#or rather at the drop of I Lied

[strixcattus]

Just for the purposes of getting my thoughts together I may as well try to compile a list of all the fics with at least a chance of getting written.

Currently Posting:

Colliding Trains of Plot (Demon Slayer AU/canon divergence), AKA that one weird role-reversal fic. Covers the Mugen Train arc and has a lot more to it that's planned, but not yet written.

Currently Writing:

I Lied When I Said I Would See You Again (Demon Slayer AU), an AU set in the Puella Magi Madoka Magica setting. It's fluff, I swear! It's had a set number of chapters from the start, and there are only a couple chapters left to go before I can get on the edit-and-post train. I also want to draw designs for the main characters of the AU, so you'll know when I'm close to posting the fic because I'll post a bunch of spoiler-censored designs on tumblr.

Sequels to Posted Fics:

The Definition of Family (Demon Slayer AU) is not a stand-alone oneshot! I've got plans in the works for a few other oneshots set in the same universe, each one focusing on different characters. Hard to say exactly which ones will be written and posted when, but once I'm free to work on more projects I feel like these might end up high on my list.

What Could Have Been (Demon Slayer AU), the sequel to CToP. This one covers the Entertainment District arc alongside an equivalent but very different arc from the alternate universe. I'm not as stoked for this one as I am for some of the others, but I am excited for what'll come after it.

Partially Written, Cut Off, On the Back-Burner:

A Hollow's Guide to Vampire Slaying (Bleach canon divergence): A canon-diverging retelling of the Bount arc in a world where Ichigo goes AWOL inside his own inner world and leaves his hollow to fill in. Cares not for any later-revealed canon.

Confronting the Impostor (SpyxFamily): On a mission, Loid ends up needing to impersonate an SSS officer and, perhaps thinking it would be easiest to disguise himself as someone he knows, takes on the persona of his brother-in-law. It doesn't seem like such a great idea after they meet.

Welcome Back to White Space (We've Missed You, Dreamer) (OMORI post-canon) has been living in my untouched tabs since last year and is easily the longest unfinished fic I've got. A world that's existed for four years, with inhabitants that are real enough to have minds of their own, does not go quietly—or indeed at all, if there is someone willing to sustain it. And Omori is very much willing to sustain his world in order to keep his friends alive, even if he needs to enlist Sunny's help in order to return them from Black Space.

Pride Cometh Before a Fall (Fullmetal Alchemist canon divergence) is set in a timeline where Edward Elric is in reality the homunculus Pride. Fortunately, his time living with (spying on) Hohenheim's family has warmed him up to humanity, and he's very willing to turn on his father in order to preserve it.

Completely Unwritten, but Interesting:

The Eight Wonders of Kimetsu Academy (Demon Slayer AU, title not final) is, in a similar vein to ILWISIWSYA, a shorter long-fic with a set number of chapters. Also similar to my current project, it's focused on familial fluff, in a sort of "the real treasure was the family bonds we found along the way" way. Loosely inspired by Toilet-Bound Hanako-Kun. Loosely.

On Second Thought, Do Panic (Bleach AU) is, essentially, Bleach IN SPACE!. Crash-landed galactic peacekeeper Rukia Kuchiki strong-arms ordinary human Ichigo Kurosaki into helping her repair her spaceship, fight back against the alien hordes invading Earth, and return to her home on the Seireitei space station—until they crash along the way and Rukia is taken home for imprisonment while Ichigo is left to die (or be rescued by an acquaintance who's not quite an Earthling himself, but that part comes later).

Three May Be a Crowd, but Four is Just Ridiculous (Bleach canon divergence): This is the story of what happens when Uryu dies post-Winter War. Don't worry, this is a happy story. This is a story of Uryu being found in the Rukon by a clone of himself and promptly invited on a zany road trip with the goal of killing Kurotsuchi. It's also the story of far too many people deciding to clone Uryu. I'm sure nothing bad will come of that.

It's Simple, It's Easy, and It's Free (Bleach post-"canon") won't be written any time soon. This is because it's going to be posted in comic form, and I have to learn a lot more about art before committing to anything of the sort (to say nothing of the fact that I'd need to have seen a lot more of TYBW to actually write it). Included here for completeness.

Not Pictured:

This isn't a complete list—I have a couple of partially-written fics that I'm just not interested in working on at this point in time, and a whole lot more of ideas that won't come to light until I've cleared up more of the fics I'm most interested in (including time-travel fics for Demon Slayer, Fullmetal Alchemist, and Bleach; a couple of OMORI fics; a Fullmetal Alchemist haunted house AU; and a fic for Angel Beats, of all things, that I won't be picking up again until I have somewhere I can watch the anime)

[michyeosseo]

I am determined to take Shen Li home.

[skitskatdacat63]

"Bring on The Dancing Horses"(x) - Echo and The Bunnymen × Ferrari Drivers

[muninnhuginn]

feeling so normal about li bing and qiu qingzhi btw

[selkiecoded]

What isekai are you reading if you don’t mind me asking?

okay... but youre not allowed to make fun of me... its called "50 tea recipes from the duchess." korean woman gets fired, gets isekai'd into the body of a duchess who is timid to the point of patheticness and everybody fuckin hates her. is like uggghh well i dont care if im hated as long as i have my special interest: TEA. and with her autistic girl swag (label pending) she makes both the society and her cold intimidating husband love her. 70% of it is her infodumping about tea to the delight of everyone around her.

[mcmansionhell]

we've found it folks: mcmansion heaven

Hello everyone. It is my pleasure to bring you the greatest house I have ever seen. The house of a true visionary. A real ad-hocist. A genuine pioneer of fenestration. This house is in Alabama. It was built in 1980 and costs around $5 million. It is worth every penny. Perhaps more.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Come on, Kate, that's a little kooky, but certainly it's not McMansion Heaven. This is very much a house in the earthly realm. Purgatory. McMansion Purgatory." Well, let me now play Beatrice to your Dante, young Pilgrim. Welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

It is rare to find a house that has everything. A house that wills itself into Postmodernism yet remains unable to let go of the kookiest moments of the prior zeitgeist, the Bruce Goffs and Earthships, the commune houses built from car windshields, the seventies moments of psychedelic hippie fracture. It is everything. It has everything. It is theme park, it is High Tech. It is Renaissance (in the San Antonio Riverwalk sense of the word.) It is medieval. It is maybe the greatest pastiche to sucker itself to the side of a mountain, perilously overlooking a large body of water. Look at it. Just look.

The inside is white. This makes it dreamlike, almost benevolent. It is bright because this is McMansion Heaven and Gray is for McMansion Hell. There is an overbearing sheen of 80s optimism. In this house, the credit default swap has not yet been invented, but could be.

It takes a lot for me to drop the cocaine word because I think it's a cheap joke. But there's something about this example that makes it plausible, not in a derogatory way, but in a liberatory one, a sensuous one. Someone created this house to have a particular experience, a particular feeling. It possesses an element of true fantasy, the thematic. Its rooms are not meant to be one cohesive composition, but rather a series of scenes, of vastly different spatial moments, compressed, expanded, bright, close.

And then there's this kitchen for some reason. Or so you think. Everything the interior design tries to hide, namely how unceasingly peculiar the house is, it is not entirely able to because the choices made here remain decadent, indulgent, albeit in a more familiar way.

Rare is it to discover an interior wherein one truly must wear sunglasses. The environment created in service to transparency has to somewhat prevent the elements from penetrating too deep while retaining their desirable qualities. I don't think an architect designed this house. An architect would have had access to specifically engineered products for this purpose. Whoever built this house had certain access to architectural catalogues but not those used in the highest end or most structurally complex projects. The customization here lies in the assemblage of materials and in doing so stretches them to the height of their imaginative capacity. To borrow from Charles Jencks, ad-hoc is a perfect description. It is an architecture of availability and of adventure.

A small interlude. We are outside. There is no rear exterior view of this house because it would be impossible to get one from the scrawny lawn that lies at its depths. This space is intended to serve the same purpose, which is to look upon the house itself as much as gaze from the house to the world beyond.

Living in a city, I often think about exhibitionism. Living in a city is inherently exhibitionist. A house is a permeable visible surface; it is entirely possible that someone will catch a glimpse of me they're not supposed to when I rush to the living room in only a t-shirt to turn out the light before bed. But this is a space that is only exhibitionist in the sense that it is an architecture of exposure, and yet this exposure would not be possible without the protection of the site, of the distance from every other pair of eyes. In this respect, a double freedom is secured. The window intimates the potential of seeing. But no one sees.

