#query prep

[words-after-midnight]

catch me doing double-time on trimming for the next two weeks or so because an agent I've been following for a while opens to queries today and from her current mswl it sounds like libaw might be a decent fit. 👀

[words-after-midnight]

Aw, thank you so much, this brightened my day! Unfortunately I did get delayed with querying due to life nonsense and not wanting to half-ass the final manuscript, so I'm planning on starting either in December or in the new year! :) but thank you for the support nonetheless. ^^

@words-after-midnight reblogged your post:

#the way you describe having to write your wip is exactly how i felt drafting libaw#i know that feeling so well#i also could barely read fiction while i was in university ahaha

UGH, I don't know what it is with university and fiction, but it's maddening! Glad to know I'm not the only one, though (with my sympathies, of course). In other news, I noticed you've been querying LIBAW since 09/2023: CONGRATULATIONS and BEST OF LUCK! 🍀

P.S. For anyone who isn't already familiar with Nico's (words-after-midnight) psychological thriller LIBAW or Life In Black and White, you can find the WIP intro here:

[herefortheships]

Blogging in the morning instead of typing and sending that email. 💀

Logging off now! Going on a little hiatus. See you soon. 🖤🎶✨🐦‍⬛🤗🎶

[elite-amarys]

Once the Beldum evolve, they will become far smarter. Great work setting a proper foundation, but I doubt it will be fruitful for a few years.

A few years? The rate at which pokemon evolve varies greatly between individual members of species, and is influenced greatly by the trainer raising them.

This Beldum is already close to being ready to evolve, and as I have already raised a Metagross before I know exactly how to train the right skills, look for signs that it is ready to evolve, and find proper partners to co-evolve with. A month and a half is plenty of time to have them battle ready.

That said, for trainers who have little to no experience raising this particular line, yes, it would take much longer. They have very particular evolution needs.

[bookwyrminspiration]

is this abt nano or just in general

it was about my current nano project, but also I think practically every writer gets that feeling at some point during every project

where's that one quote about how writing sucks but the only thing worse is not writing. very applicable

[innerawesome]

Steps on the Query Road

Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com You’ve written your book – congratulations, that’s a huge achievement! After all that effort put into writing, you then: Worked with an editor and did revisions Worked with some beta readers and did revisions Have researched other books in your genre. You’re almost ready to hit the query road! You are now going to need to write some query letters and in…

[iamthekarmapolice]

passed that stupid certification exam through the power of educated guessing

[spookieloverslittlemind]

Their favourite part of you (physically)…

includes: Michael Myers, Pinhead, Brahms Heelshire, Art the Clown, Sun and Moon (fnaf), Marta (Outlast 2)

tw: some nsfw (mainly Art - who’s surprised)

Michael

Your face and your waist/stomach; Michael likes being able to read your every micro expression and communicate without your words as well as his own (something about him not needing any words to understand you is satisfying to him - instinct responding to instinct), often rests his head on your stomach when cuddling regardless of whether his mask is on or not, and is usually holding your waist when getting freaky with you. Likes being able to pick you up by your waist and just place you down wherever he feels inclined to, that sense of control.

Pinhead

Impossible to answer. If you ask Pinhead this question and insist he answers, he will pace back and forth before disappearing through a portal to Hell, incapable of dissecting what he believes to be the masterpiece that is your body in favour of choosing one specific part of it over the rest as his favourite. Will literally debate it in another realm for 100 years before returning to you (where approximately 3 minutes have passed in our time) to tell you he has made a choice: your heart. You roll your eyes and tell him that doesn’t count, but he already has the perfect answer prepped because he knew you’d query his response:

“Your heart is what powers the rest of you, my dear. Without your heart, you would be an empty vessel. A beautiful one, but empty. Your body is most beautiful, living, and it is your heart that ensures such a state of being. For that, your heart is my favourite part of tour body.��

Brahms

Will sulk in the walls and refuse to talk to you if you ask him to pick a part of your body and I’m so serious; he literally adores you. When you explain that he can give different answers for different reasons (such as sexually/romantically/what part of you he’s most innocently attracted to) he’s more inclined to think about it. At that point, he’s happy because he can give more than one answer - that’s more fair, Brahms thinks. So, romantically he would say your lips. Innocent attraction, he would say your eyes. Sexually?

“…Every part of you I’ve been inside.”

Art

Easiest question you’ve ever asked him. His answer is one simple gesture: 👌🏻

It’s your hole. Any hole you’ve got. That’s his favourite part. If there’s one thing Art loves more than anything else, it’s playing with something dark, wet and warm that he can stuff fingers or…other things into.

If you asked him for a more in-depth answer that sounded slightly less like you’re his own personal fleshlight, Art would pause, then go: 👉🏻😃👈🏻

Your smile, because he likes seeing you happy. He’s not exactly a romantic, but he is very playful.

Sun and Moon

Surprisingly, both Sun and Moon are in agreement that your face is their favourite part of your body, but it is for very different reasons; Sun likes holding your face, cupping your cheeks, tracing your cheekbones with mechanical thumbs; Moon likes your face because yours is the only face that gives Moon kisses. They are also both capable of reading your expressions incredibly well (they have images of your every microexpression stored as vitally important information in their systems), and they treasure doing things just to see the reaction on your face. Backflips, magic trucks - anything to see your eyes light up.

Marta

Your womb - okay, hear me out on this one, because before you jump to conclusions I’m not suggesting anything relating to hardcore fisting. Marta’s favourite place to touch you is your lower abdomen, her fingers splaying over where your womb rests in a protective gesture. To her, that is the purest part of you, that she protects from the foul seed of men. It is a sacred place in which God plants children, but your path of purity (lesbianism x) renders it an unspoilt treasure. It is rare Marta would kneel before you, but whenever she does, it is usually to place a kiss over the skin of your tummy, where your womb resides.

[bigfatbimbo]

hmmmm if you’re looking for stanford smut requests….. maybe expand on ford loving pegging? maybe throw in him getting called pretty boy to really wreck him?

- 🎩 anon!

