#working in sardinia

[sofysta]

Presto che è tardi!

[esteemed-excellency]

fallen london giving me the same exact job I had irl once again

[hanlight]

That Ford car starts breaking down at the slightest inconvenience, you breathe close to it and it’s over 😭

[bentenharuki]

Finally 🥲 ecstatic to finally be back Sardinia 🫶🏻

[thewasteland2]

Buggerru (Sardinia). Staying in Sardinia. Marina area. Detail of the facing Laundry (1870). In the inhabited center of the mining locality, following the road towards the semi-stranded marina, we will be struck by the remains of the washery built to serve the lead-zinc mine, which however never worked being inside the village. The birth of Buggerru in 1864 is linked to the exploitation of its mineral resources, in a few years it became a Franco-Italian colony, as demonstrated by the local toponymy: this washery was called Lamarmora. The development of the town was also lightning-fast and it was equipped with services of all kinds, even a theatre. A working class was also formed which in 1904 organized the first strike, a real revolt against exploitation in the mines, which in the following days caused three deaths and 11 injuries, a fact that will go down in history as the Buggerru massacre. The image, from via del porticciolo, shows one side of the washery and the cliff that leads to the plateau of Pranu sartu (plain in the countryside) with the weather vane. #class #following #marina #services #organized #working #laundry #strike #buggerru #sardinia #mining #inside #village #mineral #development #lightning #fast #kind #travel #traveling #vacation #visiting #instatravel #travelling #instatraveling #travelgram #photoeditor #massimopistis #sovVERSIvi #estremisti Information for the purchase of my new book "Extremists!": The book at a cost of 12.00 euros (120 pages), can be ordered in the bookstore (ISBN 978-88-591-5719-9 - Editore Aletti) or requested to the e-mail accademiadiesarda@tiscali.it with additional postage (currently 1.28 euros - fold of books) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cl_9yNUruCB/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[totowlff]

le temps fera les choses

➝ request: you could write a story where toto and reader are divorced [...] drunk toto calls reader and just rambles about life and how he misses her and everything, or if you wanna go further

➝ word count: 8,5k

➝ warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, angst, smut, an overprotective reader and a lot of real life references

➝ author’s note: well, working with the idea of divorced!toto turned some gears in my head and this one shot was born. it was inspired, in a way, by the song le temps fera les choses, by angèle, and the text even has some references to the lyrics, so don't be surprised. toto's aunt is actually called elisabeth, and given my commitment to reality, i kept it that way (a happy coincidence, i won't deny it). hope you enjoy!

Looking at the man on the seat in front of you, part of yourself refused to believe you were doing this. “This is insanity”, you could hear your mother's trademark accusatory tone of voice telling you. You know she was right, even as a voice inside your head, but there you were, sitting across from your ex-husband, watching him completely absorbed in that day’s edition of the Financial Times, as you sat on his private jet, en route to Sardinia.

Your story with Toto began in the fall of the year 2000, at the gala opening of an exhibition at an art gallery in the center of Vienna. You had earned your Masters in Art History, and had always been enchanted by antiquities, and had done extensive research on the history of antiquarians in Vienna. Your research led to an invitation given personally by Elisabeth Sturm, daughter of Czesław Bednarczyk, one of the most prominent antique dealers in Vienna, and the subject of a paper you were writing for your PhD.

You just had no idea that what she invited you to discuss wasn’t your paper, or the pieces on exhibit.

— You know, Y/N, my son also recently graduated in contemporary art and has a great interest in post-war pieces, just like you — she said, as she led you through the multitude of guests with a wide smile on her face.

After passing by a couple she seemed acquainted with, and greeting a friend of many years, Elisabeth finally found who she was looking for. Nodding toward two men holding champagne flutes, you walked over to them with her. The words of the specialist in eighteenth century pieces became distant murmurs in your head as your eyes were fixed on one of them, who seemed to be looking at you with curiosity.

— Alex, honey, I want to introduce you to Y/N Y/L/N. She's doing a doctorate in Art and Economics at Die Angewandte, so she’s doing some research on the city's antique shops — Elisabeth said, smiling — Y/N, this is my son, Alexander. He is working on his masters’ at the University of Vienna in contemporary art, but I am sure that you will find a lot to talk about.

You forced a smile, offering your hand for a handshake. He was the same height as his mother, with carefully combed-back brown hair and stern dark eyes.

— It's a pleasure — you said.

— The pleasure is all mine — he said.

Then, your gaze returned to the man who had caught your attention. He was much taller than Alexander, but had dark hair and dark eyes that were similar to Alexander’s. The two of them definitely looked related, but there was something tender about the way he was looking at you.

— And this is Torger, my sister’s son, who just arrived back in Vienna from the United States. California, right?

— That's right — he replied, his deep voice flowing through you in a warm wave — San Francisco.

—  Remind me, what you were doing there again, Torger?

— Learning about the business side of the technology industry — he said, smiling — By the way, you can call me Toto. Nobody calls me Torger.

— Your dziadek calls you Torger — Elisabeth muttered, something bitter in her voice.

— Good to know that dada still remembers me — Toto muttered, before taking a sip of champagne — Even though it's probably just to call me ungrateful because of the fucking tuition he paid when I was 12...

— Well, is he wrong? — Elisabeth growled, before looking at her son, who seemed to be silently begging her to control herself — And it's no use looking at me like that, Alex, you know it's true.

— We don't need to discuss this here, mom.

— No, no, your mother should speak her mind, Alex — Toto said, giving his aunt a challenging smile — I don’t mind at all.

— You should be much more grateful to your dziadek, Torger. If it weren't for him, you would never have finished school, much less...

— Gotten that internship at the bank, I’ve heard all of this before, auntie — he replied — But that doesn't change the fact that he was an asshole who disowned my mother for marrying my father.

Elisabeth took a step forward, one finger raised.

— Be more careful with your words, Torger — she said through clenched teeth.

— Mom, please — Alex said, placing himself between Elisabeth and his nephew — Let's get you something to drink.

After some protest on her part, the woman finally agreed to accompany her son, who apologized before taking Elisabeth away from them. Alone beside Toto, the silence between the two of you stretched for a few seconds before your gaze met.

— Are your family gatherings always like this? — you asked, making him smile.

— They're usually worse — Toto replied, making you laugh.

It was the first of many times that night that he would make you laugh.

You didn't see any more of Elisabeth or Alexander that night, and you didn't want to. You only had eyes and ears for Toto, listening to him talk about his trip to San Francisco and the investment he had made in SMS.AT, the country's most-visited website, as well as asking you about your background and life in general.

— Do you have a boyfriend? — he asked you.

You both stopped in front of a sculpture of a woman on her knees with bitter tears in her eyes, you suddenly felt nervous.

— What do you think?

— I can’t imagine someone as intelligent and beautiful as you being single.

You chuckled weakly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

— I'm sorry to say that I am. Not everyone is willing to spend hours listening to me talk about old things sold by old people.

— Well, I am — he said immediately, in an almost boyish rush to demonstrate that he was, in fact, interested in what you had to say. And it was at that moment that you were sure that what you were feeling was not simple anxiety or infatuation.

You were falling in love with that man.

— Find something interesting? — someone said, bringing you back to the present, your gaze meeting the same pair of mischievous brown eyes from that night at the exhibition.

— There’s an article about an exhibition of Yayoi period artifacts from Japan — you replied, making Toto turn the cover of the newspaper to find the article you were glancing at.

— Asian art? I thought your interests were more in Europe — he said, the corners of his lips curling up mischievously.

— Nothing wrong with learning all I can, Toto — you replied, turning your face away when you heard the sound of someone shifting in one of the other seats. Sleeping with her head against the window was the most important person in your life.

Magdalena. Your daughter with Toto.

Born just over four years after that night at the exhibition, she was the tangible symbol of the love you felt for each other at one time. She had your nose and her father's charming smile. Lena, as you called her, was a girl with a strong personality. She was incredibly intelligent and particularly observant. Nothing went unnoticed by her brown eyes, not even your indecision in participating in that trip.

You took off your seat belt and walked over to your daughter to check on her. After putting a blanket over her and taking the book she was reading before falling asleep from her hands, taking care to mark the page she had stopped on, you took a few seconds to watch her.

There had been many times when you had felt that you didn't have the strength to continue wearing the many hats you did: university professor, gallery curator, private consultant for antique dealers and private collectors. However, Lena was your motivation to keep going. She was the reason that you got up early and went to bed late, after correcting piles of academic papers. She was the reason you signed on the bottom line of a legal document to put an end to yours and Toto’s marriage on a gray winter day so many years ago.

— You don't have to watch her like you did when she was a baby — Toto murmured behind you. When you turned around, you saw that he had folded up his newspaper and that it was sitting in his lap. 

— I'm just making sure she's okay — you replied, running a hand through her hair before returning to your seat — After all, we're here because of her.

Toto smiled.

— Indeed. Always for her.

That trip wasn’t planned very far in advance, but it was the result of Lena's excitement at having achieved excellent grades in the Reifeprüfung, the end-of-school exams that students in Austria took to graduate.

 Sardinia was her favorite place in the world and she wanted nothing more than to go and enjoy the sun and the sea with the two people she loved most in the world. You hesitated, after all, it had been years since you had gone there with her and Toto.

You were capable of giving up anything for Lena, even your own promise of never flying anywhere with your ex-husband again. There was nothing you wouldn't do for your daughter's happiness.

The rest of the flight was quiet, with Lena waking up near the end of it. Her messy hair earned her a good-natured jab from Toto, which his daughter returned to him in kind. The interaction made you smile, after all, it was just another proof of how similar your daughter was to her father, even though she hadn't had his constant presence since she was five.

“Genetics are impressive”, you thought to yourself as the captain of the jet asked over the intercom for everyone to fasten their seatbelts in preparation for landing in Olbia, in the north of the Italian island. However, contrary to what you thought, Toto had not chosen to book suites in a nearby hotel, but in a more distant location. It was all to preserve the privacy he had lost when he decided to dive headlong into the world of Formula 1.

His passion for motorsport wasn’t ever a surprise for you, after all, since the first night you’d met him, Toto had been talking about how he competed in junior formula racing, just for fun. However, nobody could have predicted that buying some shares in a Formula 1 team that seemed  to be on the brink of bankruptcy would lead to him being the team principal and part-owner of one of the largest, most prestigious teams in the sport, almost a celebrity in his own right.

However, the attention brought him unwanted problems, especially with the paparazzi, who insisted on photographing him in private moments during his rest days, even more so when he was with Lena. In the end, the further away from the hustle and bustle of the island's busiest cities, the better.

He and Lena had chosen a resort in Valle dell'Erica, which had a small network of luxury villas connected to the main building by stone paths traveled by golf carts. After settling into a golf cart with your daughter, Toto sat in the driver's seat, asking the concierge to ride the front cart with the bags.

— Are you taking us camping? — Lena asked, after a few minutes of meandering through the compound's tree-lined paths.

— No, I'm not, though I think a few days away from your cell phone wouldn't hurt you, would they? — he replied, laughing — We're going to one of the villas that’s the furthest out, to make sure we don’t get a repeat of last time.

— You mean when my classmates saw your pictures on the yacht and started asking if you were still single? — she murmured, forcing you to try and hold in a laugh. You would never forget the way Lena recounted, indignant, the way her schoolmates were talking about her father.

It was useless to deny that Toto was a handsome man. With his piercing eyes, broad shoulders, and imposing height, you'd been drawn to him since the first time you'd seen him in the gallery. And as much as you wanted to deny it, the power he wielded over you hadn't diminished with the divorce.

If you were honest with yourself, it had only grown.

— I'm not to blame for anything, mon bébé...

— Just don't walk around… Dressed like that — she replied.

— Like that?

— With only a pair of shorts on, especially those shorts — Lena said, making her father laugh.

— Bébé, it's just a pair of shorts...

— They were pink! They’re way too flashy for someone your age!

— You’re talking as if I’m just some decrepit old man, Lena.

— Maybe not decrepit, but definitely an old man who shouldn’t be wearing pink shorts.

He brought the cart to a stop as the concierge, in front of them, opened a red gate.

— I bet your mom likes my flashy shorts — Toto murmured, glancing at you and you just rolled your eyes.

— I don't care about your shorts, Torger.

— You used to  — he replied, revving the cart again.

— But I don't anymore. And honestly, you shouldn't care either, Lena. Your father is probably just going through a midlife crisis like every man has at some point. Don't be surprised if he shows up one day with your name tattooed on his arm, or riding a Harley-Davidson.

The statement made your daughter burst out laughing, while Toto shook his head, as if disapproving of your idea of him during a midlife crisis.

Well, a second midlife crisis.

Toto stopped the golf cart just behind the concierge, who was unloading your bags with the help of another employee. After you disembarked, the man invited the three of you to join him as he showed you your villa. With a living room richly decorated with colorful paintings and vases made by local artisans, three suites and spacious balconies overlooking the private pool, as well as the sea in the distance, the place felt like something out of a dream.

— Anything you need, we're here for you.

— Thanks — you replied, smiling.

Finally alone in the living room, the three of you looked at each other silently, as if waiting for someone to say something. Then, after looking at his watch and running a hand through his dark hair, Toto cleared his throat.

— So, what do you ladies want to do first? — he asked.

Looking at the orange tones that took over the sky, you smiled.

— I think we can start by figuring out where everyone will sleep.

— Dad can have the exterior room, right? — your daughter said.

— Why do I have to stay in that room? — Toto asked, his voice full of faux-outrage.

— Because mom and I are girls — Lena replied, linking her arm with yours — And girls always stay together on trips.

Your ex-husband couldn't hold his feigned disappointment for long.

— Okay, you can stay together. Just don't bring any boys here — he said, as he grabbed the handle of his bags and turned toward the door.

— What about men? — you asked, defiant. As he looked over his shoulder, something inscrutable flashed in his eyes.

— No men either, Y/N — he said as he left the villa’s main hall.

Giggling with laughter, you planted a kiss on Lena's forehead before telling her to go and put her bags in her room. After seeing her going through her bedroom’s door, it was your turn to make your way to your quarters, dragging your well-used suitcases noisily behind you. After setting them down in front of the small wooden cupboard, you allowed yourself to slump onto the soft mattress, closing your eyes.

The fact that you were on this trip was crazy.

The days dragged on at an excruciating pace, even though you were on vacation. As much as seeing Lena happy to be together with her father and mother on a trip after years was satisfying, but something was making you feel set on edge.

You couldn't say what it was, but you were sure it was related to how Toto was treating you. Unlike the interactions the two of you usually had, filled with sarcasm and acidity, the way your ex-husband was speaking to you was almost… sweet, delicate. He had even asked you to dance during a dinner in Porto Cervo, when the musicians started to play the music that had played during your first dance as husband and wife.

— I remember that night like it was yesterday — he murmured.

— Do you? — you asked quietly, as you felt his hand firmly hold yours — I thought you had too much on your mind to remember that.

He smiled.

— I could never forget the day my life changed, Y/N.

You should have guessed that this was just a strategy, a way to get you to drop your guard to deliver the final blow the next night, over dinner at one of the resort's restaurants. Silently, Toto, who was wearing one of his white monogrammed shirts and comfortable linen shorts, placed his silverware on the plate of ricotta ravioli and looked at Lena.

— Mon bébé, I know we're here to celebrate but I can't help but ask you about your plans — he said, with a serious expression — Have you chosen what you're going to study yet?

Your daughter wiped her mouth with her napkin, as she finished chewing.

— Well, I was talking to mom these days about it and I would really like to work on something related to international studies. You know, diplomacy.

— Diplomacy?