At the heart of this house lies a strange mix of concepts. Postmodern classicist columns of the Disney World set. The unpolished edge of the vernacular. There is also an organicist bent to the whole thing, something more Goff than Gaudí, and here we see some of the house's most organic forms, the monolith- or shell-like vanity mixed with the luminous artifice of mirrors and white. A backlit cave, primitive and performative at the same time, which is, in essence, the dialectic of the luxury bathroom.

And yet our McMansion Heaven is still a McMansion. It is still an accumulation of deliberate signifiers of wealth, very much a construction with the secondary purpose of invoking envy, a palatial residence designed without much cohesion. The presence of golf, of wood, of masculine and patriarchal symbolism with an undercurrent of luxury drives that point home. The McMansion can aspire to an art form, but there are still many levels to ascend before one gets to where God's sitting.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[vinecine]

@crystalsandbubbletea Sure thing transtrender clownself. And wtf does your stupidass post have anything to do with black trans people? what are you, Blossom Nr.2?

[fandom-fae]

feeling SO conflicted about the concept of lies. 

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you leave megumi with your husband so you can make them breakfast. you quickly realise that that might have backfired.

wc. around 1.3k

tags. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘mama’ by both toji & megumi. half beta read.

“ow, careful there, brat.”

your husband’s deep voice echoes from within the bathroom. you’ve left megumi in his care this morning so you’d be able to make breakfast in peace. toji was all grumpy about it, since he had to wake up early when he had no work, but eventually agreed to your proposal.

you hum your favorite song while frying eggs. the sizzling in the pan did help avert your attention from toji’s grunts of annoyance somewhere in the distance, though only for a couple seconds. your hear your child’s laughter slip between the noises of aggravation. it piques your interest.

“one more time and i’m putting y’r ass in time out,” toji’s deep voice sounds muffled. he sounds rather serious about whatever is bothering him.

you turn the stove off and walk towards the hallway, standing at the doorframe as you look in the direction of the bathroom. you tilt your head and try your best to pick up on snippets of the conversation between your husband and son.

the sound of bottles dropping on the floor is the first thing that allows you to guess that megumi’s acting up. you know how mischievous your little toddler can get, especially at his age. toji isn’t one to gentle parent his kid—he tries to, of course, but sometimes he can’t help but be a bit rough.

“megumi fushiguro.”

you raise your eyebrows as toji uses your child’s full name. he rarely does, only when he’s really upset or about to lose his marbles. you decide to see what was going on for yourself. you walk towards the bathroom, cleaning your hands against the material of your apron. you knock once before pushing the door open.

you stick your head through the little gap, ready to identify the cause of the commotion. the first thing you notice is the chaos on the floor; bottles, tubes, toothbrushes, and all other kinds of products lay cluttered on the bathroom tiles.

your eyes then land on your husband’s broad and scarred back, “hey, honey. did something hap—”

your voice trails off once toji turns around, revealing the jaw dropping scene. nearly his entire face is covered in loads of shaving cream and even his black hair hasn’t escaped the soft foam.

the bathroom counter is completely wet, and the water runs down the edges in small drops. the culprit of this entire scene is sitting right on that same counter, clapping his dirty hands together that were smeared with toji’s shaving cream.

you blink and walk towards the two. you can’t possibly be mad at the sight, finding toji’s situation more funny than worrisome. You try to act serious and clear your throat, “uh, yeah. so what’s happened here?”

your husband rolls his eyes and nods his head at the little boy in front of him, who’s giggling and kicking his legs. toji tries to wipe the shaving cream from his nose, attempting to get it out of his hair as well, “i tried to be a good dad and include him in my morning routine, that’s what.”

the man clicks his tongue as he now realises how dumb of a mistake that was, “gave him the opportunity to put some shaving foam on my jaw ‘n the brat totally blew it. started attackin’ me with the stuff.”

toji grumbles. he wipes away the foam that got on the mirror afterwards. it’s nearly gotten everywhere. he lightly nudges megumi’s forehead with a scoff, “never again, y’hear? the little shit can’t sit still for even one second.”

that explains the stuff on the floor. you know that megumi could grow bored easily if he isn’t the centre of attention. he’d start doing anything to be the focus of his parents. toji probably didn’t pay him much mind, wanting to get his morning routine over with.

“language, honey.” you sigh and look down at megumi who’s still reaching his messy hands up to his dad.

toji huffs and leans back, not giving the little boy a chance to put more shaving cream on his face. he’s learnt his lesson; kids do not understand it when you tell them to ‘only put a little bit’.

megumi whines and threatens to throw a tantrum. you notice that immediately and try to keep his mind off things by picking him up. you turn on the faucet and try to wash his little hands, “c’mon. give mama your hands.”

the little boy shakes his head furiously, squirming in your embrace in attempt to get away. you sigh and grab his little wrists gently. you lower him to the sink, trying your best to wash away the shaving cream as the first step of solving this grande mess.

“no, mama!” megumi is stubborn as he voices his complains. toji watches from a distance whilst he struggles to clean the overload of shaving cream from his face.

you make the mistake of letting go of your child’s wrists to grab a washcloth. megumi takes his chance and pats his messy hands against your face, leaving you no space to process what he’s doing.

your mind takes a second before you realise what’s happening, “hey! quit it, ‘gumi.”

you try to grab ahold of megumi’s tiny hands again, but they move too fast for you. plus, he’s pretty skilled at avoiding yours. you can feel the foam slowly cover your entire face; from your jaw and cheeks, to your nose and forehead.

it was inevitable at this point.

“toji, do something,” you grunt and struggle to contain the energetic toddler in your arms. you take a peek at your husband and find him grinning at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in.

toji simply shrugs and enjoys the fact that you’re experiencing exactly what he had experienced just moments ago. seeing you struggle to contain your disobedient child only proves that his parenting skills are not the problem in this situation, your toddler is.

“ye did that to y’rself, mama.” toji hums in amusement. he leans against the wall, the blue towel now loosely hanging off head after he’s given up on getting the foam out of his hair, “now y’know what i’m talkin’ about. he’s a lil’ monster.”

megumi squeals in victory after he’s gotten both his parents covered in shaving cream. you want to say something to your child, but you’re at a loss for words. even now, you cannot bring yourself to be mad at him. he’s just a kid who’s having fun with his parents.

“i made mama pretty! hehe.” megumi grins and encourages you to look in the mirror. he points at your reflection and awaits the words of confirmation. his blue eyes look up at you, nearly sparkling with joy, admiring how pretty he’s made you look with that white foam all over your face.

toji joins in on the fun. he comes to stand behind you, looking at you through the mirror. he snickers, already forgotten about his irritations that occurred in the first place. he nods in approval at megumi’s words, “gotta agree, son. y’r mama looks much prettier like this.”

your husband’s teasing comment adds fuel to the fire. though again, you cannot bring yourself to be upset at the situation.

you look at the reflection in the dirty mirror. you all may appear disheveled due to the foamy mess on your bodies—and yet even at that moment—the only thing you actually manage to see is a happy family of three.

[nariism]

ೃ⁀➷ WHERE THE HEART LIES ˚ ༘♡

a/n: fluff, pining, childhood friends to lovers, reader was in the same orphanage as wriothesley when they were kids, mild codependency (?)

happy wishing everyone! ≧◡≦

Amongst the hundreds of books stored in the Duke's office, none hold a place in his heart quite like the dusty old atlas you gave him when you were children.

It's old and worn, something aged with the faint scent of Tidalga wafting as the pages turn. To an outsider, the atlas almost looks like garbage, or rather, exactly what it is—the only crappy book in the entire vintage shop that you could afford with your terrible allowance.

He doesn't see it that way.

It's a precious commodity to him, something he holds in high regard (despite the way he's glued the spine together on nearly a dozen occasions with the amount of times he's flipped through it).

Wriothesley is not a sentimental man. Growing up the way he did taught him not to grow too attached to material belongings.

There are few things in the world he would consider treasures: his boxing gloves, for one, though that's a given. His growing tea collection that originally started as a treat he would spend coupons on, but somehow evolved into a hobby.

And lastly, but perhaps most importantly, the map of Teyvat you gave him in the orphanage you came from. Because it wasn't only a birthday gift, it was something infinitely more meaningful than that.