A Night to Remember

a/n — Yeah, not my best work. But oh well.

warnings — implied Fem dom, dom reader, use of a strap, pegging, sub Ford **NOT PROOFREAD

summary — Reader and Ford try out pegging for the first time.

“Are you sure about this, dear?” Ford queried for the hundredth time that night.

You were almost done setting up with prep, getting ready to slide the first finger in. His weariness was almost laughable, “Yes, i’m sure. Are you?”

He looked taken aback—sounded taken aback, as he was already on fours for you. “What? Yes! Of course, I— I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

It’s almost cute how unsure of himself he could still be, despite everything he’s been through. It’s in vulnerable moments like this you catch a glimpse of the insecure boy he once was. You try to call him down.

“So have I, baby—“ the pet name was well received, “—but you can relax. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

Your finger slipped into his asshole with ease because of the lubricant, and he shifted uneasily. “It might feel weird at first— But just get ready, sweetheart.”

“Right. Yes. Of course,” was his short response.

You worked on loosening him up for a little bit before you must have hit a spot he liked, because he sucked in a breath, “Oh.”

Gaining confidence, you kept moving. Twisting your fingers in and out, drawing soft moans from Ford.

Finally, his voice wavered, “Please.”

You took that as your queue, slipping your fingers out and replacing them with your strap. 

“Brace yourself,” You say as you slide into him, drawing out a whimper of approval from Ford. “Good, good.” You praise absentmindedly, beginning to find a pace.

You steady yourself and move inside him, not too fast, but not annoyingly slow. 

“M-more,” Ford mutters, “Please, love—“

So you speed up, and you begin to drive deeper into him. First your pace unsteady, but once you find a good place, Fords legs begin to shake. His breath hitches and he gasps for the sheets, groaning slightly.

You go on like that for a little bit, before deciding to, once again, lift your pace.

Ford whines your name. 

“You’re doing so good, sweet boy,” You thrust into him, “So well behaved, so perfect.”

He whimpers into the pillow, mumbling incoherently.

“And so pretty,” you add on, drawing out a long raspy whine from Ford.

“Ah— Y/n, dear lord—“ He whines, “Close, ‘m so very close.”

You drill into him now, daring him to reach his limit, a challenge he seems to gratefully accept.

“Anytime you want, sweet boy.” 

His breathing gets ragged, back arching with every thrust, and with one final whimper he releases, before collapsing onto the mattress.

You lay there with him for a few moments after ford flips onto his back. 

“Wanna get cleaned up?” You propose.

He breathes, “I think—“ a huff “—If we want to get full use out of the strap then… maybe a second round would be.. most productive.”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

FRANK CASTLE day 8 (15, oct) — period sex

18+ fem!reader, 706 words. mdni!!

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST ⋆ ˚｡𖦹.

Frank’s cock rests heavy on your lower stomach, the weight of him very noticeable through his jeans. The motion of his hips is near non-existent, the subtle grind-like movement simply a way to ease some of the frustrations — alleviate the aches within you both. 

His lips graze roughly over yours, a hand clasped tight to yours above your head, his hold keeping you pinned to the pillow. His other is placed under your chin, thumb and fingers gently dimpling your cheeks.

And with your spare hand, you’re running it eagerly down his bare spine, fingers slinking into the back of his jeans, desperately trying to get him out of them. Your hips roll on instinct, the need for him far more intense on your period.

“What’s all the rush?” he murmurs against your lips, the question almost rhetorical. 

The query felt like a tease, his ask only amplifying those frustrations you struggled to contain. All you could muster in response is a whiney, breathy sound, the noise muffling in his mouth. 

“Come on,” you urge with a whisper, thighs clamping together. 

As he parts, he presses a quick, faint kiss to the tip of your nose, simultaneously letting go of his dual hold on your hand and face. He shifts his weight, peeling from his hover-like position to a kneeled one between your legs — hands resting over the inners of your thighs to keep him ‘balanced.’

He draws slow, easy circles over your skin, rough fingers tracing the goosebumps with his eyes locked down on yours. Gaze remains on you as he slips a hand down the front of his jeans, his sole visual focus obtained by you as he gives his cock a quick palm over.

You adjust the old towel under your ass, straightening the worn-out, ratty fabric while Frank preps himself — unbuttoning his jeans to pull his dick out over the top. He strokes over himself briskly as he adjusts his position, itching closer to your bare cunt ahead. 

He places his spare hand on your hip, large manish fingers pawing carefully at your sore and tender skin, trying his best to soothe the other aches in your body.

“Gon’ get messy, sweetheart,” he husks, eyes focused on his cock in hand. 

His head bumps up against you, the mere, slight contact you urgently craved makes you shudder — a slight jolt in your stomach immediately catching Frank’s attention. His eyes flash up to yours, silently checking you over with that signature query-like glance. 

You’re quick to dismiss any worry, brushing off his look with an eager nod. And only when he knows you’re okay, he’s feeding his cock into you, thumb resting over his shaft to control the movement. He ever so slowly dips into you, pushing himself fully inside until his balls are pressing up against your lips — cock filling you up entirely. 

He keeps his eyes on your cunt as he pulls out, seeing all evidence of your period: streaks and splotches of blood running up the length of his dick. The sight of blood proving to mean nothing to the ‘Big Bad Punisher.’

He feeds himself back into you, eyes locked down below.

“Feelin’ like heaven,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

And with his hand secure around your hip, he drags it upwards, running up your side until he’s cupped under one of your tits — calloused, manly hands contradicting his careful touch. Leaning over you, he resumes his prior hovered position, his face mere inches from yours as he begins his very gentle rocking. His free hand firmly situated beside you for stability.

You wrap your hand around his lower arm beside your head, fingers far from connecting around the meat of it. Just holding onto him like you were seeking comfort. And as you’re pawing at his beefy upper wrist, his head is ducking to your chest — the hand occupied with your tit pushing it upwards to meet his mouth. 