— You know, I learned how to be a mediator at home — Lena murmured, giving you a mischievous little smile. In a way, she wasn't wrong, after all, Lena had always been the person that balanced you and Toto, putting out the fires you started, especially because of her upbringing.

— And have you researched universities, bébé? — Toto asked, before taking a sip of wine.

— Mom gave me the contact information of some professors in the Political Science and Philosophy departments at the University of Vienna to schedule a visit and learn about them — she replied — Why?

— Well, I was thinking that maybe, if you wanted to, you could apply to a university outside of Austria.

You swallowed hard, the hands that held the cutlery going cold.

— Do you mean — your daughter babbled.

— Well, you know that I live in Oxford and there is a university of international prestige there, which has formed dozens of important figures in world history. American presidents, British prime ministers, kings, Nobel Prize winners. Perhaps you could…

— Study there? — Lena completed, looking impressed by the offer. Toto smiled.

— Exactly.

— But, I would need a place to stay…

— Magdalena, don't be ridiculous, you know you can live with me there. In fact, I would be very happy if you would move in with me while you're in Oxford. What do you think?

Your heart was racing in your chest, the cutlery clenched in your fists. You felt like you were going to explode with rage at any moment, jaw clenched. You couldn't believe your ex-husband had been capable of such a dirty move. But, you weren't going to let him win, not that night.

— Bullshit — you said, before Lena could process the question — That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard, Torger.

— I was talking to Lena.

— She doesn't need to bother answering — you said, gruffly — She's not going to England.

— Mom — your daughter said, in a warning tone.

— What? Do you really think this is a good idea?

— Of course it's a good idea, Y/N, Oxford is a great — Toto began to argue.

— I don't care if Oxford is a good university, Lena won't go to England — you interrupted him, in a cold tone — And that's not open to discussion.

— But, mom...

— No buts, you're not going, Magdalena.

— Why not? — asked Toto.

— Because I will not let my daughter go to a foreign country alone, without any help or support…

Toto snorted.

— Y/N, did you really think Lena would be alone? Did you forget that I live there?

It was your turn to laugh.

— You live — you said, making air quotes with your fingers — Let's not be naive, you spend more time traveling than in that slum of yours in Oxford.

— Mom!

— For your information, my house is in one of the best areas of Oxford and has more than enough space for me and Lena — Toto spat.

— It’s not about space, Torger, I won't let her be alone there while you’re gallivanting around the world, playing with your cars!

— Would you rather she be left alone in Vienna while you play with your ancient junk collection? — he returned, venom dripping from his voice.

That sent a hot wave of anger up the back of your neck, your jaw clenched. Everything you had done had been for Lena. All the hours of work, all of the writing, research, assistant teaching, grading, earning your PhD, and working your way up in the university to be a respected, tenured professor, it had all been to provide for the life you two led in Vienna, as had been agreed upon during the divorce proceedings. Of course, the workload eventually took you and Lena apart physically, but that didn't lessen the love you felt for your daughter.

In fact, it only made it grow. And it was that love that made you get up, dropping your cloth napkin on the floor, jabbing your finger at your ex-husband.

— You watch your mouth talking about my work, you son of a bitch! — you snarled, causing several pairs of eyes to turn towards your table.

— Mom, for God's sake! — Lena exclaimed, trying to lower her hand — Everyone's looking at us!

— Let them look, Magdalena! — you spat — Let them know I'm not going to let this idiot say whatever he wants about my job!

— I just was repeating what you said, Y/N — Toto replied in an ironic tone.

— Dad! — your daughter growled, before looking back at you — Please, mom, calm down. Sit, please.

Annoyed, you settled back into your chair, your jaw set in anger. Your ex-husband looked at you with a certain cynicism in his eyes, as if he knew he had touched your most sensitive point. Beside you, Lena let out a sigh, as if trying to collect her thoughts.

— Is it really that hard for you not to fight like two kids? — she asked seriously.

— Lena — you stammered.

— No, mom — she said coldly — You promised that you wouldn't fight with dad on this trip, that you'd be nice. You promised me, mom.

— Bébé, please — Toto tried to interfere.

— Don’t bébé me, dad! — Lena exclaimed — You also have your share of blame. I asked you to be polite to my mother, not to make comments like that, to be understanding…

— I am being understanding, Lena!

— Being understanding is calling her work a joke? That’s your idea of being polite? — she asked, before turning to you, as if anticipating you were going to say something — And that goes for you too, mom. You two are acting like fucking children!

You thought of scolding her for her language, but you weren't able to, especially when you noticed that her eyes were wet.

— I just wanted that we could be a family, without these stupid fights over stupid things. You think about me so much that you forget that I think too, that I also have wishes and desires — Lena continued — It never crossed your minds that I don't want the same thing as you? That I don't want to stay in Vienna or go to England?

Your eyes met Toto's, guilt filling your chest. You always wanted Lena to have the freedom to do whatever she wanted, to fly even higher than you and your ex-husband. However, in your eagerness to provide a life full of experiences, you had forgotten the main thing, which was Lena herself.

— Lena — you said, watching her wipe away a tear that had trickled down her face.

— I just wanted you to stop thinking about yourselves and think about me — she spoke in a choked voice — That you would consider my opinion before deciding things for me.

— But we'll always consider your opinion — Toto said, reaching out a hand toward your daughter, who shrank away.

— Then why did you say you were going to take me to England?

— I — he hesitated, looking at you and then at Lena — I wanted to offer you a different experience, in a different country, in a different culture. I didn't think your mom would be so dramatic about it…

— I’m not being dramatic, Torger — you snapped.

Suddenly, Lena stood up, throwing her cloth napkin over the dish of spaghetti and shrimp she'd ordered, letting out a frustrated grunt.

— I give up on you two — she said, while picking up the bag that was hanging on the back of the chair — I give up!

You tried to protest, but didn't have time before you saw your daughter marching out of the restaurant, not looking back. A few seconds of hesitation later, you followed after her, not minding leaving the plate of pasta, that was already cold by that point.

— Lena! — you shouted, as you saw her walk towards one of the carts, sitting behind the wheel and throwing her purse on the seat next to it — Wait! My dear, please!

Your pleadings were of no avail as she stomped off the cart's accelerator, disappearing into the dark of the night and leaving you standing halfway on the dirt road with tears in your eyes.

Arriving back at the villa, after generous help from one of the staff who knew how to drive the cart, you went to Lena's bedroom door, placing a hand on the handle. However, when you turned it over, you found that it was locked.

— Lena, my love — you said, knocking lightly on the door.

— Go away! — she replied, the words hitting you like a knife.

— Lena, please, my daughter, open the door, let's talk...

— I don't want to talk to anyone! — she yelled — Go away!

You sighed in defeat, letting go of the handle and backing away from the door. Hearing Lena sobbing softly broke his heart into a thousand pieces. This was supposed to be a time of joy and celebration, not sadness and tears.

— Is Lena in the room? — you heard Toto ask. Looking towards the entrance, he was standing with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, a worried expression on his face.

— Yeah.

— Were you able to speak to her?

— No — you replied, realizing he was walking towards the door — And I doubt she'll talk to you.

Toto stopped suddenly, turning towards you slowly.

— You think you know everything about Lena, don't you?

— I'm her mother, Torger — you said, crossing your arms.

— And I'm her father, Y/N.

— And that changes the fact that you know anything about her?

— She is my only daughter — he began to say.

— Which is a miracle — you muttered, being solemnly ignored by him.

— So, I’d like to think I know her pretty well.

You laughed mockingly.

— So tell me, Torger, what's her favorite color? Who is her favorite singer? What is her favorite dish? If you know your daughter, you should know this.

Toto let out a sigh.

— This is pathetic, Y/N.

—The only thing that’s pathetic is you playing dirty — you snapped — Pathetic for you to want to take my daughter away from me! My only daughter!

You expected an equally aggressive response to yours coming from Toto. He had always been hot-headed, which, along with your short temper, was a recipe for disaster. However, your ex-husband just shook his head, heading towards the bar in the corner of the large living room.

— Whiskey? — he asked, as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

You blinked, shocked.

— You can't be thinking about drinking in this situation...

Toto took the bottle and poured a generous dose. Then, glass in hand and leaning against the bar, he sighed.

— And is there anything else we can do considering our daughter is locked in her room and isn’t going to talk to either of us? — he asked, taking a sip of his drink and grimacing — Ugh, this needs some ice.

As your ex-husband turned back to the bar, you walked slowly over to the couch and sat down, heaving a frustrated sigh. The feeling you had was that you had completely failed, not just with Lena, who had high expectations for that trip, but with yourself, for not being able to control your own feelings towards your daughter and Toto.

— Want some? — he asked, holding the drink out to you. Staring at the amber liquid for a few seconds, you were sure this was a very bad idea. “Fuck it”, you thought, picking up the glass and taking a generous swig of whiskey.

— Ugh — you growled, as the alcohol burned in your throat. Sitting beside you, Toto smiled at your grimace.

— Bad, isn't it?

— Terrible — you replied — I thought there was only good stuff here.

— Me too — Toto said, chuckling — Even that Ottakringer we drank on the way back from the Hockenheimring that one day tasted better.

You laughed at the memory, the watery taste of the beer being a funny reminder of the years when you still looked at each other with something other than anger and resentment.

— Indeed — you muttered, taking another sip before returning the glass.

The silence stretched for long seconds, the only sound in there being the ice clinking on the crystal as Toto poured another shot. After taking a sip, he handed the cup back to you.

— Y/N?

— Hm? — you murmured, before drinking some more whiskey.

— I would never take Magdalena away from you.

Lowering your glass to rest on your thigh, your eyes met Toto's, which were filled with a sadness that was clearly not part of the drink's effect.

— You wouldn’t? — you asked softly.

— I would never be able to take her away from you, Y/N.

— So — you hesitated for a few seconds, pressing your lips together — Why do you want to take her to England?

Toto let out a long sigh.

— Because I feel like it’s the only way to try and fix some of my mistakes, Y/N — he said, his gaze locked on some middle point in the distance.

— Your mistakes?

— I always promised myself that I wouldn't be like my father, that I would do everything I could do right by my — Toto hesitated before correcting himself — By our children. And when Lena was born, I told myself I would do anything to make sure she had a happy life with us and… I screwed up.

You swallowed hard.

— I screwed up when I got in that car at the Nürburgring and insisted on making that lap record attempt. Niki was right, it was idiotic, and nobody cared about some silly GT car lap record. Honestly, I don't blame you for asking for a divorce after that, I would have done the same if it were me — he continued, running a hand through his hair — But it hurt, Y/N. It hurt to see you leaving with all that pain in your eyes. But, I accepted your decision and did exactly what my father did before he died…

— You mean, you becoming distant?

He nodded.

— I thought it would be best for you and Lena to be away from my sadness, my depression, but in the end, it wasn’t. She needed her dad, too, just like I needed mine.

You took another sip of whiskey, feeling your eyes sting with tears. Asking for a divorce had been the hardest decision you had ever made in your life, but you were convinced that you didn't belong there anymore. However, the truth is that you wanted to insist on Toto, insist on your love.

After all, your love for him was still there, sleeping inside your chest, but alive, begging you to let it out.

— So, your way of fixing your mistakes is by asking Lena to come live in England with you?

He took the glass of whiskey and drank the rest of the liquid.

— Not all of them, but some. I know I'll never be able to fix my mistakes with you.

— Have you tried, Toto? — you asked without hesitation.

— Tried what?

— Tried to fix your mistakes with me.

He set the glass down on the coffee table before looking at you.

— Do you want me to try, Y/N?

Your heart was beating heavily, pounding against the front of your chest.

— It's what I want most — you whispered.

Toto's hand slid towards your face, lightly caressing your cheek. With your eyes fixed on his, you matched the gesture by taking your hand to the back of his neck, while your mind took you to the night of your first kiss. On that occasion, the kiss had been calm, almost hesitant, the taste of wine dancing on your tongue as his scent invited you to dive deeper into him.

Facing him again, 15 years since the last time you had shared a kiss, the impression you had was that nothing had changed. The smell was the same. The man was the same. The invitation was the same.

And you accepted.

The first touch brought back memories of your other kisses. The happy kiss at the altar after being declared man and wife. The emotional kiss after you told him you were pregnant. The kiss that took place, with your daughter in your arms, after long and exhausting hours of childbirth. In all of them, the warmth that filled your chest was comforting and familiar, like approaching a campfire after a long time wandering in the cold.

It felt like coming home.

His fingers slid into your hair, tangling in the strands, while his tongue sought passage through your lips. Scratching the back of Toto's neck with your fingernails, you allowed him to savor you, the taste of him mixed with the resort's particularly bad whiskey. However, that was a minor detail at that moment.

What mattered was that you had finally found each other again.

— Y/N — Toto whispered, pulling away slightly from your face, breathing heavily — I…

Your fingers touched his lips in a silent request for him to not say anything. There was no reason to say anything more or hesitate any longer, not when you’d imagined this for so long.

This was inevitable, after so many times imagining what it would be like to try again every time you went to pick Lena up from the apartment Toto had moved into after the divorce, your gaze meeting the resignation in his expression every time you asked your daughter to say goodbye. It was inevitable to think of the sweet words he would whisper in your ear while watching his interviews on television, as well as the affectionate touch when you saw him gesticulating with his hands, while explaining something to the reporter.

As Toto leaned over your body, you allowed yourself to slide your hands under his linen shirt, feeling the firm muscles he had developed in the years after the divorce. Pulling the fabric up his torso, you quickly tried to undress him, which made him smile against your lips.

— You're still the same anxious little thing you always have been — Toto muttered, before slouching off his shirt and discarding it on the floor.

Then he dove towards your neck, nibbling ravenously at your skin, causing involuntary gasps to leave your lips, your body asking for more than just kisses and a well-positioned knee between your legs. You needed him like you were drowning and he was the surface.

However, when his fingers slid down the sides of your thighs, beneath your light summer dress, Toto pulled back, glancing back before meeting your inquiring gaze.

— What’s wrong? — you whispered.

— I thought I heard a door open — he replied softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes — And I don't know how good it would be for our daughter to see her divorced parents making out on a couch like two teenagers.

You smiled, bringing your hand to his face.

— You’re right. Besides, I think we're a bit too old for making out on the couch.

Toto laughed.

— Do you want to go to your room, then?

— Yes — you whispered.

Toto helped you to your feet and the two of you tiptoed to your suite. As Toto closed the door behind you, you busied yourself with undoing the knot of fabric at the back of your neck and sliding your dress down your body, bringing your panties with it. When Toto turned around and found you completely naked in front of him, he smiled. He walked toward you in slow steps as his eyes roamed over your skin like he was taking in all of the changes of your decade apart.

— It feels like our first time — he murmured, placing his hands on your hips.

You gave a small smile, as your mind transported you to that night in his apartment, where, after a few glasses of wine, you gave yourself to each other for the first time. It had been slow and romantic, with Toto insisting on learning every detail of your body to give you the pleasure you deserved.

However, you knew that statement was not entirely true. Since that night, your body had changed drastically, being pushed to the limit to bring your daughter into the world. You were no longer that young girl, but a mature woman, whose skin bore the marks of motherhood on your breasts, belly and hips.

— Well, the only difference is me.

He raised an eyebrow.

— You?

— I'm not the same person I was that night — you murmured, taking a hand to your belly. Then, with your finger, you traced the path of one of the faded stretch marks that seemed to glow against your skin, watching as his eyes were fixed on the movement of your hand — I've changed a lot since I had Lena… 

Bringing one hand to your chin, he lifted your face so you could meet his warm, gentle gaze.

— And yet you're still beautiful. Do you know why?

— Why?

