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madschiavelique · 9 months

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hii i love your work!

i was wondering if you could write a sensitive fem!reader x Miguel O’Hara x Peter B smut? peter is like a soft dom and miguel is a hard dom?

miguel of course says something a little to mean while fucking her from behind, and she starts to cry and peter is all like “miguel, you made her cry”

thank you 🙏🏼

OMG anon you don't know what this did to me

you just provoked my new addiction : i want to write so much more miguel x reader x peter now i'm OBSESSED (also tumblr was kinda bugging while i tried doing this post so i hope things will be alright fdvfbsef - and this is not proofread :D)

summary : miguel made you cry because he was mean as you were eiffel towered by him and Peter B.

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, hard dom!miguel o'hara, soft dom!peter b. parker, reader being eiffel towered (i'm french and feeling very patriotic on this one🥖), miguel being a bit too mean, overstimulation, pnv sex, sodomy, no use of Y/N word count : 1,2k

tag list : @fandom-ash

You whimpered once more, your whole body feeling electric and tired at the same time as you sank down shakily. Miguel was behind you, his warm breath landing on your ear as you felt his torso bulge against your back. Peter was facing you, kissing your shoulder as your breasts pressed against his chest.

You couldn't tell the time any more, whether it had been an hour or more that they were fucking you without stopping. Many orgasms had been reached, and your body was floating in this cloud of overstimulation. You were exhausted, at the end of your rope, with barely enough energy to lift your body and sink on both of their dicks buried in you.

Needing to regain your strength and rest both your thighs and your whole body, which had been in orgasmic succession, you rested for a moment, not moving as their two cocks stayed all warm in you.

"Did I say you could stop?" Miguel grunted against your back, his teeth grazing your skin as his hand rested on your thighs and squeezed your flesh between his massive fingers.

You let out a moan, your head falling back to rest in the crook of Miguel's neck.

"I can't," you breathed shakily, "it's too much."

You could feel the electricity coursing through your thighs, your body on fire, absolutely exhausted by the effort that had been required of you from the start.

"Come on sweetheart," Peter encouraged, caressing your cheek as he waited for you to continue. "You can do this."

You inhaled harshly, pressing down on your trembling thighs to rise again and continue. The knot forming in your body stretched from your lower stomach to the small of your back. The overload of sensation was heightening your sensitivity to the limit, both physically and mentally.

Your legs were tired, trying to bury yourself properly on them. One of your hands had found its place on Peter's shoulder, the other holding Miguel's thigh and allowing you to hold on better as you went back and forth.

"Is that the best you can do?" Miguel grumbled against your ear, both your faces covered in a light sheen of sweat.

One of his hands went to your hip, digging his fingers into your skin as he pushed even deeper and you let out a moan. The fatigue was getting hard to handle, all the sensations mixed together, their breaths, their voices, their words...

"If you can't do it right, I'll find someone who can".

This sentence stung you in the chest. All you were doing was trying to do your best for them, to make them feel good and have your share in it too. Were you really that incapable? Were you so incompetent that you didn't do anything for them? Were you really that useless?

"Watch your mouth," Peter warned, not necessarily condoning the crude words his partner had just uttered.

But it was too late, your heart clenched, your throat constricted as a ball formed in it. Your eyes burned, you would have preferred not to cry, but your nose stung so much in your abstinence that you ended up breaking. When the tears came, you lowered your head against Peter's shoulder, and they flowed hard and committed.

"Hey what's that," he said, feeling beads running down his skin that he knew wasn't sweat.

You didn't dare look at them, your hips still moving, your shame and discouragement oppressing your chest.

"Look at me," he asked softly as his hand came to rest on your cheek.

You looked up, your eyes unable to find his. But he placed his index finger like a hook under your chin to raise it, and your wet eyes met his.

"Oh no," he said, mouth half open, "bunny, are you crying?"

You immediately felt Miguel tense up, his hand suddenly much softer against your skin.

"What?" he asked, gently sliding his hand over your jaw in the hope of turning you towards him and seeing your face.

But you pulled away from his touch and buried your face in Peter's shoulder, not feeling strong enough to face Miguel's gaze.

"Miguel, you made her cry," Peter said, stroking your hair gently as Miguel's mouth fell open in surprise.

He hadn't realised the impact words like that could have on you, especially in this context. You had been so good to them, and you still are, their absolute dream. You are perfection itself, and Miguel would obviously never want to replace you with anyone else.

"Muñeca..." he murmured against your back as he came to kiss you tenderly, his hand caressing your hip.

Your tears were still flowing, your back shaking with little jolts of heartache and pleasure.

"Mírame," he asked gently, kissing the back of your neck.

You breathed in, lifting your wet cheeks from Peter's shoulder and turning to meet Miguel's face.

His eyes instantly became pained, pained to have been the one to cause this state. He would never, ever wish for anyone but you. He caressed your cheek, kissing the corner of your eyes and licking your wet skin.

"Please forgive me, amor," he whispered against your skin, "you know I never meant these words, right?"

Your chin trembled and Peter put his hand on your other cheek to wipe it clean.

"You're the only one we want," Miguel assured you, his eyes fixed on yours. "You're the most perfect thing that ever happened to us, and we would never want anybody else than you."

You sniffled, the sweet words he gave you pressing into your heart like a comforting balm. You loved them both so dearly, and it felt good to know that they did too.

"How are you feeling right now?" Peter asked, kissing your cheek softly.

You breathed in, still feeling the exhaustion weighing on your thighs and body.

"Like everything's too much," you managed to whisper, sniffing and swallowing.

"Do you think you can come just once more for us, nena?" Miguel asked, kissing your shoulder gently and stroking your thigh with his thumb.

The knot in your stomach was still tight, and it was almost painful not to get any relief from it.

"Mhm," you nodded as you pushed on your thighs again to raise them up.

Miguel's hands both came to grip your hip to guide you, helping you to sink and rise much more easily and sparing you a little pain in your thighs.

"You're so good for us," Peter breathed, kissing the crook of your neck lovingly, "you're doing such a good job, taking us like that."

Miguel kept pace with your hips, neither urging you on nor slowing you down. Both their warm breaths landed on your skin, whispering sweet, soft words that softened your heart and enveloped it in adoration.

Your moans began to multiply, vibrating in your throat a little more as you finally approached orgasm.

"Come for us, muñeca" encouraged Miguel.

And you came, your whole body shaking as if a bolt of lightning had struck your core and spread seismic waves of pleasure throughout its entirety.

You let your head rest against Miguel's chest, and he kissed your forehead gently.

"I knew you could do it," he whispered.

"You're our angel," Peter confirmed as he kissed your cheek.

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inky-duchess · 4 months

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Fantasy Guide to Royal and Noble Jewellery

Royal and Noble jewellery is a staple of their life, a statement of the who is person is, their rank and their wealth. Jewellery simply isn't a accessory, it's an exercise in showmanship and a way to link to a past.

(Disclaimer: Many stones in pieces often have a bloody past, usually stolen or worked from the earth under the reign of Colonialism. It is best to always take this into account when admiring real world pieces)

Providence

Jewellery like this is usually inherited buy can also be bought or even given as a gift. There is three kinds of jewellery in this instance: private, owned by the crown or owned by the state.

Private jewellery is owned by a single person and worn or lent at their own descretion. Private jewellery can be no less grand than state owned jewellery. This jewellery can be inherited by anybody the owner chooses.

State jewellery is not privately owned, it belongs to the country itself. It is not inherited but used by royal family. If a royal family is deposed, the jewellery remains with the state. Such as the French Crown Jewels.

Owned by the Crown means that it can only pass monarch to monarch, worn only by consorts or the monarch and lent to anybody they choose.

Noble jewellery is not quite the same. Much of it is owned privately but there may be one or two pieces designated as official jewellery for the title such as a specific tiara.

The Rules

Jewellery like this are not just trinkets to be borrowed by anybody. Usually the monarch (or titled noble) or sometimes the spouse, is in charge of designating who can be lent which pieces and for what occasion. Even if you are a super close member of the family, you still have to take what's on offer. Sometimes certain jewellery is worn exclusively by a certain rank say the Queen or the noble themselves and would not be offered to anybody else. For example, you will note that into today's royalty you will see certain royals repeating the same tiaras such as Kate Middleton who has only worn the Cambridge Lover's Knot, the Strathmore Rose Tiara, the Lotus Tiara and once, the Cartier Halo Tiara. These would be the tiaras available to them, which usually number only a handful. Certain pieces are designated by for the monarch/Consort as well, the Vladimir Tiara & the Girls of Britain and Ireland Tiara only graced the head of the Queen in her reign. Other pieces such as earrings or bracelets would also be distributed accordingly, more elaborate and expensive pieces would be worn by the higher ranking members. Certain collections are meant to be passed on, such as the Consort's jewels but many Dowager refused to pass on their jewels such as Empress Dowager Maria Feodorovna after the death of Tsar Alexander III.

Treasure Trove

Now, just because a family has a throne or a grand title doesn't mean they have caches of jewels. Many noble families sold off their pieces to pay death duties, most only have a few pieces left today. As for tiaras most noble families would not have access to large quantities, usually only affording one or two. The Spencers for example own two, the Spencer Tiara and the Spencer Honeysuckle Tiara. This is an inaccurate protrayal in Downton Abbey, as the family have at least 6 but then again Cora is a Dollar Princess so it could be possible to own as many but it never made sense considering just how many times they almost loose the estate and never sell any off. Royal families are not exempt from this either, some families have vast stores of jewels such as the British Royal Family (I wonder where those all came from...) while the Greek Monarchy (discontinued) has only a few pieces. The Romanov collection is of course legendary and we may never know it's full extent.

#Fantasy Guide to Royal and Noble jewellery #Royal jewellery #Noble jewellery #Jewellery #Fantasy Guide #writing #writeblr #writing resources #writing reference #writing advice #writer #writers #Writing resource #Writing research #Writing guide #Writing royalty #Writing royal characters

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tarjapearce · 6 months

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Chapter 1: And So, Chaos Was Born.

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNING: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut, angst, emotional distress, mentions and graphic depictions of cheating, rough sex, one night stand, Protected sex, p in v, fingering, squirting, touch starved reader, mentions of fuck buddies, condom breaking, reckless and questionable behaviors, established relationships.

Summary: A momentary relief brings the worst possible of outcomes.

Pt. 2

reblogs, comments, tags are highly appreciated c:

Chapter's song:

Sparkling bubbles popped in the surface of the champagne cups as they were distributed among the attendants. A relatively formal retirement party.

A party that liked it or not required your presence in an attempt to make feel the retiring executive chairman appreciated and already missed, despite most having the slightest idea who the hell he was.

Just a few bunch knew him, but even so, many have their reasons to be at the party besides the RSVP deemed mandatory. Free food, alcohol, a collective ogling from the well dressed coworkers people had a crush on, leading to new gossips to keep boredom away and morale up within Alchemax's breadwinners.

Not so discreet looks at the administration's and Lab's secret crushes, more gossips and a night off preoccupations. Your reason? Getting all dolled up and wear for the first time a dress you always wanted but never had the occasion to wear.

A black silk bustier cut dress with spaghetti's straps and floral embroidery with matching and stylish spool heel sandals. Hair that was usually tied in a mid ponytail on reception, thanks to the borderline stupid corporative image code, was now free and blown out by a stylist.

A French girl makeup that only enhanced your features, drawing the attention towards your lips. Nails lacquered in a lovely shade of red that matched your alluring mouth. Along a black little purse to hold your personal items.

You looked different from the boring receptionist look you had mastered after Two years of working for Alchemax.

A couple of men had approached you through the night, but we're kindly declined. Part of your job had granted you the ability to remember faces quite well, hence a bit of knowledge about their position in the company.

One worked in the research department, the other one had invited you a cup and a talk, but he was known as The dirty Samson in the administration lands. Another one from HR and Security management.

It was odd. They'd probably pass you without noticing much difference if you were in the working mode. Sometimes you marvelled at how easily impressed men were with a bit of makeup and more effort. It was like if you were a completely new person. The HR guy had the nerve to ask you if you had been transferred. Earning the instant rejection buzz.

You downed what it seemed your third cup of sparkling liquor, and went to the entré bar. You didn't know who was the guy but were grateful he thought about leaving the big way, and his colleagues to splurge in him in delicious food that had you swooning. Specially some little empanadas, full with the right amount of spicy seasoning that made your mouth soar in delight.

You were about to grab the last one when a large and tan hand snatched it from the silver and fancy platter at the last second.

A bushy eyebrow quirked at you, a silent this is mine, get over it. With a huff you reached for the last crunchy guacamole cup when your fingers grazed not so kindly with his. By instinct you slapped his hand away but quickly turned horrified at your actions.

"I'm so so sorry... fuck." You covered your mouth and the man chuckled, amused at your nervousness.

What if he was from the higher ups? What if he got you fired for being so careless and uncouth? What if-

"Here, have it. They're bringing more anyways"

A tight knot coiled in your stomach as nervousness bloomed into anxiety.

"Thanks" Your dry mouth mumbled, his eyes remaining on you for a bit, seizing you while reaching for the food. Sadly, his face was the only one that didn't ring a bell on your memory, and you had seen and remembered a lot of faces through your working years.

You'd definitely remember sharp cheekbones, meaty and inviting lips, Mahogany eyes that would search within the deepest crack of your soul without trying much. A rare yet appealing color that screamed danger. Strong nose and a compelling demeanor that would scare anyone coward enough to flee from his presence.

And you were no coward.

The cherry ontop was his voice. Deep with a dash of mischievousness if you paid enough attention.

He held a cup of champagne on his left hand.

"The lobster spring rolls are good"

Mentally slapping yourself for a rather awkward approach, you grabbed a small paper cup of sweet chili sauce to go with the two aforementioned snacks in your plate.

He just looked at your hands, eyes trailing over the skin and soon, stopped at your chest. Lovely pair of mounds that would certainly fit into his hands.

He blinked the sudden thought away but it didn't help him watch you popping a small grape into your mouth.

Oddly enough he had been angry. Angry at the text messages and calls he had received a while ago, unleashing a new level of meanness within his heart.

He hated being belittled and the passive aggressive back handed texts did not help him. He needed to replenish before setting his plan in motion. Part of him knew it was wrong what his mind had conspired, but his current situation had decided it was enough. He could only take so much before lashing out.

The anger had to be let out one way or another. And you happened to set his imaginary idea bulb alight. His jaw clenched.

He hadn't seen you before, to him you'd probably be another outside guest that would have no business in returning to the company. Someone who would be forgotten in a span of a night. Another one in his long forgotten and hidden list of conquers.