He remembers that birthday fondly: he was twelve and you were ten. You'd snuck into his room beyond curfew and lights out, sheltered yourself under his blanket, and shoved the poorly packaged gift bag into his hands.

The two of you spent the entire night going through the pages, amazed at how giant the world truly was outside the confines of your orphanage—imagined how freeing it would be to explore it with nothing but your pair of feet and each other.

"One day," you breathed with excitement bubbling in your voice, "We'll leave this place and travel all across Teyvat."

It wasn't just a promise to see the world. It was a promise to see it together.

For a boy who had nothing at all, what you offered him was like placing the universe itself in his hands. And even at twelve years old, with you and that book sitting between his legs and a blanket thrown over his body, he knew he'd found a dream.

The older he got, the more he clung to that. 

You were the one he came back to when he was lost. The one who made the orphanage a home. The one who gave him a raggedy atlas of the world and whispered purpose into him.

Something to cherish. Something to protect. Something to love in this world when he had little to spare.

Though time had changed everything in his life, he still found it hard to abandon the welded pieces of your conjoined hearts.

Unlike Wriothesley, you had chosen to return to the surface after you finished serving your sentence.

It was lonelier beneath the crushing pressure of the sea without you. He made sure you knew that, too, always bringing it up whenever you came by to visit in the most nonchalant ways.

The Fortress of Meropide was a home both of you had discovered after years of being without one. "Come home already," he used to complain when he was still just a regular inmate and you were dropping by with a care package. "I miss you."

Nowadays, he made certain you understood the gap in his heart without you by other means. Like, say, when he would invite you personally to his office for a cup of tea and some cake, which was a rare treat you missed out on as kids.

Once, you called him out for attempting to bribe you back down into the iron fortress which he, of course, denied with his chest. Still, you never failed to make the trip down despite your outspoken disinterest in being back in the prison, and his weak offer of sweets since you now worked at one of the most prestigious bakeries in the city.

You had initially greeted him this time with your hands all over him, arms wrapped so tightly around his neck in a hug that he could barely breathe. Sweet smiles and kisses pressed to his cheeks and fingers pinching his nose—every action endearing and a remnant of your childhood spent together.

Now, you're seething in the office at his simple question: how are things on the surface?

"... That's when I turned to Lady Furina and, get this, she somehow ate every pastry I'd brought in a matter of seconds!" You huff, pacing back and forth in front of Wriothesley's desk while you rant about your latest visit with the Archon.

Furina was often in your schedule in one way or another, and almost always she wanted you to bring along sweets from the shop you worked at.

Wriothesley finds humour in your woes, following you around in your pacing with his arms folded over his chest.

"You know, you could just show up to your audiences with her without treats."

"She would call high treason and toss me back in prison!"

The Duke just snorts, earning him a well-deserved glare. Even with the pull of your lips into a thin line and the narrowing of your eyes, he thinks you look like a breathing angel under the warm orange light of the office.

There was nothing in the world you could do that would make him stop loving you. Not even glaring daggers at him like he's your mortal enemy.

"You're exaggerating," he hums, trailing behind you once again as you pace around the desk. 

"No, I'm not. She's absolutely crazy. She's insane—!"

He nearly bumps into your back when you suddenly halt in your steps, attention stolen from the conversation. The hands that were flailing around in the air to animate your anguish drop to your sides.

Wriothesley peers curiously over your shoulder at what has caused you to stop so abruptly.

Oh. Oh, Archons. He can sense the heat rising to his ears.

He feels as though he's been spotted in vulnerability, even though that isn't at all what has happened and that you would be the last person to judge him even if he was.

But he feels seen. Caught in the act of sentimentality just because you've picked out the book you gave him all those years ago when all you had was each other.

"You still have this?" You gawk, pulling the atlas from its prestigious position on his bookshelf. It's in a spot that he can always see as soon as he enters the room—in his direct line of sight, he has a part of you with him.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I just thought..." You consider the words for a moment, tasting them in your mouth before admitting embarrassingly, "I just thought you'd have thrown it out for a newer atlas. You know this is out of date, right? Half the oasis in Sumeru is covered in sand now."

"Why would I ever throw it out?"

"It's old," you lament again.

"And?"

"And... you can't even use it?" Your statement comes out more as a question and he can't help but roll his eyes.

"I can still use it," he insists.

You raise a brow, slotting the book back into its regular spot. "Good luck. When are you ever going to have time to do that, oh great and powerful Lord of the Fortress of Meropide?"

He ignores your little jab, as he's gotten so good at throughout his life. There's a sense of familiarity that rises in his chest, a strange nostalgia that drives him to open his mouth once more.

"Actually, about that..."

You turn to look at him again, hand coming up to brush the hair from his eyes. You always used to scold him for not taming it better. Now it seems permanently stuck as a fluffy mess.

"What is it?"

Your fingers graze his skin and he falls apart on the spot, feeling as though you had just tipped him over the edge of the cliff he's been too afraid to dive off of.

His hand catches yours, holding it just beside his cheek for a moment before lowering it to his side and tugging you just a little closer.

If he didn't ask now, would he ever?

"Let's leave this place," he murmurs, reciting the dream you promised him when he was twelve years old. "Let's travel all across Teyvat."

The silence that follows is so loud that it makes his ears ring. For a moment he falters, thinking he may have misread the situation and in turn whatever feelings he thought you may have harboured for him.

But then you take a daring step forward, nearly flush against his body. There's a look of wonder in your eyes that makes his heart race.

"Just you and me?"

"Just you and me." Just us.

There's a heavy implication behind that and you both know it. More than a proposal to chase a dream of bygone days, it's starting to sound like a confession. In his own roundabout ways, of course.

He can see the hitching of your breath, the subtle widening of your eyes, and all he wants to do is laugh at how seriously adorable you look.

"And what about the Fortress?"

"People here are less problematic nowadays than you may think."

"Won't the paperwork back up?"

"I can deal with it whenever I come back."

"Why me?"

Another silence.

"You ask too many questions," he says quietly, dodging your interrogation. In reality, he already has an answer. It's instantaneous, resting comfortably in his mouth but never leaving.

Why would it ever be anyone else?

He's having trouble focusing on anything right now with your chests so close together and his thumb running along your knuckles.

"Wriothesley," you say his name and it sounds like honey, the sweetest thing in all of Teyvat. And the look you're giving him, so touched and melting into nothing but a smiling mess—he isn't sure his heart can handle this. "I can't believe you remembered that."

"You kiddin'?" He laughs, slowly closing the distance between you. "It's all I've thought about my whole life."

He watches you carefully as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Your hand squeezes his and that's when he knows he's got you. You kiss him and he can feel the curve of your lips, the ever growing smile on your face meeting his. His knees are on the verge of buckling by the time you pull away.

"Surely you'll miss this place in your absence. This is your home now, isn't it?" You tease.

"Well, you know what they say." He gives you a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle. "Home is where the heart is."

It didn't matter if you were braving a sandstorm or the rainforest or the depths of the sea. 

Wherever you were, you would be his dream. You would be his home, too—just as you always had been for as long as he could remember.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[landosjpg]

chicken shop date | ln

the one where your boyfriend gets invited to the chicken shop date and you’re not really happy about it.

lando norris x gender-neutral!reader

word count: ~1.1k

warnings: just reader being a tiny bit jealous and insecure & fluff at the end

note: based on this request. took me a little longer than it should had but i wanted to watch the interview before to know how to approach it, but hope you enjoy it!

"i'm just not really fond of the idea!" you huffed, sinking further into your boyfriend's couch, dramatically crossing your arms under your chest with pouty lips.

your reaction got a laugh out of lando and he let his body plop down next to you, looking over at your saddened expression with a soft smile on his lips.

"baby, come on. i'm gonna be late," he cooed, his fingers trying to reach for your chin to get you to look at him so he could give you a kiss goodbye, but you easily managed to turn your face in the opposite direction before his lips could touch yours.

this gesture got a sigh out of lando, making him drop his hand to your lap in defeat.