He peppers the upper of your breast in soft kisses, his lips grazing the sore and tender skin to the same pace of his slow, irregular strokes. Matching his caress-like kissing to his fucking, the dual act like an attempt to ease all the aches and pains in your body. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

timing was crazy for this one bc by the time I got around to writing it, I got my period??? nuts

[kiyawritesforf1]

TINKLING TEMPTATIONS

Pairing: Lando Norris x Indian!Reader

Words: 4k

1. The Nose Ring That Started It All

Monaco’s McLaren Technology Centre buzzed with pre-season prep, engineers darting between laptops and car parts. Lando Norris, fresh from a sim session, was meant to be focusing on telemetry data, but his eyes were elsewhere—on Y/n, the new PR manager, briefing the media team across the room. She was a vision: tailored blazer, high-waisted trousers, hair in a sleek ponytail, and a tiny silver nose ring with a diamond stud that caught the fluorescent lights like a flirtatious wink.

Lando’s coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth. He’d seen nose rings before, sure, but on her? It was… different. A nod to her Punjabi roots, subtle but bold, sitting perfectly on her flawless skin. His brain short-circuited, imagining her picking it out in some vibrant Delhi market, her laugh echoing as she tried it on. Bloody hell, Norris, focus.

“You alright, mate?” Oscar Piastri, his teammate, nudged him, smirking. “You’re staring like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lando snapped out of it, cheeks pink. “I’m not staring,” he mumbled, spilling coffee on his hoodie. “Just… her nose ring. It’s… shiny.”

Oscar snorted. “Shiny? Mate, you’re gone. That’s Y/n, the PR wizard. Good luck—she’s way out of your league.”

Lando groaned, wiping the spill, but his eyes drifted back to Y/n. She caught his gaze, raising an eyebrow, the stud glinting again. “Lando, you need something?” she called, her voice teasing but professional.

“Uh, no! Just… nice… ring!” he stammered, face flaming as the media team chuckled. Y/n’s lips twitched, amused, and Lando sank into his chair, muttering, “Kill me now.” Oscar clapped his back, laughing, but Lando was already planning how to accidentally-on-purpose bump into her later.

2. The Spicy Lunch Surprise

The Bahrain Grand Prix was a scorcher, and the McLaren garage was a sweaty hive of activity. Lando, between practice sessions, was starving, his stomach growling louder than the V6 engines. Y/n was at her usual post, managing press queries with cool efficiency, her sundress a bright contrast to the grease-stained chaos. She’d been with the team a few months now, and Lando’s crush had only worsened—especially since he’d overheard her joking in Punjabi on a call, her voice melodic, confident, hot.

He was rummaging through the catering table—same old sandwiches—when Y/n walked over, a Tupperware in hand. “Hungry, Norris?” she asked, popping the lid to reveal a steaming pile of chana masala, the spicy chickpea dish wafting cumin and chili.

Lando’s mouth watered, but not just for food. She was eating this herself, a little piece of home in the desert, and the casual way she offered him some—like it was nothing—made his heart skip. “Is that… Indian?” he asked, voice a pitch too high.

“Yup,” she said, handing him a spoon. “Punjabi soul food. Careful, it’s got a kick.”

He took a bite, and whoa. The flavors exploded—tangy, spicy, warm—and he grinned, eyes wide. “This is unreal,” he said, then, without thinking, “You’re unreal. Like, how do you just… make this? And look like that?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard, then laughed, a sound that hit him harder than the chili. “Easy, tiger. It’s just chickpeas, not a love potion.”

His face burned, spoon halfway to his mouth. “I didn’t mean—well, I did, but—” He stopped, noticing Daniel Ricciardo nearby, eavesdropping with a grin.

“Go on, Norris, dig that hole deeper,” Daniel called, winking at Y/n, who smirked and handed him a spoonful too. Lando watched, jealous of the spoon, muttering, “Mate, get your own.” Y/n’s eyes sparkled, oblivious to his inner meltdown, and Lando swore he’d learn to cook chana masala if it meant eating with her again.

3. The Bangle Blunder

Silverstone was home turf, and Lando’s family joined him for the weekend, turning the McLaren hospitality suite into a Norris family reunion. His mum, Cisca, was fussing over his hydration, while his dad, Adam, and siblings, Flo and Oliver, teased him about his P4 qualifying. Y/n was in her element, managing media chaos with a clipboard and a smile, her floral skirt and blouse combo hugging her curves in a way that made Lando’s focus slip.

Then he heard it—a soft jingle, like tiny bells. Y/n was wearing bangles, a stack of thin silver ones on her wrist, a nod to her Punjabi heritage that clinked as she gestured, explaining something to a journalist. The sound was hypnotic, tying her modern vibe to something timeless, and Lando was gone, imagining her dancing at some vibrant Indian wedding, bangles flashing.

“Lando, you’re up for interviews,” she said, walking over, the bangles jingling louder. He stared, mouth dry, brain stuck on jingle-jingle-hot.

“Uh… yeah, cool,” he managed, tripping over a chair as he stood, earning a laugh from Flo. “Your… bracelets. They’re… loud.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, shaking her wrist to make them clink more. “Loud? You mean musical. It’s a Punjabi thing—keeps the vibes festive.”

“They’re… really festive,” he said, cheeks pink, scratching his neck. “Like, distracting. In a good way.”

Cisca, watching, whispered to Adam, “He’s smitten,” and Adam chuckled, nodding. Y/n tilted her head, amused but clueless, and said, “Focus, Norris. You’ve got Sky Sports in five.” She walked off, bangles singing, and Lando groaned, muttering, “I’m doomed.”

Carlos Sainz, grabbing a coffee nearby, smirked. “Mate, just ask her out. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Shut it,” Lando hissed, but he was already daydreaming about those bangles, wondering how they’d sound if he held her hand.

4. The Holi Havoc

McLaren hosted a pre-season team-bonding event in Monaco, and Y/n, ever the creative PR genius, suggested a Holi-inspired party—color powders, water balloons, and music to celebrate her culture’s festival of spring. The paddock was transformed into a rainbow riot, drivers and staff laughing, covered in pinks and blues. Y/n was in a white crop top and jeans, modern but ready for the mess, her nose ring sparkling as she tossed a handful of yellow powder at Oscar.