You downed the fourth cup of champagne and ate, balancing the alcohol ingest.

"What's your name?"

The words came out of his mouth like butter. In other circumstances he'd be repulsed by his own behavior, but the brewing anger had to be unleashed one way or another, or things would turn even more acrid within his mind.

Your eyes widened a bit at the question. Naturally you gave him your name and he nodded.

"Miguel. Nice to meet you."

He offered his right hand and you took it. His engulfing yours with ease.

"Are you having fun?"

"I'm just here for the food if I'm honest" You chuckled and cleared your throat, hoping the lack of flirting over the past six months wouldn't seep in through and ruin the possible chance ahead of you.

"Uh, what about you?"

"Not a party guy. But one in a while won't hurt."

"Cheers to that" Your cups clinked.

His eyes scanned the area. People were either scattered in the main salon area, or were outside in the balconies, in their own world not really looking his way or yours.

Good.

"Do you know by chance whose the guy that's leaving?" His chuckle only widened your smile.

"Not really."

Lies. Miguel perfectly knew him, He was the chairman of the Lab Department, and if he worked hard enough, he'd be the old man's replacement soon. He even had a new project proposal he had been assembling the past months and hopefully that would kickstart his road ahead.

You on the other hand, had been looking into a more administrative position, trying to upgrade the current status of a simple receptionist. You definitely needed a raise.

"I mean, if this is being served at his retiring, can't help but wonder what they will do in his funeral."

Miguel couldn't help but genuinely laugh at your comment. You smiled again and gulped.

"I haven't seen your face around here." mumbling you set your eyes on him again, he smirked.

"Same thing. Would've remembered those pretty lips. Preciosa"

He didn't need to explain what that meant since it caused the right effect on you. The kind of effect that would have your skin flushed, and a chill running down your spine. Oh the petty in him was running rampant and there was none to stop him.

"Well, speak for yourself."

"You think I have pretty lips?"

It was disgusting to him how easy he could slip into this old mask he had dropped many years ago. Nearly scary at how natural he still seemed in the arts of flirting.

"The prettiest I've seen so far." You mumbled an octave lower.

But you didn't slack. You were persevering, he gave you that. If only the rest of his colleagues had that, it'd make his job easier. You were pretty. Really pretty, and he was being a resented ass that knew how to indulge.

"I was supposed to say that, sweetheart."

Be it the alcohol, or your sudden raging hormones that sparked a little fire within that he kept feeding with his words, or the lack of sex for the past half year that got you extra bold tonight. It was your night.

"Pretty sure they'd look better on mines."

His brow quirked as your eyes gazed at each other's. Biting your plump and red lips was enough for him make his resolve.

"Wanna try out that theory?"

He put the food and cup down and offered your hand. Once more his morals reminded him of the consequences. But he pushed them back, like everything that made little to keep his mind busy and focused.

You took it, letting him guide you to another milieu of the building. A more secluded area. HR's bathrooms. Not the kind of setting that you had imagined, but given the working areas being closed for the night, neither of you could be picky.

Plus none would take their time to walk this much to relieve themselves. You had an itch and he would scratch it.

A new sense of thrill invaded you as he took you to one bathroom stall. Once the door was locked, Meaty and plump lips landed on yours while he cornered you against the wall. Purse dangled on your shoulder

Red lips limned sin. A sin that he was tainted with the more you both devoured each other.

His hands roamed your romantic body lines, and pulled you impossibly closer to his, but the bathroom was proving to be a nuisance.

He groaned as he separated from you and opened the stall, looking outside for a moment.

"Come" He pulled you out the caged place to get into the special needs one. It was definitely roomier, kinkier even if he knew how to make the most out of the space. The lovely smell of jasmine and floral undertones the area was doused in, helped your senses relax, coaxing you even more into his lips.

His tongue swirled yours, while his hands trapped your head in the ravaging kiss. One of his thighs positioned between your legs, and pushed against your flesh, earning a mewl. Purse long forgotten on the floor.

Seizing the chance he lured your tongue out and sucked it softly, your hips humped his thigh. He smirked into the kiss as his hands slid down your neck and stop at your shoulders. The thin straps of your dress were slid down, the area cupping your breast next.

He pulled out from the kiss and stared down at you. Lust and something darker looming over his eyes. His cologne tickled your senses, and your skin crawled when he pushed you against the wall once more and his tongue skimmed over your neck.

Your senses under attack only urged him to release your breast. Breast that looked as delicious as he had imagined. Perky nipples met his hungry gaze, mouth trailed over the valley between them and suckled over the left one.

Gasping, you held onto the horizontal metallic bar next to you, grounding at the building up sensations. A whimper filtered through your throat as his other hand played and tweaked softly at your lonely breast. His mouth turned on pleasuring both, to then squeeze them together, trying to fit both in his mouth.

"F-Fuck-" Your face turned a bright red as he pulled one softly between his teeth, to then give a deep suck that had you groaning. He released you with a wet pop, nipple glistening with his saliva. A little hickey underneath the nub.

A discreet way of marking you.

His fingers ventured over your back zipper releasing your body from the lavish dress. He picked it up and hooked it on the little contraption attached to the door, preventing it to soil down, despite the place's apparent immaculate state.

And what he saw underneath got his pants tighter at his groin. Your panties only accentuated the dip of your curves as generous hips called him in. Luring him to be lost between them.

He removed his suit and placed it ontop of your dress, sleeves rolled up his elbows, revealing strong and well worked forearms.

Your hands pulled him by the belt buckle and he chucked but quickly gasped as you undid the thing and slid a hand in his pants and caressed his clothed cock. Eyes widening at the sheer size.

"Uh uh, don't back up now, princess."

His tone sending shivers down your spine. You squeezed.

"I'm not." Alcohol made you stupid. And bold. That's why you were a social drinker. You pulled his pants as low as you managed to.

Your hand fumbled with his boxers for a second before taking a hold of his erection. Husky breath fanned on your face as you pumped him with one hand and the other pulled the cotton undergarment down his sculpted thighs.

"Faster, cariño-" He groaned at your pace increasing, " J-Justo así. Dios que rico..." (Just like that. God... that so good)

He mumbled in between raged breaths, one of his hands slid in your panties, fingers dipping between your moist folds. Caressing and rubbing as much flesh as they managed to meet, until he made contact with your clit. You whimpered and your pumping faltered. He slid your panties off your legs.

"No no, keep going" It was hard to please him when you were crumbling upon the ministrations he provided. Your hole slurped one of his fingers, trapping him inside. Erratic as your handjob was, it provided him enough urge to plunge another finger in, stretching bit by bit your tight and now soaked hole.

Your face was blissful as his fingers curled and flexed inside. His phalanges contracting and prodding at the right spots that had you humping his hand, trying to get as much friction inside as possible.

His fingers drenched and your mewls turned into loud groans but he put a hand on your mouth, while he slid in and out with ease. Juices rolling down the back of his palm and pooling on his hand. He nearly laughed at the realization.

He hadn't even fucked you properly and you were already melting and gushing on his hand. And the tightness inside. God, he was gonna enjoy ruining you.

Your breath hitched as he wriggled his fingers deeper. Your hand kept giving him deep yet slow strokes, alternating between pumping and squeezing him.

His ears were full of a wet and sinful song. Your mewlings mixed with the sloshing noises your drenched cunt did pushed him to graze at that swelling and rubbery texture inside you that earned him a yelp. Your hand had long stopped and clung to his shirt, mouth ajar underneath his hand, trying to find the right sound to vocalize.

A muffled sob. Your eyes rolled back as your body convulsed and your pussy gushed. A satisfied smirk plastered over his handsome face while you came. Your arousal staining the floor in droplets.

You looked gorgeous, he had to admit. Flushed cheeks and neck, lust half lidded eyes that stared back at him, begging for more. Chin smeared in lipstick, that trembled with every deep pant you did. So so gorgeous.

"Condom" You breathed, "P-Put it on"

Clever girl. If it wasn't for your words he'd raw you. You amused him. Despite your lust blown mind, you still managed to think coherently.

He reached for his wallet and pulled out one. His phone buzzed with many texts surpassing the twenty. But he put it on plane mode and quickly resumed his revenge. The latex ring was rolled down his shaft, fitting snug and perfectly built at his size.

He cupped your quivering and soaked thighs and sat you on the metallic bar you were holding onto. His mouth busied with yours and his hand guided his engorged tip towards your aching and awaiting flesh.

Miguel bit your lip at the brain splitting sensation your warm and tight pussy provided. Your legs spreaded as wide as they could to take him in completely.

"Dios mío..." He rasped as he pushed in to the brim, your thighs resting on his forearms while your spine rested against the wall. Your jaw clenched at the fullness you were experiencing. Pain and pleasure came in hand in hand. It didn't help he had sheathed in as you were still riding your high.

"You okay, cariño?" A weak nod. His forehead rested against yours, letting to adjust at his stretching and invading cock. With a roll of his hips he pushed all air away from your lungs.

A hand squeezed his shoulder as the other covered your mouth, preventing from being too loud.

"Good girl" He praised and his hips moved again, keeping a steady pace.

"M-Miguel" You whimpered and writhed, "Wait, wait-"

He chuckled and kissed your neck, helping your discomfort to leave your body. But in truth, you were cumming again. Your legs went around him and clamped tightly. Shallow and erratic breaths flew out your mouth as you came by taking in his cock. Body licked with fire.

"Jesus, babe." He held your thighs tighter as they trembled, "Been a while, huh?"

You nodded and he cooed. A high pitched whimper echoed through the walls and he immediately shut you up with his hand again.

"You gotta tone it down, ok?"

You nodded and kissed him desperately. And it was enough spark for him to move inside. Deep and slow strokes were delivered while he clawed at your ass.

Every stretch increased in pleasure while the discomfort subsided. Never in your life had met someone this big. He got your mind made a puddle. A puddle he enjoyed playing with.

His voice whispered the sweetest and filthiest things his mind could come up with. Noting how you reacted at the filth he plowed in deeper. Your cervix was bullied.

"Harder" barely a whisper

"What was that?" He stopped and you whined

"H-Harder"

He tittered, "You're barely holding it together sweetheart, want me to ruin your pretty pussy? Hm?"

You nodded and urged your hips closer to him.

"Can't say no to that face."

His grip tightened on your ass, his hips accommodated in a different angle and sheathed in once more. Feeling yourself full made your toes curl in again.

He didn't give you time to fully grasp your reality as an onslaught of thrusts were pounded into your squelching hole.

Your spine arched while his hands handled you like a ragdoll on his cock. The only remaining garment on your body were the heels.

Where was he when you needed a new fuck buddy? It didn't matter.

Not when he was punishing your cunt and bullying your cervix in a way none had made you feel before. It was addictive. Ass bounced on his hands with every toe curling thrust.

He left you insides empty with every pull he gave, only to be filled again. And again and again. He had warned you, but you didn't listen. And now you were enjoying and suffering the consequences.

His hot breath fanned over your neck, as much as he wanted to leave you marked as his despite just being a one night stand, he couldn't leave traces.

He didn't know if you had someone. Neither care. All he cared for was that he was getting his anger out and you were enjoying it. You liked it rough.

He stilled and dropped your legs on the floor, the sudden action caused a slit in the condom, he knew he had to stop and change it, but you felt too good and your insides begged to be ruined. You were too cock drunk to notice. He just turned you around and hoisted one of your thighs up, opening you like a book.

He buried in with a swift motion and resumed his relentless thrust, leaving you breathless again. Your hands held tightly on the bar as he pounded on your needy cunt.

The constant slap had your whole frame shaking, even your head, that tried hard to keep inside the sanity line. But this angle provided him not only the perfect spot for him to stimulate both, but a deeper and meaner reaching within.

His chest was filled with pride at every time you gasped, panted, moaned, begged and wailed his name. Unlike her.

By God he was angry. Angry at the belittling words of him not being man enough to keep with stupid antics.

You sobbed as your frame shook with such force it was mind shattering. His hands held such a grip on yours he was glad you had that dress to cover up the bruises.

How dared she? How Dana could say such things when he was making this beautiful stranger he met minutes ago so blissful and happy? How could she say she was left unsatisfied when he was giving it all to you? Wetness didn't lie. And you had not only squirted, but kept him drenched and welcomed and asked no questions.

A perfect subject.

You didn't care. Too focused on trying to not go deranged at the pleasure you've certainly been lacking. Your insides twitched. You looked even better than her when fucked out. Sounded even, unlike the annoying quiet moans Dana gave him, making him feel unsure of his performance in bed.

He slapped your ass, a red mark blooming on your right supple cheek.

Dana hated being manhandled too roughly. But you loved it, encouraged it even. He didn't know who to blame to get to this point. Himself for letting things to run deeper until they turned into this wretched anger, or Dana for getting used to his temper and approach him once things were calm enough.

Feeding this harmful behavior just for the sake of not letting him go. Sometimes happy moments with her weren't enough for him, but he was too comfortable to just go and start meeting new people. He wasn't one for social mingling, but tolerated the whim enough to get him some favors among administration.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was cheating out of spite, he'd definitely ask your number for a round two.

You came with the most delicious sound he had ever heard, igniting his own peak.

He emptied inside you with an angry growl. Thick blobs of his cum spilling into the condom. He threw his head back and relished at the release. Anger finally subsiding.

He let your thigh go and pulled out. A few droplets had escaped through the now broken condom. Rolling his eyes he discarded it and cleaned himself up. His fingers wiping the leaking cum off your flushed cunt .

"You still with me, preciosa?"

You landed on the floor with an oof. And laughed. He cradled you in his arms with a chuckle. Your Bambi legs trying to get a hold of themselves as you stood.

"That was..." You shook your head with a laugh, "Too bad I didn't met you six months ago."

He smirked and wiped the sweat off his forehead and body, trying to tone down his tussled looks. You reached for your panties and soon got dressed.

In truth, six months ago he was on the beach, having an impromptu vacation with Dana, celebrating on of her achievements.

His hands reached for your zipper once he saw you struggling with it.

"Thanks."

The long forgotten purse on the ground was picked up, your hands reached for the item you were looking for. You handed him a couple of makeup remover towelettes.

"Gracias." He mumbled as he left the stall. You followed only to giggle at your reflection. All the money invested at the stylist, gone.

Chin flushed by the smeared lipstick, mascara had ran out, just like the eyeliner. Frizzy hair, and flushed out cheeks.

Each of you cleaned up, wiping away the immorality of what just happened. Bit by bit, you started to look the way you were an hour ago. The tussled hair only added a little more appeal to your looks.

