‘I was hoping to surprise you.’ Leaning down, he kisses you, after which he pulls you into a hug. 

‘I missed you, love.’ You tighten your grip around him. ‘I missed you too.’

Ever since the two of you had started dating three years ago, the two of you saw each-other at least twice a week when he wasn’t on a business-trip. He kisses the top of your head before slowly letting go of the hug. ‘Tea?’ You ask him as you walk towards the kitchen, ‘or would you prefer something stronger?’ It was half past eight  on a Friday evening, so having a glass of wine or bourbon together wasn’t out of the ordinary. ‘How about some whiskey?’ He replies following you, his hand on the small of your back. ‘Sounds lovely’ you smile, ‘I should have some in my liquor cabinet.’ While you grab two glasses, he looks at your collection. Since you started seeing him it has grown significantly. He enjoyed teaching you about all the different types of liquor and what effects certain techniques may have if applied to the distilling process. ‘This one?’ He holds up a bottle of Scotch after kneeling down to grab it. It was one of your favourites and he had recently bought you a new one while in Scotland. Nodding, ‘You know me too well dear.’

The two of you sit down in your home library, where you had also been sitting previously. It was your favourite place to be in, as it reminded you of your grandparent’s mansion in Italy, which you had often visited while growing up. You have always been quite the reader, so their library provided many of the books you read as a child. ‘Excuse the mess, I’ve been reading and writing all day.’ You apologise for the clutter in your desk and the many books which lay folded open next to your reading chair, annotations sprawling across their pages. ‘Don’t worry my dear,’ he smiles as he sits down across from you, ‘we both know that this is a normal part of your creative process.’ Once you’ve set down your glasses onto the table that’s standing between the two of you, he fills them with the liquor of his choice. ‘So please, don’t apologise.’ After all this time, you still felt flustered at times. He was always so well-put-together, with his exterior almost always being perfect. It was the exact opposite of how you felt at times, yet he encouraged and supported you, telling you many times that one can never be perfect and that you should be comfortable in whatever clothes you decide to wear. ‘To us.’ He states, clinking his glass to yours. ‘To us.’ You reply before tasting the brown liquid. It was as delicious as you’d remembered it to be.

‘I see you’ve picked up Austen? Is it to your liking?’ After thinking for a moment you reply, ‘I’m enjoying it quite a bit, though I am still uncertain what to think of Darcy.’ ‘Ah yes, Mr. Darcy is quite a complicated man. I suppose depending on the type of relationship one holds with him the experience can be quite different.’ He muses. The two of you spent the rest of the evening talking, reading, and drinking scotch. Only at three in the morning did you realise how much time had passed. Because of this, Harry decided to stay the night at your place. Luckily he always had some spare clothes and his own toiletries at your place. Once he’s gotten changed into his pyjamas, he joins you in the bathroom as you are brushing your teeth. Reaching over your shoulder, he grabs his own toothbrush and starts doing the same. His hair is slightly messy, with some of its waves cascading down his forehead rather than them being pushed back. He had also taken off his glasses, which made him appear slightly younger and less serious, at least to an extent. 

‘Enjoying the view?’ Harry jokes as he catches you staring at him through the mirror. ‘Why yes of course,’ you turn to face him, ‘mister Hart.’ He smiles down at you. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself my love.’ Leaning in, he tenderly kisses you, slowly becoming more passionate when you put your hands into his hair, pulling him closer. Pulling away, he puts his forehead to yours. ‘We should take this to the bedroom.’