Lando, in a white tee, was meant to be strategizing with Zak Brown, but his eyes were on Y/n, laughing like a kid, her skin dusted with color, her energy infectious. When she grabbed a water balloon and lobbed it at him, soaking his shirt, he yelped, then chased her, grabbing a fistful of red powder.

“Gotcha!” he shouted, smearing it across her cheek, his fingers lingering a second too long. Her laugh was electric, her face glowing under the color, and Lando’s heart did a double take. She’s a bloody masterpiece.

“You’re dead, Norris!” she teased, tossing more powder, her Punjabi spirit shining through in her playfulness. He caught her wrist, pulling her close, their faces inches apart, colors swirling around them.

“You’re… so pretty,” he blurted, voice soft, face redder than the powder. Her eyes widened, a smile tugging her lips, but before she could respond, Max Verstappen doused them both with a water gun, cackling.

“Oi, lovebirds, save it for later!” Max yelled, and Lando groaned, letting her go, his shirt clinging to his chest, his crush painfully obvious. Y/n laughed, brushing powder from her hair, and Lando muttered to himself, “I need to stop saying stupid things.” But he was already planning to steal another balloon fight with her.

5. The Diwali Glow

It was November, and Y/n invited the McLaren team to her Monaco apartment for a low-key Diwali celebration—her way of sharing her roots without making it a big PR stunt. Lando jumped at the chance, dragging Oscar and Daniel along, his nerves jangling worse than race day. Her place was warm, lit with diyas, a small rangoli at the door, and the smell of sweets—gulab jamun, barfi—filling the air.

Y/n wore a simple anarkali dress, gold and peach, not heavy like a traditional outfit but flowing, modern, hugging her just right. Her hair was loose, her nose ring catching the candlelight, and Lando nearly walked into a wall when she opened the door.

“Welcome!” she said, handing him a diya to light. “It’s for good vibes—don’t burn my place down, Norris.”

“No promises,” he joked, but his hands shook as he lit the lamp, his brain screaming she’s unreal. She explained Diwali—light over darkness, family, hope—and he hung on every word, charmed by her passion, her ease blending cultures.

When she offered him a gulab jamun, her fingers brushing his, he took a bite and groaned, loud enough for Daniel to snicker. “Mate, it’s a sweet, not a proposal,” Daniel teased, but Lando’s face was flaming.

“It’s amazing,” he said, eyes on Y/n. “You’re amazing. Like, this whole… Indian thing. It’s… wow.” He cringed, words tumbling out wrong, but Y/n smiled, soft, oblivious to his heart doing cartwheels.

“Thanks, Lando,” she said, passing him another sweet. “You’re sweet too.” He choked on the jamun, Oscar thumping his back, laughing, and Lando swore he’d die of embarrassment—or love—before the night was over.

+1. The Confrontation and the Date

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix was the season finale, and McLaren was riding a high—Lando had clinched P3 in the championship, a career best. The team party was at a beach club, fairy lights twinkling, music pulsing. Y/n was in a navy dress, sleek and elegant, her nose ring glinting as she laughed with the media team, coordinating last-minute posts. Lando, in a rare suit, couldn’t stop glancing at her, his crush no longer a secret to anyone—drivers, his family, probably the entire paddock.

His mum, Cisca, was there, visiting, and nudged him. “Lando, love, just tell her. You’ve been mooning over her all year.”

“Mum,” he groaned, cheeks pink, “she doesn’t even notice. I’m a mess around her.”

Cisca smiled, patting his arm. “She notices more than you think.”

He wasn’t so sure. Every time Y/n’s bangles jingled, or she cooked something spicy, or her nose ring caught the light, he fell harder, babbling like an idiot—yet she stayed cool, professional, friendly. Untouchable. But tonight, with the season done and champagne in his veins, he was done hiding.

Y/n was by the bar, sipping a mocktail, when he approached, heart pounding. “Hey,” he said, voice shaky, “can we… talk?”

She turned, smiling, that damn stud sparkling. “Sure, Norris. What’s up?”

He swallowed, noticing Daniel and Charles lurking nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop. “I, uh… you’re amazing,” he started, then winced. “Not like, work-amazing—though you are—but… you. Your nose ring, your food, your bangles, the Holi thing, Diwali… all of it. I’m kind of obsessed with you.”

Her eyes widened, lips parting, and for once, she looked flustered. “Wait—obsessed? Lando, are you saying…?”

“I’m a disaster,” he rushed on, face red, “but yeah, I fancy you. Like, a lot. Every time you do something… Indian, I lose it. The jingly bracelets, the spicy stuff—it’s all so you, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to take you out. Like, a proper date. If you’ll let me.”

Silence. His stomach dropped, expecting rejection, but then she laughed—not mocking, but warm, delighted. “Lando Norris,” she said, stepping closer, her voice teasing, “have you been blushing over my nose ring this whole time?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, scratching his neck, the drivers snickering behind him. Charles gave a thumbs-up, Daniel mouthed “Go for it,” and Cisca watched, beaming.

Y/n tilted her head, studying him, her smile softening. “I noticed, you know. The way you stare when I wear bangles, or when I brought that dal to the paddock. I thought it was cute, but I didn’t realize it was this.” She gestured at his flustered self, grinning. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous.”

“Adorable?” he groaned, but his heart lifted, hope sparking. “So… is that a yes?”

She nodded, eyes sparkling. “Yes, Lando. Take me out. But—” she leaned in, whispering, “you’re gonna have to handle spicier food than you think.”

He laughed, relief flooding him, and grabbed her hand, the crowd cheering—Daniel loudest, yelling, “Finally!” Lando pulled her close, not caring who saw, his grin wide.

“First date,” he said, voice low, “I’m picking somewhere with curry. And you’re wearing those bangles.”

“Deal,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, her nose ring catching the light, sealing his fate.

END

P.S. I am liking these 5+1 fics

[words-after-midnight]

Little snippet from the scene I'm editing right now. 👀 This is a favorite passage.