"Sure you can walk?"

You sighed, "It's kinda uncomfortable to walk after months without sex. But yeah."

You corrected your eyeshadow and then took the lipstick.

"God take his time but surely never forgets"

Again, he laughed softly. Maybe he should ask for your phone. The screen however was alight in his phone and he exhaled, annoyed.

"Thanks... Miguel right? That was amazing."

The last chivalry act of him was to take your hand and kiss the back of your palm.

"Thank you, hermosa. Have a good night."

He left.

As you gave an approving look in the mirror and mentally congratulated yourself for such feat, Miguel had left the building.

You were home with a wide smile, unaware of the ruse you were dragged in.

Monday came and you went into working mode. Receiving the guests and other executives with a smile was part of your job.

The Cinderella illusion had vanished, leaving you with a new expectation no man could fill. Thighs rubbed together at the memory.

Your evening was spent between organizing files, receiving calls, giving information to people, arranging meetings, and dispatching the couriers.

You had just received a package, the name Dana D'Angelo etched on the delivery tag. Thirty minutes more and you'd be able to go home. Hands fixed your ponytail for the third time.

Your fingers typed in the information as you scheduled the meetings, when a brunette with a short bob approached.

"Hi. By any chance a package with the name of D'Angelo came in?"

Her smile was disarming, she had the cool pretty and rich girl aura irradiating from her. The kind of aura that would make people stare her way while entering a room.

"Yup! Just got it actually." You rose from your seat to fetch the package. A little wedding magazines bundle and some information pamphlets regarding venues and other wedding relating procedures.

"There you go. Sign here, please." You pointed at the space as her hand slid the pencil on the paper. Penmanship impeccable as you noticed an engagement ring on her left hand. Shiny and perfectly snugged in her finger.

Lucky girl.

Your smile stretched at the thought. Of course pretty girls like her had a wonderful looking man as a future husband.

" Dana, cariño. Hurry"

The familiar voice made you snap your head up at the man. Much to your horror Miguel stood before you, a golden band on his ring finger, matching Dana's.

Throat dried and soured, like if you had been forced to swallow a tall glass of ashes. Heart thumped so violently you had to clutch your chest for a second as your eyes locked on eachother.

His eyes widened to then narrow upon recognizing you. A subtle scowl twitched on his upper lip.

Realization hit both harder than a car crash, so sudden, unexpected, and terrifying. Unmistakably he was the same man that had gave you the most toe curling fuck of your life, the same man that didn't wear his ring while plowing into you in a bathroom stall after a few minutes of flirting.

The same man that frowned your way after Dana got her package. Piercing eyes seized you. There were no longer lust, but apprehension and mistrust in them. Neither of you needed words to understand the devastating consequences that would unfold if your little dirty secret came into light.

Homewrecker

The thought made you pale. You had fucked an engaged man. You had been lured and used by an engaged man. You were part of a lie the brunette wasn't even aware of. And right now you wished to be as blissfully ignorant as she was. Unaware of your role in this back stabbing and heart wrenching lie.

No no no!

Dana walked ahead and Miguel followed. Nausea rising to your throat, your stomach clenched in such way upon witnessing them kissing and move towards the entrance.

How could he? No, no. How could you?

Slut

His hand wrapping her smaller shoulders in a loving embrace while he shot a contempt and skin crawling glare your way.

A Shutup and don't get in my way look.

If only the earth could swallow and spit you out elsewhere far far away. A silent threat. A threat that you weren't sure of keeping to yourself. So many questions flooded your brain at once.

Like a miriad of voices were urging you to do the right thing and spare the woman the heartache of discovering it on her own, damned be the consequences. But his eyes and the promise within them made your racing thoughts to stop. He was a different person from the one you met and he didn't need words to make his point clear.

Keep your mouth shut.

Whore

Another man got in your peripheral as he greeted you. A visitor. Head spun, voices so loud you considered in yelling them to stop.

Instead, you forced a strained and nervous smile upon the visitor that approached you.

"Welcome to Alchemax. What can I do for you?"

You'll burn.

Taglist:

@death-moth-art @miss-taura @xylianasblog @serpentstarr @randomnobody187 @tayleighuh @8xbygirl @artyanimi @ittybxttykxttytxtty @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu

@huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt

Header made by me

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara angst #t writes✨#one night stand #Spotify

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beabzebub · 6 months

Text

It’s been a while since I posted anything so here I am with another pokemon piece! I made this for a digital fanzine about magikarp called Splash! You can download the zine from the zine and check out all the amazing work!

I think this was my favorite piece to work on as of now and I’m pretty sure it has everything to do with the teeny tiny french knots. There’s just something soothing about making so many knots that it was such a fun time and really make me long to work on another with just as much if not more knots.

I think I also really enjoyed that it had a bit of an organic shaped edge rather than working it all the way to the end of the hoop or having with straight borders. It’s definitely something I need to explore more in the future but for some off reason always escapes me.

This hoop has already been sold.

#embroidery #beabzebub #pokemon #my embroidery #textile art #magikarp #swampert #handembroidery #fiber art #hand crafted

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fayes-fics · 1 month

Text

When The World Is Free: Chapter 13 - С'est Lui Que Mon Cœur A Choisi

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: Teen-rated… non-graphic references to sex/sexual situations. ANGST!!!

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Beware, this has been coming; things have come to a head with the reader's family and Eloise. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Aubrey Hall, UK, October 1939

It's a dreary Friday afternoon the following week when the phone rings in the hallway.

After a brief exchange, it appears the call is for you, much to your confusion - no one knows you are here. As you tentatively pick up the receiver from the family butler, the familiar tones of Solène ring out down a crackling line.

“Mon Cherie! Have you quite lost your mind!” her opening is quite abrupt.

“And hello to you too, Solène; I have missed you,” you chuckle.

“Yes, yes…” you can almost hear her dismissive hand wave. “Why did you not yet contact your famille?”

Your stomach plunges.

“I- I forgot?” you squeak the truth.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind with Benedict; it has honestly felt detached from reality. A parallel universe. And this is you landing back on earth with a resounding bump.

“Well, please call them. I have had too many telegrams and now two phone calls,” she explains. “They are quite worried about you! I had guessed you may be chez les Bridgertons but did not want to say. I’m sure you have beaucoup news to tell them that they need to hear from you pas moi.”

“I will call them,” you promise, even as you feel a pit of dread low in your stomach.

“Please do… now, how is married life?” she teases, and after deflecting with a joke, you spend time catching up. The knot inside you loosens as you exchange pleasantries, handing the phone over to Eloise when she appears at your side, eager to reconnect with her Parisian friend.

—

“I have to call my parents,” you profess a few hours later, watching water streak in rivulets down the French doors, the lake beyond a blur, the pitter-patter sound on the roof above you.

His lips pause on your clavicle, and his hands - warm through your cool silk slip - flex around your waist, but he says nothing.

“Just to let them know I am safe. Solène called earlier; they have been trying to get hold of me,” you explain, burrowing your fingers into his hair, delicately scratching your nails over his scalp.

“What will you tell them?” his question hushed and tentative.

“That part I haven’t decided,” you confess with a sigh. “There is so much to say; I don’t know where to begin…”

“I will be there with you,” he replies emphatically, pushing up to gaze down upon you. “Whatever you decide, I will be there, in support, silent or otherwise.”

His generous sincerity makes your chest bloom, devotion evident in his words.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into his hazy eyes, again your confession of love on the tip of your tongue.

He cups your jaw, and you feel the cool metal of his wedding ring, which he has never once taken off in the four weeks since your marriage. “No need to thank me. You are my wife; it is what I must do.” His use of that word makes your heart leap.

“I hope it isn't only out of duty…” you can't help your insecurity from crossing your lips.

“Of course not,” he assures, eyes soft.

“Thank you, husband,” you whisper back, and something flares on his face, a change rippling over his handsome features. His fingers sink between yours, caging your hands onto the towel underneath you.

“Call me that again,” his voice taking on an odd, gravelly quality.

“H-husband?” you falter, a knit of confusion over your brow.

He growls and surges his hips roughly between your legs, igniting that fire you always feel inside for him.

Oh.

“Husband,” you repeat bolder this time, treating it like a jewel dripping on your tongue.

His lips are hot and insistent on yours, his tongue almost punishing, ravaging your mouth. Before you know it, your clothing is ripped from your body, and you are crying his name, fingers digging into flesh. His hold is possessive, almost feral in the way he takes you, swearing that you hear him grunt the word mine into your neck as you both reach completion.

—

You wait until Eloise visits a local friend the next day to make the dreaded call. It’s a Saturday lunchtime, early morning on the American East Coast, when you pluck up the courage, knowing your parents should be home then.

The handset feels heavy in your palm as you raise it and dial the operator, giving your parents' number. Benedict hovers beside you, a reassuring presence you want to lean into as each ring echoes heavily in your ear.

“Hello?”

Just the sound of your mother’s voice causes a flood of emotion through you; you slump onto the hallway bench, Benedict bobbing down to crouch before you, his expression concerned but silent, touching your knee delicately.

“Hello Mom…” it's probably barely audible.

“My love!!!!!” she exclaims, and you can hear the wash of relief in her voice, the knowledge that her child is safe after weeks of uncertainty. It makes guilt burn even harder behind your ribs. “I'm so happy to hear from you! To hear your voice! Are you safe? Please tell me you are safe!” Parental concern colouring her every word.

“Yes, Mom, I'm safe,” you begin, a tremulant quality to your voice that you are unsuccessfully trying to wish away. “It's… it's a long story, but I ended up in England with Eloise. I'm sure Uncle Robert told you all about her.”

“Indeed he did. Well, I'm so happy you escaped France! I hear an invasion could well be imminent. I was so worried! Let me call your father...” Before you can protest, she is holding the receiver away from her mouth and calling out your Dad’s name. “Oh, and Stanley will be so pleased to hear the good news!!! We must tell him right away! He has been concerned too…”

The mention of your ex-fiance's name raises bile in your throat, and you instinctively reach for Benedict. Lace your hand with his upon your knee—an anchor you need. You don't know what to say about your ex, so you don't respond, hoping your mother will move on quickly in her relief, which, thankfully, she does.

You hear your dad’s familiar voice in the background and bite your lip, nervous that both will be listening.

“So when are you coming home, darling?” She continues after giving your dad an economic explanation.

“I… I don't know that I can,” you stumble, knowing your lip is darkening under the worry of your incisor tooth.

“Whyever not? Just move up your ticket!” Your dad chimes in.

“I tried that while still in France; unfortunately, the company scammed me. I could not get a ticket to any sailings to America, so, for safety, I came to England with Eloise.”

“You got scammed!” your dad’s huff is indignant.

“Let's focus on what is important, Ron. She is safe,” your mother lectures, placating his ire as you mumble an apology.

Your downcast eyes lift to meet Benedict’s as they seem to remonstrate between themselves on the other end of the line. His mien is benevolent, his finger swiping rhythmically across the back of your knuckles in a comforting gesture. You know he can hear the voices leaking out of the receiver jammed to your ear, if not the words, then the general tone.

“Well, I'm glad you were able to enter England with a visitor visa. I thought they had been suspended since the war was declared. Your Uncle thought he was among the last to be let in with one…” your dad comments, immediately honing in on what you have been dreading the most.

“I am not here on a tourist visa. Thanks to a wonderful member of Eloise’s family, I have been able to secure residency.” Your fingers grip Benedict hard now.

“What do you mean?” your Dad queries, sounding suspicious.

“In order to escape - which I know, Dad, is the most important thing - I had to make a rather drastic choice…” you try to emphasise the jeopardy before your confession.

“What kind of drastic choice?” he echoes your words slowly, and you can feel their suspicion down the crackling line.

“I had to get married…” your voice is so tiny you almost hope they do not hear. Benedict's other hand lands on top of yours, enveloping yours in his warmth, which makes you look at him so grateful, a glassiness to your eyes.

There is a moment of shocked silence and then an explosion of indignant words and noises, to the point that you have to pull the handset away from your ear.

It's alright, it will be alright, Benedict mouths silently, and you can't help but pitch forward and rest your forehead on his. One of his hands touches your cheek gently as you close your eyes, a tear swelling on your lashes.

“I did not plan for this, Mom, Dad,” you cut in, sitting back upright. “But it has happened, and now… I… I need time.”

“Need time for what? You get that marriage annulled right away, young lady, and get yourself back here to marry the man you are promised to!” your mother’s voice shrill and didactic. “You had better hope Stanley understands and forgives this transgression….”

Something about her choice of words lights a fire of outrage inside you. As if your life choices are not your own.

“Transgression?!” you spit back. “I was caught up in a country where war was imminent. I did what I had to to escape to safety. What would you want me to do!? Remain in a possible war zone?”

“How about not flit off to Europe on some ridiculous jaunt in the first place!” she yells back. And in that very moment, you realise how little they ever supported your trip, a plunging sense of familial support being ripped from under you. “We only agreed to this reluctantly as you were so insistent. And now look what you have done?! Possibly ruined your future by marrying god knows who instead of the man you have been due to marry since you were a child, y/n….”

“I married a wonderful man,” you defend instinctively. “He is twenty times the man Stanley could ever be!!” You practically roar, “and I do not regret a single thing. I wish to remain here. With him.” You huff, drawing ragged breaths as finally you look at Benedict again and see the desire writ large on his face. It makes you want to kiss him so much your lips tingle.

Down the phone, your parents are stunned into silence. You knew this news would upset them and how awkward this could be, your family being so intertwined with Stanley’s family, being the son of your father’s business partner. But also, you know you cannot lie and return to life there, even if things with Benedict do not work out.

“I only knew one way my life could go,” you press on, a frenzy of bubbling emotions bursting from within like hot lava. “Well, I have seen something of the world beyond Long Island, and it has things to offer me that Stanely and Long Island could never. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not that girl, and even if I were to annul this marriage, I would not wish to marry Stanley. Ever.”

By the end of your somewhat dramatic speech, you are heaving breaths and clinging to Benedict like a liferaft in a tsunami, your whole life as you knew it crumbling around you. But that fire in your belly that you are finally recognising and standing up for what you want, pursuing what you want, not what is expected of you, gives you the strength of your convictions, painful as this moment may be. That and the man kneeling before you—he is a choice you know you would make over and over again.

“Well, if that is your decision, then I am not sure what else there is to say,” your father intones icily. “Perhaps call us back when you have come to your senses….”

And with that, the line goes dead, and you collapse into Benedict’s arms, weeping bitterly.