"it's gonna be alright," he said, his voice still sweet as he tried te reassure you, knowing that under your over dramatic reaction lied the anxiety of him getting even more popular.

just the previous evening, his team had informed him that he was scheduled for a new interview in the morning. when he finished telling you all about it after hanging up the phone, your eyebrows were furrowed and the pout you made hadn't left your face since that very moment.

the chicken shop date.

you usually watched the show, so you knew how big of an audience it had. it wasn't the fake dating part that worried you, but the huge amount of fans it would get him.

it was a little stupid, you knew, considering that he was one of the most popular faces of the sport. but you couldn't help the little insecurities that surfaced from time to time, thinking that he could find someone to replace you at any given minute.

lando's hand squeezed yours softly, making you get out of your mind and look back at him. he knew what you were thinking, so he gave you a reassuring smile before bringing your hand up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. so you gave in.

"just don't be funny. or nice," you said, trying your best to forget about your worries and trust that nothing would change. "don't be cute, either."

"i can do that," lando chuckled, and with your hand still in his, he leaned closer to you to finally peck your lips.

"good, cause i don't want to share my boyfriend with any more people," you added, making him smile as he pulled away and got up from his spot next to you.

he found your overprotectiveness rather cute sometimes, and every single time he tried to comfort you, reminding you that you were the only one he wanted.

with your little act over, you looked up at his figure in front of you as he gathered his things before leaving the house. he looked extra good; you had noticed how the color of his hoodie was bringing out the blue of his eyes a few minutes earlier and how his curls were still a little damp from his shower, one of them perfectly falling over his forehead.

he turned to look at you one last time, leaning to kiss your forehead and whisper an "i love you" before he left the apartment in a rush, your little tantrum surely making him arrive a good couple of minutes late.

୨୧

lando had asked you to join him in australia so you could spend a few days exploring the city before he had to go back to work. and naturally, you had accepted.

as any other day, you woke up in his arms, limbs tangled under the bedsheets and your cheek softly pressed against his bare chest.

you lazily turned around, trying not to wake him up, to reach for your phone to check the time. that was your intention, but as you saw your phone blowing up with notifications, you remembered.

the episode had come out only a few hours earlier.

not wanting to spoil yourself scrolling on social media, you quickly opened youtube and looked it up, feeling a little uneasy once again. you weren't sure what you could expect, lando hadn't said much about it when he returned home that day.

you couldn't help the smile that creeped up to your lips the second he appeared on your screen, his soft spoken voice warming your heart and making you snuggle closer to him, your back against his chest now.

you felt the grip around your waist getting a little tighter, his knees tucking behind yours.

"are you serious?" his voice was hoarse, his breath on your skin as he hid his face on your neck.

"you didn't think i wouldn't watch, did you?" you giggled when he pulled you closer to him, only getting a soft groan from his lips as an answer.

he didn't say anything else, just kept pressing soft kissis to your skin as you finished watching the interview, your smile growing wider at his shyness.

once you were done, you put your phone down and turned around to face him again. your eyes met his under the soft morning light, the corners of your lips moving upwards at the beautiful sight in front of you.

"it wasn't that bad now, was it?" he whispered, clearly referring to your tantrum the day of the filming.

"it was fun," you admitted, running your fingers through his curls slowly.

he hummed, letting his eyelids flutter close once again at your touch.

"i'm still not happy about sharing my boyfriend with new people," you playfully added after a few seconds, the little pout on your lips, but lando was quick to kiss it away. "and i could've asked you those questions myself," you sassed, making him roll his eyes with a chuckle at your words.

"maybe you should go on a date with me if you want to ask me those questions so bad," he said, trying to nuzzle his face on your neck again to hide his smirk.

"smooth," you giggled, wrapping one of your legs around his body and pulling him a little closer to yours. "i'd love to go on a date with you, baby."

he smiled at your murmured answer, kissing your jaw before mumbling himself, "tomorrow night then?"

with a slight nod of your head, you hummed and let your eyes shut close to enjoy a couple more minutes in bed with your boyfriend before the alarm went off.

[pucksandpower]

Made with Love

Charles Leclerc x amateur baker!Reader

Summary: in which Charles would rather risk the entire paddock getting food poisoning (again) than break your heart by telling you that your baking is horrible

You hum to yourself as you pull a tray of freshly baked cupcakes out of the oven. The sweet, chocolaty aroma fills Charles’ kitchen, making your mouth water.

This batch is sure to be perfect! You’ve been practicing your baking skills for months now, determined to get it just right.

Charles wanders into the kitchen, drawn by the scent. “Mmm, something smells good in here!”

He peers over your shoulder at the tray of cupcakes. They’re a bit misshapen, with cracked tops that deflated the second they were taken out of the oven. The frosting is glopped on unevenly.

To you, they look absolutely mouthwatering. To Charles, they look … well, he loves you too much to say.

“Try one!” You urge, holding out a cupcake. Charles flashes you a hesitant smile before taking it. He peels back the liner and takes a bite. His eyes widen and he forces himself to chew and swallow.

“Well? How is it?” You ask eagerly.

Charles clears his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s great. Your best batch yet,” he lies. In truth, it’s dry and dense, with a strange bitter aftertaste. But the delight on your face makes the fib worth it.

You throw your arms around him in a hug. “Yay! I can’t wait to share them with the team this weekend.”

Charles’ stomach drops. The thought of the entire paddock pretending to enjoy your baking makes him cringe internally. But he plasters on a smile. “What a nice idea! I’m sure they’ll love them.”

The two of you arrive at the circuit and you can barely contain your excitement as you carry a large container of cupcakes into the paddock. Charles trails behind you, backpack slung over one shoulder, his other arm wrapped around your waist. He presses a quick kiss to your temple before you flit off to distribute your baked goods.

You first approach Max Verstappen, holding out a cupcake with rainbow sprinkles. “Here Max, have one!”

Max eyes the treat dubiously but accepts it with a polite smile. “Thanks Y/N, that’s really nice of you.”

You beam and turn to Charles, missing the look of apprehension on Max’s face. Charles catches Max’s eye and draws a finger across his throat in warning. Max’s eyes widen but he nods in understanding. Charles won’t let anything ruin your mood today.

You make your way through the paddock, handing cupcakes to mechanics, engineers, PR reps, reporters, team principals, and drivers. Charles hovers behind you, keeping a watchful eye on each recipient.

Daniel Ricciardo visibly gags on his first bite when you turn away. Charles glares and shakes his head sharply. Daniel rearranges his face into a smile and gives a thumbs up.

Lando Norris takes an overly large bite and Charles has to pound on his back as he chokes it down.

Esteban Ocon discreetly spits his cupcake into a napkin when you’re not looking. Charles lunges forward and grabs his arm, squeezing tightly until Esteban wheezes out “Delicious!”

You remain blissfully unaware of the chaos that falls over the paddock in your wake, oblivious to Charles’ desperate interventions. All you see are your friends and acquaintances enjoying your baking.

When you finally offer a cupcake to Charles, he takes it and eats the whole thing without hesitation. Because even if it tastes like sugary sawdust, the delight on your face makes it the best treat in the world.

“Wasn’t that fun?” You gush to Charles afterwards. “I can’t wait to try out a new recipe soon!”

Charles just kisses your frosting-smudged nose and says, “I can’t wait either, mon amour.” As long as you’re happy, he’ll choke down all the questionable cupcakes you offer. Because your smile is the only thing that matters.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you and Charles arrive for the next race weekend, yet another batch of fresh baked goods in hand. You’re eager to share your latest creations — classic chocolate chunk cookies. You spent hours carefully following the recipe, determined to get them just right.

As you make your rounds distributing cookies, the reactions are the usual mix of forced smiles and discreet spitting. Charles trails behind you, glaring at anyone who doesn’t immediately rave about how delicious they are. The drivers and mechanics quickly catch on, showering you with praise and shooting Charles grateful looks when he turns you away.

You finally offer a cookie to Graham, a mechanic from the Mercedes team. He takes it hesitantly, eyeing Charles standing behind you. But Graham is new to the paddock and unaware of the baked goods situation.

He takes a bite and immediately grimaces. “Ugh, these taste terrible!” He blurts out.

You gasp, stumbling back as if struck. Tears well up in your eyes. Charles is at your side in an instant, pulling you into a comforting hug. Over your shoulder, he shoots Graham a look of absolute rage.

Graham realizes his mistake too late, shame washing over his face. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean ...” he stammers. But you’re already pulling away from Charles and rushing off, sobbing.

Charles turns on Graham, eyes blazing. “How could you? All she ever wants to do is make others happy!” Graham cowers before him, other mechanics backing away nervously.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Graham says miserably.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Charles snarls. “You stay away from her, you hear me?” Graham nods shakily. Satisfied the message is received, Charles races after you.