— Because those are marks of love, Y/N. Marks of our love, which gave us our beautiful daughter. And I love every single one of them — Toto said, before bringing your lips to his. The kiss was delicate, as were the steps he took towards the bed, his hands caressing your skin, as if he wanted to assure you that his words were true and that he, in fact, loved each of one of those marks, even if they made you feel old and inadequate at times.

When you felt your back land on the soft duvet, you opened your eyes again to find Toto still standing on the edge of the bed, quickly taking off his shorts. Seeing him stark naked in front of you made you allow an anxious gasp to escape your lips.

— All good? — he asked as he positioned himself between your legs, one hand busy pumping his own cock.

— Yes — you replied, your eyes fixed on the movement of his hand and the anticipation of feeling him inside you. Following his gaze, Toto seemed to remember something.

— Do you want to use a condom?

— Do you think we need it? — you asked, almost innocently. In a normal context of casual sex, you wouldn't go without some sort of protection. However, that wasn't just a casual fuck, but a reunion.

— Well, I didn’t bring any. Did you?

— No…

— Great — he murmured — I also had a vasectomy a few years ago, so I don't think we’re going to get in any trouble, or anything.

— I wouldn’t mind if we got into some trouble — you said quietly. Something about the idea of having another child with him made your skin tingle. Lena had always asked for a brother and you had always said no, stating that having one copy of Toto at home was enough for you. However, at that moment, you wished that you had a few more of him.

— I wouldn't mind either, Y/N — he whispered, as he positioned himself between your legs, his cock brushing your clit lightly — Not at all.

The pressure that accompanied the low growl that came out of Toto's throat had you rolling your eyes as a strangled groan escaped your lips. A warm wave ran over your skin, your nails digging into his skin as his dick settled inside you.

— Fuck — Toto said through clenched teeth, eyelids fluttering with pleasure.

You wanted to speak, but at the same time, no words came out of your parted lips. Raising your hands to his face, you pulled him against you, your lips against his in a slow, wanting kiss. That moment encouraged Toto to move his hips against yours, savoring the pleasure that coursed through your bodies.

The rhythm built almost instinctively, the strength of your fingers making him accelerate his thrusts against your pussy, the sound of your wetness joining your moans.

— Yes, yes, yes, Toto — you muttered under your breath, encouraging him to continue at that pace, feeling your muscles tense.

— I missed you so much, liebes — he growled, as he took his hand to one of your legs and pulled it higher, slightly changing the angle of your hips — So, so, so much…

— Me too, me too — you replied in a low voice, while pressing your heel against the base of Toto's spine. Your body begged for more, much more than just the pleasure he was giving you. You wanted his anger, his pride, his joy and his love. You wanted to become a part of him, the same way you wanted him to become a part of you.

As you felt his fingertips brush against your clit, you felt your whole body tense, your lips tightening in an attempt to stifle your moans. It was so much that your eyes filled with tears, but something inside you said that they weren't limited to that effort.

It wasn't just lust or lust anymore.

It was love. Pure, simple, and finally awake after so long.

It was with that thought and eyes finally open again, locked on Toto's, that you felt your body finally reach its climax, your lips letting out a groan before he kissed you, muffling the sound. Your legs shook as your nails dug into his shoulders as he took his last thrusts.

— Y/N, fuck — Toto growled before he came, followed by a primal growl, as if this was his way of claiming you for himself. And with the heat of his pleasure inside you, the certainty that you were his only grew. You had always been his.

Pulling his cock out of your pussy, your ex-husband collapsed next to you on the bed, breathing heavily. Staring at the ceiling in silence, something inside you wanted to feel guilt, while your muscles were still shaking with the aftershocks. However, you didn't feel any remorse or regret.

— Are you okay? — Toto asked you. Looking in his direction, you smiled.

— Yeah… You? — you whispered.

— I feel better than I have in a long time — he said, making you laugh — What?

— You sound like you haven't had sex in years.

— Well, it has been years since I've had sex with someone I loved, so…

The phrase made you turn your body towards Toto, resting your head on his shoulder. Something in the way he looked at you filled your chest with something completely different from anything you had felt until then.

Hope.

— Do you love me? — you asked softly.

— I never stopped loving you, liebes. Not even when I wanted to hate you for leaving. I can only love you. I don’t know how to do anything but love you — he replied, before kissing your forehead tenderly. And it was there, nestled in his chest, that you fell into a serene and, in a way, happy sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of knocking on your bedroom door.

— Mom? — Lena's muffled voice asked — Are you there?

Rubbing your eyes, you were about to respond when you realized you hadn't slept alone. The sound of the shower coming from the bathroom indicated that Toto had already woken up and, probably, that was what made your daughter knock.

— Yes, honey, I'm here — you replied, in an uncertain tone.

— Can I come in?

Suddenly your eyes widened, adrenaline rushing through your body as you scrambled to your feet, quickly looking for something to wear.

— No, I'm getting dressed!

— But you never…

— Wait a minute, my love — you shouted towards the entrance of the room, while picking up a robe that was hanging on one of the armchairs. Clutching the terry cloth against your body, you went to the door and opened a small crack — Hi, honey.

Lena was looking at you with a serious expression, her eyes still swollen from the tears she had shed the night before.

— Good morning, mom.

— Are you okay?

— Yeah, I am — she replied — I wanted to talk to you. Actually, I wanted to talk to you and dad, but I don’t know where he is.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. She definitely couldn't even imagine Toto was right next door, washing the remnants of sex and sweat from his skin in your bathroom.

— He must have gone to the gym or taken a walk on the beach — you tried to dismiss, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

— I don't know, mom, the living room is a mess — she said, looking at the room next door — There's a bottle of whiskey, some empty glasses, dad’s shirt is on the floor...

“Fucking hell, Torger, of all the times to not be so uptight about cleaning”, you thought.

— He must be hungover, like that time in Abu Dhabi — you said, causing Lena to smirk.

— That was terrible — she muttered.

— Indeed.

You stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

— Well, I'll let you finish your shower and then we'll see what to do. Do you want me to order breakfast?

— Yes, that would be great. Thank you — you replied, before smiling and closing the door, letting out a sigh of relief. Your daughter definitely didn't need to know that you had just slept with her dad, especially after almost 15 years since your divorce.

It was an unnecessary shock for that moment.

Opening the bathroom door, you saw Toto's silhouette through the fogged glass, his fingers buried in his dark hair as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. You crept toward the shower, opening the door a crack to watch him, savoring the way the water ran down his body with your lower lip between your teeth.

Then, he opened his eyes.

— Good morning, liebes — Toto said, with a smile.

— Good morning.

— Was that Lena at the door?

— Yeah. She wants to talk to us, but she couldn't find you anywhere.

— I can't imagine why — he murmured, making you smile — Want to come in with me? I can wash your hair if you want.

Nodding, you took off your robe and stepped into the shower with Toto, feeling his warm, wet hands wrap around your waist. Smiling, you couldn't resist giving him a kiss, while the drops of hot water fell on your body.

— I love you, liebes — he said softly, his lips brushing yours.

— I love you too, darling.

He washed your hair practically silently, only speaking to ask you to step under the jet of hot water. While you were drying off, Toto asked you if you had any plans to get him out of your room without being seen by Lena. After a few minutes of discussion, you opted to split up, with you distracting her while he went back to his own suite to get dressed and pretend nothing had happened.

It looked perfect.

With your hair still damp, you left your room trying to ignore the tightness in your stomach. Quickly scanning the room, you found your daughter leaning against the glass railing of the balcony, her gaze lost on the horizon. Approaching slowly, you were thinking of asking about her plans for the day when she spoke up.

— I already ordered breakfast — Lena said, not looking at you.

— Oh, good — you replied — Thank you, darling.

More silence. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

— Look, my love, I...

— You're going to apologize for yesterday, aren't you?

— Yeah. I shouldn’t have acted like that, and ruined your night…

— Mom — Lena said, looking at you — It wasn't about ruining my night. The problem there was that you did exactly the opposite of what I asked you to do before we left home.

You pursed your lips.

— I know you hate each other and that you wish the other didn't exist, but you can't change the past, much less the fact that you had a daughter together.

— I know, my love…

— Then why did you make that whole scene at the restaurant?

— Because I don't want to lose you, Magdalena — you replied, in a low voice — You are my only daughter, the person I love most in the world and...

— Mom, you won't lose me.

— Are you sure? — you asked her, your voice cracking.

— Yes, I am. But, you have to understand that I grew up and that I can make my own choices, without you or dad deciding for me — Lena said, her tone of voice making her sound much older than she really was.

— And what did you decide? — a deep voice asked. Looking back, you found Toto standing at the balcony door, his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

Lena smiled.

— I've decided I'm not going to decide anything here — she said — I'll go over my options when I get home, alone, without either of you two putting pressure on me.

— You know you don't have to…

— Mom — Lena interrupted you — I need to do this alone. I know you want to help me, just like dad does, but I have to decide things for myself, no matter how difficult they are.

Looking at Lena, you finally realized that you were no longer in front of the same little girl that you had put on your lap and taken away from the apartment where you lived with Toto, back in 2009. You were in front of a woman, who, in addition to love, you also deeply admired.

— It's okay, bébé — Toto finally spoke — It's always your decision. But, know that we will always be by your side, supporting you no matter what choice you make. Isn't that right, Y/N?

You hesitated, looking at your daughter with a tight lump in your throat. “Does it have to be that hard?”, you asked yourself.

— Mom?

— You know I'll always support you, Lena — you finally managed to speak — Even though it's terrible to think about being away from you, not being able to hug you, kiss you and tell you how much I love you whenever I want. I'm always by your side, my love.

She smiled, advancing towards the two of you and enveloping you in a tight hug. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to savor that moment, feeling the warmth of your daughter's arms and of Toto, who had run a hand down your back to bring you both closer to him.

Feeling him kiss your hair, you smiled.

You were home. Finally home.

[paddockbunny]

B + Touch + Pierre Gasly

On Deck

Summary : When your boyfriend Pierre has a little time off he whisks you away to a gorgeous hotel…then surprises you further by helping you fulfil one of your dreams. Rating : 18+ Pairing : Pierre Gasly x Reader Word Count : 2,800 ONE SHOT Trigger Warnings : 18+, NSFW, adult language, discussion of sex, intimate touching female, public sex Images : curated from Pintrest

List : List B. Prompt : Touch - our muses touching one another discreetly but intimately in a public setting.

Dating Pierre had many perks. From brands sending you free clothes to being invited to events like fashion shows and tennis matches. But your favourite perk of all was the complimentary holidays and hotel stays he was consistently offered. And while he had to turn many of them down because he was working, on the odd occasions he did accept, you were always his favourite room mate. So this unexpected trip to Sardinia in between races could most definitely be classed as a perk.

The pair of you arrived on the Tuesday to beautiful warm sunshine and every single last drop of tension melted away in both of your bodies. The oranges that lined the driveway to the stunning five star resort filled the air with a beautiful citrus aroma that you could get drunk off and you grasped your boyfriend’s hand tighter when you saw the welcome glasses of champagne awaiting you at the hotel entrance. Pierre loved watching you reactions to experiences only he had been able to give you. He got off somewhat knowing he could impress and dazzle you more than any man that had come before him. It thrilled him to see your eyes widen in awe or excitement rushing around your body at these new adventures he could provide you with. He was glad it was him making these memories with you. And you in turn always made sure to thank him, diligently, thoroughly and exactly how he liked.

For three days the pair of you spent your time rotating between sunbathing, eating and fucking. Pierre was in his element in all three and you were more than happy to do whatever it was he felt like doing just because you were happy to be with him.

On Friday, you awoke to an empty bed. Pierre’s voice was muffled outside on the balcony. You took the opportunity of being alone in the huge, comfortable hotel bed to stretch out like a cat. As your muscles pulled and twisted you felt the burn from your inner thighs. Last night’s energetic sex clearly still reverberating through your body. The smirk crept upon your lips without realising it the memory of your legs up around Pierre’s shoulders as he fucked you hard and deep. You were in your own little world when he re-entered the room and you heard his low rumbling laughter.

“What are you thinking about?” “You.” Your response was quick and his cocky eyebrow raise was met with an equally as confident smirk as your eyes travelled down his body. He was stood next to the bed clad only in his black tight boxers that left little to the imagination and your mouth practically watered thinking about him being in your mouth. You rolled on to your stomach and pulled yourself up on to your knees before crawling to close the space between you. You were still completely naked, the hotel sheets disregarded behind you, and Pierre took full advantage of his view. He didn’t hide the fact his eyes were roaming all over your body. He knew that you knew he enjoyed when you were so completely exposed to him. You watched him checking out your boobs first before those azure blue orbs fell lower and settled to his favourite place, between your legs. Your hands slowly caressing up his chest and around his neck was what brought him out of being transfixed. But what snapped him back into reality was you guiding his hand to where his eyes had just been. Your insinuation of morning sex couldn’t be any more obvious.

What you thought would be met with eager willingness was instead met with a frustrated sounding growl from your boyfriend. “Fuck. I want too, I really, really want too but I’ve just organised a surprise, baby.” He sighed. So that was what he was doing out on the balcony. “A surprise?” Your eyebrows met in the middle quizzically. “What kind of surprise?” He knew you weren’t a huge fan of surprises and were more of a preparer type person. You liked knowing what you were going to do, where you were going, what you were going to wear. Pierre smiled. His fingers ghosted over your delicate folds - a reminder his hand was intact exactly where you had let it too only moments before - as he slowly nodded.

“I’m not going to tell you what we’re doing. You just need a bikini.” You almost didn’t hear his words because your brain was completely distracted by the shudder that passed through you from the action of his fingers. And just because he liked to play with you, he raised his fingers to his mouth. He enclosed his mouth around them, no doubt tasting your wet slick excitement on them, and moaned deeply because he knew exactly how pent up it got you when he teased you.

“Where are we going?” You asked Pierre (threatening to go in a huff) for the fourth and final time as you got into the chauffeur driven Mercedes parked right in front of the hotel lobby. He had been tight lipped when you tried to coax his plans out of him right after he told you you needed a bikini. You tried hard to get the answer from him and even used dirty tactics by holding up two different styles in front of him - the first option was an impossibly tiny thong that l barely covered anything at all; while the second was an extreme high cut that left little to the imagination, it didn’t surprise you when he went for the first option - and when that didn’t work you pouted, lowered your chin so your eyes were as big as they got when you were about to blow him, and asked again. Nothing. The last attempt was when you got in the elevator and tried to trick him into admitting his plans but he wiggled his finger back and forth and told you; “Patience is a virtue, doll”

So there you sat in the back of the car, pretending you were cool with not knowing the plans while Pierre’s hand ran up and down your bare thigh. He pretended like he wasn’t deliberately trying to torture you by pushing the white cotton hem of your dress further up your thigh with each stroke, but you had his number. You deliberately ignored him and gazed out of the window. His grip got harder to make you look at him but you continued freezing him out.

“If you don’t look at me I’ll make the rest of this journey very uncomfortable for you.” He had leaned across the car and purred the line straight into your ear. His body press harshly against your side but you couldn’t ignore the fact his hand had slid up to cup your clothed core. Your mouth dropped open but your head rolled back and your eyes went straight to his. “Good girl.” Was amused that he got what he wanted. Proud of himself even. He sat back - his hand retreating - and playfully shook his head. He knew you were being bratty because he hadn’t told you what was going on and was smug that he still held onto his secret.

The car ride lasted only a short while. Fifteen or so minutes and you had began to twig around 20 seconds ago when the car pulled into the marina. “Did you?” It had been a bit of a dream of yours to go on a yacht one day. A proper yacht, a big one. You had been on small sail boats, catamarans, gondola’s and the motorboats they have in Lake Como but never an actual yacht. “Is this a good surprise?” He bit his bottom lip awaiting your response. It was the best surprise. You couldn’t believe he remembered you talking about going on the types of vessels you were passing by. You didn’t think he paid attention to thought all the Below Deck references you dropped whenever you were near the sea. “The best!” You exclaimed while practically leaping across the car and squishing your lips on to his. Pierre was a romantic at heart. He had an animalistic raw sexual energy sure but deep down, he was the biggest, sweetest sentimental teddy bear.