[hgfictionwriter]

Long Distance Call

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie and you are doing the long distance thing. What's she to do when you surprise her with a fun photo?

Warning: Smut. Phone sex. Explicit language!

A/N: Based on this request.

“Alright, everyone. Settle in. We have a big game this Friday and we’ve got lots to go through to prepare. Let’s look at some footage.”

Jessie was honed in on the analysis until she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket. Coach was addressing the defenders, so Jessie took the opportunity to check.

Jessie had to stifle a gasp, nearly choking in the process as she shot straight up in her chair so aggressively that it caused the chair to scrape loudly against the floor. The noise immediately drew curious looks from the team.

“Sorry,” she offered quietly as a deep blush began to radiate off her cheeks.

It wasn’t the “Morning, baby 🥰” message that’d caught her so off guard. It was the accompanying picture of your mostly naked body that had her shook.

She’d alluded to wanting photos like this, you know, for some added inspiration while you were apart, but you’d never followed through - until now.

Jessie subconsciously cleared her throat as she settled back into her seat. It took valiant effort to not fidget and squirm as heat was now pooling in a totally different area than her face.

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she tried desperately to refocus on game day tactics, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t thinking of how she was going to get you back for messing with her. Mostly though, she thought of how she wanted to fuck you ragged until you could barely think and the only words coming from your mouth would be her name.

But she couldn’t. Not a while anyway. She swallowed her irritation and frustration. Long distance sucked.

“What was that all about?”

Janine’s overly intrigued query caught Jessie’s attention as the blonde fell into step with her as they were all leaving the meeting. Of course Janine had to inquire.

“Nothing really. A reminder came through on my phone and I thought I’d missed something, but it’s all good,” Jessie fibbed.

“Uh huh,” Janine responded, clearly not buying it, but benevolently let it go. “So, what are you up to tonight?”

“Dreaming of fucking my girlfriend silly,” Jessie thought.

“Not much. Maybe a bit more prep for the game, but I’m pretty tired, so it’ll be a low key evening,” she said instead. “You?”

“It’s date night,” Janine said with a bright smile. A moment later she offered an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard with Y/N so far away. How many weeks until you see her again?”

“5,” Jessie responded without missing a beat. She could even tell Janine the exact number of days if she’d asked, and there was a countdown on Jessie’s lock screen to prove it.

“It’ll go by quickly,” Janine said with dogged positivity. Jessie nodded and gave her a half smile.

“I know.”

Laughter suddenly erupted from a group of their teammates, drawing Janine’s attention away and leaving Jessie to fall back enough to find some privacy. When she was sure she was alone, she opened your text once more.

She inhaled deeply as she took in the image and a smirk tugged at her lips. She replied.

“Best text ever. Well, surprising - I opened it during analysis, btw! You look so fucking sexy. I miss you so much. I can’t express it. I wish I was coming home to you.”

She locked her screen and was about to leave when her phone buzzed again.

“That would be too much fun 😘. I wish I was waiting at home for you.”

Jessie expelled a slow, shaky breath. It was going to be a long afternoon.

By the time Jessie got home, the heat between her legs had only gotten worse. The image of you was burned in her mind and she kept replaying past times you made love and kept envisioning what she’d do to you if you were around.

She dropped her bag by the front door and immediately opened up the picture you sent.

“Fuck,” she breathed as she took you in.

She walked over to the couch and sat down heavily on it and immediately tucked a hand underneath the waistband of her shorts and into her underwear.

“Jesus,” she muttered when she felt how wet she was just from picturing you. She ran her fingers through her folds and dipped them briefly inside. The wet sounds each motion made would’ve made her blush on some occasions, but not today. She drew her fingers back and began circling her clit as she looked at your naked body.

She was releasing a heavy breath when her phone suddenly vibrated and a notification came up startling her. She drew her hand out of her shorts immediately and her heart raced until her mind caught up, realizing it was you calling.

She took a few deep breaths before she answered.

“Hey babe,” she said, still feeling hot and flustered in a couple of ways.

“Hi baby,” you greeted cheerfully. “How was training?”

“Uh, good,” Jessie said, a bit stilted in her reply as she tried to refocus. “Yeah, it was a long day, but good. How was yours?”

“The day was fine,” you answered easily. “I missed you. In case you couldn’t tell.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jessie breathed as she was brought right back to what she was doing a moment ago. “That was,” she struggled to find the words, “so hot. I was not expecting that at all. But holy shit - you are so sexy.”

“Yeah? Well, I have to make sure you miss me, too,” you joked.

“No challenge there.” Jessie breathed heavy into the phone.

“Well, if I can’t be there in person, the least I can do is give you some inspiration.” You told her in a flirtatious tone. Jessie gave a breathy chuckle.

“Mission accomplished.”

“Mmm, is that so?” You asked, a lilt in your voice. “Tell me more.”

“Um,” Jessie felt her cheeks start to warm. “You’re just super sexy.” She paused momentarily before relenting, lowering her voice unnecessarily to a near-whisper. “And I was definitely wet.”

You didn’t skip a beat. “Mm, baby. Tell me more. Did you think you were wet or did you confirm?”

Jessie blushed further. “Confirmed,” she nearly mumbled.

“God. I wish I was between your legs right now. I’d love to taste you and see for myself just how wet you are.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jessie’s voice was raspy and she fidgeted in place as the need between her legs was reignited and began to pulse once more. She cleared her throat quietly and added, “Pretty fucking wet.”

“Right now?” You asked. Jessie hummed a bit before replying.

“Maybe.”

“Ugh, baby, don’t tease me,” you told her and she responded with a short laugh.

“Excuse me? Who’s teasing who here?”

“You know, for someone who wanted nudes and finally got one, you seem to be complaining,” you joked, knowing she’d offer an immediate rebuttal.

“I’m not! I fucking loved it. And yes, I’m wet right now,” Jessie countered. She fidgeted again and went on in a hushed voice. “In fact, I was…you know, doing stuff, when you called.”

“Jesus,” you said with a sharp inhale. “Now that is the sexiest thing. Oh my god, Jess.” She could hear the satisfied grin in your voice. “Don’t let me stop you,” you went on in a soft voice. “Maybe I can even help you.”