The next morning you wake up relatively late, around eleven o’clock. Harry lay there with his arm around you, his pyjama shirt still open. Soft snores fill your ear, it was quite cute to see him sleeping so peacefully. He isn’t like this often, and it is quite the exception that you are awake before him, so you decide to enjoy the moment.  After a few minutes, you supposed that it’d be best to brew some tea before Harry woke up. So very carefully, you climbed out of his grip and silently walked into the kitchen. Putting the kettle on the stove, you start looking at the different teas you have. ‘English breakfast… Chamomile… Mint…’ Pondering and mumbling, you eventually choose a black tea and put in some fresh lemon slices. As the kettle boils, you are putting some yoghurt, granola, and fresh berries into two bowls. Two arms suddenly wrap themselves around your waist. ‘Morning love.’ Harry’s deep voice greets you before he leans down to kiss you on your cheek. ‘Morning dear.’ You turn and meet his lips.  ‘Want to go for a run later?’ You suggest as you put your breakfast and cups of tea onto the dinner table. He shakes his head before taking a sip of his tea. ‘I was rather hoping we could go to a museum, I was thinking of Tate Britain?’ You smile, ‘That sounds lovely.’ ‘We can go out for dinner after,’ a familiar smirk creeps onto his face, ‘I may or may not have pulled some strings and gotten a table at Nobu.’ He was definitely planning something, so you decide to agree without prying much more.  It became much more apparent that he was planning something after he had picked out an outfit for you, which very much complimented what he would be wearing. While it was somewhat casual for Harry’s standards, many would believe it to still be quite formal. Black slacks, a perfectly ironed white shirt, a light-grey knitted jumper, and of course, oxfords, not brogues. As it was still somewhat frigid, especially in the evening, he decided to wear a black overcoat.

After a short walk to Tate Britain, the two of you strolled around the museum for hours, admiring the many pieces of art which were being displayed. He would make comments on the techniques which were used to paint certain well-known pieces, his knowledge ranging from historic to modern art. Offering his arm, he eventually leads you to John Everett Millais’ painting Ophelia. It is a beautifully detailed painting, displaying the character as it is described in Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet. The two of you had originally found a connection through your love of literature, Shakespeare being one of the first authors which came up in your initial conversations. ‘It is quite beautiful, is it not?’ He whispers in your ear. ‘It is,’ you slowly nod, ‘must’ve been quite the undertaking to add all the details which were mentioned in the Scottish play.’ ‘That, I agree with dearest.’ He chuckles. After walking through the remaining parts of the museum, it is already quite late, so you decide to take a cab to the restaurant Harry had reserved a table at. After ordering a bottle of wine and your food, the two of you enjoy quite a relaxed conversation about his business trip and what you had been up to. The dinner itself was phenomenal, the wine complimenting it, bringing out its flavours and umami. You decided to share dessert before walking back to his place, as it was closer. As you pass through Hyde park, he suddenly halts and points at the stars, which are remarkably visible. Quietly, he describes to you which stars form the different star signs, Orion, Sirius, and more.  A couple of minutes pass in silence before you feel him shift next to you. When you turn to face him, he is kneeling. ‘My love,’ he starts, ‘these past three years have been the happiest of my life.’ Pulling out a small box and opening it, he reveals a beautiful ring. ‘Will you do me the honour of spending the rest of your life with me?’ Words escape you. While you had expected him to surprise you in some way, this was outside of the scope you’d expected. Slowly, you nod, some tears escaping your eyes. ‘Yes, Harry. I do.’ ‘My love,’ He stands up, cups your face in both your hands and kisses you passionately, before putting the ring on your finger, ‘please don’t cry.’ As you look in his eyes, he himself seems moved, but something else in his eyes is unreadable to you. The rest of that night was a bit of a blur. Harry told you that he’d gone to your father and asked for your hand in marriage not too long before his latest business trip, who in turn, had agreed. He admitted that he’d been looking at rings for quite a while before that, however, because he is the gentleman he is, he thought it necessary for him to follow tradition. After a couple of weeks, the two of you decide to start living together full-time at Harry’s place, as it’d be easier to see one another on an almost daily basis that way. 