—

Something changes after that phone call. Benedict doesn't leave your side, always seeking you out. Perhaps to check on you, somewhat deflated after the emotions had been wrung out of you, but apparently also to spend time together without intimacy. Just to be in your company. You only realise it when you are curled up reading on the sofa, and wordlessly, he takes a seat next to you, pulling your feet into his lap, opening his book with a soft smile. His hands swirl idle patterns over your ankle bone through your stockings as you both sit in quiet relaxation.

At one point, you brush his shoulder gently, almost unable to stop your need to touch him. Then he curls into you, resting on your chest. He chuckles as you rest your book on the back of his head and keep reading. There is no denying it has all the hallmarks of a couple in love, and yet you don’t comment; just accept it with a lightness inside that feels bubbling.

However, his warmth and weight soon make you drowsy; you are not sure when, but you fall asleep. You suspect he does, too, based on the rude awakening you receive shortly after.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?”

You startle awake, your book sliding off with a thump to the floor as Benedict seems to do the same, his head rising in shock.

Eloise is standing before you. Mouth hanging open, an utterly stricken and horrified look on her face.

You want to curl up and die. There is no way to deny what has transpired. Your arms are wrapped around his, his head on your breasts. There is no way this pose is anything but intimate - not one either of you might have accidentally slumped into.

“I can explain…” you being, your voice a rough croak from sleep.

But Eloise does not stay around to hear it. She storms out of the room, the door slamming so loud behind her that a row of framed photos rattles against the picture rail. You curse ruefully, kicking yourself for being so cavalier today after weeks of being so careful. The call earlier really throwing you for a loop. Benedict twists to sit up, head slumping into his hands, wiping his palms down his face with a harried expression.

“I suppose it was bound to happen eventually,” he monotones after a pause, but his knee bounces with nervous energy. “She’s going to tell Mother…” he adds, sounding defeated, almost scared.

And you know you can wait no longer to divulge it.

“Your mother already knows,” you admit quietly, pulling yourself upright to sit beside him.

He swivels with almost comedic speed, his face a picture.

“She approached me a few weeks ago,” you shrug. “I could hardly lie; I’m a terrible liar,” you remind him delicately.

“Mum knows….” his tone disbelieving, mouth agape.

“She said you, her children, are all terrible at hiding things from her,” you elucidate. “And….” You tremble as the words form on your tongue but feel powerless to stop them from spilling out, “… she said she knows when you are in love.”

Again, his head whips to you, and he looks panicked. “She said that?!?”

“Yes…” you look down at your hands wringing nervously in your lap, the ring on your left hand feeling like a weight.

“I… I…” he stumbles, seeming at odds.

And before you know it, he is on his feet, too and has swept out of the room in an apparent hurry.

As the door clicks shut behind him, a dread fills every nook and cranny of your being, suddenly terrified that everything you have come to treasure in the last few weeks has just been ripped violently from under you.

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#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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vivwritesfics · 3 months

Note

Sirius black x reader who is always either painting his nails or playing with his hair 💗💗💝💞

Omg a marauders request I'm so happy

"Fucking Hell, Sirius. Sit still!" Y/N commanded as she grabbed a hold of her boyfriends wrists.

Sirius had been sitting patiently while he waited for Y/N to grab her nail polish. It was a ritual for them, one that usual happened in the middle of the night, when neither of them could sleep.

But, this time, Sirius's previous coat of nail polish had chipped to nearly nothing and she was desperate for sleep that night. Sirius could wait, he could have waited until she wanted to stay up all night to do it, but Y/N wanted to do it now (and Sirius couldn't say no to her).

Sitting in the common room, at one of the many tables, Y/N held Sirius down. Normally, she couldn't have to. Normally, he'd sit there and let her do it. Normally, he loved it.

But, this time, James and Remus sat behind them. The little shits. They giggled, kicking their feet like girls as Sirius got his nails painted. James stood up from the couch in the common room just to stride over and pinch Sirius's cheeks. He'd pulled his hand away from Y/N to bat him away, making her mess up.

"Boys! Stop it!" She commanded, grabbing Sirius's wrist once again and pulling him back. Her grip was like a vice as she continued to paint the nails on his right hand.

Once she was done, she lifted his hand to her face and blew on his nails, trying to quicken the drying process. She blew again before pulling him even closer and kissing the back of his hand.

His left hand continued in much the same fashion. James and Remus made comments like they were astute observations.

***

"Baby, please," said Sirius as Y/N laid on his bed. His head was in her lap as she combed her fingers through his hair. "Slughorn said I need to tie my hair up for potions." He said it with a pout and Y/N couldn't stop herself from kissing him.

"Fine," she said and combed her hands through his hair again.

Sirius had a comb, not a brush. Y/N grabbed it from the small table beside his bed and ran it through his dark locks. As soon as she had the few knots out of his hair (Sirius took really good care of his hair), she began plaiting his hair, starting from the top of his head.

Sirius put his hair up. He put it in a pony tail or a man bun, but he'd never worn it in a French braid. But, upon his request, Y/N put his hair up in a French braid.

She secured it with one of his hair ties and turned him around to kiss him. (With his hair tied back like that, the piercings in his ears were visible. In my head, he at least has his helix pierced, maybe more).

#sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader smut #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader

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aphroditeslover11 · 3 months

Note

Hi! I hope that you're having a great day/night! Could I request Lenny Miller with a younger reader?

Love Of His Life

This came so naturally, I’m not sure if it’s what you were hoping for but it just flowed out of my hands!

Warnings: a little smut, age gap, not proofread

Lenny had met you when you were spending a year in Paris, having taken a French degree that required you to spend a year abroad as a part of your study. It took some convincing for you to go out on a date with the older man, but he was persistent and eventually won you over. After he had taken you to dinner at Le Meurice, picking up the tab himself, he had walked you home and sent flowers to your tiny chamber de bonne the next day along with a note thanking you for your company. The fact that he was old didn’t mean he was dull or sleazy as you had feared, it meant that he was a hopeless romantic who knew how to treat a woman properly. The next time you met he had taken you for a picnic in the Jardin Du Luxembourg, complete with amazing French cheeses and a bottle of expensive champagne. It was fair to say that pretty soon you were hooked. Everyone always said that you were mature for your age anyway, so the concept of the age gap quickly became irrelevant to you.

A year later and you had finished your degree. When it got towards the end of your time studying in France Lenny had taken the risk of proposing you after taking you back to Le Meurice like he had on your first date. You hadn’t thought before saying yes, he put in for a transfer to be near you whilst you finished your degree and life continued in your strange state bliss.

You tied the knot quite quickly after that, getting married in a small service. His parents had both passed and he was an only child. Neither had much in the way of family, but you had agreed to a wedding in the church where he had grown up in Hawaï, though he wouldn’t admit it you knew that it made him feel close to his parents. You had the perfect white dress and he was in uniform, a hang over from the days when he had been climbing the ranks of Navy SEALs before he had been recruited into the CIA. As there were so few people you didn’t bother having a proper reception, he opted to take you to the beach where he had spent his time as a child, eating cheap burgers as your wedding breakfast and replacing the lights of a dance floor with the soft glow of the stars above you.

After this you moved to New York, he was promoted and took over a senior intelligence post, stationed in the city. He was in and out of the UN meeting with his counterparts, meeting all kinds of people. You knew he worked so hard because he wanted to prove he was worthy of you, his young and beautiful wife. You were remarkably proud of him, even if he found it hard to believe it. He was smart and had invested some of what his parents had left him into the stock market back when he was in the navy and used it to buy a beautiful apartment on the Upper East Side. It had a beautiful kitchen diner where you would attempt to cook together, often ending up in resorting to ordering takeout after Lenny decided that it would be a good idea to modify your recipes. There was something beautifully domestic about this life, it was still unpredictable but safe. Lenny refused to tell you much about his past because he didn’t want you to view him differently, but he gave up the guns and the action so he could live a safe life with you, finally letting himself rest.

After having seen so many horrible things he would want to protect you from the harshest realities of the world. You were young and innocent and so perfect for him, he didn’t want to taint that. He would never let an argument go unresolved before you went to bed. On the rare occasion that you had a proper row he would usually cave first and give you your way. He would usually be so in control of himself, but when he did shout it was harsh and loud, it always terrified you and as soon as he saw the look on your face he would cave. He could never stand the thought of you being afraid of him.

Arguments would often end in the bedroom, he would be the gentlest lover after a fight, peppering kisses along your collarbones before slowly moving down your body. He would be attentive, bringing you over the edge as many times as he could with his hands and his tongue until he had finally made it up to you. Only then would he seek any pleasure for himself, sheathing himself within you and moving so gently it would be as if you were made of porcelain. He’d be terrified of hurting you after seeing you so vulnerable earlier.

There could be another side of him in bed though. A raw and passionate one that came out after a difficult day at work. You learnt how to bring it out yourself over time, how to tease him with subtle touches at the work galas that he took you to and how he could never control himself when he saw you in just your lingerie and a pair of Louboutins. On those nights he would go for rounds at a time. Voracious, like a starving man at a banquet. He delighted in having you spread out below him, completely vulnerable to him and at his mercy. You always looked so small from that angle, he could do anything he wanted to you, and moreover he knew that you would let him and enjoy it. No matter how hard he took you though, he always ended with his head buried in the crook of your neck, whispering passionate prose into your ear and telling you how precious you were to him, how he would never let any harm come to you.

He managed to temper his protective tendencies well. Although both of you knew that it wasn’t a necessity, you found a job working in a little bookshop a few days a week, something to occupy your time. He was always anxious that something from his past would come back to haunt him, to haunt you, but he did his best to keep his worries separate from your life together. On account of your age difference, he was forced to confront the fact that there were things that you would want to do that he had left in the past, many years ago. You had a tight circle of friends that you would go with for nights out - clubbing, dancing and drinking in dives that he would never go into. He would never do anything to stop you, he would want you to live a life as full as you would have without him. Still, he couldn’t help it if he had to stay up until 3:00 am to make sure that you got home safe.

You had a beautiful life together in New York, it was something that you had built together, brick by brick. Every day he found himself falling deeper in love with you. He often said that he would probably have ended up dead in an abandoned corner of some far off land if he hadn’t had you to force him out of his ways. He pushed so hard for so long yet in you, your fragility and youth, he had finally made something to make him slow down. He finally understood the meaning of the phrase - you were the love of his life

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #lenny miller x reader #lenny miller #anna

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agendabymooner · 8 months

Text

the royal resemblance ! esteban o. x ofc (british princess!ofc)

summary: albertine (spencer) ocon lived to give her estranged family a heart attack by simply existing and giving birth to a daughter who looked so much like her... and her mother.

OR the youngest royal and the alpine driver had finally set their boundaries when it came to the british royal press as a way to maintain the privacy that they had managed to preserve throughout their years of relationship and marriage.

content warning: use of explicit language, princess ofc with a lack of princess manner (aka being more upfront), dad!estie x mom!ofc, fluff?? fictional news articles + posts

note: i need to post this otherwise my storage will continue to be full as hell 🤡

masterlist

THE FAST LANE DAILY

PRINCESS ALBERTINE MAKES GRAND ENTRANCE AT STATE BANQUET, WEARING DIANA-INSPIRED ATTIRE

london, uk - in a stunning display of elegance and style, princess albertine, the youngest daughter of king charles iii, attended the highly anticipated state banquet alongside her husband, french formula one alpine driver esteban ocon. the event marked the first time the couple appeared together as a married couple, capturing the attention of the media and royal enthusiasts alike.

princess albertine, born in 1996, has had a unique journey within the royal family. her custody was passed to her maternal grandmother and eventually to her uncle, leading her to distance herself from her royal title. instead, she chose to use the surname spencer, a nod to her mother's family. however, after tying the knot with ocon, she decided to adopt his surname, solidifying their union.

the british media had been eagerly awaiting a glimpse into the couple's private life, but it was not until three months after their wedding that princess albertine and ocon officially announced their marriage. this secrecy only added to the intrigue surrounding their relationship.

princess albertine had previously declined offers to attend the state banquet on two occasions. however, with the assurance that her brother, prince harry, would also be in attendance, she finally accepted the invitation, making her presence known in a truly unforgettable manner.

stepping into the grand hall, princess albertine made a striking entrance, wearing a dress reminiscent of her late mother, princess diana's iconic style. her haircut, bearing a striking resemblance to diana's, caused a stir among attendees, including her father, king charles iii, and her brother, prince william, the prince of wales.

to complete her regal ensemble, princess albertine donned a breathtaking aquamarine tiara, drawing attention away from the working royals, including queen camilla. the tiara, a personal collection piece, was a gift from dodi fayed's father, who maintained a connection with albertine despite the tragic loss of both her mother and his son. complementing the tiara, she wore a set of aquamarine jewelry, including a wedding band that matched ocon's, which held sentimental value as an heirloom from diana.

the couple's appearance at the state banquet as a married couple was met with great excitement and speculation. many believe that such a rare occurrence would not have taken place had prince harry not been in attendance as well. the presence of both siblings added an air of unity and significance to the event, captivating the attention of all those present.

as princess albertine and ocon gracefully mingled with dignitaries and fellow guests, their radiant presence and homage to princess diana's legacy left a lasting impression. their appearance at the state banquet not only showcased their love and commitment but also hinted at a new chapter in the royal family's history, one that embraces change and celebrates individuality.

with their enchanting presence, princess albertine and ocon have undoubtedly left an indelible mark on the hearts of the british public, reigniting the fascination and admiration for the royal family.

THE FAST LANE DAILY

PRINCESS ALBERTINE AND ROYAL FAMILY'S PLAN FOR LIMITED NEWS COVERAGE

in a surprising turn of events, princess albertine, a member of the british royal family has expressed her lack of connection to her father, king charles iii, and her desire to lead a normal life away from the public eye. despite her lack of close relationships within the royal family, the palace has announced plans to provide limited news coverage about her and her family.

princess albertine's custody was passed to her maternal grandmother following the tragic death of her mother, diana spencer, in paris in 1997. at just one year old, she was separated from her father, resulting in a distant relationship with the royal family. her only remaining connection, prince harry, has also distanced himself from the family.

recently, princess albertine made headlines for her portrayal of her late mother, princess diana, in the popular television series, the crown. the palace remained tight-lipped about the news, while insiders expressed disappointment over the portrayal, hinting at the royal family's disapproval.

despite her strained relationship with her father, princess albertine has managed to retain her royal title, thanks to a strategic divorce between her parents shortly after her birth. this decision ensured the preservation of her legitimacy and her connection to charles' bloodline.

in a surprising twist, princess albertine secretly tied the knot with esteban ocon, a formula one driver. the couple managed to keep their marriage under wraps for three months, evading the prying eyes of the british media. this unexpected union further solidified princess albertine's desire for privacy and independence.

expressing her desire to distance herself from her family's public relations agenda, princess albertine has made it clear that she wants no involvement with the royal family. while the palace has agreed to respect her wishes, they have also stated that certain announcements will be made on her behalf. however, they have emphasized that no further details will be provided, allowing princess albertine the opportunity to discuss these matters herself.

princess albertine and her husband, esteban ocon, are not pleased with this arrangement but reluctantly agreed to the clause in order to appease the royal family. it is evident that they wish to maintain control over their own lives and decisions, free from the constraints of the palace's public relations machinery.

as princess albertine and esteban ocon navigate their newfound marriage and life together, it remains to be seen how they will handle the delicate balance between their desire for privacy and the royal family's need for limited news coverage. the world eagerly awaits any further developments from this intriguing royal couple.