He finds you behind the garage, face buried in your hands. “Oh mon ange,” Charles murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “Don’t listen to him, your cookies are perfect.”

You cling to Charles, sniffling. “I just wanted to do something nice for everyone. But I’m so horrible at baking!”

Charles tilts your chin up. “You listen to me. You have the biggest, kindest heart. It doesn’t matter if the cookies are a little, er, overdone. What matters is you put love into making them. Don’t let someone like Graham get you down.”

You smile tremulously. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best boyfriend ever?”

Charles grins. “Hmm, I don’t mind hearing it again.” Laughing through your tears, you tell him again, punctuating it with a kiss.

After ensuring you’re okay, Charles seeks out Graham. “I trust you’ll be more considerate going forward?” Graham nods meekly. “Good. But just so we’re clear, if you upset her again, you’ll be out of this paddock for good.”

The next day, the news breaks that Graham has been dismissed from the Mercedes team for “attitude issues.” You feel a bit guilty, hoping your cookies didn’t cause him to lose his job. But Charles seems strangely satisfied, so you don’t dwell on it.

From then on, Charles redoubles his efforts to protect your feelings whenever you provide baked goods. The paddock falls in line, fawning over your overly salty pretzels and dry banana bread.

The brightness of your smile makes it all worth it to Charles. Because keeping that joy and kindness shining in you is what matters most to him.

***

You step out of Charles’ Ferrari, the engine purring as he puts it in park. Taking his hand, you smile excitedly — today is another fan meetup organized by the team, and you can’t wait to connect with Charles’ supporters again.

“Are you ready, mon cœur?” Charles asks, squeezing your hand gently. His green eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at you adoringly.

“Absolutely!” You chirp, patting the large picnic basket hanging off your arm. “I made lots of treats to share today!”

Charles grins and leans in to kiss your forehead. “I’m sure they will love everything you made, as always.”

You beam, bolstered by his encouragement as you both make your way to the event. The meetup is being held in a local park, with tents and tables set up amongst the lush green grass and towering trees. You spot a long line of fans waiting eagerly for Charles’ arrival. Most are dressed in the familiar rosso corsa of Ferrari, holding posters and memorabilia for him to sign.

“Charles! Charles!” They chant excitedly when they see him. You hang back happily, letting him have his moment with his dedicated supporters. Charles takes selfies, signs autographs, and chats animatedly in Italian, French, and English. The fans are thrilled to interact with their racing idol.

After some time, Charles waves you over. “I would like you all to meet someone very special to me,” he announces, wrapping an arm around you. The fans erupt into cheers and applause. “This is Y/N, my love.”

You blush at the attention but manage to give a little wave. “Hi everyone! I’m so happy to be here today.”

Charles addresses the crowd again. “As some of you know, Y/N loves to bake and has brought some special treats to share with you all today.”

This is met with more enthusiastic cheers. Though none of them particularly enjoy your baked goods, the fans appreciate the effort and know Charles likes to reward them for humoring you.

You open up your large picnic basket, beaming with pride. “I made my favorite oatmeal raisin cookies, some lemon squares, and my famous rocky road fudge!”

The fans try not to visibly cringe, lining up politely with plates held out. You happily distribute your overly dry, burnt cookies and gooey, cloying fudge. The lemon squares are mushy and saccharine. But the fans accept it all with smiles and encouragement.

“Mmm, delicious!” One teenage girl forces out through a mouthful of your fudge.

An older man gives you a thumbs up as he chokes down a cookie, eyes watering. “So good!”

You beam, pleased that they enjoy your baking so much. As you chat with each person, you don’t notice Charles discreetly handing out autographed photos, caps, and other prized memorabilia to reward the fans for their efforts.

After you’ve handed out all your baked goods, Charles suggests a stroll through the park gardens. As you walk hand-in-hand admiring the flowers, he says softly, “You have such a big heart, Y/N. The way you care so much about connecting with the fans means the world to me.”

You squeeze his hand gratefully. “It’s the least I can do — they support you in everything, so I want to support them too.”

Charles stops and turns to you, his expression tender. “You are amazing, truly. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He leans in and kisses you sweetly. Your heart flutters just like the first time your lips met.

When you return from your walk, the event is winding down. You say goodbye to the fans, who thank you profusely for the treats and making their day so special. You tell them you can’t wait to bake for them again soon!

After the last fan leaves, it’s just you and Charles. The late afternoon sun casts golden light on the empty picnic tables.

“Did you have fun, mon amour?” Charles asks, caressing your cheek.

“The best time!” You say enthusiastically. “I just love baking for your wonderful fans and seeing how it makes them smile.”

Charles’ eyes are full of love. He kisses the top of your head. “As long as it makes you happy, that’s all that matters to me.”

You snuggle into his chest happily. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“I don’t think so,” Charles teases. “Why don’t you remind me again?”

You grin up at him. “I’ll tell you over dinner … I have a new donut recipe I want to try out.”

Charles fights down a grimace as he reminds himself that your love is more than worth suffering through another dreadful dessert. “I can’t wait!”

***

“Mate, you have to stop her before she poisons someone,” Max whispers urgently to Charles as you step out of the room.

Charles furrows his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Your girlfriend. Her baking. It’s … it’s just terrible. I’m sorry, but it has to be said.”

Charles lets out a dismissive chuckle. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Max raises his eyebrows incredulously. “I chipped a tooth on her brownie last week!”

Charles rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he avoids making eye contact.

“Look, I get that you don’t want to upset her,” Max continues, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “But we can’t keep lying and pretending it’s good! One of these days, someone is going to end up in the hospital.”

Charles sighs deeply, running a hand through his tousled hair. “What do you want me to do? If I tell her the truth, she’ll be devastated.”

You return to the room then, a bright smile on your face as you carry a plate of freshly baked apple tarts. “Who wants one?”

Max cringes almost imperceptibly while Charles shoots him a warning look. “They look great, ma belle!” He says with forced enthusiasm, taking one and bringing it to his lips.

The apple filling is gelatinous and tastes faintly of soap. Charles forces himself to swallow it with a strained smile. Max quickly declines when you offer him one.

Later that evening, Charles finds Max alone outside his apartment building. “I need your help,” he admits defeatedly.

Max looks at him expectantly.

“With Y/N’s baking … how do I get her to stop without completely crushing her?”

His friend contemplates this for a moment. “Well … you could try convincing her to take up a new hobby instead?”

Charles shakes his head. “I’ve suggested that before, but she’s dead set on baking. It’s her biggest passion.”

“Okay, then you’ll have to take a different approach.” Max strokes his chin thoughtfully. “What if … you told her a bunch of us were going vegan or something, so she couldn’t bake for us anymore?”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the suggestion, but then slowly nods. “You know, that could actually work …”

The next day, you eagerly bring a fresh batch of blueberry muffins to the paddock to share with everyone. Charles takes a deep breath before pulling you aside gently.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” He starts, trying to keep his expression neutral.

You blink up at him curiously. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Well …” He clears his throat. “I was talking to the guys and … Lewis has actually convinced a bunch of them to go vegan. Lando, Max …”

He lists off a dozen more names, watching as realization dawns on your face. Your shoulders slump slightly.

“Oh … I see.” You glance down at the muffins in your hands. “I guess that means I can’t really bake for them anymore.”

Charles feels a pang of guilt at the disappointment in your eyes. But then, your expression brightens again.

“I’ll just have to start baking vegan treats instead!” You declare happily. “This is so exciting, I’ve been wanting to experiment with more plant-based ingredients!”

Charles’s shoulders tense as the plan epically backfires. Of course you’d take this as an opportunity to bake even more.

Over the next few weeks, you gleefully embrace the vegan baking lifestyle. Charles has to smother his laughter when Max nearly chokes biting into one of your “chewy” vegan brownies. Lando spits out a mouthful of your gritty vegan chocolate cake when you’re not looking.

You, however, remain blissfully unaware of how dreadful your creations are. No matter how many hints Charles tries to drop, the problem only seems to be getting worse.

One evening, you set a plate of fresh-from-the-oven vegan peanut butter cookies on the coffee table, plopping down on the couch next to Charles with a proud grin.

“Try one!” You insist, picking a cookie up and holding it in front of his lips.

Charles hesitates for just a second too long. Your face falls and he scrambles to take a bite, barely suppressing a wince as he chews on what feels like a solid lump of chalk mixed with peanut shavings. He forces himself to swallow it down with an enthusiastic grin.