Two months after your engagement to Harry, your parents come over for dinner, as it had been a while since you had last seen them. Your mother is over the moon about the engagement and has insisted that you and Harry should marry in Italy, where you had spent most of your summers as a child. If it were up to her, the wedding would already be taking place this very summer, but because of the perfectionist your fiance is, you have decided to plan for spring of the following year. ‘So Harry, how has your work been lately?’ Your father enquires before taking a sip of his red wine. ‘It’s been busy, but I’m happy to have my lovely fiance to support me.’ Harry says as he squeezes your thigh and smiles at you. Your father doesn’t seem too convinced, however, and lets out a snort. ‘I’m sure you have been busy,’ he slowly leans forward and whispers, ‘busy blowing up my men and warehouses, perhaps?’ After sliding  a few pictures across the table, he leans back again. It was quite clear that it was Harry, the security cameras your father had installed recently in his warehouses after finding multiple men dead and the building in shambles, had captured a video of him. The second picture was Harry holding a gun and clearly shooting one of your father’s men, Antinio. You had rather liked Antonio growing up and had felt awful after his death. You turn to him after staring at the picture for what felt like an eternity.

‘What’s the meaning of this Harry?’

He swallows. ‘It is none of your concern, love.’ You stand up. ‘Yes it is,’ your voice wavering slightly, ‘Harry Hart, you are going to explain to me what you were doing shooting up my father’s people and business.’ ‘Please sit back down, dear.’ He doesn’t dare look at you. ‘Harry.’ You say sternly and he finally looks at you, the guilt in his eyes quite clear. ‘Please, I can’t, you kno-.’ He almost begs you, but it’s interrupted by the sound of a gun being loaded. You turn and look at your father pointing it at your fiance. ‘I expect you to be honest now Harry, or should I say agent Galahad?’ Harry sits deadly still, all the emotion he had shown you completely wiped off his face. Slowly, he stands up, his hands slightly up and clearly visible for your father to see. ‘You have flown too close to the sun agent; and you’re going to pay for deceiving my child.’ Your father’s voice rising to an almost screaming level. ‘Father please! Don’t hurt him!’ You scream back. ‘Can’t you see that he has used you?! The only reason he ever got together with you is to get to me! Isn’t that right?!’ You turn to Harry. ‘Tell me it isn’t true Harry.’ He doesn’t answer. ‘TELL ME!’ Tears stream down your face as he looks at you without a hit of emotion. ‘We can discuss this later, dear.’ He states before turning back to your father, whose gun was clearly shaking as a result of his anger. ‘No, you’re going to be honest, Hart, if that’s even your name.’ He motions Harry to walk around the table and stand in opposite of him, your mother shifting to stand next to your father.  Your fiance didn’t seem to be phased by the situation in the slightest while your father looks like he is about to pull the trigger. Before he can, though, Harry suddenly and swiftly kicks the gun out of his hands, with it flying across the room. Pulling out his own gun, he doesn’t hesitate to shoot your father through the head. ‘DAD! NO!!’ Before you are able to move, he does the same to your mother, who had been relatively quiet throughout the argument. ‘Mo-mo-MOM?!’ You run and fall to the ground, trying to do anything to help them. Blood covers your hands and feet as tears continue to stream down your face. ‘Ha-.’ Swallowing, you try again. ‘Ha-Harry, wh-why…’ Your hands are shaking violently as you search for anything to grab onto. ‘Wa-was it- was it all fake?’ Grabbing your father’s gun you point it at him. He doesn’t look at you. ‘HARRY, LOOK AT ME!’ He turns, taking off his glasses and putting them onto the dinner table, the once white tablecloth now splattered with blood; tainted. Crouching down, he grabs your face and kisses you before pulling you into a hug, the gun you’re holding hitting his chest. ‘You may shoot now, my love.’ Is all he whispers into your ear.