You finally pulled off your little white dress when Cassandra (your chief stew) disappeared to make the pair of you some cocktails to enjoy on the main deck aft while you sunbathed. Pierre, clad in his now signature orange swim trunks, was already laying out on the sun deck. Every toned muscle on full display. He had been watching you as you removed the practically see through white dress and toss it aside. You watched him swallow and rolled his eyes at your teeny tiny bikini - the one he himself had chosen for you to wear. “I’m going to have a semi all day now I’ve seen you in that.” He groaned into your ear when he pulled you down to join him once you took his outstretched hand. “I know you will.” You winked and playfully but your lip “Don’t pretend you didn’t know that when you chose this one. I did give you a choice.” He laughed because he knew he had stitched himself up. “At least give me something to day dream about while I sunbathe, babe.” His eyes lowered to your equally as small bikini top. He was a butt guy through and through but Pierre couldn’t resist your perfectly proportioned boobs either. You glanced quickly around making sure none of the crew would catch you (or prying eyes from another boat) and pulled down the cups of the black bikini quickly. You counted to five before covering yourself back up again and Pierre burst out laughing out of his enjoyment at your little flash.

You felt little beads of sweat form on your chest as you baked in the hot Italian sun. The salty sea air served as a delicious fan to cool your scorching skin. Your head fell to the side and you took in the visage of your unbelievable boyfriend. His skin was glistening with sweat. The scattering of hair on his chest gleamed with it like they were minuscule little crystals. His cut abs were mere fodder for the v shaped guidelines that disappeared below the stretchy band of his swim shorts. Your mouth watered. How could it not? You had been hot for him all day. From the moment you woke up with the dull ache between your thighs - and sore adductors being a reminder of how good the sex really was. You let an unsteady breath escape your throat as you continued down and drunk in the rest of him. He had one leg propped up, his muscly tanned thighs on full display, and you felt the desperation for him kick in. Swiftly you glanced around again and checked the pair of you were alone. Naughtiness consumed you. You felt possessed by your urges.

Leaning over him you kissed his lips gently. He wasn’t sleeping but hadn’t been expecting your action. Even if it was a welcome one all the same. Your body stayed where it was as your finger danced along the waistband containing what you craved. “Baby….” You purred as you kissed the spot under his ear you knew he liked “there’s no one here, they’re all below deck.” You weren’t sure if that was entirely true but you had seen enough reality tv to know they would disappear pretty quickly if they happened to stumble upon anything. Pierre lowered his sunglasses before asking; “Is my good girl feeling a little risqué?” His mother tongue delighting in the pronunciation of the last word. You nodded and you saw all of the dirty thoughts rushing around Pierre’s brain all at once. “Do you think you can stay quiet?” His hand wrapped itself around your wrist - the one resting on his lower tummy while your fingers played with his happy trail - and guided it away. It collided with the mattress of the sun deck behind you and the pressure Pierre applied made it hard for you to move. His body rolled half way on top of yours. “Well?” He asked wanting a vocal confirmation “do you think you can stay quiet?” Normally Pierre wanted to pull every single loud pant, moan, gasp and sigh from you before he made you scream so now he wanted the opposite it was overwhelmingly thrilling. “I can try.” His eyes narrowed “I promise.”

Your word was enough for him. His hand left your wrist and instead came to the valley between your boobs. His fingers trailed down with delicate lightness. You knew better than to let your eyes follow the direction of his hand. He liked eye contact above all else so you kept staring straight back at him. Your mouth opened and you fought back the sigh that was about to leave it when his fingers dipped past the black neoprene fabric that clothed you. “How long have you been this wet?” He as good as hissed at you. “Since I woke up thinking about the way you fucked me last night.” A shaky yet pleased laugh left your boyfriends own parted lips. His forefinger slipped up and down your throbbing folds and you instinctively opened your legs wider for him. He spread the product of your excitement over sensitive creases before he settled on the bundle of nerves that he was by now, best friends with. You couldn’t help but inhale deeply as he made quick work of circling your responsive bud and drawing more and more quick breaths from you. In a normal, less public, setting you would by now be heavy breathing, moaning his name and gripping hold of whatever your hand could find.

“Pierre….” You whimpered quietly, in a broken, breathy tone that was completely carnal. He stepped up the pace and your hands went to his neck, needing to hold on to something as he worked you closer and closer to your high. “You’re so beautiful when you’re this close.” His words caressed your lips before his tongue delved in. He knew you were close (he always knew) when your hips raised up off the daybed underneath you. Desperately seeking more friction, more pressure from his fingers - which of course he gave you without hesitation. “Fuck, Pierre…” the smallest of pleas left you as his mouth swallowed your words.

And then you had to remind yourself to open your eyes for him as he made you climax, hard and sudden. Your body tensed as the high aroused your soul. Shockwave after shockwave came in unrelenting waves like the ocean below the yacht. Pierre kept going, his pace only slightly slowing, to make sure you rode every last inch of the orgasm he graced you with and only when your thighs stopped shaking did he dip his fingers down to the wetness his actions had produced. You saw the pride and smugness overtake him as he felt what he had done to you.

Then without a single shred of warning his hand left your bikini bottoms and the elastic material snapped back against your skin. “Can I get you both another drink?” Cassandra’s Italian laced voice came from behind us. “We’re fine, thank you” Pierre answers for the both of you. You stayed exactly where you were, clinging to him almost, as he did so. A heat spread up upon your cheeks and you realised you were holding your breath. “She’s gone.” He said quickly before erupting into laughter

“Oh my God!” You yelped and buried your face in his neck. There was no option that to feel instantly mortified. The girl couldn’t have been older than you nor Pierre and she had innocently approached you both after you had been doing something so utterly obscene. “Did she see us? I was quiet wasn’t I?” “Shhh….Mon Amour” he kisses you gently “don’t worry, I’ll just tip them a little extra.” He winked when he pulled back and playfully you hit him on his chest for being so typically well, Pierre, about things. “I’ll tip them EVEN MORE if I can fuck you right here on the deck.” You knew he wasn’t joking but you laughed none the less. “Ok” Your words caught his attention “but first, let’s take a dip…” his reply came swiftly; “Fine, as long as it’s the skinny type”

[blooming-violets]

The Exhibit

[tasm!Peter Parker x fem!Reader]

Warnings: use of pet names such as Daddy/Princess/Babygirl, BDSM in the form of dom/sub, bondage/spanking/blindfolds/nipple clamps/a bit of masochism, anal play, exhibitionism/voyeurism

WC: 8K

A/N: This was an anon request for window smut off of this prompt list but tumblr said a big no no to (what I'm assuming) was one of the gifs I used for the graphic and hid the post so I had to delete it. I'm reposting it again minus the very bad so naughty terrible gif I used. Porn bots can run free and terrorize the tags with their tits and wide open pussy on display but how dare a smut writer use a tastefully erotic, black and white, gif of a blurry couple making sweet, sweet love against a far away window. So naughty. Such a bad girl.

The elevator chimed with a pleasant musical melody as the doors slid open to their floor. There were only four rooms in this hallway. Behind each door held a luxury suit overlooking the busy streets of Florence. 

Peter had gone all out for their honeymoon. 

They’d spent the last week in Sardinia, making love on the beaches, drinking wine, making love on sailboats, drinking more wine, making love in their hotel room in the early morning with the windows open to enjoy the breeze…more wine…more sex…

They were struggling to keep their hands off of each other. Even now, as Peter guided her towards their room, his hand was slipped under her vibrantly red sundress and fingering the elastic waist of her cotton underwear. 

They left the beaches of Sardinia to come to Florence specifically to see the art but she wondered if they would ever actually make it out of their room with the way Peter’s hands teased her. She was surprised that he wasn’t sick of her yet. Seven straight days of love making and he was still as rowdy as ever. 

He let her admire the suite, watching her as he leaned against the wall, more interested in eying her legs in that dress than the luxury accommodations he had provided for them. 

“Peter,” she whispered, eyes wide as she took it all in. “This is gorgeous.”

Their beachside Sardina resort had a more airy and cool feel whereas this room screamed of sophistication and class. She knew Peter had been working like crazy leading up to their wedding but she had no idea this was why. 

“Like it?” He asked with an arrogant smirk toying at his lips. “A room fit for a queen.” 

She dropped her bag beside the bed and kicked off her shoes, flopping backwards onto the bed to stare up at the arched ceiling with thick, exposed wooden beams. Even the ceiling was stunning. 

She felt the bed sink as Peter crawled on top of her. 

His white, loose button up had the first few buttons undone so his athletic chest peeked through. She loved the sight of his chest hair being exposed. He looked so relaxed, laid back, and blissful with life. Filled with wine, good food, and love. The perfect blend of medicine for him to simply shine. 

He placed a soft kiss against her lips, humming appreciatively, “You look sleepy, babe. Why don’t you take a nap while I unpack our things. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.” 

A nap sounded wonderful after traveling between hotels. She rolled onto her side. It was warm enough that she didn’t need to snuggle under the covers. Peter ran his hands up her bare leg and slipped under her sundress to take one last squeeze of her ass before she slept. 

She awoke to light kisses tickling her stomach. Peter was laid over her legs, her dress rolled up under her breasts so he could let his lips roam over her belly.

She stretched, a sleepy smile growing on her face, as she peered down at him. 

“What time is it?” She mumbled through the lingering sleep. 

“Time to wake up and play,” he said. He blew a raspberry on her belly with his mouth, making her laugh. “It’s about 4 in the afternoon. You slept all morning. I missed you too much to let you keep sleeping. Wake up and play with me. I’m bored.” 

He had his shirt completely unbuttoned and was stripped down to his boxers to get more comfortable while he lounged around waiting for her. 

Judging by the state of his hair, he looked like he might have gotten in an hour or so of sleep, too.

“Alright, alright,” she giggled. “I’m up. Let me go freshen up and then we can go explore the city.”

Peter pulled her up to her feet and gave her a quick spank as she walked off into the bathroom. That man always needed to have a hand on her ass in some way. 

By the time she came back out, she was surprised to see that he had yet to get dressed and had actually lost an item of clothing.

His shirt was now thrown onto the bed, cast aside without a care.  

“Underwear is a bold choice to go walking around Italy in but I admire your confidence,” she said with a teasing smile.  

Peter didn’t smile back. He had a look in eyes. A look that she knew very well. 

It wasn’t the “making love” look. 

It wasn’t the “quickie” look. 

It was dark, ravenous, and screaming of dominance. 

He had yet to give her that look on their honeymoon. So far, he'd been more playful and loving. This evening, he had other plans. 

They were not leaving this hotel room any time soon. 

A shiver of excitement shook off whatever sleep might have still been clinging to her mind. 

She blinked and he was pouncing on top of her. 

Her back hit the wall but his hand slipped protectively behind her head before it slammed, instead, falling into the cushion of his palm. 

Her breath exhaled from her lips at the force but, before she could catch it, he was attacking her lips with hungry, demanding kisses. His tongue pushed possessively into her mouth at the same time he slid a hand over her breast to fondle her over her dress. 

Taking what was his. 

“‘Can’t stand the sight of you in this dress.”

He moaned into her open mouth. 

“Makes me want to rip it straight off your body.”

He grabbed at her breasts, aggressive and horny, rutting his hips against her. 

“Do you know how hard it was not to fuck you while you slept?”

Her hair was being violently pulled, head crashing against the wall, her mouth falling open into a cry.

“Laying there, all innocent, legs spread open and begging for me to touch them.”

He clawed down her bare legs. Nails dragged against her skin. Feeling like she was getting attacked by a raging bear with the force of power behind each of his movements. 

“Teasing me even in your sleep. A foxy, little minx, aren’t you?”

She shuddered, lowering her voice to a whisper, ready to play along, “I picked this dress just for you. I knew what it would do to you.” 

He grabbed her wrists, slamming them above her head against the wall, and holding them in place. He let out a groan, grinding his stiff cock into her thigh. 

“Daddy knew his babygirl was a little tease.” 

A trickle of wetness soaked into her panties at the use of her favorite pet name for himself. 

What had started out as a joke early in their relationship, quickly became a genuine kink to turn them on. 

With that name on his lips, she could guess what kind of torture was held in store for her. It was going to be a dizzying whirlwind of fast, hard pleasure. 

Peter’s voice lowered to a near growl. 

“Pretty, little thing like you shouldn’t be traipsing around in a dress like that. You don’t know who might snatch you up.”

With both her wrists bound tightly in his one hand, he lifted her off the ground, dragging her up the wall, blatantly showing off his inhuman strength so she knew exactly what he could do to her if he wanted. 

To him, she weighed nothing. This was a man who had stopped moving trucks with his bare hands and thrown cars around like a kid with a ball. 

He let go and she dropped the few inches back to her feet with a surprised yelp. 

“You’re lucky you have me to protect you. Daddy won’t let anything bad happen to his little princess, will he?” 

She was shoved straight back against the wall, getting off on the feeling of being handled so roughly. 

He nipped at her ear lobe, sucking it into mouth the sounds of her tumbling whimpers. 

“Do you like to show off when you wear dresses like this? Do you like having men look at you? Do you like that they imaging fucking you when you walk by?”

“I only want you to fuck me. Only you,” she whined, trying to free her hands from the hold he had on her.

“Of course I’m the only who will ever fuck you, princess.” 

He tugged her hand back down to flash her newly placed wedding ring in front of her face. 

“That right there means that my cock is the only one that will ever split you open again. But that doesn’t mean others can’t look. People have eyes. They can see what I’ve got hanging off my arm.”

He brushed her hair away from her neck so he could lean down to graze his lips along her pulse points, murmuring against her heated skin as he continued to taunt her with his words. 

“How do you expect anyone to keep their thoughts pure when you’re walking around in this?” He pulled at the bottom of her sundress. “You’re putting on a show for them, babygirl.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” she cried. “It's hot out! I wanted to stay cool.”

Strong arms twisted her around so she was facing the wall, cheek shoved against the rough wallpaper. The force knocked the air from her lungs. 

He bent both her arms behind her back and a strong, sticky substance shot out to bind them in place. She knew the feel of those webs well and a smile danced on her lips. 

She loved being bound.

The pressure of being restrained was like a tiny slice of heaven.  

“Daddy doesn’t like it when you show off, princess.”

He flipped up the back of her dress to palm at her rounded cheek, giving it a harsh slap to the sounds of her delicious yelp. 

“Do you look at other men, too, when they’re looking at you? Do you imagine yourself with them?” 

She gasped in horror at the thought, “Of course not! I would never!”

No other man could ever compare to her husband. Not even in the game they were playing. There was always only Peter.  

He hummed like he disapproved of her answer, “Well…just to be certain...I think we need to make sure you can’t let those eyes wander.”

Something smooth slipped over her eyes, leaving her in the darkness, while he tied the blindfold tightly behind her head. 

Leather. 

She smelled leather. 

She couldn’t remember them ever owning a leather blindfold before. It must have been something Peter picked up when they arrived here but she couldn’t recall a time when he left her sight. 

She liked how heavy it felt against her eyelids. There was no way she could peek through this one. 

“There,” he whispered. “Perfect. Blind to my advances. Lost in the dark. Never knowing when or where I will touch.” 

He gripped her hips and spun her back around to face him. 

A wave of dizziness over took her and she swayed on unsteady, bare feet. 