“Wow, these are incredible!” He lies through his teeth. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

You perk up immediately, the dejected look vanishing. “You really think so? I tried a new recipe I found online.”

“Definitely a winner,” Charles affirms, trying his best to sound convincing. “We should bring some to the paddock for everyone to try.”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion and guilt twists in Charles’s gut. The last thing he wants is for the other drivers to have to suffer through these … confections. But he could never be the one to shatter your baking dreams.

The next day at the track, you eagerly pass around the plate of peanut butter hockey pucks to the drivers and crew. Charles discreetly pulls Max aside with a pained look.

“Please, I’m begging you …” he murmurs under his breath. “Just smile and nod, no matter how bad they are.”

Max grimaces as he takes an experimental bite of one of the cookies, his expression doing little to mask his revulsion. But he meets Charles’s pleading gaze and forces out a strangled, “Mmm … great!”

One by one, the others follow suit — fake smiles and strained praises as they choke down your baked atrocities. You remain obliviously pleased, unaware of their suffering.

Over the next few weeks, the vegan baking experiments only seem to get worse and worse. The paddock has become a silent circle of culinary martyrs — all sworn to an unspoken code to preserve your feelings at all costs.

You proudly present a tray of charcoal-colored muffins that leave the entire garage coughing from the plume of burnt flour. “Tried a new recipe for dark chocolate avocado muffins!” You explain brightly.

“Can’t wait to dig in,” Lando is close to crying, his eyes already watering.

Charles has to bite back a laugh as Max takes a heroic bite, barely managing to keep it together. He pats the Dutchman on the back firmly as the poor guy fights back a gag reflex.

“Two more words about her baking and you’ll be racing with three wheels next season,” he warns Carlos in a low mutter after witnessing the Spaniard nearly vomit up a slice of your “moist” vegan zucchini bread.

The sheer willpower it takes for the entire crew to maintain the facade is almost impressive. Technique and strategy meetings have now become immense displays of unspoken fortitude — everyone driven by the simple goal of not letting you catch on that your baked goods are, in fact, completely inedible.

Charles has started bringing backup protein bars and shakes to every race just to make sure nobody accidentally lapses into baked good-induced delirium.

He really has no idea how much longer this can possibly be sustained. But he also has no idea how to safely extract the situation without demolishing your passion and self-confidence in the process.

For now, his main objective is to ensure your bright smile and cheerfulness remain unchanged — no matter how many mouths he has to personally silence to make that happen.

At the end of the day, having you by his side, radiating that infectious joy and following your heart’s desire, is worth enduring all the subpar vegan muffins in the world.

He’ll take a bite of your latest abomination with an adoring grin, because that’s what partners who truly love each other do — they support each other through the good, the bad, and the burnt-to-a-crisp.

***

It’s the start of a new season, and Charles has been racking his brain for a solution to the ongoing baking saga. As much as he loves indulging your passion, the charade is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. The entire paddock is at their wits’ end trying to choke down your vegan torture devices week after week.

That’s when he has an idea — one he hopes will be a win-win for everyone involved.

“Surprise!” He says with an excited grin, presenting you with the envelopes. “I got us signed up for this baking course. I thought it could be fun for us to take some classes together!”

You’re beaming as you throw your arms around his neck. “That’s such a thoughtful idea! I would love nothing more.”

Of course, Charles being Charles is hardly fully forthright about his motivations. “To be honest, I’m the one who really needs the help,” he fibs sheepishly. “We all know I’m a disaster in the kitchen. But with your talents guiding me, maybe there’s hope!”

Over the next few weeks, you and Charles diligently show up for your baking classes. The instructor walks you through fundamentals like properly measuring ingredients, controlling oven temperatures, and mastering technical skills. Slowly but surely, your creations start emerging looking (and smelling) better and better.

One evening, you return home with a fresh tray of beautifully baked chocolate chip cookies — the first delicacy you’ve felt confident enough to bake since the lessons. You present them to Charles with bated breath.

He takes one tentative bite, his eyes widening in surprise. These are actually ... edible! More than edible — they are legitimately delicious! The dough-to-chip ratio is perfect, the texture is chewy but not dry or crumbly. He quickly stuffs two more into his mouth with an appreciative moan.

“Ma belle … these are incredible!” He gasps out between bites.

You clap your hands over your mouth, eyes shining with glee. “Oh my gosh, you really think so? I was so nervous!”

“Are you kidding? I could eat this entire tray all by myself!”

The two of you dissolve into celebratory laughter and hugs, the sweet taste of success quite literally on your tongues.

“I think it’s time for the real taste test,” you declare one day, rolling up your sleeves as you start prepping an array of fresh baked goods. “We’re taking these bad boys to the paddock!”

The next race weekend, you stride in carrying bakery boxes of your fresh chocolate chip cookies as well as some decadent fudge brownies.

“Fresh out of the oven!” You announce proudly, setting them down with a bright grin. “Who’s hungry?”

For a long beat, nobody moves. The drivers exchange wary glances, their self-preservation instincts kicking in as they recall the many baking debacles of the past. Lando bravely reaches for a brownie first, his face scrunched up preemptively-

Only to blink in surprise as the rich, fudgy flavor hits his taste buds. His eyes widen comically as he takes another bite. “Bloody hell ... this is actually good!”

The words seem to shatter the suspended tension. Soon the entire paddock is swarming the trays, devouring the fresh baked goods with delight. Charles watches on in disbelief, his own taste buds experiencing flavors he didn’t even know were possible from your former creations.

He sees Max take a bite of one of the cookies, freezing in place as his eyes slip closed with an expression of pure bliss. When they open again, Charles is alarmed to see they’re glistening with unshed tears.

The Dutchman wordlessly holds up the cookie, gazing at Charles reverently as a lone tear trails down his cheek. Then, to everyone’s astonishment, he brings the baked good to his lips and takes another sensual bite, savoring it like it’s the first good thing he’s ever tasted.

From then on, it’s like a switch has been flipped. The paddock that once dreaded your baking now seemingly can’t get enough of it. Every race weekend, they await your fresh creations with unrestrained enthusiasm, like kids on a sugar bender.

Charles has lost count of how many times he’s caught drivers and crew sneaking off to wherever you’re prepping the latest batch, nostrils flaring as they try to scout out that heavenly aroma.

It’s gotten to the point where Max’s performance coach has had to implement strict rules about his treat consumption to prevent indulgences from derailing his season.

“Easy there, Max!” Rupert calls in a booming tone, swooping in to physically restrain the Dutchman as he makes a mad dash toward where you’re unpacking that week’s fresh delivery. “You know you have a limit on those.”

Max strains against his performance coach’s grip, eyes zeroing in on the platter of goodies being unloaded with unrestrained longing. “I don’t care, she brought triple chocolate cookie dough brownies this time! Let me go!”

Rupert grunts in exertion, struggling to keep his driver in check. “This is for your own good! Think of your diet!”

“That’s irrelevant!” Max practically snarls, pupils blown wide like an addict suffering from withdrawals. “Do you have any idea how long I waited to have real baked goods again?”

It’s a battle of wills and metabolism that quickly becomes a weekly sight. Charles can’t help but chuckle fondly as he watches Max and Rupert’s familiar tug-of-war happen like clockwork every Sunday.

As much as he’d love to intervene, he knows better than to come between Max and your heavenly baked creations. He’s just thrilled that this baking journey took such a delicious turn — both for your invigorated culinary passion and for the safety of everyone’s tastebuds.

Honestly, he’ll take the sight of a feverish Max drooling over freshly baked goods any day over having to choke down burnt muffins and brittle biscuits. This is the sweet upgrade everyone had been dreaming about.

The true recipe for happiness was sticking by each other’s side through all those halfbaked stumbles.

[orchidbreezefc]

ok. years have passed and we've had some distance, so i'm finally gonna take the leap of faith that tma fandom is finally ready to hear me on this. let's talk about tannins.