~~~~~~

Part 2

#harry hart x reader #kingsman x reader #kingsman reader insert #harry hart imagine #harry hart reader insert #harry hart #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #angst #like a lot of it #established relationship #manipulation #open ending #ao3 writer #kingsman imagine #kingsman #small blog

[thedevilinmybrain]

Pleaseeee queen give me a short something of this.... jealousyrry 😎✌️ I need it

https://twitter.com/stylinarts/status/1693031282001789153?t=cMtKVXiK74Stj3_T9kSZLQ&s=19

"First it was the shirt, which might I add, I helped him pick out. He looks so good in a matching set." Harry sighs miserably into his glass of wine, pouts at Niall's face through the phone screen. "And now this? This? Like I'm not fucking standing backstage with his whole fam." "It was just a safety precaution, love. If they had let him in that crowd, he'd have walked out more thank half naked." Niall soothes, his own glass of white just barely taking the edge of the camera screen. It's their monthly ritual - a wine and whine night. It's the way for both of them to get everything off their chests, no judgement, just safe space. "He doesn't even like being manhandled." Huffing, Harry side eyes the bedroom door. Downstairs, Louis is on the phone with one of his managers, knows to give Harry at least an hour. "You know, he really doesn't. Fucking Capricorn. Has to always be in control, you know, calculated. But oh no, one look from that fucking..." "Fucking?" Niall prompts, so used to these sorts of rants, even thirteen years later. "Fucking what?" "I don't know. That fucking Achilles looking security guard and suddenly Louis likes being thrown around?" Harry's voice drags up at the end, close to a true whine himself. "Italy is supposed to be my thing. It's our honeymoon spot! Our villa is here! And now I'm being usurped by some Italian demigod." "Greek." Niall corrects, grimacing a little, wrinkles his nose. "What?" Harry pauses, stares into the phone with a little furrow between his brows. "Achilles is Greek, darling. He fought on the side with the Greeks." Niall explains, waving a hand. "You want like Hercules. Hercules was Italian." "Okay well," Harry will blame the alcohol for his lack of mythology knowledge. He, like everyone knows, that Greek and Roman mythology is a pipeline to queerness. "Well, like Hercules, I'm going to kill myself if I have to watch one more video of that man feeling up my husband." "Please don't. I really don't have the mental capacity to find another best friend." Niall sighs, rolling his eyes with a fond shake of his head. "Just go down there and like, play wrestle or some shit. Show him you've still got it. You guys used to do that shit all the time in the X Factor house." "Yeah only now, I don't have to worry about twenty other people listening to me take his cock-" Harry begins with a wide grin only for Niall to immediately end the call. He's heard enough, enough times. Knows way too much. If Oli is the holder of all of Louis' secrets, then Niall is the one holding Harry's.

#larry #snippet #i hope you like this!

[wolfiemcwolferson]

hello logan!! i have compe to prompt your wonderful brain into being nice again.

imagine photographer pierre putting together a set of his favorite pictures from the year and suddenly realizing that they're all of charles/related to charles. "uh oh, maybe i AM in love with my best friend" realization ensues

Oh, this made my brain go zoom.

The first year he had put together the series, it had been for his maman. She is the one who bought him that camera and he wanted to give her something physical to see that Pierre was indeed serious about this very serious investment.

In uni, it became a very logical way for him to look at his growth over the last year - to see what he had dabbled in and what was successful, what was not. It was a way to encourage him to continue to learn and grow and do better.

But, once he started working with Charles, it was really just for himself. Sure, he posted the series on his social media's and the engagement was off the charts for him, but he was sometimes moving so fast - sometimes it felt like he never put his camera down.

It was GP to GP, but in between there were sponsor shoots and private plane rides and intimate moments that Pierre wanted to keep somewhere because someday Charles would have books and documentaries and monuments dedicated to him, and that is what Pierre was here for - to document his life and these moments.

And he liked to look through them and be out of the camera for a bit.

This year he leaves it until the last minute, sorting photos from his childhood bedroom in the middle of the night, queueing them up so he can post them tomorrow.

One of Charles in his driver's room, head tilted to the side, eyes closed. It's more...intimate than any of the photos that Pierre had released to Ferrari or given to Charles to post from that weekend, but it's Pierre's favorite. The calm for him before the insanity of the weekend that would follow.