“Careful, babe,” he whispered with a tenderness to his voice, breaking his haughty charade, and reaching out a hand to steady her. “I got you.”

Peter teased a finger under her chin, leaning down, to kiss her again. Soft and gentle, filled with the love and joy only a newly married man on his honeymoon could give. 

A coil of tension spread throughout her stomach as she melted into him. 

Her mouth opened to willingly accept his tongue past her worshiped lips to kiss him with all the passion she could muster with her hands bound behind her. 

Peter’s own hands couldn’t stay still for long before they began to wander. 

He squeezed her breasts through her dress, molding them to his palm, and rutting his hips into her. 

She moaned, long and drawn out, leaning her head back against the wall so he could attach his lips to her neck. He sucked on her pulse points like a vampire draining blood and she wished he had fangs so she could feel the sting of pain as he sank into her flesh. 

And then he was gone. 

She stumbled forward, nearly losing her footing without him to push against. 

Her head whipped around in the dark to try and find him through sound. 

It was useless. 

He was as silent as a spider.

“Look at the sight of you,” he chuckled, his voice dark and deep, dripping with desire. From the sound of his voice, he was across the room near the window. 

“You have no idea what you look like right now, do you? Don’t fret, I’ll describe it for you.

He was moving. Pacing back and forth down the length of the room against the far wall.

“The strap of your dress is halfway down your arm. The nipple of your left tit keeps poking over the fabric, desperate to be sucked upon. Your hair is already a damn mess and I’ve barely touched it. Your mouth keeps parting like it’s just waiting for a cock to fill it up. A horny little thing, aren’t you?” 

“Mmm,” she moaned, only getting more turned by his descriptions. “Peter. Come back. Touch me.”

“That’s not my name, princess,” he shot back.

His voice sounded different now, like he was up on the ceiling. 

“Daddy,” she begged, craning her blind head upwards toward the sound. “Touch me, Daddy.”

He gave a quiet laugh, “Come get me then.”

He was back on the floor. In a different corner by the bed. Jumping around the room. Silent. With only his voice to guide her. 

She took an unsteady step forward, blindfolded with her hands bound behind her. She didn’t know this hotel room very well. He knew that. 

Which was why he kept moving. Teasing her. Making her work for his love. 

She kept inching ahead, little by little. 

“Tick tock, princess. Daddy doesn’t have all day.” 

Behind her. 

She gasped, whirling around, stumbling back the way she came only to find nothing but air. 

With another step, her body bounced against the wall he had pinned her to and she staggered backwards. 

She tried to spin back to the way she started but was getting all turned around. 

He laughed at her pitiful efforts. 

In front of her again.

Near the windows.

Or maybe the beds? 

Was he at the door? 

She was spinning in circles. Getting disoriented. 

This wasn’t a fair game and she was getting frustrated. Her foot stomped angrily against the rug with a grumpy whine to accompany it. 

“Is my poor princess getting dizzy?”

She had half the thought to plop herself onto the floor and stay there until he came to her. 

But she didn’t want to lose the game. 

She was too stubborn to give up. 

“Watch out,” he warned. Still by the window. At least…she thought that was the direction she was facing. “If you move any more, you’ll run straight into the side of a table. Wouldn’t want my baby girl to get hurt.” 

The table. She remembered where that was in the room. 

He was by the windows. He was close. 

Excitement tumbled around in her stomach as she tasted her nearing victory. 

She shuffled to the left, feeling the table at her hip, and kept going towards the last place she heard his voice. 

Blind and bound until she heard his soft breaths directly in front of her, thankful that he hadn’t moved again. 

“Good girl, you made it,” he whispered. A soft kiss was placed on her lips as a prize. “As a special reward, Daddy’s going to take your dress off, okay, baby? He’ll be really gentle even though he wants to rip it to shreds.” 

She felt him snake an arm around her waist to rip through the webs binding her wrists. She immediately went to reach for him but he slapped her hands away. 

“Hands at your side or else I’ll spank you,” he ordered. “I’m taking my time. I’m in Florence. I’m here to admire the art. Don’t rush me.” 

The zipper at her side slowly inched down until it rested at her hip. 

His big, warm hands slipped under her straps, fingers scraping along her shoulder, as he pushed them down her arms. His head fell down to kiss her shoulder, dragging his lips across her heated skin. 

Her breasts held the dress up but the moment he gave a light tug to the bottom, it yielded quickly and pooled around her ankles on the floor. 

His shuddered breath told her that he was enjoying the view. Bare chested, nipples taut, and in nothing but her underwear and blindfold. 

The underwear didn’t last long. 

Peter slid them down straight after the dress until she was completely nude. 

“More beautiful than The Birth of Venus. We should put you in a frame and have tourists come to gaze upon that instead. Maybe I should dangle you from the wall…all tied up with nowhere to go…I’ll start my own museum right here since you love to be such a tease. I’ll put you on display and have everyone see the kind of beauty I married.” 

She was surprised to feel a wave of appreciative tears dampening her lashes. There was genuine love and admiration behind his words. 

Married. They were married. Finally. 

Her husband. 

She loved that she got to call him that now. 

Cool air breezed against her throbbing clitoris, halting the tears, to remind her how horny he had made her before she was chasing him around the room. She was too hot and eager to think about where that breeze was coming from. Drunk on her love for him. She bucked her hips to try and find some kind of friction for her to grind on. 

She squeezed her thighs together, rubbing them back and forth. 

“What’s the matter, baby?” Peter teased. “Need a hand?” 

“Please,” she gasped. 

“Hmm,” he pretended to think about it. 

She wished she could see him. 

She hated that he was so close but she couldn’t see exactly where. 

“I don’t know. With the way you were strutting around in that dress, showing off to the boys, I don’t know if you deserve my touch. Maybe you deserve to be punished instead? What do you think?”

He didn’t wait for any answer. 

Thwip!

Her left wrist was encased in a sticky, impenetrable substance and she jumped in surprise. 

She was yanked forward until she felt the cool breeze against her bare chest. 

The wind was softly blowing. 

She could feel it rustling through her hair and dragging up the goosebumps along her flesh. 

For the first time, she questioned exactly where in the room she was. 

Why did it feel like outside when they were inside?

“Pete?” Her voice wavered. “What are you-”

Her arm was dragged out to her side and lifted high above her head as she gave a yelp of fright. 

“Not my name, princess,” he chastised from up on the ceiling above her. 

Thwip! 

The same treatment was done to her right arm until she was bound, outstretched, and helpless. 

Her fingers wrapped around the thick web, holding onto it for purchase, as her toes just barely scraped along the floor. 

Peter chuckled to himself in amusement at her struggles, the sound coming from the ground behind her.

Always so damn silent. 

“You look like a sexier version of Jesus on the crucifix. I want to drive nails through those dainty little hands of yours and listen as you cry out for mercy.”

If her eyes weren’t confined under heavy leather, she would have rolled them in response to his dirty talk. 

“That sounds very appealing. Thank you,” her voice was dry and full of sarcasm, refusing to take him seriously.

Slap!

Her entire body jerked forward from the force of his blow against her ass. 

Strong. Stinging. 

Done with direct intention to cause pain. 

Punishing her for the sarcasm. 

She shrieked, mostly from the shock than the hurt, but immediately felt a trickle of wetness run down her thigh. 

“Won’t you be a good girl and remind me of my favorite rule?” 

His hand spread out over the stinging, hot skin of her cheek, giving her swift, hard pats to make sure the pain didn’t disappear too quickly as he spoke. 

She shivered under his touch, “Don’t talk back to Daddy. Ever.”

“Good girl,” he cooed. “Next time use that pretty, little brain of yours and think before you speak.”

Her hair was tangled in his large hand as he shook her head back and forth to further his point. 

“Otherwise, I’ll be forced to ball gag you.”

Fingers slipped between her thighs. 

She parted her legs the best she could for him to get better access to her core. 

A squelching of wet, soaked squishing sounds followed as two long fingers sunk inside of her. 

A low, deep moan of approval rumbled out his throat at the sounds. 

“You are absolutely drenched, my little whore. Something tells me you liked the pain. Maybe you were using that brain after all. Did you like it when Daddy spanks his naughty girl?” 

Her tumbling whines followed as nimble, expert fingers stroked at her pussy, drowning out any worded response she might give. 

Coaxing her to life. 

Waking up all her senses. 

She tried her best to hold her legs open for him despite feeling unsteady in her web binds. She wanted him to give her as much pleasure as he could and that meant letting him have easy access. 

“Does my baby like the pain?” He asked again, running the hand not buried inside of her against her still stinging ass cheek. “Come on, I asked you a question, use your words, pretty girl.”

“Mmm, yes, Daddy. I like it. I like it!”

Smack!

She yelped, throwing her head back as waves of arousal washed over her. The pain from the spank mixed with the pleasure of his touch was enough for another gush of fluids to soak into his hand. 

“Look at how hard your nipples have gotten,” he gave a dreamy sigh. “Oh wait, you can’t. My sweet, blind baby. All lost in the dark with nothing to look at.”  

Her breathing was becoming ragged in her ears. Her body swayed against the webs. 

Knowing hands wrapped around her stomach, leaving the warmth of her cunt, much to her displeasure. 

They trailed upwards, through the valley of her breasts, until they gripped around her neck. 

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp. 

“Guess where I went today?” His voice was nothing more than a low, darkening whisper. 

She couldn’t respond. His hand had tightened around her, softly squeezing, using a mere feather touch of his strength but still able to restrict her air flow. 

“While my princess was napping, Daddy slipped out to buy you some presents. Found myself a little sex shop. You would have loved it,” he mused. “They had vending machines full of toys. Picked myself up a few fun gadgets to play with.” 

He released his hand from around her neck, never wanting to hold her there for too long, and admired the way she gasped for breath. 

Fingers tweaked at her nipples. He hadn’t been lying before, they really were rock hard. She could feel how tight they were from his rough menstruations.

She could hear him rummaging around behind her when something cold dragged across her breasts. 

“Deep breath, princess.” 

Following his warning, the cold, grooved metal clamped down over her left nipple. 

She let out a genuine cry, her back arching from the pain. 

It gripped her tighter than his teeth ever had, dragging her nipple out from her body, and squeezing down painfully hard. 

The groves made it feel like little razors digging into her sensitive flesh. 

Peter huffed out a laugh in a sadistic amusement at her reaction, “You know, when the woman running the store saw these come out of the vending machine, she looked over with a nod and said something like ‘molto doloroso’. Now, I don’t speak much Italian but I’m going to assume it translates to ‘Those hurt like a bitch and your pain whore of a wife will love them.’ Am I right?”

She choked out a sob, squirming uncomfortably against the webs, “Ow. It hurts…too much…hate ‘em.”

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s another one right here! It’ll help balance out the pain so both those beautiful tits get a turn.” 

Another agonizing clamp bit down against her other nipple. The sharp, grooved metal felt like it might rip her nipple straight off her breast. 

The nipple clamps they had at home were capped with a smooth rubber. These were bare and ready to grip on to her tender skin with the strength of a fucking bear trap. 

She let out a full scream the moment it bit down, thrashing her body in an attempt to get away from the clamps. Crocodile tears rolled down her cheek from under the blindfold. 

“Shh, shh, shh!” 

A heavy hand cut off her cries by wrapping around her mouth. His breath was against her ear, hushing her, soothing her, running his lips over her forehead with quick kisses.

“Not so loud, baby,” he whispered. “You’ll draw a crowd with those cries.” 

“What?” She gasped through heavy, pained breaths. “Crowds?”

Peter’s hands reached up to slide the blindfold up off her eyes and tossed it onto the floor. 

He took a step to the side, watching her blink in confusion, as her tear blurred sight came back into focus. 

She had forgotten about the breeze. 

He had distracted her. 

Kept her mind occupied so she wouldn’t ask questions. 

She was tied up, stark naked, and splayed out directly in front of the arched floor to ceiling window overlooking the streets of Florence. 

The top half of the glass was pushed open, letting in the cool evening summer breeze, and making sure nothing muffled the sounds of her screams. 

And she had been screaming. 

“Peter!” She cried in horror, paranoid that anyone could look up and see her. They weren’t that high up in the hotel. Any curious person who decided to glance upwards would certainly catch her out in all her glory. 

Wack!

The sound of her sore ass being slapped filled her ears. 

Nothing could hurt more than her breasts at the moment and she welcomed the familiar pain his hands brought. 

She also couldn’t deny that growing, aching pressure happening between her legs. Her masochistic tendencies had yet to fail her. 

“Not my name,” he scolded. 

She whined, bouncing her leg against the floor in protest, and trying to tug at her bindings. 

“Let me down!”

She knew full well that those webs would never give but it didn’t stop her from giving it a shot. 

He leaned against the wall beside the open window, arms crossed, a prideful smirk sitting on his smug face, watching her struggle. 

“I told you I was going to put you on display.”

She never thought he meant it literally. 

Tears burned in her eyes at the wave of shame at being so exposed.

At least the shock helped to dull the pain in her breasts.

She scanned the tight streets below and was thankful to see that no one was stopped and staring. 

Yet. 

Her watchful eyes followed Peter as he pushed off from the wall and moved behind her.

Breath caught in her throat as his fingers found a home back inside of her drenched pussy. 

“Still as wet as ever, I see,” he noted. “You can cry and beg and plead all you want but Daddy knows the truth. He sees behind your tears.” 

Slick fingers circled around her aching clit. 

Toying with it. 

Teasing her. 

“You like being held up on a pedestal.”

A long, skinny middle finger sunk inside of her. 

Her head rolled back. Eyes closed. 

“You like people hearing you cum.”

His thumb on her clit. 

Brushing. Stroking.

Building her pleasure. 

“You like having others watch as your Daddy pleasures his princess.” 

In and out. 

Slowly penetrating her with his finger. 

Tending dutifully to that tiny bundle of nerves.

“You like the pain.”

He flicked at her nipple clamps. 

Sending shots of pain throughout her breasts.

Electrifying her. 

Soothing it over with those wonderful ministrations at her pussy. 

“You love me and you’ll let me do anything I want to your gorgeous body…isn’t that right?”

She whimpered. 

Eyes closed tight. 

Feeling that build of orgasmic pleasure rising. 

“I love you,” she breathed back, tears in her eyes. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He practically purred in her ear. 

Or maybe it was a growl. 

Whatever it was, the noise caused her cunt to gush in reply. 

He chucked, “That’s it baby, you’re so close. I can feel you tightening around my fingers. What do you say we give the people a show?”

He was gone. 

Leaving her empty. 

Dripping. 

Pathetically whining and begging for a finish. 

“Don’t worry, princess,” he called from the other end of the room. “Daddy bought some more toys. He’s going to treat his baby tonight.” 

She listened to the zipping of a bag as he rustled through to find what he was looking for. 

Her chest rose and fell in anticipation. Each breath brought back the dulling sting from her nipples. She tried to keep still, terrified more movement would draw attention upwards toward the window. 

She gave a quiet shudder at the thought and tried to imagine what she would look like from down below. 

The image brought a glint of a wicked smile to her lips. 

Something small and chilly brushed against her back door and she yelped in surprise. 

Slap!

“Hold still!” He scolded. 

The sound of a bottle squirting caused her to try to careen her head around to see what he was doing behind her.  

She managed to catch a glimpse of the butt plug he held in his hand. 

It looked a bit bigger than the small one they used at home but had the same metal teardrop shape. A red jewel flattened out the end. 

“Figured this was the next size up from your old friend. You leveled up from girlfriend to wife. Time to level up in other areas, too.”

Lube smeared over her tight hole as the cold, rounded point pushed against it. 

Not even a warm up with his fingers first. 

Peter really was in a dominant, pent up mood.