161 was the first tma episode i heard on early release, and i felt the bit where martin declines wine and cites tannins was pretty obvious in its implications. cool, got it, say no more.

imagine my surprise when i was one of maybe three people i saw read between the lines there, in a fandom famous for red stringing--a fandom that immediately caught the much less obvious thread of ignition sources in the same episode. i'll spell it out: alcohol is an issue for martin.

maybe it just felt obvious because addiction is a pet issue for me--as it is for jonny, who has said everything he writes is filtered through a lens of addiction. i don't know if that's due to his own experience or a loved one's, and i won't speculate; i also don't know if martin personally struggled with drinking or just avoids it for fear he would, but alcohol would fit what we know of his family. his dad walking out and his mum spiralling into bitter wallowing and verbal abuse? i'd bet one or both of them drank, yeah.

on a basic level martin tries to decline alcohol, and that alone should have raised eyebrows given what we know of martin and, again, a fandom that dissects everything. we already knew martin "K" blackwood lied about his personal life and his family in particular, especially pre-canon, which is when this flashback took place. i was shocked that everyone took his flimsy excuse at face value with no further questions.

and the excuse is flimsy. martin turns down wine by--nervously--exclaiming tannins are "a proven headache trigger!" which sounds like trivia from a magazine cover and not the words of someone who actually has headaches--and it hasn't come up before or since. jon, confused, points out that tea, a drink martin consumes to a degree that is memetic both in- and out-of-universe, also contains tannins, and martin squawks a panicked, "what?!"

if tannins are enough of a concern for martin that he knew they're in wine and so avoids it, why didn't he know they're in his drink of choice? why does he still drink tea at the time of canon, and why doesn't he struggle with constant headaches from consuming 'a proven headache trigger' day in and day out? why, indeed, would someone avoid wine and not tea?

when sasha insists martin drink he caves and agrees to 'just a drop'. i imagine him pouring it in a plant, which admittedly he could have done if tannins really were the issue. i will say that i, for one, would be less likely to falsely agree to something that makes me physically ill than to a private issue that i'd rather not be pressed on any further. this scene also establishes martin's birthday was an ice cream party instead of the more traditional visit to a pub.

also, this scene was in the first episode of the final season, as one of three flashbacks that could have been to any pre-canon event in the archives. prime narrative real estate. not really time one would waste on establishing the important character context that martin has... headaches. which never comes up before or after, even regarding the week he spent in spiral town. but you know what is pretty crucial character background...?

it felt like a no-brainer, and yet all i saw was h/c fluff about jon attending to martin's headaches. and i hate feeling bitter about disability representation. i want folks with chronic headaches to feel seen and have fluffy escapist fantasies. i don't want to be mad about people portraying a character with a disability. but, guys? you got the wrong disability. jonny sent a clear message, and it went over fandom's head.

[peppermint-toads]

*not proofread at all not even a little*

simon had finally, finally left you the fuck alone.

he’d been staying the night at your apartment for days on end, not that you minded. not really, at least.

you only started getting frustrated when you started getting… frustrated.

he’d left to go do some grocery shopping because you had “no fucking food in your house.” he needed to eat. sue him.

you played it casual, shrugging and throwing a sarcastic apology at him as he left. as soon as the door slammed shut, you were running to your bedroom and flinging open your nightstand drawer.

you grabbed your pink vibrator, a nice g-spot one.

this had to be quick. you’d never live it down if simon came home to see you in the midst of that. you got right to business, holding the power button until the familiar buzz overtook you.

you didn’t hear simon reentering. cheeky bastard only caused a ruckus when he was leaving.

“forgot it’s sunday love, shops are closed by now,” simon chuckled to himself. you didn’t respond, and you were nowhere to be seen. ah, your door was closed. you probably just wanted a nap.

simon approached, and his heart dropped when he heard cries of pain? he was immediately reaching for the door handle, but then the pain morphed into a sound he’d never heard you make. it was whinier than a cry of pain. it gave him pause.

“holy fuck! yes, yes, yes, yes!”

oh.

simon was totally not supposed to hear you climaxing.

he heard rustling behind the door and the squeak of your mattress as you got up. he’d memorized every creak the floor made and you were heading straight for him.

he took a few steps back as to hopefully look casual.

you opened your door with your eyes squeezed shut, arms reaching into the air as you stretched, shaking off the last bits of stress that washed away with your orgasm.

when you opened your eyes you were met with a rather stiff looking simon. why was he feeling so embarrassed? he’d gone to war for chrissakes and can’t handle just hearing the female orgasm?

luckily, you were completely oblivious.

“shops are closed. it’s sunday.” he repeated, more meekly this time.

“oh, okay. i’m sure there’s something in there. i’ll whip somethin’ up for you after i shower.”

you shoved past him and into the bathroom. the squeak of the shower head was mere background noise to all the thoughts racing through simon’s brain.

he stood paralyzed for at least two minutes.

the sliver of mussed sheets he could see through your cracked door was all too tempting.

he sat on your warm bed, and he swore he could smell you. he looked over at your nightstand. no. he shouldn’t. he can’t. that’d be wrong. so, so wrong.

andddd he’s reaching for the drawer.

he sees the toy, can see the slick on it from where you’d hastily shoved it back in just in case simon came home before you could clean it.

it was still warm. he looked at it, imagined the almost painful moans tearing from your throat. and he laughed. he laughed! the absolute gall of this man.

he’s sorry, it was just so small compared to him. he’d hate to imagine the struggle you’d go through taking him. he actually doesn’t hate it. he really loves it. loves it so much actually, all the blood in his entire giant body rushes right to his cock.

he leaves. immediately. he runs, literally runs, back to his apartment to rub one out. he returns to your apartment about an hour later with takeout in hand.

“didn’t want you to have to cook anything, love,” he lied. and you were none the wiser

[oxydiane]

we talk a lot about how sasuke and naruto are so crazy about each other but there’s never enough attention on how the rest of the naruto cast Also thinks they are two fucking lunatics. like we are not alone on this. you have jiraiya telling naruto he needs to not go and chase a mf who tried to snatch his heart out his ribcage and naruto is like no i’d rather be a fucking moron for the rest of my life honestly. you have naruto leaving a mission and saying sory i cannot stay i need to go home and wait for sasuke and the fucking platypus looks at him ???? like he even had me confused where are you goin g to wait? ? why are you saying that like sasuke is coming back the fuck did i miss??? you have the kage summit arc which is just a whole bucket of ice being dropped onto you because you come in and immediately get slapped in the face by naruto letting himself be beat up because he won’t tell them where sasuke is??? like he has any fucking idea where sasuke is. and sai tries to make him come to his senses like naruto??? naruto WHAT ARE U DOING. it’s so bad they need an intervention. right after that naruto faces the raikage and gets on his knees saying i know my almost boyfriend almost killed your brother but i promise it wasn’t on purpose he was just being silly please don’t put a bounty on his head a war will literally ensue. and like. there’s LAYERS to this. 1. even RAIKAGE is like BOY what are you doing. STAND UP. 2. at this point you can count the people who like sasuke on the fingers of one hand like WHO is gonna start a war over him… naruto out there moving a war against a whole country by himself over his bf ok you go girl i guess. after this it gets even worse like gaara has to go up to him and be like SASUKE DOWSNT CARE ABOUT YOU. HE DOES NOT WANT YOU. and naruto just slaps his hand away in front of his family like rude?????? ignoring anything it is hilariouuusssss and then sai is like sorry. sakura lied to you they are actually off to kill sasuke and naruto gets a panic attack so severe he passes out. like i am not joking it was so bad his friends tried to kill sasuke behind his back. and then naruto escapes bedriddenment (is that a word?) after passing out from his panic attack to run and make sure NOBODY kills sasuke. like he’s on a RUSH leaping those trees he’s a boy on a mission. then after he gets there he’s like kakashi DO NOT TOUCH HIM. they launch themselves at each other bla bla gay monologues did you see what was in my heart and then. and then naruto is like. wait sasuke. and sasuke waits like sorry that’s such a little thing but it’s so funny to me like sasuke was just acting a lil murderous crazy manic wtv but naruto told him to wait and he waits. ok good boyfriend. anyways moving on naruto is like do you get it sasuke. if we fight again we will BOTH DIE! (everybody gets a ?????? bubble) i am the only one who can shoulder all that hatred. i will CARRY THE BURDEN OF YOUR HATRED AND WE WILL DIE TOGETHER! and . absolutely Everybody in that room just goes ???????????? what the FUCK is he TALKING ABKHT. everybody except sasuke. sasuke smirks and he’s like sure. they just talked about dying together and meeting each other in a different life where they’ll be free of their burdens and they’re just Fine and all ok smiling at each other and everyone is so fucking confused. like the entire supporting cast is with us side eyeing sasuke and naruto and thinking what in the everloving FUCK is WRONG WITH YOU????????