One of a discarded racing glove draped over Charles' red cell phone, half a cup of espresso next to it and a scribbled note that reads leave it all on the track.

Charles standing on a rock in the desert, face tipped up to sun, arms outstretched, looking more content than Pierre had ever seen him.

A blurred shot of Charles on a bicycle as he rides around the track in Britain - wearing that red Ferrari shirt - always red, always in red.

Charles leaning against the balcony of a hotel room in Italy, sweater rumpled and half tucked in the back of his pants because he has just woken up from a nap.

Charles in swim trunks on the yacht, Charles holding up a new bracelet from a sponsor and grinning not at the camera, but at Pierre behind the camera.

Charles.

Charles.

It's all Charles.

Charles at his best - standing on a podium, holding a trophy.

Charles at his lowest - sitting alone in the back of the plane flying out of Miami, hand wrapped up with an ice pack on the back and the next photos of the bruise blooming there being slipped into another pair of racing gloves.

Charles reaching for the camera, Charles rolling his eyes, Charles. Charles. Charles.

Pierre is meant to be putting together 10 photos to wrap up his year - 10 of his best photos.

But, the only thing he can do is stare at the screen and understand that this goes beyond photographing Charles.

The last photo before his family photos start is of Charles, curled up on his side, asleep.

Pierre had taken it on the couch - the night he slept over at Charles' place in Monaco. The light from the television has bathed him in a blue light and Pierre had remembered thinking how...beautiful he looked and so he had pulled his camera out, taken the photo before he had shaken him awake to go to bed.

Pierre looks at the way he framed the shot - how Charles' hand is in the corner of the shot and...

He takes these photos of Charles - photos of him sleeping and eating and driving and training and Pierre may have fallen in love with photography when he was a boy, but it was also the best way he knew how to show his love and...he should have seen it sooner.

He wasn't just documenting Charles' life, he was also showing his love to him the best way he knew how.

#piarles #the oh shit moment when you realize you're in love with your f1 driver best friend

[dramaturgical-sense]

succession fic rec list

In honour of succession s4 coming out, I thought I’d make a list of my favourite succession fics. These are all either romangerri or tomgreg, but other characters tend to feature fairly prominently. I’ve split these fics up into two categories: missing moments in canon and fix-it fics. The first category features fics that stick closely to the events of canon and are true to the tone of the show. The latter includes fics that try and give the characters more functional and healthier relationships, and are more optimistic. Fics with an asterisk are my personal favourite. 

As always, check the tags and warnings on ao3 before reading. And without further ado, see below for the fics :)

romangerri

missing moments in canon

the nutcracker [M] by @thefudge [1,218 words] - “Roman. Behave.” (or Gerri and Roman see The Nutcracker. Holiday prompt). 

This fic would fit right in with one of the early s2 episodes, it nails their dynamic from that era perfectly. It’s a romangerri classic: sexual-but-not-really-sexual contact, and its super hot. A must-read.

Must Be Love [T] by @everybodyilovedies [2,719] - On the plane ride back from Tuscany, Kendall and Roman get some time alone to talk about dickpicgate, and the woman at the (attempted) receiving end of it. 

Even if you aren’t a romangerri shipper, I would recommend this fic just for the hilarious dynamic between Kendall and Roman. The author manages to tease the possibility of a reunion between Roman and Gerri, while also staying true to the events of canon. 

the true encounter [M] by wellprince [1,354] - “Hell yeah he is,” Roman says. “He’s about to splash his cum all over this great white nation of ours. And I’m the invisible hand behind the handjob. Look, you’d love him if you met him.” That’s probably not true. Gerri doesn’t love anyone. Whatever. 

This fic is the perfect coda to ep 3.06. Not only is it really well-written, it also functions as a great analysis of Roman’s character, his sexuality issues and explores what pulls him towards both Mencken and Gerri.