THE BUCKINGHAM PALACE'S ISSUED STATEMENT - MAY 2026

THE BUCKINGHAM PALACE'S ISSUED STATEMENT - JANUARY 2027

MAY 2027

tagged albertinespencer

liked by mickschumacher, lance_stroll, pierregasly

user1 HER NAME IS DITTY I LOVE THAT SO MUCH 😭

user2 ok but who'd name their baby ditty? bffr

user3 gurl albie's cousin is literally named kitty fuck outta here 😩

user4 little albie 🤩

mickschumacher itty bitty ditty 😍 liked by estebanocon

user5 itty bitty ditty???

lance_stroll i cannot believe she had grown sooo much ugh 🥲 are you sure she's still not allowed to the paddock? liked by estebanocon

albertinespencer what's in it for the tired parents?

lance_stroll uncle lance as a date night babysitter?

albertinespencer i can take that

pierregasly i'm so excited to take her on a bicycle ride around the track liked by estebanocon

lance_stroll cool story pierre but i have a basket to put her in on our bicycle ride, what do you have? liked by estebanocon

mickschumacher that's cool but uncle mick already got a wagon in the merc garage to put her in for a ride 😎 liked by estebanocon

mercedesamgf1 mick if there's a report of a break-in in our garage we are blaming this on you- we've told you about the wagon in secret

user6 i live for the grid uncles comments

user7 she is princess d coded 👑

albertinespencer she's just cheering for her papa in here, don't mind her 🤔😍 liked by estebanocon

estebanocon my number one fans ❤️

albertinespencer once an ocon fan, always an ocon fan 💖 liked and pinned by estebanocon

charles_leclerc so glad to be there for her christening, lad! liked by estebanocon

landonorris the all-white party- so iconic liked by estebanocon

estebanocon glad you guys could make it before the pre-testing!

albertinespencer she def loves all of you!

landonorris she better- otherwise idk why i had a little mclaren car made for her

tagged estebanocon

liked by charles_leclerc, kitty.spencer, maxverstappen1

comments have been limited

maxverstappen1 she's the sweetest girl ever 😍 liked by albertinespencer

albertinespencer just say that you're glad she hasn't thrown up on you 🤣

maxverstappen1 no i'm relieved though 😅

kitty.spencer i should fly to switzerland just to spend more time with ditty 😊 liked by albertinespencer

albertinespencer please!!! it's becoming more boring without estie here 😄

kitty.spencer omw my love!!! 💖

oscarpiastri born in 31st? esteban's driver number? sheesh, a dedicated fan you've got there albie liked by albertinespencer

albertinespencer she's an absolute devotee 🤪

landonorris she's the frenchest british princess ever tbh 😕🤭 liked by albertinespencer

albertinespencer she's born in switzerland but word ig 🤠

lewishamilton sending my love in her way!!! ❤️ liked by albertinespencer

albertinespencer thank you lewis! though, you meant it in a metaphorical sense right because i just received a package of baby mercedes things in here with your name on it 🤔

lewishamilton busted 😅

alpineracingf1 lewis please ditty's dad drives for us

estebanocon i love her so much i wish i can come home and ditch the triple header 😕😭 liked by albertinespencer

albertinespencer it's not encouraged but it is an option...?

alpineracingf1 albie we still need to make you and ditty proud please don't encourage him

PS albie and estie's baby

diana marie-françois elisabeth 'ditty' ocon

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asteroshearts · 4 months

Text

From here on out, devoted

You commit a faux pas at your wedding, but look at how handsome he appears today — how can you not?

Nanami x Reader

Tags: pre-canon, she/her pronouns, marraige, breaking tradition (NOT appropriate behavior tho i don't condone it in irl situations💀), religious sacrilege??, familial pressure, fluff

You and Nanami had a traditional wedding.

Unfortunately, it wasn't a choice you made all on your own.

It wasn't as if you necessarily wanted a hybrid or Western-style wedding, but you never had the chance to decide in the first place. It would've been so simple if you were just two people in love, but you two weren't just ordinary joined souls, but jujutsu sorcerers.

And as a lead member of a prolific jujutsu clan, it wasn't just your wedding, but theirs — everyone's. Tonight wasn't just for you and Kento to become one, nor was it only for your close families to unite, but for the entirety of jujutsu society to observe. They could threaten your position as a sorcerer as they pleased, but it was a new matter when Kento was at risk as well.

Every jujutsu higher-up had to be there to officiate, pray, and bless you two as a couple, and every prominent clan had to be there. (Unfortunately for Nanami, that also meant the Gojo clan.)

You tried to think of the positives initially: you had access to one of the most beautiful shrines you had ever seen in your life, one that was hidden away only for those in jujutsu society for hundreds of years. All expenses would be taken care of.

Also, at the end of the day, you were going to get married to the love of your life: Nanami Kento.

That was already the highest blessing that you could ask for.

You were already considered lucky by the women in every single clan— your marriage could have been arranged. Gojo himself was a product of an arranged marriage, as well as almost every member of the Zen'in clan. Yet here you were crying when you were marrying for love.

However, you were constricted by your own lack of agency. You couldn't choose your wedding dress — you weren't allowed to wear one. Your wedding date was chosen by one of the higher-ups. You wouldn't be able to kiss, or hug, or be affectionate for the entirety of the rites. People like Zen'in Naoya had to be invited while the individuals that you wanted to see like Shoko couldn't come until after the main ceremony.

On late nights when the curtains were wide, allowing the city's nightlife to illuminate your room, you and Kento used to whisper, believing that one day when the cherry blossoms fell, he'd be the one to weave a single braid in your hairstyle on your wedding day, or have a hand in tying one of the knots.

It would've meant the world: a representation of how he helped you get ready then, and how he'd pamper you now — until the rest of your lives. Now it was being taken from you.

All the things of beauty that you admired: the lavish bridal nihongami, the intricate shiromuku, suddenly weighed heavy on your heart.

Kento was always on your side. Privately, he brought up to you that you two could elope. The higher-ups couldn't take over your wedding if there was no wedding to control.

It sounded so tempting. However, this wasn't just your wedding, but Kento's. He would never say it out of worry of pressuring you. For as straight-laced of a man that he appeared to outsiders, you knew how sentimental he was, and how much he valued a ceremony that would bind you two from now on to eternity.

In all the aspects of your wedding that you could control, Nanami thrived. Although your future husband didn't show it with smiles or exuberant words, you could tell just how excited he was to plan things like the reception's menu, taking care to include things like seabream and red rice to wish for your prosperity as a couple. He called up restaurants and caterers from far and wide, bringing you to samplings nearly every week, trying to fuse some common dishes with some of his favorite French, Portuguese, and many other restaurants.

He personally designed the invitations, ordered all of the wedding favors with you.

You couldn't steal it from him. Even if you two eloped now and tried to postpone the ceremony, the elders would always be there.

Didn't you already have the most important thing?

Oh, and you adored the man you would be marrying, you thought. The stylist carefully laid down several sets of kanzashi beside you. You were set to get ready for the next nine hours.

Fine. You looked at your reflection in the mirror. The elders can have this one day.

As long as you have your man for the rest of your life.

It smelled like pollen on your wedding day. Inhaling deeply, the shrine's courtyard was covered in sakura pedals, shining dappled light upon you and Kento.

Hair raised on the back of your neck when the shrine masters began to play their shinobue and fue, signaling your and Nanami's descent from the courtyard into the main pavilion.

The high sound reverberated deep into your eardrums, making the clicks of your sandals fall deaf to your ears. This loss — lack displaced you from the present, as if you were never really there. As if you were a ghost under this cold spring when one of your older relatives held the ornate oil-paper umbrella plastered with several jujutsu talismans over your and your groom's heads, shielding you from whatever remnants of the sun were left.

You couldn't see him, not even from the corner of your eye when you were hidden by the bridal headdress. However, Nanami Kento was a yours. The nerves in your heart stirred alarms in his head, calling out to him.

Your right hand cradled the folds of your kimono, lifting it up and holding it to your body while your groom held his hands at his side, with a folding fan in one palm.

You felt the ends of your large sleeve being tugged, pulling you closer. Your breath hitched when you felt that moment again. Eyes darting to the crowd around your escort, the Zen'ins, the Inumakis, all those that your elders deemed as important enough to attend were surrounding you on both sides.

But with how your groom called out to you silently, it gave your heart wings, did it not?

Your proper groom, you thought, who followed protocol and listened to what was right more than any other sorcerer you knew, toeing the line — just to hold your hand.

Quickly and daringly, you quickly switched your right hand with your left, even as you had to awkwardly stretch it over your torso to tuck your hand under the hulking fold. You dropped your hand to your side for your knuckles to brush across layers of silk until you were finally skin-to-skin with Kento's own large hand.

Hidden by a sea of heavy fabric, bones cautiously knocked into each other, skin meeting gently across pads of fingers, and inching closer for your hands to knit —

Smack!

Teeth gritting, you and Kento quickly dropped your hands and separated.

"Have some shame," your relative muttered from behind your ear.

Rolling your eyes, you were finally glad that your glare was hidden under your wataboshi.

In all honesty, you couldn't focus much after that.

The remaining rites were a blur in your mind. When the students asked you years down the line what your wedding was like, you honestly told them you couldn't remember much of it. (The honeymoon was much more memorable, you would tease.)

You returned to earth as Utahime stood in front of you and your groom seated before her. Giving you a stern nod, she handed your groom his first cup with two hands. When he took it with a nod, she held the golden pot in her hand and poured Kento the first cup of sake.

Turning your head toward him, it was as if the veil lifted. The ends of your headdress finally revealed the marvel in front of you.

Suddenly, all you could hear as he brought the cup to his lips were the instruments in the background played by the live musicians.

A silent gasp escaped your lips. It struck you — you haven't really looked at him all day. Until now.

He was too good to be true.

Nanami forwent his glasses, and you can see the ends of his lashes brush the top of his cheeks as his eyelids fell. His hair was done meticulously, and the warm lights of the shrine lit up the strands on his head to be as golden as the pieces on your hair ornaments.

Even as you brought up your own cup to take three sips of sake, the vision in your mind stayed the same —

Of how he took your breath away by the sight of him in his montsuki haori hakama. Your heart bloomed: you stared at the crisp lines of fabric that surrounded his collar, neatly falling against his peachy skin. His Adam's apple gently rose and fell when he sipped his second cup of sake.

Staring down at your two cups placed side-by-side after you had your second drink, you wondered if there had ever been another man like him before. And whether there will ever be a Nanami Kento ever again.

Heart clenching, the music beside you started its slow crawl, carrying low notes that vibrated in your chest.

You wished it so.

For when you lived, died, and are reborn — you shrewdly didn't even want your soul to consider anyone else.

The string accompaniment slowly built up the notes, echoing singular plucked koto strings.

Utahime poured Nanami his third and last cup of sake.

Eyes carrying the reflection of your future husband, tears suddenly fell down in rivulets. Oxygen didn't pass your lungs.

Nanami paused, eyes widened as he carried his last sip, shocked at your sudden onslaught of tears. He turned to you fully with worry.

Oh, you looked him in the eye, you were getting married.

Unable to stop yourself, the song hit its sforzando. You threw yourself at your husband, arms wrapping around his neck, and desperately pressing your lips to his.

Needles and pricks danced around your legs after the kneeing position you were forced in the entire ceremony, causing you to nearly topple over the blond man. Loud gasps rang from the crowd as soon as you committed the scandalous act, but all you could hear was the beat of your hearts following the tune of the music.

And the rule-following man before you allowed it, for whatever you do: right and wrong, he put you first.

Catching you from falling, Nanami corded a singular strong arm around your waist, pressing you firmly against his body, hoisting you up until your knees weren't on the ground. Feet — swept.

Deepening the kiss with the god of a man before you, you were positive — as the warm sake flowed from his mouth to yours, you had taken your final sips.

You were officially husband and wife. By all means and forms of tradition, the gods had decreed it.

"What is the matter with you two?!" Gakuganji roared. Several pairs of hands attempted to rip you and Nanami apart while Gojo laughed merrily in the background.

Staring at you and Nanami making out right in front of her, Utahima twisted her face with annoyance.

"Nothing stays the same. However, for this life and the next, I beg any god that's listening to me...please let me spend every lifetime making our bed together and sharing bread from the bakery," you vowed in front of your guests.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #jjk x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami fluff #nanami

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belbeten · 1 year

Text

To cope with… well, you know... ::makes vague gesture:: EVERYTHING for the last 3 years, I’ve been puttering away at a series of cross stitch projects to cheer myself up through the effective combination of (1) swearing and (2) stabbing.

10/10 highly recommend. Here’s what I’ve made so far:

[ID: Photo 1: Overhead photo of a group of 9 cross stitch hoops and a rectangular framed cross stitch. They contain various swear words and motivational messages related to swearing.

Photo 2: Overhead photo of a cross stitch hoop with black fabric and the word "fuck!" stitched in rainbow gradient lowercase cursive letters, circled by rainbow French knots. The hoop is surrounded by bobbins of thread in rainbow colors.

Photo 3: Close up photo of a cross stitch hoop with the word "fuck!" is stitched in rainbow cursive letters, surrounded by French knots.

Photo 4: Overhead photo of 4 cross stitch hoops in navy blue or white fabric. In small text they each have repetitive swear words stitched: (1) goddamnit, (2) oh shit, (3) fuck, and (4) bitch.

Photo 5: Overhead photo of a framed cross stitch with blue fabric. The white large-font stitched text reads: "Don't give up. You can swear the whole time. Just don't give up." There is small yellow cursive text stitched inserted with a caret in between "whole" and "time" that reads "motherfucking goddamn".