“Yeah?” Jessie asked, shifting her jaw subconsciously and very intrigued now. “How so, baby?”

“Imagine it’s my hand between your legs. Lower the phone and let me hear how wet I make you,” you instructed.

Jessie grit her teeth, eyes rolling into the back of her head already at the events that were unfolding. She gave you want you wanted; lowering the phone and dipping her fingers back through her slick folds. Her arousal was obvious right away.

She held the phone back up, but began to circle her clit.

“Holy fuck, Jessie. That was so incredibly sexy. I’m aching for you - I need you so bad.”

“Fuck, baby,” Jessie breathed, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She rubbed her clit with a firmer touch and rocking her hips up in slow gyrations. “I was so wet at training too just thinking about what I’d do to you if you were here.”

“Baby, please, tell me,” you pleaded. You heard her chuckle softly, but you detected how her breathing grew heavier in your ear.

“Only if you’re a good girl,” Jessie smirked. “Touch yourself for me. Two fingers - tracing around your clit and between your lips. Dip them down until you can tell me how wet you are for me.”

“Oh my God.” You nearly panted. Jessie often took control in the bedroom, but you hadn’t explored this facet of it before. Hearing her speak like this was unexpected, but so sexy. You did as you were told and moaned softly into the phone. “Baby, I’m dripping wet,” you told her as you drew your fingers back up and the tips were covered in your juices.

Jessie groaned into the phone and bit her lip.

“Just what I like to hear,” she affirmed as she continued to rub circles around her swollen clit. “God, I miss fucking you.”

You groaned in need and agreement as you continued to run your fingers through your lips and grazing your clit. “Me too, baby. My fingers and toys just aren’t the same.”

Jessie breathed heavy as a satisfied grin crossed her face. “Damn right they’re not.” She moaned faintly as her hips bucked against her hand. “If you were here, I’d have you on your back, legs on my shoulders as I pin you down, and I’d be knuckle deep in you.” She dipped her fingers inside of herself and her eyes fluttered shut. “God, I can feel your cum all over my fingers. And you know I love the way you start to pool around my knuckles and in my palm.”

“Jess,” you panted. “Oh my god. Keep going. I love the way you fill me up. The way you fit perfectly inside of me, stretching me just right.”

“Fuck, baby,” Jessie breathed as she went back to rocking her hips against her fingers on her clit. “You’re perfect for me. I’d be stroking you hard and deep. I’d be pumping my whole body against yours I’d be fucking you so hard. The bed would bang against the wall every time I bottom out inside of you, pushing you deeper into the mattress.”

“Oh god, Jessie, you fuck me so good,” you praised. You could vividly picture the prideful and smug look on her face and it turned you on even more.

People loved talking about how humble Jessie was. But when it came to fucking and pleasing you, there was nothing humble about her. And frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love when you say my name,” Jessie said, her voice growing strained as her breathing continued to pick up. She grinned once more. “But I love it even more when you scream it.”

You moaned loudly into the phone, letting your head fall back as you rubbed your clit harder and faster.

“So make me,” you challenged her.

Jessie groaned, biting her lip again, her back arching off the couch. “I love you so much,” she breathed with a laugh of appreciation. “Baby, you know I’d be hitting your sweet spot with every stroke. I’d be making sure that every time I fill you to the hilt I’m sending a wave of pleasure through your whole body. My thumb’s on your clit, circling and rubbing it. And after I kiss you deeply, my lips hard on yours, I’ll kiss your neck.

“I won’t mean to suck on your skin too hard, but feeling you buck and writhe beneath me, moaning in my ear as I pump in and out of you makes me fucking feral for you. Like I can’t get close enough or love you hard enough. I mark you, but I don’t feel so bad about it because that’s how much I want you, to the point where I can’t control myself.

“When you moan as I latch down on your neck, I push a third finger inside of you. You wrap around me tightly, but you’re so fucking wet I just slip in. Feeling your walls grip me and pulse around me as I move nearly sends me into a frenzy.”

“Jesus Christ, Jess. I’m so close,” you warn her, your voice high and faint.

“I can feel your body start to tense up. Your legs start to shake and your breath quickens as I continue. I curl my fingers inside of you, relishing each punctuated moan you release each time I make contact. Your arousal is pooling on the sheets now as I’m driving my hips into you. I’m absolutely soaked because of how sexy and beautiful you are beneath me.”

“Holy shit. Jessie.” Your eyes screwed shut and her name was loud and strained as your climax hit. “I’m cumming.”

“Umph,” Jessie moaned as she bit her lip. “Baby girl. So fucking hot,” she said as she bucked her hips against her fingers which desperately rubbed her sensitive clit. The tightening sensation deep in her core built rapidly as she heard you cumming in her ear and she envisioned your body against hers.

A tight groan worked its way up Jessie’s throat as her core began to pulsate. Her hips jerked against her fingers as she brought herself over the edge.

You both whimpered and breathed heavy into the phone as you rode out your joint orgasms. Jessie’s chest heaved up and down and she slumped into the couch, her underwear thoroughly soaked through and too lazy to remove her hand from them. She could barely hold up the phone and had yet to open her eyes. Eventually, you spoke.

“Babe. That was insane. And totally incredible,” you relayed in pure appreciation and admiration. “You’re amazing.”

Jessie chuckled languidly, slowly opening her eyes.

“Amazing what one can do with a great muse.”

You laughed. “Well, I have to say, long distance may not be quite so unbearable if we have repeats like this.”

“I’ll take care of you, baby,” Jessie assured you. “You send me fun photos, and I promise I’ll take good care of you. Deal?”

“Deal.” You agreed with a breathy laugh.

“For real though,” Jessie started, “I really miss you. I love you, you know that, right?”

Again, you chuckled. Of course you knew. And you knew how lucky you were too.

“I know, baby. I love you, too. And I miss you more than you know.”