Her eyes slipped closed and her head fell back against her arched spine. She let out a deep breath, relaxing her body as much as she could, so it could slide in easier. 

“Ah, ow,” she gasped, hissing in pain. “Oh, fuck.”

Slow and steady he sunk it into her. 

He held it there, stopped in place, over the thickest part of the teardrop. Forcing her body to stretch to the foreign object. 

She tried to control her whines from being too loud. Her thighs trembled under her. Her face contorted into pain and her jaw clenched. 

More lube trickled down between her crack to help the little device along as Peter took note of her tensing body. 

“There you go, baby,” he encouraged. “Nice and easy. Breathe through it.”

He teased it through her ass, pushing it in a little ways and pulling it back out, making her continue to take on the thickest part of the plug just to keep up to torture a bit longer. 

“Please, Daddy,” she whimpered. “Just put it in. Please.”

“Aww, does my sweet baby need her ass filled? You’re Daddy’s little fuck toy. Daddy’s going to have any hole he wants. You have no say in where he ends up.” 

He refused to move it past the diameter, holding it steady. 

“Did you happen to catch the color of that tacky, little jewel they stuck on the end?” 

He pulled it back out. 

Teasing just the tip.

Exciting the bundle of sensory nerves around her anus and making her wriggle around. 

“Spider-Man red. Just for you.”

Finally, he eased the entire thing inside of her. 

“Ahhh!” She wailed. “Fuck!”

Filling her up. 

Swallowing the plug. 

Feeling it heavy inside of her. 

“So you’ll always remember who owns this ass.” 

Smack!

His hand came down hard against her bruising cheek. 

Ecstasy coursed through her veins at the sting. 

She was so full. Stretched and heavy. Uncomfortably aroused. 

An arm snaked up her own outstretched one to brush his fingers over her wedding ring, lacing his fingers with hers.

His bare chest pressed against her back, grinding his hips over her ass.  

His face fell against her neck, inhaling her scent, nuzzling his nose against her.

“My beautiful wife,” he breathed. “All tied up. Horny for her husband. Put out on display for all of Florence to see.”

Fingers wrapped around her waist to dip through her pubic hair, finding her heated crevice, needy for his touch. 

Palming. Flicking. Penetrating. 

“Nipples clamped. Ass filled. My name, cursed forever on your lips. All you need now is a cock to fill that empty cunt.” 

He fished it from the confines of his boxers. 

Dragging it along her soaked valley. 

Feeling it pulsate against her waiting lips. 

“No!” She gasped, staring down at the people below. 

She knew once he started to fuck her she couldn’t keep quiet. Her voice would soar out the open window and onto the people below. 

They would look. 

They would see her. 

“What if-” Her breath quickened. “What if someone looks up? They’ll hear me. They’ll look. I know they will.”

She didn’t need to see his face to know Peter had a cheshire cat grin growing. The sound of his voice was enough to hear his rising libido. 

“Then they’ll see a little princess fucking herself on her Daddy’s cock.” 

The bulbous head of his thick rod pressed between her folds. 

Sinking in. 

Stretching her out. 

He hesitated there. Stilling behind her. 

“Go on, baby. Fuck yourself. Let everyone see what a whore you can be.”

She almost didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to give in. She could play games, too. 

Her breath held in her lungs. Closing her eyes. Biting down on her bottom lip. 

Peter waited. 

The crown of his manhood nestled patiently in her pussy, being squeezed by her heated walls, kissed by her slick. 

Letting her throw her silent tantrum. 

She hung there, counting the seconds, fighting the urge to move, trying to breathe through her body’s desires.

Her legs were trembling. Her toes ached from holding her weight. 

It would be so easy to just…ease back…impale herself on his sword…give up. 

She could hear his labored breaths behind her. Smelled his cologne. Felt him twitching inside of her. 

“Close the windows,” she struggled to whimper out through her held breaths. “Let’s go to the bed. Take me there. Fuck me there. I’ll let you do anything you want. Just…not…not in front of the window.”

Peter tutted his tongue, “Since when has Daddy ever let you make the demands, hmm?”

He reached his hands up to her shoulders and gave a gentle push, getting tired of her defiance, “When I tell you to fuck yourself, you fuck yourself. I’m not going to do it for you.” 

Even the smallest of shoves from her shoulders was enough for her tiptoed feet to give out. She stumbled back, feeling his cock sink deeper. 

She let out a strangled cry. 

“No! On the bed. Bring to me to the bed!”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, refusing to see the window in front of them, torn between finding it extremely arousing and positively mortifying. 

“I’m sorry, princess. The bed is for good girls. The bed is for well behaved women who don’t wear little dresses and shake their ass as they walk for all the men to stare at. The bed is for lovers.” His hand gripped around her hair and shoved her face towards the window. “The window is for whores who get off on pain and love the attention their Daddy gives them.”

His voice lowered into a commanding, deep tone, “Open your fucking eyes and look at your audience.”

She blinked through the flow of overly emotional tears clinging to her lashes and forced her eyes open. 

People lined the tight, winding streets, walking lazily to their destination. Not one glanced up at them. Not one seemed to notice her out on display, front and center, above their heads. Peter was protected behind her body. She would be the one they see. 

Framed by the window. 

Art. 

That’s what he called her earlier. 

She was art and Peter, the artist. 

Helpless to whatever ways he wanted to exhibit her 

Little by little she sunk back onto his cock. Taking him into her. Eyes rolling back. Submitting to his demands until he bottomed out.

His chorus of pleased moans let her know he had won. 

She let her body get used to him inside of her. Her pussy knew his cock well by now but she liked to reacquaint them carefully every time they would meet. 

Peter was always a bit of a stretch. 

With the girthier plug shoved in her ass, her arms bound and outstretched, and her nipples screaming in pain, she felt the need to move a little slower with her pussy today. 

Gradual, small movements, easing herself up off his cock and then impaling herself back down. 

Slow and steady. 

She shifted on her toes, rocking her hips back and forth, taking him with longer and longer strides as her shameful whimpers grew into desperate cries. 

“There you go,” he murmured, brushing her hair back off her shoulder to nip at her skin with his teeth. “Ride Daddy’s cock, babygirl. Show everyone how good you can take it.”

Her own slick coated his shaft, making it slip through her without resistance.

He stayed fairly still behind her apart from making sure his hips were pressed forward enough for her to have easy access to his body. 

She was getting into a rhythm. Starting to get lost in the feelings. 

But, the harder she fucked herself, the more her breasts would sway. 

The more they moved, the more pain the clamps created as they bit down like they might cut clean through her flesh. 

It was getting to the point where it might be too much pain for her to enjoy and ruining her momentum on his cock. 

She hissed, biting down on her lip, trying to endure it the best she could manage. 

Peter shifted behind her, bringing his lips to her ear, and whispering for reassurance, “Color?”

She swallowed, trying to decide exactly what she was feeling, “G-green?”

He stilled her by gripping onto her hips, keeping himself buried inside her warmth, but moving his head around in an attempt to better see her face. 

“You sure? You don’t sound sure.”

She nodded, breathing heavily, “Almost yellow. Not quite though. But almost.”

“Which part?” He trailed loving kisses of safety along her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist to hug her sweetly from behind. 

“The clamps.” When she saw his hands immediately move to take them off her, she hurried to add. “Not yet! I…still like them…but soon, okay?”

“Soon,” he agreed, giving her one more adoration infused kiss to her cheek, before slipping back into character. “Daddy never told his little princess to stop, did he?” 

To shove her back into the role, he slapped her ass with three hard, lashing blows of his open palm. 

Each slap caused her breasts to bounce, sending shooting shocks of pure, agonizing pain through her body and a rush of warmth to her cunt. 

Pain and pleasure. Her favorite combination. 

“Looks like the sweet little angel is getting quite the bruise back here. If you keep misbehaving, you won’t be able to sit down for our breakfast tomorrow. Then everyone will know what a bad, little whore you’ve been.”

She whined in response, bucking her hips backwards to find his cock again, needing more pleasure to balance out the scales. 

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

He soothed his hands over her shoulders, pushing her down, sinking her onto his length.

“My pain hungry baby.” 

It wasn’t difficult to fall back into her previous rhythm. Her cunt was soaked and starving for its lover to come back home. 

“Fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Let those people down there know how much you love me. Be louder, princess. I want them to hear.”

She whimpered out a tiny cry. 

Her motions grew frantic the more he continued to talk dirty in her ear. 

That tiny cry grew into loud, unadulterated, guttural moans. 

The sounds of a whore taking her favorite cock. 

She struggled against the webs binding her. Her shoulders were starting to ache. Her arms were losing feeling. 

Her body was stretched tight. Nipples crying. Ass sore. The weight of the plug was even more noticeable with his cock pushing in and out of her. 

It felt like it was bouncing inside of her each time he pushed under it. 

Her toes hurt from being hung up on such an unsteady height. 

“Peter- Daddy,” she gasped. “Daddy, please…” 

She didn’t know what she was asking for.  

Some kind of relief. 

Something steadier. Something more concrete. 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, Daddy’s got you.” 

He reached around to her chest with both hands, simultaneously unclamping her nipples from their prison. 

Fire erupted in its place as the blood rushed back. 

A new kind of pain bloomed. 

Searing and hot. 

Her breasts were in flames. 

She cried out. Loud and sharp. 

At the same moment, Peter ripped her down from the webs, still embedded on his cock as he wrapped her up in tight arms and pushed her flat against the window. 

Her hips pressed against the cool glass but her torso nearly bent out the opening. 

Her anguished nipples happily sought out the cool breeze. Soothing over the sting. Settling her inflamed body. Not caring who looked up. 

Peter gripped onto her hips so he could better ram into her. Her job was over. She had done what he wanted. 

Now it was his turn to take over. 

Her body surrendered to him. 

“Ugnnn,” she whined. “Fuck!!” 

Her hands clenched into fists against the glass. Her back arched. 

Eyes wide. 

Taking his thrusts with near drooling moans. 

His rigid shaft drove into her, surging deep up inside, stretching her walls and drawing out the most luscious rumbles of pleasure. 

His balls slapped up against her. The sound echoing around their vaulted ceiling. 

Filling her. Stuffing her full.

Both holes used and defiled. 

She couldn’t stop the noises she was making. Throaty moans, shrieking cries, babbling coos.

He was getting it all out of her.  

Someone was watching. Looking at them. Spying them from down below. 

A young couple.

“Daddy!” She sobbed. “They’re-”

“Shh,” he hushed her. “I know, baby. I see ‘em, too. They like what they see. They’re talkin’ about us. Enjoyin’ it.” 

A broken cry fell from her lips and she stared down through her tears at the couple. 

Her eye sight wasn’t the greatest. She couldn’t make out their faces very clearly but neither of them looked horrified. 

They looked…giggly…

The woman was running her hand along her partner's arm. His hand disappeared behind her back and traveled down to her ass. 

Harder and harder Peter slammed. 

She was being ravaged by his strength. Losing the ability to make any noise. 

Nothing but silent, open mouthed gasps and a raining of tears were all that came out. 

“Too-” He grunted, crashing into her again. “Hard?” 

Through a shuddering, gasping breath, she managed to choke out, “Don’t you fucking stop.”

As long as Peter was fucking her like this, he could do it any way he wanted. He could drag her out onto the streets and fuck her at that nosy couples feet if he pleased. 

It was his art show. He held the control. 

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t pause. 

His finger marks would be bruised into the soft flesh of her hips for the upcoming days with how tightly he gripped them. 

She held eye contact with the watching woman down below. Stared straight at her. Sizing her up, silently challenging her to get as good a fuck from her partner as she was from Peter.

She wanted to make her jealous. Or horny.

Either was fine as long as the woman was thinking of her.  

“Yes, Daddy!” She cried, loud enough for her voice to carry down below. “Feels so good! Making your little girl feel so good!” 

She knew damn well Peter’s face was cast in the shadows behind her. The idea of this couple truely thinking she was being fucked by her own father made her laugh under her breath.

“Somethin’ funny, princess?” His voice was getting strained and she knew that meant he was getting closer to his release.

“Just enjoying my fans,” she gasped back. “They love what you’re doing.”

Her eyes were wild as she breathed in the fresh air. 

She felt free. 

She was married and in love. They were on their honeymoon in Italy. 

She was getting absolutely pounded by her husband in full view of a watching, interested couple.

She should be embarrassed, ashamed. 

But all she felt was bliss. 

That plunging, relentless cock, massaging her channel, thick veins grazing over that tender g-spot whenever she angled her body correctly, the weight of the plug in her ass, her aching nipples…

Everything was pushing her straight towards her final hurdle. 

Without much warning, it suddenly became all too much. No build up. 

Just explosions.  

A wave of ferocious, intense pleasure roared over her, sweeping her up, taking her by surprise. 

She came hard and fast. 

Sheiking. Crying out. 

Thrashing against the window, leaning half way out of it, trying to gasp for air. 

Peter grabbed at her hair to yank her back inside like he was terrified of losing her over the edge. 

“Fuck, princess,” he grunted. “Where ya goin’?” 

Her ears defended under the rush of blood swelling to her head but she was certain she was screaming in ecstasy from the way Peter’s hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her sounds. 

She contracted tightly around his cock, squeezing him, using him to further her explosion of pleasure, still feeling the stinging pain of her breasts to only shove her deeper into subspace. 

On and on her orgasm went. Unstoppable. As Peter kept driving into her and furiously rubbing his fingers over her clit. 

He kept her heightened. Overloaded. Knowing that it would destroy her.

She had the brief sensation of feeling him cumming inside of her. Feeling the spurt of warmth. Feeling full. 

But her agonizing long orgasm only served to weaken her rational thinking. She no longer existed. She was no longer on solid ground. 

Floating. Drifting through space. 

Lost amongst the stars. 

Finally, her body gave up. 

Finally, the orgasm came to a simmering hault. 

She was done. 

She hung limply against the window pane. Eyes rolling in her head. Twitching and whimpering. 

Peter scooped her into his protective arms, cradling her against his chest, peering his face to see their onlookers. 

“Shows over!” He called down to them. “Fuck off!”

Without his raging, pent up, sexual energy to seize control of his brain, he no longer liked the idea of anyone getting to view his naked wife besides him. His protective nature spiked to replace his dwindling arousal and he turned his back to the window to shield her with his body. 

He carried her away from their stares back into the safety of privacy where she belonged.  

She made no protests or struggles as their game finished. Her head hung limp against his shoulder. 

“My sweet girl,” he murmured in her ear. She was being placed on their bed. “Daddy’s going to clean you up. Wait here.”

Time wasn’t real. 

She blinked and he reappeared holding a warm, wet cloth to her legs. 

Over her thighs. 

Spreading her open. 

Cupping it against her used and battered sex. 

Gently cleaning away their mess. 

“There,” he whispered. “All better.”

Peter crawled into bed in front of her, wrapping an arm over her waist and kissing at the tip of her nose. 

Gradually, she returned to her body, her mind drifting slowly back into her skull. 

“Mmmm,” she groaned. “Everything hurts. Think you broke me.”

He chuckled to himself, soothing a hand over an abused nipple, “Sweet girl. I’ll try to find you some ice in a minute. But, right now, I’m not leaving your side until you fully wake up. Rest, baby. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” 

When she adjusted herself on the bed, sliding a leg through his, she took note of the fact that the plug was still snuggly lodged inside of her. 

Their night was only just beginning. 

He had left it there on purpose. 

She kind of liked it. 

Maybe she would wear it out to dinner…

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias - Lost in Sardinia Part 6/8

Summary - Ruben is on a getaway in Sardinia. There he meets a girl named Fiorella. She starts to wonder why Ruben won't tell her what exactly he is getting away from, or even what his real name is.

Enjoy!