Photo 6: Close up photo of a cross stitch hoop with pink fabric. The purple and silver stitched text reads: "Maybe swearing will help?"

Photo 7: Close up photo of a group of 7 cross stitch hoops with fabric that is either white, navy blue, pink, or light blue. They each have repetitive swear words stitched in a small font: (1) bloody hell, (2) bitch, (3) fuck, (4) oh shit, (5) assorted swear words with tangled thread, (6) goddamnit, (7) assorted swear words and insults. /.End ID]

Crafty details and more info under the cut.

Many of these (especially the mini hoops) were done in between working on larger projects, to take a little break from full coverage pieces, or to use up leftover fabric or leftover thread. I’d never finished the back of an embroidery hoop using felt before, and did several of the hoops so I would have a chance to practice my blanket stitch and whip stitch. I also wanted to experiment with dyeing fabric, and getting more practice with French knots.

Fabric and size details:

Each of the small hoops are 3-inch with 14-count aida.

The rainbow fuck! is a 5-inch hoop with 16-count black aida.

The pink Maybe swearing will help is a 5-inch hoop with 14-count aida (dyed in grape koolaid, lol!), and uses DMC Satin Floss #S762. (Never again!)

And the Don’t give up piece is 8" by 10" on 14-count Nordic Blue aida.

Pattern credits:

Lettering for the rainbow fuck! hoop was modified from Oh Wow Stitch on Etsy.

Font for the Don’t give up piece was from adapted from SuncatcherStudio.

And I've seen the quote "maybe swearing will help" stitched a bunch, but wanted to make my own pattern for it. I had a lot of fun hiding some grawlixes among the flowery vine. :)

Totally okay to reblog but please do not repost to other sites. Thanks!

#cross stitch #my cross stitch #ok to reblog #back stitch #subversive cross stitch #crossstitch #x stitch #xstitch #embroidery #handmade #textiles #swear words #crafts #handcrafted #diy #french knots

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softtdaisy · 1 year

Text

CHASING CARS - PIERRE GASLY

DESCRIPTION I Sometimes it take an accident to realize what you really want with the person you thought you weren’t in love with

PAIRING I Pierre Gasly × female!reader

WORDS COUNT I 2,2k

A/N I I wanted to write for Pierre, I wrote for Pierre. This might be super messy but I quite love it so I hope you will too 🥺

You hated everything about the situation.

The oppressing silence caused by the many departures from the teams and the public.

The missing noises caused normally by the cars, even when they weren’t racing.

The beatings of your heart being louder because of the stress.

This feeling of being part of a kind of post-apocalyptic disaster.

Knowing you were only a spectator of that whole scene.

°°°

Ever since you started seeing Pierre, you’ve tried to go to as many races as possible. You had a job that, thankfully, allowed you to travel and work from where you wanted to. So, it wasn’t hard for you to adapt your work schedule.

The fun part, if you could call that fun, was that it was harder to deal with Pierre than with your own job.

You didn’t have the easiest relationship. You weren’t even sure you could call this a relationship, technically. You met a few months ago, when one of your closest friends started working for Alpine and invited you to a Grand Prix. He knew you loved Formula One and he loved to tell people in the garage that you were the reason he even considered working here.

“So, we have to thank you for his amazing job?” you heard a voice in your back. You turned around and here he was. Standing here. With his messy hair, his arrogant and flirty smile and his tracksuit knotted around his waist. Pierre looked hot. You couldn’t lie about it. And he knew it.

“You know what they say,” you started, walking near Pierre to face him. “Behind every great man, there is a woman.”

From that moment, Pierre wanted you to be the great woman behind him.

It started with a night together, that same weekend. You were at the bar with the team to celebrate Pierre’s podium. You spend the evening dancing and laughing together, it wasn’t a surprise that you ended up in his bed. It felt like a victory for the both of you, both having a strong attraction for each other. You were the woman he wanted to have. He was the driver you wanted to get.

This is how it all begin. You were meeting you during race weekends and Pierre was coming to your place when he was free. It was a logical and comforting thing. You found peace in each other’s arms and moans. Feelings were not involved. No. Love was not involved. You appreciated Pierre a lot. You whished there was a word to describe someone between a good friend and a lover.

Because he was way more than a friend for you. But Pierre wasn’t your lover. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He was making sure you remember that.

Behind this perfect and paradisaic relationship was hiding the truth: you had more arguments than you should have. There wasn’t a weekend where you wouldn’t fight about anything. Most of the time, those fights would come out of jealousy. The way Pierre looked at the influencers and models invited to the race. How you would laugh with the mechanics to which the French driver would interpret as a flirt conversation. Or sometimes he would just let go his frustration of not qualifying high enough on you. “I’m not your stressed relief doll, Pierre.” You would remind him.

And today, he took it to heart.

You arrived in Australia with Pierre on Monday, so he had time to go to some events and do all the press stuff. As much as you were concerned, expect for the visit part, you spend most of your time in his hotel bedroom. There was always something quiet when you arrived early, like none of this situation was real. He wasn’t a famous driver, and you were just a normal couple enjoying their holidays.

Then the truth hit you hard. Really hard.

The qualification was terrible. Maybe it was the car, maybe it was something else, but it didn’t matter. Cause in the end, the conclusion was still the same: Pierre was eliminated in Q1. And he was angry about that result. He didn’t talk to anybody in the garage and avoided you for the rest of the afternoon.

Innocently, you thought it wouldn’t change your plan for Saturday’s night. When you were there, you and Pierre would order some food and enjoy a peaceful night in the hotel room. You didn’t want to go out or anything, since fans and journalists were everywhere. It was a way of relaxing him before the race.

So, when Pierre finally came back, much later than he usually does, you had everything prepared. But the look he gave you let you know it wasn’t going to be as easy as you thought. “I already eat,” he said in an emotionless tone. He never does that. Worse, he never goes anywhere without letting you know. Especially when you’re waiting for him. Because he knew you would.

You got up immediately. “Wait a minute, Gasly.” You managed to grab his arm before he went to the bathroom. “Where were you?”

“Nowhere that concerned you.” He replied, shrugging. “You always see you’re not my stress relief doll. So, I made you sure you wouldn’t have to deal with this.” But it didn’t sound as gentle and compassionate as it seemed like.

There was something in his eyes. Something you knew pretty well. Because you had the opportunity to see it anytime you were spending time together. Or, more exactly, when your bodies were together.

You couldn’t believe it. How could you be stupid enough to wait for a man who was doing God knows what with someone that wasn’t you? “Go to hell.” You mumbled, punching him away. The worst part was that Pierre didn’t even flinch. He didn’t move. He barely looked at you. It was like you didn’t matter at all. Almost like you never ever did. And he just wanted to be alone tonight.

Which was, maybe, the only truth in all the thing he wanted you to believe that night.

You almost didn’t stay for the race. You were this close to book a plane to go back home and miss everything. But was Pierre really the only thing that made you want to watch a Formula One race? You couldn’t accept that. You couldn’t give him that much credit.

So, you stayed. And watched the beginning of the race from the grandstand. You tried to be another normal fan among the others. Screamed with them when the cars were coming near you. Listening to their complains, laughing to some jokes. You thought you could enjoy the race peacefully.

Or so you did.

Because then it happened. You watched one Alpine being hit by another car. Rolling over. And over. And over. Until it stopped. And you finally saw the number 10 on it.

You remember everything. The noise the car made when it got hit. The noises it made when they both rolled over. The silence in the public when everyone was watching it in disbelief. The silence when the other cars stopped.

Then you remember nothing.

All you knew was that you were still there, hours later, sitting in silence. Trying to calm your mind down but it kept screaming horrible thoughts. How ironic that in a place where it’s a loud because of the cars the only thing making noises was your brain.

Your eyes were locked on the scene. Where there were still proofs of the car accident. From there, you could even see some of the Alpine’s paint on the road. Like it got teared apart. Just like your heart.

Two of your senses being focused on what happened, you didn’t notice the person coming and sitting next to you.

“You’re still here?” it was a stupid question. Of course, you were. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to see you and talk to you. But Pierre didn’t know what to say after what happened last night. He feels like, if he was in an RPG, he would have lost all his friendship progression bar with you and had to start all over again.

You couldn’t even turn to look at him. There was so much going on inside your head right now. The memories from last night’s fight, his words, his look…and then today’s accident. The surprise, the stress, the fear… “I thought I had lost you.” You whispered, almost like a thought leaving your mouth by accident.

“I watched the accident” you continued, finally finding the strength to make proper sentences, and organizing your thoughts. “I watched it. I felt…useless. You were down there. I thought you were dead, and I was just watching it. I couldn’t do anything. And all that I could think about was that I told you to go to hell last night. That I didn’t enjoy one last night with you. One last moment. I thought it wasn’t fair. And I felt selfish because it wasn’t even the thought of you being in an accident that I found unfair. It was that I didn’t have a moment with you.”

Through all your speech, Pierre held your hand. You didn’t even notice until he started caressing your skin softly. To encourage you. To prove you he was there now. “Glad to know my dick is more important than my life to you” he joked, and you hit him in the shoulder. “Ah, that was I needed. A good hit in the shoulder just where I got hurt.” He laughed again. He added a kiss in your hair just before you realized what he said.

“You, what?” you finally turned around to see him. And you had to be honest: he looked terrible. Pierre had some bruises on his arms, and you noticed the bandage on his shoulder sticking out of his shirt. He looked exhausted, with small eyes and a tired smile. But he was there. It was all that mattered in the end.

“Nothing too serious. I should be able to race in two weeks, so.” he was taking it better than you thought. But maybe the idea of being here and not in the hospital was helping.

“Listen,” he started, holding your hand tighter. “I’m sorry. For making you believe that I was with someone else yesterday. I was mad at me, at the world but certainly not at you. But I couldn’t…be there, act nice when all I wanted was punch some walls and drink more than I should. It was easier to make you leave than pretend to be fine. You always complain about me treating you like a stress relief doll.”

You sighed. “Idiot, I do that when you’re being mean to me when I did nothing. You don’t have to be fine all the time. You can be angry and sad or whatever emotions you want to feel, and I can help you. In a healthy way.”

You saw the surprise on his face. Like you said some magic words he didn’t expect. “Because…you still want me?” you could hear the hope in his voice. And it hurt you to answer honestly: “I don’t know.”

“You don’t…know?” he frowned.

You were now the one holding his hand, playing with his fingers to try and distract him. Or maybe making him accept what you were trying to say. “The way I got scared of losing you made me realize how much I cared about you Pierre. More than I ever did. It’s not a simple friendship or agreement or I don’t know what. I…appreciate you. And the truth is, if you can’t offer me a real relationship…I’m not sure I want to stay around. I deserve better. We both deserve better.”

You were convinced Pierre would agree with you. Saying you were right and that you should both start looking for someone that would offer the love you deserved. That it wasn’t fair for you to stay around when he wasn’t giving you what you were looking for. Maybe he wouldn’t agree and then it would just end badly. But you really thought it was the ending. You, leaving this place alone.

“I thought about this too.” He answered. “During the accident.”

“You had time to think while your car was doing all that stuff?”

“Yeah, you got me. During and after.” He laughed and he noticed the little smile on your face. “All I could picture when I thought it was…maybe the end for me, was you. You over here. And the idea of leaving you alone…boy I couldn’t accept that. I couldn’t leave you. And when I realized that I was still pretty much alive…I knew I couldn’t let you go. I had to keep you. I had to…love you. For real.”

This. Was definitely not on your scenario card. Pierre, the man you always knew as loving his single life and not wanted not to commit to a real relationship, admitting he wanted to be with you. For real.

“So… We might need to work on this but I think we can have a real thing.” He added, coming closer to you.

“Relationship.” You said. “Not a real thing. A relationship.”

“Relationship,” he laughed before finally putting his other hand on your face and kiss you.

This kiss was like no other. It wasn’t passionate, trying to prove something to the other. It was just real. Like a promise. Like the start of something new.

The start of a real relationship.

follow @softtdaisywords to know when new stories are released 🤍

#pierre gasly #Pierre Gasly x reader #Pierre Gasly imagine #pierre gasly x you #Pierre Gasly x y/n #Pierre Gasly angst #Pierre Gasly fluff #Pierre Gasly story #f1 #F1 imagine #my writing

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thehobbem · 1 year

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Jane Eyre

(Um. SPOILERS for Jane Eyre, I guess.)

So. I put off reading Jane Eyre for many years, bc

1) I read a chapter at college and didn't like the style (so I chose to read Great Expectations for that class, instead), and

2) pop culture spoiled the story for me long, long ago, so it killed any sense of urgency. Like, Rochester having his wife in the attic (technically, "secluded room in the abandoned 3rd floor") is the "Darth Vader is Luke's father" of English literature -- it should come as a shock, but at this point, everyone who cares already knows.

But I finally picked it up last week, and reader, I'm having a blast. And I realize now that no one had told me the actual two main attractions of this particular show: that Jane is absolutely hilarious, and that Rochester is WILD. I expected him to be wild, bc, well, he's got his wife locked in the attic, but he's entirely RIDICULOUS?????

So far, these exchanges have happened:

Mr. Brocklehurst: "What should you do to avoid hell?" Jane: "Not die" (GIRL XDD)

Rochester: goes on and on about temptation and redemption and regret, in the most abstract of manners Jane, getting up: "I'm not following anymore, so I'm gonna go. (This man??? Met this 18-year-old girl who has seen nothing of the outside world and???? decided to just???? tell her his entire life story???? including his sob story about a French mistress???? Didn't tell her about the wife in the attic, ofc.)

Rochester, who's way too cool about having been almost roasted alive in his own bed like a suckling pig: "Thank you, Jane, now go." Jane: starts to leave Rochester: pikachu_face.jpg "Are you leaving???" Jane: "You told me to??" Rochester: holds her hand, thanks her profusely for saving his life, calls her his 'cherished preserver', Jane: "No problem! Night." Rochester: "Are you really going?!" Jane: "I'm cold, sir." LSAJFLASKDF

Servants: talk in code about the wife in the attic Me: EVERYONE KNOWS, EXCEPT JANE???? HE'S NOT EVEN KEEPING IT A SECRET????

Rochester DRESSED UP AS A FORTUNE TELLER???? TO TEST JANE???? I GUESS???? He implies she's about to be super happy in life, but also that he's gonna marry Miss Ingram, and then???? Jane realizes it's him??? Jane: "Take this costume off, sir" Rochester: "...I can't, the string is knotted" SKJDJLDAKVK

Rochester keeps telling her he's gonna marry Miss Ingram, and that he'll send Jane away???? And then proposes to Jane???? Saying he TESTED MISS INGRAM, AND SHE FAILED???? So... So what, had Miss Ingram proved to be a nice person who cares about him and not his money, would he then... have married her instead???? WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE

And all the while I'm like "Sir, stop playing dress up and stop proposing to other women, YOU HAVE A WIFE LOCKED IN YOUR ATTIC" (same intonation of "a horse loose in a hospital"). Can't wait for the next fire, is all I'm gonna say.