[ultravioletrayz]

KINKTOBER

╰┈➤ DAY FIFTEEN: SOMNOPHILIA w/ QUEEN MAEVE (MAGGIE SHAW)

It wasn't unusual for Maeve to be held back late for training or PR prep at Vought. As much as she hated that side of her job, it was still just that- her job. So, she tolerated the late nights, all so that the good people could put their faith in her as a real hero by day.

But Maggie didn't care about any of that. She cared about you, her precious princess that had to watch the dinner for two go cold on the dining table, and had to go to sleep in an icy, empty bed most nights.

As per usual, she cautiously unlocks the door of your shared apartment at close to 12, mindful of every minuscule noise she generates so that she doesn't wake you up as she tip-toes into the bedroom. You're in a deep sleep, your chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. Maggie's heart aches for you, knowing she couldn't be there to lull you to sleep with her gentle touch and sweet words.

Her eyes drift towards the bed as she slowly strips out of her clothes, leaving her in just her black lace underwear and bra. The moonlight spills through the windows, casting an ethereal glow over your skin and tangled mess hair. She takes a tentative step forward, unable to resist the urge to get closer to you.

As Maggie kneels on the mattress beside you, her fingers trailed across your cheek before tracing down your neck, following the line of your collarbone until they reached the edge of your bra. With a gentle nudge, she pushes the fabric aside, revealing your supple breasts to the cool night air. A soft laugh escapes her lips as she leans down to take one in her mouth, gently sucking on your hardening nipple while her other hand slides underneath your pyjama bottoms.

Your body arches off the bed in response to her touch, even in your sleep, and Maggie can't help but smile against your skin. You're always so responsive for her. Her needy girl. Maggie kisses her way up your chest and neck, nipping at your skin lightly as she reaches your earlobe.

"I'm here now," Maggie whispers, her warm breath causing shivers to run down your spine. "It's just us."

Maggie's hand slides further down between your legs, fingers finding their way underneath the delicate cloth of your panties as she starts to tease your clit gently. You let out a soft moan in your sleep, your body arching into her touch as she slips a finger inside you, pumping slowly in and out. Your mind might be asleep, but your body certainly isn't, responding to her touch with more eagerness than she could ever hope for.

Her other hand cups your breast, massaging the soft skin as she leans down to take your nipple into her mouth once again, sucking on it gently. She trails more kisses down your chest and stomach, nuzzling against you as the soft pad of her finger pets and soothes that desperation inside you that she's been neglecting for weeks now.

Your brows are knitted so adorably, lips parted to make way for the panting breaths your let out. It takes Maggie's teeth tugging at one of your nipples to urge you awake with a groggy moan, eyelashes fluttering open as you stare down at Maggie's smug smile.

"Hey there, beautiful. Just relax, I've got you." She coos, cutting off your sleepy babbles and queries with a long awaited, heated kiss. Not daring to break the contact of your searing lips, Maggie rips your panties off your body with one swift motion, casting them aside before she slides another finger inside you, stretching you open. You gasp, eyes rolling back in your head as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge with each thrust of her fingers.

Your body trembles in anticipation, and Maeve takes it as a cue to start moving faster, circling your clit with her thumb while driving her fingers in and out of your tight cunt. You cry out, pulling her close as you come undone under her touch, body shuddering as she milks every last moan from you.

She grins against your skin, pressing a kiss you your sweaty forehead as she brushes your hair away from your face, wanting to bask in the sight of your half-asleep, blissful little smile as you look up at her like she's a dream come true. And at the end of the day, having her here in bed with you truly is a dream come true.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Pay the Piper (Leitmotif 3)

mdni

Chapter summary: You've left an impression, and pirates' greed isn't only for gold.

Master list <--- All chapters in order

Chapter warnings: none. (Holy shit)

Unconventional Use of Haki: I'm playing with haki by introducing D&D flavored bardic talents. I'll explain further as the story grows, but I thought fair warning was needed. Always happy to answer queries in my inbox!

A/N: I alternate "verses" (main story arc chapters) with "leitmotifs" (critical flashback chapters with contextual adventures). It's a play on One Piece's own style and a way to keep things fresh.

I do not curate tag lists, but I do reply to comments when the next chapter goes live!

Shanks hid behind the brim of his straw hat, kicking the side of the bar with his dangling feet, stewing.

A man played guitar in the corner, leading shanties the Roger Pirates joined with gusto, and the space pulsed with stomping feet and laughing voices while a watered-down ale grew warm between his hands.

It just didn’t feel right.

Pirates were all about action, but his thoughts trapped him like quicksand, locking him in a frustrating spiral where he tried to figure out what he should have done differently, or what he should say to make his captain change his mind. He was stuck. Had been since the last port when Gaban rowed the girl and her guitar to shore.

The music in the bar just made it worse. It didn’t sound like her playing at all. But she did more than perform. He’d felt it. Lower, sweeter, and subtler than any haki he’d felt before – even from her, considering the way she’d demanded her necklace back. It was like the music had touched his heart and pulled. He hadn’t imagined it, either. He saw the looks the grown-ups gave each other, Rayleigh and Captain Roger in particular.

She was special, and small, and alone – and they just left her behind like it was nothing.

He grit his teeth. Clenched his fists around his tankard.

He hadn’t told anyone about the nightmare she’d had as she’d slept, too deep in her exhaustion to surface from the horror. He didn’t tell anyone how he’d scrambled to the floor, trying to shake her awake, staining his sleeves with her tears in the process. She hadn’t called for anyone. Not her parents. Not a friend. Even unconscious, she’d bitten her lip and pulled into a ball like she could hide from her own memories.

Shaking, she’d whispered into the dark, “I don’t want to be brave anymore.”

He sat next to her, out of his depth, but determined to… stand guard? Keep her safe, maybe. Prove she didn’t have to brave if she didn’t want to. Buggy snored above, and she slowly moved from sobs to deep, even breaths. She was still asleep when he was called to help prepare breakfast.

The next thing he knew, Rayleigh was escorting her on deck, and the tender was prepped and lowered for her departure. He couldn’t contradict his captain, no matter how much he wanted to.