Chiara's wedding day was getting closer and closer. Every one in Fiorella's family picthed in to help with the preparations. The farm needed decorating, the table and seating arrangements had to be correct and only the best quality food should be bought and used in the dishes served at the reception.

"Where is that girl?" Nonna came downstairs, clenching her purse. She held her car keys, head shifting hoplessly around the room. "Cazzo! I told her to be ready for me when I came downstairs."

"Who, Fiorella?" Sophia stood in the middle of kitchen, enjoying herself a bowl of cereal.

"Yes, who else?"

"She's hiding under the kitchen table." She grinned.

"What?"

"Jupp."

"Fiorella, come out of there."

Fiorella sighed, crawling out from underneath the kitchen table. "Snitch." She hissed at her sister.

"Silly,  silly girl, what were you thinking?"

"Nonna, why do I have to be the one to go bouquet shopping with you? The smell of flowers gives me a headache."

"It's your sisters wedding , Fiorella."

"But Nonna..."

"No buts, your going."

"Sophia is not doing anything to help with the wedding, why can't she go?"

"Fiorella your sister is waiting for your uncle to arrive with the table and chairs from his restaurant, we're using them for the reception."

"Ugh." Fiorella groaned, she was not in the mood to do anything today, she had a bed and a pillow waiting for her upstairs.

"Fiorella! Fiorella!" Someone shouted. Chiara, followed by her fiance Enzo, stumbled into the room. "Good, you're still here."

"We were just leaving." Nonna said. "What is it Chiara?"

"What was the name of that tourist you liked?"

Fiorella frowned. "Ruben Sanchez. Why?"

Chiara's face lit up with her newfound discovery.

"What is it Chiara?" Sophia budged in.

"You know that picture I took of him the other day. Well I thought he was cute and perfect for you, so I showed it to Enzo and he....tell her what you told me baby."

Enzo stepped forward. He did not look as invested in the manner as Chiara, however he did seem slightly amused. "That's not Ruben Sanchez." He pointed to the image on Chiara's phone. "That's Ruben Dias."

"Ruben who?"

"Ruben Dias? The famous footballer?" Chiara explained.

Fiorella's expression resembled a question mark.

"He plays for Manchester City, arguably the best football team in the highest football leauge in England."

Chiara had told stories about her time abroad, about going to pubs with her friends and watching sports that she never knew she would grow to love, football was one of those sports.

"I knew it!" Sophia gasped, putting away her bowl of cereal. "I knew I recognized him from somewhere."

Sophia worked weekends at uncle Augustus restaurant. During the weekends is when half of the town would gather for a drink or two. There would always be a football game playing and people would faithfully cheer for their selective teams. It's in those hostile environments that Sophia picked up a thing or two about football and men. Fiorella on the other hand, knew nothing of football and very little of men, considering the first man she  laid down with turned out to be a liar.

"That's him, I can't believe I didn't recognize him when we saw him at the docks." Sophia took a closer look at the picture on Chiara's phone, nodding her head. "That's him alright, that's Ruben Dias."

"But what's he doing here" Chiara asked. "In Sardinia of all places?"

"Probably hiding from the police." Enzo chuckled.

"Police?" Sophia frowned.

"Well he's got a lawsuit against him for punching Pep Guardiola in the face."

"He did what?" Chiara gasped.

"That's right!" Sophia exclaimed. "I remember now. They said it happned during training."

"Yeah and the team handed him a four months suspension from all games and training sessions." Enzo filled in.

"Fiorella, are you hearing this?"

Fiorella hadn't moved and inch from where she stood. Although she could hear the conversation happening around her, she simply couldn't process any of it. Ruben, really Ruben Dias, a professional footballer? Why hadn't he told her? Fiorella wondered what his view of her really was if he constantly felt the need to lie about who he was. Which was not a professional hiker by the way, but a professional footballer, like Beckham and and Zidane. Those were but a few professional footballers that she knew of. Fiorella's father had her watch a few games with him on TV when she was younger and her mother would ask him to "babysit" the kids.

"He lied to you Fiorella, are you even listening?" Sophia said.

"Don't be so harsh." Chiara defended. "Fiorella couldn't have known that the guy she was going out with was a famous millionaire footballer. But did you ever suspect it?"

Unwanted attention was brought back to Fiorella, who still stuggled to process things, and so she did the only reasonable thing. She fled.

"Nonna?"

She had been a fly on the wall, unsure of what had gotten her grandkids so hysterical.

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm ready to go now."

"Alright then. I'll bring the car around."

"What?" Her sisters frowned. "Fiorella, get back here. We have to discuss this. This man could be dangerous. What does he even want with you....?"

Fiorella trapped the noise behind the front door as she stepped out of the house. She rushed towards Nonna's car and the two of them headed into town. Nonna was right, it was a perfect day to go bouquet shopping.

********************************************

The world of flowers was a mystery to Fiorella, although her name literally meant 'little flower'. She couldn't understand why everyone seemed to be captivated by the scent of flowers.

Nonna, eagerly moved from one section to another, her eyes twinkling with contentment. Fiorella, on the other hand, tried not to wrinkle her nose at the overpowering smell that seemed to saturate the air. She found herself focusing on other things, like the intricate patterns on the wings of bees as they flitted from one flower to another.

"How about this one?" Nonna held up a cluster of pink roses.

"Chiara's favorite color is blue, why would we choose pink roses for her wedding?"

Nonna's eyes narrowed, eventually putting away the pink roses. "No grandchild of mine will have blue roses on her wedding." She muttered, continuing down the aisle of the flower shop.

The streets were busy outside of the window. Fiorella watched a child chase his dog around in circles. Another child dropped his Gelato on the ground in front of him. It was a peaceful sight, helping her forget about her newfound troubles.

At least until....

Fiorella gasped, heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes fell upon an all too familiar face amongst the bustling crowd. It was Ruben, crossing the street with a shopping bag in hand. He was not alone, but accompanied by a man wearing a cap and tinted sunglasses.

Without thinking twice, Fiorella hurriedly exited the shop, leaving Nonna behind. Her voice echoed through the busy city as she shouted his real name, "Ruben, Ruben Dias!"

Ruben's face turned pale, turning his head to spot Fiorella in the crowd. He quickly made his way towards her.

"Fiorella, how did you...?" He shifted his head around the busy street. Although Fiorella's voice had carried, no one but Ruben seemed to have taken notice.

"What Ruben? How did I know your real name?" Fiorella folded her arms to hide her trembling hands.

"Fiorella I..." He searched her face, his expression mellowing.

"Well I didn't google it, I'll tell you that. But I bet if I did, I'd find more about it than googling the name Ruben Sanchez."

Ruben's shoulders rose and fell as he sighed. The man that accompanied him appeared behind his shoulder.

"Is there a problem?" He asked Ruben, but kept his gaze on Fiorella.

Ruben shook his head. "No Bernardo, it's all good. Why won't you go ahead, I'll meet you back at the apartment."

The man was initially reluctant but eventually gave in. "Alright, call me if you need anything." He left, throwing Fiorella one last suspicious glance.

"Fiorella, please let me exp...."

"Save it Ruben." She said, feeling the growing lump in her throat. "You're a liar Ruben, a big fucking liar."

"Fiorella I wanted to tell you. I've always wanted to tell you about who I was, especially when I realized that you weren't messing with me, that you really had no idea who I was. I even tried to telling you the other day on my boat, but you were so anxious for me to turn it back around. I couldn't tell you then, not like that."

"Oh, so this is my fault?" Fiorella hissed, attracting the attention of people passing by.

"Of course not." Ruben protested. "None of this is your fault Fiorella, absolutely none of it."

"Then why did you lie to me?" Her voice broke, shattered by the man she thought could love her one day, that could perhaps take her away from all the expectations she had from her family, from Nonna.

"Fiorella." Ruben stepped forward, raising his hand to stroke her wet cheeks, hesitating last minute.

"I want to tell you the truth. Let me tell you the truth." He pleaded.

Fiorella nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay." She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "I know a place we can go."

Ruben nodded, ready to follow her anywhere.

[sofysta]

Oggi il mio giorno libero l'ho impiegato andando a vedere un pò di bellezza in questa terra che mi accoglie da qualche mese, ma quella bellezza che ti tocca l'anima. Abbiamo visitato Nuoro e gran parte delle tradizioni Sarde, e sotto mia richiesta siamo andati a visitare la casa di Grazia Deledda, una delle più grandi scrittrici Italiane alla quale è stato conferito il Premio Nobel per la Letteratura. Inutile dire che mi sono completamente immersa nella sua vita, e fortunatamente in passato avevo anche letto un suo libro che alla fine vi consiglierò. Nei suoi scritti narrava della passione della gente sarda e della loro caparbietàa ma anche delle fragilità dovute al loro forte disattamento per le epoche che cambiavano. Il popolo sardo è ancorato fortemente al passato. Mi ha molto colpita la sua dimora, odora ancora oggi di cuore, cuore in ogni più minuscolo dettaglio.

(Il suo discorso in occasione della consegna del Premio Nobel)

"Ho avuto tutte le cose che una donna può chiedere al suo destino, ma grande sopra ogni fortuna la fede nella vita e in Dio. Ho vissuto coi venti, coi boschi, colle montagne. Ho guardato per giorni, mesi ed anni il lento svolgersi delle nuvole sul cielo sardo. Ho mille e mille volte poggiato la testa ai tronchi degli alberi, alle pietre, alle rocce per ascoltare la voce delle foglie, ciò che dicevano gli uccelli, ciò che raccontava l’acqua corrente. Ho visto l’alba e il tramonto, il sorgere della luna nell’immensa solitudine delle montagne, ho ascoltato i canti, le musiche tradizionali e le fiabe e i discorsi del popolo. E così si è formata la mia arte, come una canzone, o un motivo che sgorga spontaneo dalle labbra di un poeta primitivo."

Il libro che vi consiglio 👇e su google trovate anche la stesura completa.

[greypetrel]

WIP (not) Wednesday

Thank you to @pinayelf , @dreadfutures , @blarrghe and @theluckywizard for tagging me! (You're all tagged back for next week) I had to work last weekend and I got caught in a wild reference hunting, but... It's all Whale AU/ an original story, I hope you won't mind!

1) Going on with costume designs for Aisling, this time we're going regional! After a long and difficult research, I can affirm that this is the traditional dress of Alghero, Sardinia, where her mother comes from and she grew up in this iteration. Sardinian traditional clothes are absolutely gorgeous and I wanted to draw her in one... But Alghero Is a minority, and things are quite different. First by the fact that I actually struggled to fact check this outfit. I'm still only sure it's geographically appropriate, but not time appropriate (the story is set in 1907). All I can tell you about it is that it may have more influences from Barcelona than from Sardinia, and that a necklace is made of coral, which is very typical of the town.

2) A master study which will serve as a banner? Aisling and Raina having a picnic on the beach. They're eating papassini, typical biscuits made with raisins and glazed with sugar, Aisling is reviewing for an upcoming job interview with a very special professor. I drew the landscape on memory alone, I tried to look for references but I wasn't lucky. Hopefully I've been there so many times growing up that I still have a plausible image.

... I talked for eight years, sorry, I'm happy of this project ahahahah and about learning more about a place I've spent so much time into.

It's late for tagging, isn't it? Going with people I don't feel bad in pestering: @salsedinepicta @ndostairlyrium @shivunin @melisusthewee

[a-d-nox]

i bought a DNA test - here is my assessment of the DNA (asteroid 55555) persona chart

23 & me + health is very comprehensive, so i am just going to touch on some of the topics i already predicted based on their test breakdown from their website. for privacy reasons i won't be talking about how much of any given ethnicity i have. the only "evidence based" screenshots i will be providing are from the traits section of the test.

ancestry

i know for sure that i am polish and slovakian so tesinsko (38674) 10h and sextile saturn makes sense. těšínsko is basically the dividing line czechoslovakia and poland. so to have that in my dna 10h status makes me believe it will be pretty prevalent in the test breakdown - 50% +. plus i have polonia (1112) conjunct moon and that is very true - i got it from my mom's side lol.

danmark (2117) in the 2h rx makes me feel like i am not as danish as my father told me i was nor... i am correct because i am not danish nor am i a descendant of the danes.

am i as german as he made it seem. 7h germania (241) is not as convincing plus the lack of aspects just makes it all the less convincing... also true because my descendants were from southwestern germany not so much the core of german territory.

italia (477), hispania (804), and copenhagen (13586) in the 4h. perhaps i will revoke my statement above about the danish ancestry, but we will see. i do believe italian and hispanic descent might be probable based on these placements. try sardinia.

i know i am welsh but i can't find an asteroid related to wales :(... fun story 23 & me couldn't detect welsh ancestry in me, BUT nearly all the locations for the "british & irish" section regarding where my ancestors were from were in wales so lol yes i am welsh though i don't feel that snowdonia in my 4h is a very solid indicator.

i did discover that i have irish ancestry - i have ireland (5029) square moon, it is my mother's side that has irish descent! my grandmother found paper work confirming that.

i also discovered russian ancestry - my grandmother told me a very interesting story about my ancestor alex who used to be alexei but escaped via moscow... i have moskva (787) trine moon. the shoe fits.

a majority of my lineage and the asteroids associated with aspect the moon and/or saturn in my dna persona chart. 23/41 asteroids do at least; that's about 50% which is pretty good considering that 23&me ALSO isn't 100% accurate - they don't nail down where your ancestors are from they give possible regions from which your ancestors were likely from.

that being said, i am not sure that dna persona should be used alone - i feel like it was helpful to confirm and nail down which regions from the options in the dna results are even more likely for ancestry.

i do think that the 4h, moon aspects, and/or saturn aspects to country/city asteroids in a dna persona chart tend to be most accurate for determining ancestry.

trait report

ability to match musical pitch: air venus at 17° - i am gonna say this comes back positive.

asparagus odor detection: mercury at 1° conjunct chiron; i definitely will have a heightened sense of smell.

bitter taste: capricorn mercury... get it? its a saturn ruled mercury? saturn can be bitterness? i don't know i thought it was funny...

earwax type: on the other hand... a saturn ruled mercury - soft wax (i'm of the mindset there are only two options hard or soft wax).

health

type 2 diabetes: it kind of looks like i can beat the odds... like venus square saturn - that's just genetic. BUT venus sextiles moon and pluto AND conjuncts uranus - these are all planets of change, so i feel like i can/will prevent diabetes. true because i have the typical likelihood for developing diabetes per the test.

brca: it's not looking too hot and i know my father's mother passed from breast cancer at a rather young age i think she passed at 40... my moon conjuncts pluto and is opposite jupiter. fortunately, it conjuncts chiron, so i might beat it or catch it early thanks to the test. a grey area in my eyes... of the 4000 variants of brca they only test 44 of them. they found 0 of the 44 though. so we will see 44 is like nothing though to be honest.

thrombophilia: it's a given... uranus square saturn - the blood flow is just not that good. i kind of knew this before going in - i have factor 5 leiden; they found 1 of 2 thrombophilia variants that they test for and it was that variant/mutation.

alzheimer's: mercury conjunct sun and chiron AND sextile mars makes me believe it's fine and i'm good - i will get the negative here. i tested positive for late onset alzheimer's... i mean i feel like it can sort of be challenged - i know i am fighting something out of denial of the possible, but i really don't like that they don't test particularly for the early onset variant. if i have one, why wouldn't i have the other? i think we all could understand why that developing early would be horrible...

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[useless-catalanfacts]

Hi! wikipedia is not being super helpful - I am curious about whether support for Valencian independence is similar to the support for Catalonian independence; I am just assuming that "Catalonian separatism" refers ONLY to Catalonia, not necessarily the other Catalan-speaking regions? is there any solidarity for independence movements between Valencia and Catalonia because of shared language? I have heard a lot about Catalonian separatism but I haven't ever really heard of Valencian separatism even though I am sure it exists.

thank you!