Rochester is preposterous. He makes Fitzwilliam "You're beneath me, your family is ridiculous, I don't know why I like you but I do, you have fine eyes. Marry me?" Darcy seem like the MOST sensible man in the world. Hell, he makes Frank Churchill seem sensible.

Meanwhile, she has an uncle in Madeira (me, reading it: "oh she has an uncle in my country, how exciting!" XD) who has money and wants to adopt her???? GIRL, RUN TO YOUR UNCLE, BE ADOPTED, ENJOY THE COMFORTS YOU'VE NEVER HAD ACCESS TO

I'm loving every second of this. Reading this knowing about the wife in the attic is great.

Part II, because why not

#jane eyre #charlotte bronte #literature #we were born to make queuestory

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hebewebe · 7 months

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Knowing Me, Knowing You - {Y.Okkotsu}

cross-posted of my ao3, do not steal!!!!

La Douleur Exquise

(n.) The heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable.

Yuuta Okkotsu is a man who knows many things, he’s spent most of his adolescence in fear of Rika hurting others and training to control her, along the way he’s also learned a couple of things on the way such as the reversed curse technique which no longer allowed him the need to visit Shoko as often.

He also learned how to master cursed speech, something that his friend was born able to do, he’s also learned how to copy other cursed techniques and wield many weapons.

Along the way he’s also learned you , you joined him not long after your first year at Jujutsu Tech and have been close friends for a while (much to Rika’s dismay at first), his friends were your friends, his likes and dislikes were also yours, two peas in a pod something that Gojo would tease you both about.

he’s learned almost if not all your dreams and aspirations, your reasons for joining the horrific world of jujutsu sorcery, “I don’t want to just sit here wasting my life away in some office job knowing I could be out there helping the world.” something you told him a little after the fight of a hundred demons, he had asked you after watching you help fight in the city.

And you know him just as well, his favorite colors, movies, likes, dislikes, why he’s here, who Rika is, and what she means to him.

Why he double knots his shoelaces, why he is surprisingly good at making french toast and smoothie bowls, how he never really contacts his family but tries to stay close with his sister, and how he’s good at geometry and quadratics.

You believe he’s the reason the sky is blue and that the night is dark, why the nights without him are cold and lonely, why the days without him are somehow even worse.

You find yourself on autopilot when he’s not around you, sharing the same air as you, feeling an empty and aching void in your chest when he’s not with you.

And when he is with you, you can’t help but feel whole again, like the aching and empty piece inside of you has been filled with something unknown, warm, and true.

You’ve decided to call this visceral feeling a small passing crush , but you know better than to think so little of these growing feelings.

You love him, you love him more than anything, you find yourself at a loss for words whenever he’s near, and your cheeks grow warmer when he brushes his hand against yours.

“Hey, Yuu? Can I ask you something?” it's a whisper, that could’ve easily gone unnoticed if it weren’t for the silence in the room. “You can ask me anything, you know that.” he smiles when he says it, almost as if a reminder that you both already know he’d listen to any question; stupid or not.

“What do you think it feels like to love and be loved in return?” there’s a moment of pondering silence between the two before one speaks up.

“I think it should feel… suffocating, like your drowning in an endless sea of.. warmth, I believe that once you find someone to love you should love them hard, love them with every atom that makes up your existence, love them hard to the point where if they’re not with you the world feels as if it’ll come crashing down on your shoulders. And to be loved in return? Well, that’s a kind of complicated question, I guess it would feel like... A boulder falling and crashing against a dam?” it’s said just as silently as the question was asked.

“A boulder falling and crashing against a dam? Why do you say that?” there you go, always wondering, always asking why when things don’t add up to you, its cute in a sense how you’re always eager for an answer.

“Because no one truly expects to be loved just as hard as they love someone, if anything maybe half or less than that, but never fully, never wholly. Nobody ever truly expects to be loved so hard that they forget how to breathe when one is not near, nobody expects to feel all that love, and definitely not at once.” He always makes sure to answer any of your questions in full, another one of the many upon many things you love about him.

“Are you supposed to feel loved all at once?” You will always have a mountain of questions ready to be asked and answered he supposes.

“I don’t think so, I guess it just depends on the circumstance, for instance, if both parties love hard then I guess it’ll be suffocating on both ends, but if it festers like a warm disease then it’ll take its time, it might start with things such as the way they prefer their tea or coffee, or which hand they might drive better with. Presumably small things that then fester until they are the only thought that consumes your mind, they're the only thing that plagues your dreams at night and even again when you wake, until you realize that they have complete control over your heart.”

He says the words as if he’s fond of them, he probably has considering how he felt about Rika, and you know that if you ask there’s a strong possibility that your heart might end up in small shatters but you can't help but wonder if.

“Have you ever felt that way towards someone?” it’s said even quieter than before and you fear not if he heard you but if he didn’t hear you .

“I have actually, I still do.”

Oh , it’s all that comes to mind, your heart freezes and does nearly every blood vessel in your body.

“Have you?”

A simple question regarding such a simple answer.

A moment of silence passes.

“I have.”

I have felt that way and I still do, everything about you plagues me like a horrid disease and I can’t help but warmly accept it, even though the possibility of my feelings being unreciprocated is strong I still love you if not even more than the day I met you, I love you so much that my soul aches and my heart shatters and my mind begs for you. I would lasso the sun to bring you eternal warmth so you would never feel cold again, I would overthrow all the demons in hell just so I can control the demons you fight and make sure you forever have peace of mind because I know that late into the nights horrendous thoughts poison your mind and leave you scared, I would manipulate the sisters of faith so you can face nothing but good fortune, I would become god to make sure that every blessing would come forth to you.

“That’s wonderful y/n, did they feel the same?” an innocent question asked by the person guilty of blindly robbing one’s heart, “I’m not sure actually.”

“Well, I’m sure one day someone will,” it’s said with a friendly smile, and your heart somehow breaks even more. “Well, I should get going Inumaki is expecting me,” he kicks his feet off the bed and leaves you alone with your thoughts.

You wonder if he’s still in love with Rika, does he dream of a life where instead of a horrific appearance one could only conjure up in horror movies does he dream of her youthful and beautiful? Does he still love her the same he did all those years ago? He still wears the ring so one could only assume.

Does he dream of kissing her in the rain? Comforting her when she has nightmares? Marrying her? Starting a family with her? I mean they must obviously talk about what they could’ve been had that tragic incident not happened.

Does he love her the same way you love him? So many questions you wish to bombard him with but no position to ask.

You hate the feeling of being in love, it makes the days long and miserable and the nights even worse, the constant nagging feeling of loneliness and desperation, the aching feeling of longing that settles deep within you.

How everything brightens up when Yuuta’s near.

How your heart beats faster.

How your cheeks heat up.

You hate it all, because at the end of the day.

He’s not yours.

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joelswritingmistress · 6 months

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Last Halloween: Chapter 11

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

An overcast sky overtook the former sunny day as you drove across town in the mid-afternoon. Somehow you enjoyed the slate background better than the blue, as it contrasted the yellow and orange leaves that fell from the trees. You were quite literally living in one of those fall ambience backgrounds that littered Instagram and Tumblr.

Passing the town green made you smile to yourself, as groups of kids of all ages were putting up scarecrows for the annual contest. While there was so much ugly that lurked in the shadows, you took time to appreciate the good that outshined it.

As you passed by the coffee shop you subconsciously ducked down because of the call out you made. Inside you caught a glimpse of two of your coworkers and a small part of you felt a tad guilty.

They're making money, you reminded yourself. And it wasn't like it was the weekend. You knew your guilty conscious was unmatched.

When you arrived home there were no cars in the driveway and you wandered inside. You helped yourself to a quick snack, tempted to open one of the bags of Halloween candy that the four of you had been buying weekly in anticipation for the trick or treaters on Halloween night.

Rather, you tossed a handful of potato chips onto a paper plate and scooped out two spoonfuls of French Onion to the side.

"How am I still hungry?" You spoke to yourself, dunking a ruffled chip before popping it into your mouth.

A noise from down the hall made you freeze for a second and you stopped chewing. You looked around the empty kitchen and continued to listen. When there wasn't another noise you continued to chew and wrote it off as something from outside.

The second noise, however, you couldn't ignore. Naturally you wanted to call out, 'hello', but you had seen one too many movies to even consider it.

Did I miss someone's car in the driveway? You wondered. No was the answer. You didn't have to look to double check; but you did anyway. The only car parked out there was your blue Mazda.

You eyed the hallway that led down to your bedrooms and took a deep breath. The creak of a door held you firmly in place again and your stomach knotted up. The faces of Vic, the cops from the night before and even Steve popped into your head.

"Shit." You whispered to yourself, glancing toward the front door. Carefully, you tiptoed in that direction, but you didn't get all of two steps and someone emerged from your bedroom.

You screamed. They screamed. You were about to run to the door but it registered who you were screaming with.

"Winnie!" You shrieked her name.

"I didn't hear you come in," she confessed, breathing heavy with a black dress in her hand.

"Is that my dress?"

"I texted you asking if I could borrow it for a night out with Jacob but you didn't respond."

"I'm sorry." You rummaged in the pocket of your hoodie for your phone and saw you had somehow overlooked the message from your friend. "Where's your car?"

Winnie raised her eyebrows and then looked away with a smirk. "I Ubered home last night after a party at the beer garden. My car's still in the parking lot."

You laughed and caught your breath, sighing out loud. "Shit. I thought you were an intruder."

Winnie laughed. "I just thought I was alone."

"Well, you can borrow the dress." You laughed. "You don't even have to ask."

Winnie stalked up to where you were standing. "Where were *you* last night?" She asked with playful accusation.

The look on your face gave away most of what she needed to know.

"Who is he?" Winnie asked. "And what the hell? You haven't told me about a guy. Ooo wait, was it a one night stand? Was it Steve?" Her questions came out in rapid fire and it made you laugh again.

"No and no," you replied as quickly as possible and then added a third, "No," for good measure.

"Okay, so.. spill it! Ahh I'm excited!" Winnie's energy was through the roof, and often contagious.

"You have to promise you won't judge."

"I'm a little hurt you even have to lead off like that."

"I know, I know. Okay." You let out a deep breath. "Umm.. well.. I've been seeing.." you let out a second deep breath, "Joel Miller."

Winnie's eyes were on the verge of cartoonish from the way they bugged out of her head. "Wait? Actually?"

You nodded. "I know what people think about him. But I know the whole story."

"I never really thought he was guilty of anything anyway."

"You didn't?"

"I've seen that Johnny dude around in the past. Saw him straight up smack his girl in the parking lot behind Oakshire Tavern. And I'm not talking about a little smack, I'm talking about sending her to the pavement in her finest dress smack."

"Oh my-"

"Yeah. My dad told me all about them and the way they terrorized people in high school and stuff. He's like, a few years younger, but he knew of them."

"Wow." You shook your head in disbelief.

"You're really letting old man Miller tap that?" She asked, making you both laugh.

"We.. just did.. last night." You eyed the ceiling with a grin and then looked back to Winnie.

"Isn't he, like, thrice our age?"

"He's 41."

"Damn." Winnie grinned and then laughed again, this time putting her hands on her knees. "I need time to process this."

"You and me both." You laughed and let out a sigh, thankful for your friend's lighthearted reaction. "You don't care? Like, you don't think I'm weird?"

"I'm a little in shock," she admitted with a laugh. "And I still can't tell if you're kidding."

"I'm not kidding," you promised.

Winnie shrugged, still grinning so hard you suspected her cheeks hurt. "Then go get some."

You chuckled again and put a hand on your forehead. "Shit you scared me." You changed the subject.

Winnie continued to giggle. "I'm sorry. It's this town. It's the Halloween stuff that gets us all spooked."

"Yeah." You didn't want to indulge in the handful of other reasons you had for being jumpy.

The two of you wandered to the couch and you flipped on the television. Right away, on AMC, one of the Halloween movies was playing. The two of you looked at one another and Winnie shrugged.

"Might as well." She went and lit a candle, reaching for a blanket to cozy up under. "Joel Miller," she said quietly, making you slowly turn your head in her direction.

You both laughed again and alternated between talking, laughing and watching the movie for the next hour. Being around Winnie for that lull in the day was like chicken soup for the soul.

By the time you met back up with Joel you had that same refreshed feeling. Two out of three of your friends thus far had had your back. You were nervous, but certain, that Chrissy would be on the same page once you had the opportunity to talk to her.

Knocking on Joel's door and seeing him standing there to greet you with a kiss and smile was all you had ever wanted in relationship. Things were moving fast. It was scary in its own way; but it was exciting and fun and left you feeling lighter that air. This was the type of relationship you never expected to find after your long stint in the dating pool.

"The rest of work was good?" You asked, practically pinning yourself to him as you linked your arms behind his neck.

"Mmmhmm.." Joel kissed you on the lips. "What'd you do all afternoon?"

"Watched a movie with Winnie. She passed the vibe check."

"Vibe check?"

"She's in our corner, too." You told him. "Said her dad told her the same type of stuff about the Champagne family." You pecked his lips and then changed the subject. "We're not on a strict schedule or anything are we?" You asked, "As far as tonight's plans go?"

Joel shrugged and eyed a clock on the wall. "No. Why?"

You locked the door behind you and then walked toward the staircase, resting an arm on the bottom of the banister with a suggestive smirk. Your eyes looked up toward the second floor and then back to Joel in such a way that would've clued in even the most innocent of men.

A wide smile formed on Joel's face. "You know we may never get to dinner if I follow you up there, right?" He stalked to where you stood there waiting for him.

When he got close enough, your arms reached up around him as he initiated a shamelessly long and urgent kiss - the kind that were saved for behind closed doors.

You moaned into his hungry mouth. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 12

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute @pedr0swh0r3 @runningmom94 @mellymbee

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kittenofdoomage · 1 year

Text

Lucky Girl

Summary: Y/N has a dilemma to solve, but lucky for her, she's got a very handy Alpha to help out.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x fem!Omega!reader, referenced Saileen

Word Count: 3025

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics and smut (knotting, unprotected sex, scenting), amusing and dirty little old ladies, I would like to thank my mother for the inspiration from her many life drawing classes and the funny stories she tells me every week about the models.