[oxymorayuri]

❞𝑊𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙.❝

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: Law/Ace/Doffy: pol | Kid: ダイコン

Headcanons » Law ✧ Ace ✧ Kid ✧ Doflamingo Wordcount » 1873 Info » Fem reader, mature/kinky things but also fluffy and cute

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝐷. 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐿𝑎𝑤

» When you read something to him: Usually you're with Law in his study, even when the two of you are doing separate things. He's mostly working on some plans or studying medical books while you're quietly reading a book on the sofa, simply enjoying each other's presence. Some days, however, you decide to read in the library. There is a big and cozy reading corner with lots of cushions and blankets, as it is always cold in the Polar Tang. The reason why you love reading there is because of the large bull's eye that reveals the secrets of the sea. Sometimes you sink into your thoughts and dream of the future as you gaze out into the blue, not even realizing how Law quietly sneaks under your blanket. Only when he takes you in his arms and presses you against him, you come back to yourself and drop your book. You talk briefly about the day so far, what you've done and then he lays his head on your lap. You brush his hair out of his face, he looks a little tired and has come to you to relax. You are his safe place, just as he is yours. You know immediately what to do and turn a few pages in another book.... "I assume we're having our little reading session again today, darling?" It's become like an unwritten rule for you, that when he lies down on your lap, you read to him and then take a nap together. Law looks at you with one eye open and grins, as you turn to the page where you left off last time. He likes the way you change your voice depending on what is happening in the story and after a while he is so relaxed that he falls asleep. When you hear his light snoring, you smile at him lovingly and put the bookmark on the current page before putting the book aside. You snuggle up to him and enjoy the peacefulness.

» Your fragrance: The perfume you wear and your own scent have a better effect on him than lavender and directly soothes his senses. You smell like home to him. When you are together with the others and you lean on his shoulder, he always tries to discreetly place a kiss on your head. Your hair always smells like fresh lemon, but rather light and refreshing. You don't like classy and expensive fragrances and prefer things to be natural and simple. Your scent is like aromatherapy for Law and that's a secret you'll never discover.

» Your hips: Law is pretty good at keeping his face under control, but when you're wearing a crop top and showing your hips, you can see the blush on his cheeks. He really has a fetish for your curves and your belly. He places a thousand kisses on your tender skin as he goes down further towards your private parts. His lips fly so softly over your skin that you can barely feel them. When he's on top of you he loves to grab you by the hips to pull you towards him. Skillful hands caress your sides, giving you goosebumps and making you arch your back because of all those tender touches. The squeezing sensation builds up in your lower middle and you literally beg him to release you. Law is someone who likes to try out lots of positions, preferably ones where he can grab you by the hips to guide you. While he is still on top of you, he pulls you towards him and turns so that he is now underneath you and you are sitting on his dick. You are visibly surprised by the sudden change of position and need a moment before you start riding him. However, Law doesn't give you a second, moves along your thigh to your hips and moves you up and down. The forthcoming penetration makes you see stars and after you both reach your peak, you let yourself fall exhausted onto his chest. He kisses your forehead tenderly and caresses your hips as you both calm your breathing.

𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑔𝑎𝑠 𝐷. 𝐴𝑐𝑒

» The wrinkles around your eyes when you laugh: Your laugh alone makes him turn around as soon as he hears it, but the little wrinkles on your face are another level. He also shows no shame and stares into your face lovingly. Of course, you don't miss his stares and his answer to why he's staring at you so intensely was simple: "Your wrinkles are so adorable when you laugh.". He then had to convince you that he finds them charming, as you don't exactly find your wrinkles cute. In your eyes, they're more of a sign that you're ageing. His reaction afterwards was almost funny, because now it was him who was offended. In his eyes, the wrinkles only mean what a cheerful person you are.

» Your skin: Your skin is so soft and gives off a warmth that he doesn't even have, even though he's pure heat himself. lol. If the guy doesn't feel your skin on his, he feels like he's hypothermic. Nevertheless, he would never get on your nerves, he rather keeps it to himself how much he longs for your skin. That means he'll take every chance he gets to touch you. You're cooking? He will of course help you by hugging you from behind, putting his hand over yours and you two stir together :D He loves it when you sunbathe. Not only is it a nice sight for him to ogle you while you sizzle in the sun, it's also the perfect opportunity to touch you intimately in public. (Ace is definitely the type to have sex in public. Nicely on the beach while the sun goes down *-*) He definitely has a lot sunscreen in stock, even if he doesn't need it for himself, but it gives him one more reason to feel your skin without being intrusive. He applies the cream very thoroughly and definitely every 2 hours. At first you thought he was very sweet and attentive because you couldn't reach all the spots, then you realized that he just wanted a opportunity to grope you… But you won't say anything against it because you enjoy how thoroughly he massages the suncream into your skin.

𝐸𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝐾𝑖𝑑

» How you dance: No matter how full the pub is, his eyes are always on you and follow your rhythmical movements. His breathing slows down while your hips move seductively. You are a passionate woman but you dance just for yourself and simply enjoy the music as it moves through your body. Kid sometimes doesn't even notice when one of his crew members is talking to him… mostly it takes him a moment or two to react. He also finds it very satisfying to watch you reject other men. He feels proud. However, if someone touches you, he doesn't hesitate and intervenes aggressively. Just look and don't touch is the motto. You also like the way he gets angry and intervenes, so you happily snuggle up to him while you make a face at the other guy. Kid doesn't seem like it, but it takes a while before he forgives you for being such a hottie that other men keep coming crawling up to you. You enjoy it though, because it's almost cute how a tough guy like him pouts. However, he will forgive you... at the latest when you dance for him in your shared bedroom, in private ;)

» Your quick wit: Well, you do not only bark, you also bite. The Crew knows that and those who don't know you will find out soon enough! Kid never has to get involved when you're arguing with others. You're eloquent and if necessary you'll hit them! But don't worry, he's always keeping an eye on you and if you show him that you need his help, he won't hesitate and will happily take over the beating.

» Your relationship with his crew: Even if you are the captain's lover, it doesn't mean that you have automatically earned the respect of his crew... But it didn't take long for everyone to consider you one of them. For Heat, for example, you're like a little sister and you're probably the only one he's okay with when she cries (He hates crybabys, lol). The first person you really became friends with was Killer, and not just because Kid told him to look after you when he couldn't himself. It's actually because you both like spaghetti, while the others are already sick of it and you're an insane cook. The first time you cooked spaghetti, he liked it so much that he ate all the leftovers at night. This is especially important for Kid, because if his people don't love you, why should he?

𝐷𝑜𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝐷𝑜𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑜

» Your appearance: Doflamingo is an obsessive narcissist. He may love you in his own twisted way but he always says he owns you. He proudly displays you by his side and that's why your looks are important. In Doffy's eyes, you wouldn't be his queen if you weren't the most beautiful woman in the world. People who disagree with him will lose their lives faster than they would like… Because how dare they think that a man like him doesn't have the most beautiful wife. Not because you are incredibly beautiful (which is definitely true) but because Donquixote Doflamingo will only have the most beautiful woman by his side. (Know the difference..)

» How you moan his name: Doffy loves to get the softest sounds out of you while he fucks you into madness. "Say my name, my angel." You look up at him hesitantly. You can't think straight as he hammers into you, his movements are vigorous but so skillful that it doesn't hurt. It just feels so good when his tip triggers your G spot. Since Doflamingo isn't even waiting for you, he casually wraps a hand around your slender neck, forcing you to keep your gaze upright. You feel so intimidated when you look into his eyes… When you are intimate with each other, you have the honor of looking into his eyes. His gaze burns itself into your brain and if you're honest, you feel powerless. When you finally let yourself be overtaken by all your feelings, you can't help but release them through your voice. You are incredibly turned on by the way his elegant hand slowly takes your breath away and you arch your back. "Oh Doffy…" With these two words, you let the last bit of air out of your lungs and let your head fall back. "Fufufufu… My beautiful angel, don't stop singing for me." You completely let go of your embarrassment and give yourself completely to him. Your sweet sounds have an electrifying effect on him, feelings are released in his body that he can't identify, he only knows that he won't leave you to anyone. Your voice belongs to him alone and he decides to let the whole castle hear how he ruins you.

Masterlist

Hope you like it, I'm off to the land of dreams, good night :3

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒚𝒖𝒓𝒊 ♡