Hello!

Catalan independentism doesn't necessarily mean only Catalonia. Historically, it has meant all the Catalan Countries, often with a focus on the ones under Spanish rule of it's being done from those territories (Catalonia, the Valencian Country and the Balearic Islands being the focus) and pretty much all pro-independence organisations work in all the areas, not only Catalonia.

This is going to be a long answer, so I'll leave it under the "read more".

When you see Valencian pro-independence posters, pins, etc that have the map silhouette, you'll see this shape:

which is the shape of all the Catalan Countries, usually excluding L'Alguer (L'Alguer —the Catalan-speaking city in Sardinia, Italy— will be included when we're talking about language rights and cultural rights, but not about independence or political unity). That is, the shape you'll see includes the Valencian Country, Catalonia, la Franja, and the Balearic Islands (from Spain), Northern Catalonia (from France), and Andorra.

(Source of the examples: posters calling for pro-independence protests in València. 1. From Cartells PUA, year 1999. 2. From MDT, 2012. From endavant, 2019.)

You can search on Google images for "cartells independència València" and you'll find more. I also found this one where the silhouette is only the Valencian Country but in huge letters it says "Valencian Country. Catalan Countries" so, yeah, same thing.

The Catalan independence movement having a significant part dedicated to "Catalonia only" independence is quite recent and mostly due to strategic reasons. If you look at early to mid 20th-century independentist texts, you can find the word "Catalunya" ("Catalonia") is often being used for all the Catalan-speaking countries, because it was the terminology used at the time including in València (and even as late as Joan Fuster's early texts, that's the word being used). However, it doesn't necessarily mean only what we now understand as Catalonia proper. After the popularization of the term "Catalan Countries" by Valencian writers (especially Joan Fuster), that's what will be used and the word "Catalunya" will surely mean only Catalonia (whether it's all of Catalonia including Northern Catalonia or only the area that the Spanish administrative region system calls Catalonia —aka the Catalonia at the south of the Spanish-French border— will depend on the context, but for texts written in Southern Catalonia it will often mean the 2nd).

"Catalonia only" (or, at least, "Catalonia only, for now") only became majoritary in Catalonia's independence movement around 2010, when many new people in Catalonia joined the independence movement. New people were arriving who previously saw independence as a dream impossible to achieve or as a radical communist thing, but now were realising that it was the only possible solution to the repeated attacks from Spain. Then, Catalonia's independence movement quickly grew and gained so many followers that we were more than half the population at the very least in favour of a referendum. (Previously, right after the end of Franco's dictatorship, it was the Valencian Country where the Catalan independence movement was the strongest, which is why the right-wing created and pushed "blaverism", a Catalanophobic ideology aimed at dividing Valencians from the rest of the country and weakening the social movements and language use). At this point, Catalonia had such a strong independentist movement that its independence was finally a possible short-term goal. And, because of the way that European politics work, most people believed we could achieve it through democratic means; because every administrative region in Spain has a regional parliament and regional government, in Catalonia we voted for pro-independence politicians in our "regional" government, who would follow the necessary steps to organise a referendum and, if won, declare independence. However, at the same time the independence didn't have nearly as much support in the Valencian Country; in fact, in the previous decades, the right-wing had been very focused on encouraging Catalanophobia in the Valencian Country with "blaverism", and their chosen politicians clearly showed it. So it only made sense to focus on declaring independence for the place where the majority of its population wants it. The underlying idea was that, once we have an independent Catalonia established, the rest of Catalan Countries can hold their own referendums to decide if they want to join us, often with a union of federated states being brought up.

But this was very controversial at the time. I remember many people (the more left-wing anti-capitalist type, pretty much everyone in the CUP and related) were saying that we cannot leave Valencians and Balearics behind, we cannot save ourselves and leave them in suffering. There was also the fear that Catalonia declaring independence would cause retaliation from Spain against the other Catalan areas, the Basque Country and Galicia to strip them from more language rights and regional governance to make sure they couldn't follow our path. There was the chant "sense València no hi ha independència" (without València there is no independence), but slowly over time most of these groups came to agree that the best thing we can do for our brothers there is to declare Catalonia's independence to lead the way, show that it can be done and that a better country with more egalitarian and respectful ways of working is possible; and with the hardest part of the process already behind us, it will be easier for them to join us.

To sum up, Catalan independence nowadays can mean either Catalonia only (understood to be a real possibility in the short-term) or all the Catalan Countries (generally thought of as a longer-term project).

This is not to say that nobody wants a Valencia-only independent country. I'm sure there are people out there who want all kinds of things. But this is extremely minoritary. Valencian people are generally either one of the three: 1) in favour of the independence of the Catalan Countries (Valencia included), 2) follow the blaverist idea of Valencian regionalism as a Spanish identity, or 3) directly full Spanish nationalism.

However, blaverism sometimes backfired in a strange way and made a few people really hate Catalans but still love their land, and you'll find a few people who defend Valencian rights in a very isolationist way while still believing the blaverist conspiracy theories or pseudohistory to justify its separation from the rest of the Catalan Countries. So I'm sure you can find some people who argue for a Valencia-only independent state, but it's going to be a handful of people and it's not an organized political movement comparable to Catalan Countries independence movement.

Thank you for your interest. I hope this answers your question; if not, please feel free to ask again!

[thewasteland2]

Oristano (Sardinia). Family. Youth. Activism. In the heart of the years of the most intense activism, of multiple experiences: politics, work, writing, travel, socialization... I frequent Oristano assiduously. In this image (moreover in the back cover of the novel "Estremisti!") with her hair just cut after a year of growth. #image #youth #socialization #assiduously #intense #activism #novel #growth #oristano #sardinia #family #politics #heart #years #experience #work #writing #cover #travel #traveling #visiting #instatravel #travelling #tourism #instatraveling #travelgram #travelingram #massimopistis #sovVERSIvi #estremisti Information for the purchase of my new book "Estremisti!": The book at a cost of 12.00 euros (120 pages), can be ordered in the bookstore (ISBN 978-88-591-5719-9 - Editore Aletti) or requested to the e-mail accademiadiesarda@tiscali.it with additional postage (currently 1.28 euros - fold of books). https://www.instagram.com/p/Cjqbo9RDSs2/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[hakugreenfinch]

Abbacchio's salvation because I can't stop thinking about him

Hi I don't usually write theory/character analysis posts but Abbacchio is the guy ever and I cannot get over how subtle and heavy his character arc is.

I feel like the most widely accepted conclusion is that Abbacchio was saved by Bruno when he took him in and offered him to join his gang and while I do agree that this was an important moment for Abba, I would argue he wasn't "saved" at that time. The thing is, Bruno couldn't save him, nobody could.

The reason Abbacchio became a cop was because he wanted to do what's right, we all know that, and he fell from grace when he decided the world was rotten and nothing he did really mattered, we also know that. I believe that this is the key to his entire arc - "doing what's right". Throughout the canon present timeline, the Abbacchio we see isn't trying very hard to do that. He's loyal to Passione, he's even more loyal to Bruno (because even if not salvation, he does find comfort in him) but he even says so in Pompeii: he doesn't want to think, he wants orders he can carry out without questioning anything. Abbacchio has given up on doing the right thing because he tried and failed and it was his own fault. All he does now is what he's told.

It's actually quite ironic how this indifference is what makes him work so well. He engages in chitchat with Mista sometimes, he clearly has a soft spot for Narancia but he's not necessarily talkative and it's not like he takes the initiative on his own a lot. But, again, how else would the man who once served the very system that ruined everyone around him behave? Society failed Bruno, Fugo, Mista, Narancia, even Giorno and Abbacchio himself is a symbol of everything that enabled these children to end up playing gangster on the streets. (This is why I greatly prefer Fugo's anime backstory but that's an essay for another time.)

Abbacchio doesn't think for himself. Abbacchio just follows orders, he doesn't do favours or anything he doesn't get something out of, he's been let down and doesn't care for "what's right" anymore. That is, until his very last moments in Sardinia.

Abbacchio sees some kids with their ball stuck on a tree and thinks they're loud and annoying but still decides to help them out. Nobody asks him to do it, and he doesn't get anything out of it. For the first time in the series he's doing something selfless just for the sake of being kind, and this costs him his life. And in the end, Abbacchio is saved not because Bruno saved him, not because he helped the gang on the way to defeating the boss. Abbacchio is saved by this tiny act of pure kindness, finding his way back to the righteous road, finally doing the very thing he swore to become a cop for. It wasn't about any greater good or anything grandiose, it was about making the world just a little better without personally getting anything out of it.

In the end, Bruno couldn't save Abbacchio because nobody could save him but himself. His salvation wasn't dependent on saving the world, it was dependent simply on whether he does something that helps him realize he was never too far gone from the right path he left when he accepted his first bribe. His partner wasn't proud of him for seeing Diavolo's face, he was proud because finally Abbacchio was doing what he always wanted to do, something for the people around him in a world that might not care how good his intentions are. Something that proved the world he lived in couldn't really corrupt him, no matter how deep he's fallen.

[deadpresidents]

The Feuding Presidents of Westmoreland County, Virginia

Of all the Founding Fathers, it would seem like George Washington and James Monroe would have been the closest comrades.  The two men were born just miles apart from one another in Westmoreland County, Virginia.  They both were large men physically, not known primarily for their intellect, but instead for their hard work, their courage, and their devotion to the Revolutionary cause.  They were the two Presidents who saw the most action during the Revolutionary War and Monroe served bravely under Washington.  To top it all off, Washington and Monroe kind of looked like each other, too. 

On Christmas Day in 1776, Lieutenant James Monroe was one of those legendary soldiers who famously crossed the frigid Delaware River with General George Washington to engage the British at the Battle of Trenton.  Monroe led a charge in that battle to help capture some cannons that were about to be fired upon the Americans and was wounded in the shoulder, a severe injury that would have resulted in him bleeding to death if it weren’t for the fortunate presence of a local doctor in New Jersey.  Monroe’s heroism led to a promotion as Captain and he continued serving bravely during the war and was amongst those troops who survived the terrible winter of 1777-1778 at Valley Forge.  It would seem as if none of the Presidents could have established more of a bond than the two Virginians who helped fight in the Revolution.  Indeed, General Washington wrote that Monroe “has, in every instance, maintained the reputation of a brave, active, and sensible officer.”

So why did they despise each other?  And did James Monroe indirectly help kill George Washington? After the Revolution, Monroe entered politics and supported the national government being formed under George Washington despite the fact that Monroe had voted against the ratification of the Constitution in 1788.  As one of Virginia’s first U.S. Senators, Monroe continued his support of Washington, who was now President, but began to fear that too much power was being placed in the hands of the chief executive and found himself opposing Washington’s Proclamation of Neutrality.  When Washington appointed Monroe as Minister to France in 1794, something snapped. Monroe, like his friend and mentor Thomas Jefferson, loved France.  He loved the country itself and, as an American Revolutionary, he found himself in love with the French Revolution.  President Washington’s Proclamation of Neutrality insisted on American impartiality towards France and the countries that France was at war with at the time – Britain, The Netherlands, Austria, Prussia, and Sardinia.  Monroe was vehemently opposed to neutrality because the French were the first and most important allies of the United States during the Revolution.  Plus, James Monroe loved France.  In fact, Monroe loved France so much that Secretary of State Edmund Randolph was forced to officially reprimand him due to his glowing compliments about France when Monroe presented his credentials in Paris. From there, things continued going downhill between Washington and Monroe.  Monroe rescued Thomas Paine – another one of America’s early Revolutionaries — who had been thrown into prison in France for criticizing the execution of Louis XVI.  Paine was very sick and believed to be close to death, so after securing his release, Monroe arranged for Paine to stay with him at the American Ministerial residence.  Paine recovered and proceeded to brutally attack George Washington verbally for allowing him to rot in prison instead of rescuing him as Monroe did.  President Washington felt Monroe should have muzzled Paine, or at least repudiated Paine’s disrespectful language towards Washington. 

When the United States signed Jay’s Treaty with Great Britain, easing tensions between the U.S. and it’s former colonial power, Washington expected Monroe to be a good Federalist and support the rather unpopular treaty.  Monroe opposed it and refused to speak out in support of the treaty.  His silence on Jay’s Treaty was the last straw for Washington.  The President was furious and noting that he expected a diplomat who would “promote, not thwart, the neutral policy of the Government” recalled Monroe as Minister and ordered him to return to the United States.  When Monroe learned of his recall, he said that Washington was “insane”. Over the next few years, Monroe spent his time at home in Virginia and worked to undermine Washington and criticize the first President.  Monroe questioned Washington’s capacity as a leader and felt that he had sold out the French, who had done so much to help the Americans during the Revolutionary War.  Washington felt that Monroe was unqualified to critique his Presidency and that Monroe was a hopeless Francophile.  In 1797, long before Monroe was considered to be Presidential timber, Washington cautioned, “If Mr. Monroe should ever fill the Chair of Government he may (and it is presumed he would be well enough disposed) let the French Minister frame his speeches”.  Washington added, “There is abundant evidence of his being a mere tool in the hands of the French government.” Monroe wasn’t ready for the “Chair of Government” on a national level, but after Washington retired to Mount Vernon and handed the Presidency over to John Adams, Monroe decided to aim for the “Chair of Government” on a state level.  In 1799, Monroe campaigned to become Governor of Virginia and as Monroe’s candidacy was promoted by his friends and supporters, 67-year-old George Washington maintained his estate in Virginia in retirement and tried to do whatever he could to prevent Monroe’s rise.  If Monroe was going to be Governor of Washington’s beloved Virginia, then it would practically have to happen over Washington’s dead body. Washington wasn’t powerful enough to prevent Virginia’s state legislature from electing Monroe as Governor in December 1799, however.  On a cold and snowy day, George Washington learned of his former lieutenant’s victory and took off on horseback to tend to Mount Vernon.  When Washington returned to his home, cold and soaking wet, he got into an animated discussion with guests about Monroe’s victory and angrily denounced the newly elected Governor.  Washington continued his discussions without removing his wet clothing.  Already ill with a cold, Washington’s illness worsened.  On December 14, 1799, George Washington said his last words, “Tis well” and died. Monroe continued his public service as Governor of Virginia, a special envoy to France to secure the Louisiana Purchase for Thomas Jefferson, Minister to Great Britain, Governor of Virginia once again, and Secretary of State and Secretary of War under his close friend James Madison.  In 1817, it was finally Monroe’s turn to take the “Chair of Government” as Washington had so feared.  Supported by Jefferson and Madison, Monroe easily defeated Rufus King and became President, kicking off “The Era of Good Feelings” where Monroe’s popularity was almost unparalleled by any other President and the nation was unified and free of almost any partisan bickering.

In 1820, Monroe ran for re-election and was so enormously popular that no one dared to run against him. In Massachusetts, 85-year-old John Adams -- a stalwart Federalist and George Washington's Vice President -- even supported Monroe. Yet Washington got the last laugh. Running unopposed, Monroe was not only certain of victory, but it looked like he would become the only President besides Washington be elected unanimously by the Electoral College. However, Governor William Plumer of New Hampshire decided to deny Monroe that honor and reserve it for Washington and Washington only. Some stories allege that Plumer did it solely to prevent Monroe from joining Washington as unanimous Electoral College victors and some stories note that Plumer truly disliked President Monroe and voted for John Quincy Adams as a protest. Either way, the records will always show that George Washington was the only President elected unanimously and I think it's pretty clear that Washington would have appreciated that Monroe of all people was prevented from joining him in that exclusive club.