**You Could Make a Killing [M] by gaycoruscant [3,633] -  After watching Logan slap Roman, Gerri struggles with conflicting loyalties. 

This fic explores the contradictions of Gerri’s relationship with Roman and her support of his father. Gerri is beautifully written - she’s multi-faceted, and the author does a really good job getting into her head. The writing is beautiful, and there’s a delicious tension between Roman and Gerri throughout. 

fix-it fics

live near your fire as winter blows [E] by @alittledizzy [10,047] - Roman invites Gerri to a cabin in the Catskills and they manage to work through some (not all, but some) of their shit. 

Roman and Gerri get their shit together in a way that feels very in-character. I especially enjoy how the author has handled the age gap - this fic does not shy away from the fact that Gerri is an older woman, which makes both her character and the sex scene feel really natural and authentic. 

Ring the Bells That Still Can Ring [E] by moreculturelesspop [1,800] - Roman considers fatherhood and an alternative life with Gerri. 

This fic is exactly what I imagine the inside of Roman’s head sounds like. It’s very well-written and presents a really interesting study of Roman’s views on parenting and his feelings towards Gerri. Fantastic Roman POV.

holiday [T] by @dollsome-does-tumblr [2,107] - Gerri steals Roman away for breakfast on the last morning in Tuscany. Set after 3.09. 

If you’re worried about what will happen to Roman and Gerri in s4, or still hurting after the s3 finale, read this fic. This fic gives a real sense of closure to the events in Italy and still leaves open the possibility of a reunion in the future.

tomgreg

missing moments in canon

**the old way with the sledge [M] by @round-thedecay [4,390] - Tom takes care of Greg, with many layers of bargaining, withheld information, and slaughterhouse imagery in between. Meanwhile: Tom's marriage will be a slow death.

I can literally hear Tom and Greg’s voices in my head as I read the dialogue in this fic. Even though Shiv only shows up at the end, she feels like such a presence throughout this fic. Both her character and relationship with Tom are really well-handled.

Subterranean Homesick Blues [M] by @envius [9,077] - After a month of separation, Tom gets everything he thought he wanted.

The author really understands the dynamic between Tom/Greg and Tom/Shiv, with both relationships feeling balanced and in-character. This is MY s4, so no matter what happens in the show, I know I’ve always got this fic. 

Three Legs [E] by @neroxsporus [6,603] - Tom and Greg celebrate Greg's moving up. It's hard to say who gets more out of it.

Excellent coda to ep 2.04, where Greg uses Tom as a human footstool. This fic nails the weird, homoerotic aspects of their relationship and explores the culture of toxic masculinity and power at Waystar. Very funny and in-character.

**Saturn's Stomach [M] by baffledbear [6,549] - Things take a turn for the worse when Logan invites Tom and Greg on a secluded hunting trip in Virginia. Deep in the wilderness and with nowhere else to run, the pair must rely on each other in order to survive a deadly game.

This fic feels like it is written by someone who really understands Tom’s arc and what the narrative is trying to convey. The ending is incredibly satisfying, tying in many of the themes from the show. The relationship between Tom and Greg develops in a really plausible manner, and while they are endgame, Tom and Shiv’s relationship is still incredibly meaningful throughout. 

fix-it fics

put your money where your mouth is tonight [E] by asphaltworld [6,964] - Greg smokes and tries to think of what to do, like, with his life in general. 

Greg loves being a sugar baby: The fic. This is a very plausible take on Greg’s character, and the author does a really good job delving into Greg’s POV and his thoughts on Tom. This is a fun, lighthearted read that fits in well with the end of s3.

#succession #tomgreg #romangerri #tom wambsgans #greg hirsch #roman roy #gerri kellman #fic #fic recs #if you want to be taken off the list or i forgot to tag your tumblr #message me and i’ll fix it