Waving and shouting – listening to her shout back – was the most he could do. It was a promise and a tether. He wanted to stay with her as she fought her way to her fancy music school, a spark kept banked in the back of her mind.

Now he wondered every time he laid down in his bunk, cleaned the deck, or heard the pluck of a string. What was she doing? Had she picked a fight with someone dangerous? Was she safe?

With a groan and creak of the barstool, Rayleigh plopped down beside him. He tapped the bar for a refill, and as his cup was refilled, he glanced down at the sullen apprentice. Shanks didn’t have to look up to know. He could feel it. Even when Rayleigh wasn’t using observation haki, Shanks felt like he was – peeling back time and intention and embarrassing things that could make a grown man squirm. But he refused to cringe away, holding his stoic silence and posture as he braced for a jab.

The first mate scoffed. “Hells.”

Rayleigh threw back half his drink.

“Your fruits haven’t even dropped yet and you’re hung up on a girl.”

Shanks flushed. He dropped his head even lower, hoping his hat’s brim would hide the worst of it as he tried to flip the humiliation back into the festering anger he couldn’t vent. What did Rayleigh not about it, anyway?

“No ordinary girl, I grant you,” Rayleigh said, leaning on his elbows. Settling in for a Real Talk. Shit. “A prodigy for sure. Never seen – or guess heard – haki used like that before. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s moved on. And so should you.”

Without looking up, without showing the first mate any level of respect, Shanks grumbled, “It doesn’t feel right. She would’ve made a great pirate. And she was alone.”

Rayleigh grunted, the only acknowledgement he’d give Shank’s point. “You can’t keep every stray. Remember that cat Buggy wanted to keep? Could’ve been a good mouser. Would’ve fit on a ship. Not a bad idea. The cat had other ideas, though, and when he tried hauling it off the dock it scratched the shit out of him.”

“She wasn’t a cat.”

“No.” Rayleigh’s voice turned harder. Colder. “She may be a young person, but she’s still a person, and she gets to make her own choices. A school is hardly the worst place she could go. You grew up in this life, so your perspective’s skewed. Just because she can fight doesn’t mean that’s what she wants to do for the rest of her life. Take my advice: never get between someone you like and their dreams. It won’t end well.”

Every word weighed Shanks’ spirit down a little lower, letter by letter until he felt he could lick the spilled sake and peanut shells from the floor. Rayleigh was right. If she didn’t become a pirate by choice, she wasn’t really free, and that was the point. Mostly.

None of that changed what he wanted, though, and a hint of selfish greed that had nothing to do with piracy chafed, stuck in his throat.

He wouldn’t get her name. He wouldn’t get to show her how to string up a hammock so it looked steady until Buggy jumped in. He wouldn’t get to see how she played his favorite shanties. He wouldn’t get anything.

He sighed, letting his shoulders rise and fall with the force of it. And then he got busy burying those feelings. Rayleigh really wasn’t joking. She was really gone. And even if he could do something about it, he shouldn’t.

Putting together a smile, he finally looked up at the first mate. “Just miss her, I guess. She was fun.”

Rayleigh dropped a hand on his head, relaxing in turn. His own wicked smirk cracked his face, and he offered an answering shrug. “You never know with these things. As the captain likes to say, some connections are just meant to be. If you’re destined to see her again, you’ll cross paths somewhere out there.”

His smile stretched. The weight lifted. A new road to adventure opened where he thought he’d run into the Red Line.

“You think so?”

“Oh,” Rayleigh took up his tankard again, “if she’s half as much trouble as I think she is, I’d bet on it. Troublemakers tend to run into each other. Sooner or later.”

“Heh.” Fully grinning, Shanks chugged his own drink, heels kicking the barstool as fresh energy surged from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Rayleigh was never wrong.

Of course they’d meet again.

And maybe next time she’d join the crew.

Every great crew needed a musician.

[comatosebunny09]

@world-of-hearts following the same AU with dancer!reader:

Imagine you’re tucked away in a private VIP room—Sylus gave you your own space to prep for your shows because why not—and you’re fretting about your costume. Scowling at your reflection in the vanity mirror, trying vainly to clip your necklace. Don’t know why you’re so antsy tonight, never having had this much difficulty getting yourself together before.

And as if manifesting from your thoughts alone, Sylus appears behind, casually sauntering up to you with a hand stuffed in his pocket. And dammit all, he looks devastating in his tailored pants and dress shirt. Carries the heady scent of scorched cedar and cracked vanilla beans with him, and something in your stomach pulls as your mouth grows dry.

“Need some help?” he queries, voice smooth as liquid sin. He wears that damned smirk of his, eyes all hooded and curved on the outer corners with amusement, making your stomach do somersaults.

“Sure,” you concede with a bit of a laugh. Try to mask how your heart skips a beat when the pads of his fingers skate over your shoulders in search of the clasps of your necklace. And for a moment, you forget how to breathe, ramrod stiff in your chair as you watch him idly work behind you in the mirror.

There’s a reverence in his eyes. And he’s delicate as he hooks your necklace around the base of your neck. Ghosts his knuckles down the grooves of your exposed spine, his gaze tuned to their journey down, down, down the dangerous plunge of your costume towards your tailbone.

You find air rushing back to your lungs when his fingers reluctantly retreat from your skin, leaving a flurry of goose pimples in their wake. And you’re bereft of the feel of his subtle, confusing show of affection. But he bends to eye level, capturing your gaze in the mirror once more with sizable, scorching palms imprinting themselves on your shoulders.

“Stunning,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. So close, so bewitching, and your eyes grow heavy from the feel of him so close. And if you tilt your head a little this way—grab the scruff of his neck and hold him in place—maybe you could—

He retreats before you know what’s about. He’s back wearing his casual facade, standing at full height before he eases his way to the entrance of your dressing room. He stops in the threshold to spare you a glance over his shoulder. And that teasing lilt is back as he says with a wink,

“Knock ‘em dead, sweetie.”

The door clicks shut with finality behind him, leaving you alone to nurse the heat speckling your cheeks and your pulse furiously pounding in your throat and ears.

You’ve never been this anxious before a gig. So why now?