A/N: Thank you so much Tumblr for making editing 1000% feckin' harder, sorry if there's any formatting issues guys x

Ao3 Link

Her frustrated cry echoed through the house, and Dean followed the sound, finding her in the kitchen at the island, phone in hand and dismay on her face. He frowned, skirting around her to lean on the opposite side of the counter. “What’s up?”

“My model for tomorrow night just pulled out,” Y/N muttered, sighing heavily and dropping her phone. “I promised the director I’d get an Alpha model for this class, and now I’m back to square one.”

His bottom lip jutted out and he leaned on the heels of his hands, hunching his shoulders. “This is the, uh, the -”

“Life drawing,” she supplied.

“The nudie class, right?”

“That’s the one.” Another sigh, and she lowered her head, resting her forehead against one palm. “Where the hell am I gonna find an Alpha willing to pose nude in front of a bunch of OAPs?”

For a moment, he was silent, chewing on his lip as he watched her despair. “Out of curiosity, is this a voluntary gig or -?”

She looked up at him. “It’s a hundred bucks for ninety minutes. But you find me an Alpha who wants to do it, as well as is able to do it. I don’t need another Omega clawing my eyes out.”

He stood straight, patting his hands against his chest. “I’ll do it.” Y/N froze, staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. “You?”

“Why not? You can paint me like one of your French girls,” he quipped, and she chuckled, shaking her head as she pressed her hands to his chest. “No?”

“Well, a - it’s a drawing class,” she said hesitantly. “And I guess I wouldn’t have to worry about any Omegas getting pissy with me but…”

“But what?” he asked, shrugging. “It’s not like you’re leaving me to be assaulted by the Golden Girls is it?”

“I dunno, Geraldine can get a little handsy. She makes comments.”

A dirty smirk curved his features. “I got nothing to be ashamed of,” he announced proudly. “So long as you’re okay with me doing it,” he added quickly, leaning on the island again. “I don’t wanna do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” she replied, picking up her phone. “I’d have to clear it with Jeff first… but I don’t see why you can’t do it.” Her phone started to ring, and she grimaced, giving Dean an apologetic look. “That’s him now. I’ll run it by him, see what he thinks.” The back door opened as she got up, and Dean’s attention was snatched away by his brother’s entrance, leaving his Omega to dash off to the living room for a more private conversation with her boss.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean greeted, moving to the fridge. “Beer?”

“No thanks, man, I gotta drive later,” Sam replied, shaking his head. “Everything okay?”

The conversation he’d just been having didn’t seem like one he wanted to share with his brother, so he smiled, fishing a beer out of the bottom of the refrigerator. “Yeah, peachy. How’s Eileen?” Sam’s smile was wide. “Hangry.”

“Ah, second trimester. I hear it’s a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let her hear you say that.”

Y/N returned, smiling as she held up her phone. “Jeff said it’s fine!” she exclaimed. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Sam frowned, looking between them, gaze finally settling on his brother as the elder’s face turned beet red. “Did I, uh, miss something?”

“Nothing,” Dean rushed out. “Just something Y/N needed help with, is all. Nothing to write home about.”

She couldn’t stifle the giggle at how red he turned, sliding back into her seat at the island. “Absolutely nothing.”

The life drawing class was her last of the day, following her beginner’s watercolor classes, and it was one of the more popular ones at the community college. Her regular classroom’s walls were adorned with art created by students that passed through, and in the five years Y/N had been teaching art, she’d never found a school quite as welcoming as Lawrence Community. It was mostly mature students, and her classes in particular were mostly attended by elderly students, and life-drawing was no exception. She was always the youngest person in the room, and handsy Geraldine was the oldest at eighty-five, though she was as spirited as any thirty year old.

Dean was nervous when he showed up ten minutes early, hovering in the doorway as she said goodbye to the last few stragglers from her late watercolor class. When they were finally alone, she smirked at him, folding her arms across her chest as she stood behind her desk.

“Nervous?” she teased.

“No,” he scoffed, false bravado making his voice a little higher than usual.

“Good,” she chuckled, stepping out from her desk. She strode to the furthest wall, pulling out a folding screen from storage. “I don’t think we’re expecting a full house tonight. You can get undressed behind here, then we’ll figure out a pose.”

He balked a little at that. “A pose?”

“Well, you can lie down, or you can sit - you can read a book if you don’t wanna get bored,” she explained.

“Am I allowed to talk?”

“So long as you don’t move too much. Geraldine will probably be very chatty.”

He grimaced, slipping behind the screen. “Okay, now I’m nervous.”

Y/N grinned. “You’re gonna do great.”

While he got ready behind the screen, she began to move the chairs and desks, arranging them in a circle before hauling the chaise longue into the middle. It didn’t take long for Dean to undress, and when he shuffled out from behind the curtain with his hands covering his junk, she couldn’t help but laugh. He peered at the small couch, pulling a face at the size of it.

“Am I even gonna fit on that?”

“It’s very sturdy,” she pointed out.

He didn’t look like he believed her but he approached anyway, lowering himself onto the soft surface with one hand, still covering his dick with the other. “It’s soft,” he exclaimed, testing the weight of it. “Is there a position you’d recommend?”

The innuendo was clear, and she pursed her lips for a second, then cleared her throat. “I’d recommend you lay down,” she rushed out, hoping he couldn’t smell the sudden flare in her scent. “Sometimes when you’re sitting for that long, you’ll be inclined to slouch, and that’ll make your back ache.”

“My back already aches,” he grumbled.

“Maybe pretend like you’re at the psychiatrist’s office or something,” she suggested.

He nodded, mouth pulling down at the corners as he contemplated it. “I can work with that.”

A knock at the door only preceded it opening by a second or two, and Dean jumped when one of her students, Vivienne, stuck her head through the door. “May we come in, dear?”

“You ready?” Y/N asked him quietly. “You’re gonna have to bare all, remember.” He grunted, lying back, reluctantly pulling his hand away from his crotch. She turned her back quickly, striding towards the door. “Of course, girls, please come in.”

The door swung wide, and Dean tried not to be alarmed by the amount of people walking in. There were nine people in total, seven elderly women and two older gentlemen. He was expecting lewd stares; what he got was a cursory glance as one old lady pointed out to her friend that using mayonnaise in a cake recipe wasn’t uncouth in the slightest.

“Okay, guys and gals,” Y/N announced, clapping her hands together as the students found their seats, all facing him. “We’ve got a very handsome model tonight, though I might be biased because he’s my boyfriend.”

One of the ladies pulled her bright pink glasses down, peering over them at him, obviously assessing him. “Lucky girl,” she murmured, and the other women all tittered as he tried not to blush.

Y/N smirked. “Are you in a comfortable position, Dean?”

He shifted, bringing one knee up, trying to appear casual without straining a muscle. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Is everyone happy with the model’s positioning?”

A hand shot up, belonging to a petite white-haired lady wearing a blue fuzzy sweater that appeared a couple of sizes too big. Her thick glasses made her eyes huge, and the pearl string that hung from them around her neck jangled when she moved. “Could we turn the light behind him off?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N said, quickly crossing the room to turn the section of lights off. The effect cast almost a spotlight on him, and he swallowed, hoping the ninety minutes would go fast. “Is that okay?”

“Perfect,” the blue-sweater lady grinned, giving her a thumbs up.

“Okay, so ninety minutes, we’re not looking for perfection here, so don’t rush yourselves. Study the angles, take your time, and remember, anything you create is beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as him,” the pink-glasses lady chortled, and Dean hoped the lighting didn’t show how red he felt. Y/N only smiled, glancing at the clock before instructing everyone to begin. No one said a word as the room filled with the sound of paper rustling and pencils being sharpened. He stayed as still as possible, feeling a little tense as they studied him.

After a while, Y/N began to walk around the room, checking on her student’s progress. Dean watched her, feeling a little proud of how encouraging she was, helping each individual identify their strengths in their creations. “Great shading, Geraldine,” she commented as she reached the lady with the pink glasses.

“I’m trying to keep everything in proportion,” the old lady murmured with a dirty smirk on her face as her gaze slid to Dean. “Out of curiosity, dear, do you ever cut yourself on that chiseled jaw?”

The ice broke and a quiet rumble of laughter went around the room, with Dean chuckling too. “It’s never been a problem before, darlin’,” he threw back, giving her a salacious wink. She clutching her chest, looking up at Y/N as the younger woman rolled her eyes with a smile.

“If I was fifty years younger,” Geraldine warned playfully, inspiring another round of giggles.

It didn’t seem so bad after that. Dean relaxed, enjoying some back and forth with the more chatty of the students. The time flew by, and when Y/N announced that class was ending, he was surprised to look at the clock and see it was nearly nine-thirty.

Each student packed up, and he took the opportunity to dress again behind the screen, emerging just as the last few ladies were lingering. Geraldine was among them, approaching him as soon as he appeared to shake his hand.

“You take care of our Y/N, you hear?” she instructed in a firm but friendly manner as she clasped his fingers in a strong grip. “She’s very dear to all of us, and you don’t want a dozen old ladies knockin’ down your door.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Trust me, I know how special my girl is.” His eyes met Y/N’s over Geraldine’s head and she smiled at him warmly. “It was nice to meet you, Geraldine.”

“Oh, the pleasure was all mine,” she sighed softly, another dirty smile on her lips, pulling her hands back and turning away. Dean was sure he was beet red, and he remained rooted to the spot until the door was closed and he was alone with his Omega.

She turned the lock, making sure the shutters were fully closed, then faced him with her back to the door. “You know,” she started, an amused tone to her voice, “I thought this was gonna be hard for you, being naked and having to stay still.” He waited, sensing she wasn’t done as she stalked towards him. “But it turns out,” she slowed to stop as she reached him, pressing her hands against his chest, then brought her whole body flush with his, “it’s really hard to watch you be naked for that long and not mount you.”

His eyebrows lifted, head dipping to brush the tip of his nose against hers. “Oh?”

“Geraldine’s right though,” she whispered, pushing up on tiptoes to press her lips to his in a brief chaste kiss that made him groan lightly. “You are beautiful.”

“Shut up,” he grunted, lifting his hand to cup her face as he kissed her properly, forcefully enough that he almost made her stumble back before he used his other hand to grab her ass. She arched against him, moaning into his mouth as she grabbed handfuls of his shirt and ground into him. “We’re not gonna get disturbed in here, right?”

“Nope,” she hummed, squeaking when he suddenly pushed her back against her desk. She grinned at him, perching herself on the desk and spreading her legs. “Do you really wanna wait until we get home?”

“Uh-uh,” he growled, on her again in the next second, claiming her mouth with hard, deep kisses that left her breathless and trembling. “Want you right now.” His hand dropped, fumbling with the fastening on her slacks, almost tangling himself up with her as she went for his. When she grew too impatient, she pushed him back a little, jumping down to remove her pants, easily slipping them off over her tennis shoes. Dean watched her as she shimmied out of her panties, one hand halfway through unbuckling his belt.

“You need a hand with that?” she teased, and he smirked, quickly unfastening his pants as he went for another kiss, helping her back up onto the desk. His pants dropped, coming to a stop mid-thigh as he spread his legs between hers, pinning her thighs apart. “Fuck, Dean -”

He groaned as he fisted his erection, swiping the blunt head through her folds. “All this for me?” he murmured. “You’re soaked, baby…”

“Quit teasing,” she gasped, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. “Want you inside me.”

It was a request he wasn’t going to deny, and he sank into her slowly, letting her feel every inch until he was buried deep. She moaned, seeking out another kiss as he held himself there, his hands wandering up underneath her shirt to grope at her tits. Despite her squirming, he didn’t even attempt to thrust, enjoying the feel of her channel getting slicker around him. His name left her lips in a tiny wail, and he grinned, pulling back to witness the lust-drunk look on her face.

“You said you wanted me inside you,” he murmured, “not that you wanted anything else.”

“Gah, you’re an ass,” she whimpered, pouting up at him. “Would you please fuck me?”

He smirked. “Since you asked so nicely.”

The desk squeaked under the force of his first thrust, and she grabbed hold of him, kissing him desperately as he slid his hands around her hips to hold her in place. Her knees lifted, ankles locking behind him, and he used the leverage to fuck into her harder. The desk squeaked again, then shifted, and he paused, giving her a worrying look.

“Get on the floor,” she hissed, pushing him back hard enough that he was forced to withdraw. Y/N hopped down, barely giving him a second to process the request through the fog of arousal before she pounced, pulling him down onto the ground and straddling him. Dean moaned as she rubbed her wet slit against him, feeling her hand wrap around him a second later to guide him back inside her.

She didn’t seem to care that they were in a public setting, though the room was two stories up and had no internal windows for anyone to catch sight of them. It wasn’t a worry that occupied his mind for long as she sat on top of him, rocking her hips in tiny circular motions to enjoy the feel of how deep he was. The sensation was pleasurable, not enough to make him cum, but she was easily getting herself off, something he was always happy to watch.

He groaned when she shuddered, her warm little hands splaying over his belly, pushing his shirt up so she could feel his skin. “Wanna feel your knot,” she whispered, running her hands up to his chest as she leaned down to kiss him.

“You’re gonna need to move a little more than that,” he grunted, gasping when she clenched around him. “That’s cheating.”

She giggled, sitting straight again, moving with a little more vigor. There was no bouncing on the cool hard floor of her classroom, instead, she rocked back and forth, and the pressure on his cock was almost dizzying. Her slick made his thighs slippery, and he felt the burgeoning tightness in his belly, giving him a warning that he wouldn’t last much longer.

“You sure you want me to knot you like this?” he panted, hands clutching at her hips.

She smiled and leaned over him, and the angle changed, allowing her to slide up and down his thick shaft without the risk of hurting herself on the tiles. “I want you to knot me like this,” she moaned, moving her lower body a little faster. Dean’s eyes almost crossed, and he tilted his head up, gripping her harder. A repetitive “fuck” left her lips as she kept going, and just when he thought he might crumble in on himself, she slammed down, taking every inch he had to give. His knot popped, and his orgasm washed over him, leaving him tense as she kept writhing on top of him, apparently intent on having him cum as deep as possible.

Every ounce of tension flowed out of him as he finally finished, and Y/N collapsed against his chest, almost purring her contentment. He chuckled, smoothing hair out of her eyes before running his hand down her back.

“I don’t know what I was expecting tonight,” he murmured, “but this pretty much beats out everything I imagined.”

“Hmmm,” she lifted her head, kissing him softly, “maybe I should have you model again sometime.”

Dean grinned. “I’m sure Geraldine would love that.”

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