#and i see how many people make art summary | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amalasdraws · 1 year ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/bigmammallama5/732632789726478336?source=share do you have any tips on how to detect ai and deepfakes?

Good question and I'm gonna be honest, it's not always easy and it will only get harder and harder. I'm just an artist who has spent their personal time to dive into this topic and study images. I'm still learning and there is a lot I don't know. But let me show what I know. This will be long, but I will make a summary at the end! So far, even with ai having become better and better there are still almost always some things wrong with an image, and they all have a very specific look to them. So let me try to show you some and point out some of them.

As we all know, a biggest struggle ai had were hands. And even though here and there we still see messed up hands, I say "had", because the hands is actual a good example on how ai is improving and will only get better. Still, looking at pictures that show more hands is always worth it, because somewhere in the back there will be most likely at least one messed up hand.

Another issue a lot of ai still has is hair though!

It's very obvious still in many ai "drawings" and in those otherwise well rendered portraits. Hair starts to blend with the ears a lot, or with the clothes.

There is also often this very odd look between something too sharp and way too blurry

There is often a very specific texture to the hair. I actually do not know the artistic or specific name for it. I can only describe it as this weird sharp feeling that makes it look oddly pixely, and then you have areas where it's very blurry. And the kind of loops and almost flame like looking hair we see in the last pic out of the three here is also something very common with ai.

As an artist I know we make mistakes too! The way I draw hair is flawed too! But it's not only that it's flawed here, but it's following always the same pattern and falls into the same issues over and over again, no matter who is "creating" the image. Those flame like loops are a common one, next to the odd blends and weird sharp and blurry textures.

But ai is getting better, and we not only have "art" and something that tries to be a drawing/painting, but photos too.

A lot of those "photos" have a very specific texture and look to them! Again, it's not always the mistakes, but the very specific optic too. A lot of the images are oddly smooth, too rendered, with always blurry backgrounds. And when you look closer at the background you will see the mistakes! The crowd behind Jesus is a hot mess once you look closer. Bob Marley's hair has the same issue than I described before. Lincoln is surrounded by people with messed up hands and don't even get me started on the faces behind Caesar.

So a lot of ai images look alright on a first and quick glance, but as more time you spend with them, as more mistakes you will notice. The wehre is Waldo of ai horror.

And those "photos" shared here are still very obvious. Not just the mistakes and messed up details but the very specific aesthetic too.

Those images get better and better and as less details you have, as less mistakes you have!

With photos like this it becomes harder and harder. There are not many details and no hands. Not many mistakes can be made. Also the very obvious plastic looking smoothness isn't so much here anymore. It kinda still is...but differently. And always the blurry background!! Sometimes the hair is still a giveaway. Collars and clothe straps are also often still a giveaway upon close look. As is jewelry. Earrings will be different and necklaces often don't go all the way around, just end, or blend with the hair or clothes.

Often details on jewelry is also blurry and not shown properly. This is a trick with many details. With jewelry, batches, hair, ears, text. So it's often blurred out and not shown properly because ai doesn't know what to really show here.

It's often really just the small details and when we scroll down quickly we will miss them. Like the wedding ring on the middle finger, the pens on top of a closed pocket, the batches that are always blurry, messed up faces that blend with a blurry background.

And sometimes it's so subtle that I could only really tell that right is the ai image in comparison to the real photo on the left. The real photo shows hands clearly and even when things are blurred out it doesn't feel that it's done to hide things. The ai image on the right hides the hands. There is also a very dead look in the eyes :D

And here I could only tell because the text in the back doesn't make sense. Even blurred out we should be able to make out something here

And after seeing a lot of ai images I recognize the kind of blurred out bg in combination with a very smooth and well rendered foreground/characters.

And here the only giveaway is a closer look at the backgrounds as well

To summarize it:

Ai and fake news rely on a fast living world. We are being bombarded with tons of information and messages daily and we scroll past quickly. But the best tool, for now, in detecting ai is taking our time! Those images get better and better but so far there are still always some things off!! Especially in the background!

Hair. Often weirdly smoothed out and oddly sharp at the same time

Hair often blends with the ears or the clothes

Details are blurred out.

Jewelry doesn't match (example earrings). Details on metal often blurred out and never shown. Necklaces blend with hair or the clothes, and don't go around the neck.

Background is always blurred out.

In this blurred mess there are often hidden very messed up faces and/or hands.

A very specific smooth and yet too sharp/too rendered aesthetic combines with an always blurry bg.

Text, especialyl in the background, is not legible and doesn't make sense.

Backgrounds are often (so far) the dead giveaway. Somewhere in the back things become muddled and messed up. This shows also very well in ai decor/architecture. There will be odd lines that don't align or align too well. Curtain poles that end in the furniture, a plant that is behind a lamp suddenly having leaves in front of the lamp. As longer you look as more you will notice.

Conclusion:

Take your time with images! Sit with them! Especially when it's framed as important and political news. Is it ai and propaganda, or did it really happen? Don't fall for the quick buzz and outrage! Some things are obvious right away but with others you have to take your time. And it's time you have! If you are still unsure if a pic is real or not, do some research on top. Image reverse search. Can you find it anywhere else? Are other news outlets sharing it? Does the image/message make sense? For example there is now a deepfake of Bella Hadid voicing support for Israel. Ask yourself, does this make sense? If it feels out of line compared to previous behavior, do some research! Media literacy is not just as being able to recognize a fake or real right away, but being able to do research. To question things! Don't just take every post online for face value. Even when shared by a mutual you trust. They might have been tricked!

There are so many information online and it's great to have access to so information, but it's also difficult to wade through all of it. Media and truth are a weapon and it's being twisted and bend used to manipulate. Always has! But ai and so many people being able to post and share things, it becomes bigger and bigger and more dangerous. So don't just take everything that is handed to you and share it further no questions asked. Media literacy and being able to think for ourselves and do the research is important!! And as research becomes harder and harder, as sources are being messed up with ai and other fake news, it's even more important to sit with the images and study them. See the flaws, the mistakes. Compare it to other news and images.

This got long, and I started to ramble at the end. Sorry But I hope this helped

#text #ai #how to detect ai #danger of ai #ai images #fake news #amalas talks #anon ask #fake images #how to tell ai #long text #long post

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entitled-fangirl · 3 months ago

Text

A brilliant melody.

Cregan Stark x quiet!reader

Summary: Cregan marries a woman who never speaks. When she finally does, he feels his heart melt three times over.

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), talk of abuse, tears

A/n: I've been wanting some kind of cool transitions for my writing. Like instead of the "...", some people have really cool art there. Does anyone know how to do that? I hope that makes sense 😬

Masterlist

..................................................

She was quiet.

Being surrounded by the loud men of the north made her a quiet girl.

Cregan wasn't sure what to do with her.

…

"You're a meek thing, aren't you?" Cregan asked as the two walked the courtyard of Winterfell.

In one day, they'd be wed. Bonded for life.

She only nodded.

She only ever really nodded or shook her head.

He hummed as they continued walking.

Her father had told Cregan of this days before, as if it was a defect that could put a halt to their betrothal plans. Cregan made sure to assure her father that it was not.

After all, she could speak. She just chose not to.

"Winterfell is beautiful in the winter," he began to ramble. "When the snow falls, it covers all of this in its brilliant white. Do you enjoy the snow?"

She considered his question and gave a small nod.

He grinned, "That's my northern girl. Luckily, Winterfell is warm." He noticed the light shiver in her frame. "Perhaps we should go back indoors. Don't want my future bride to freeze before I can place my house cloak upon her shoulders?"

…

True to his word, Cregan managed to place his cloak over her shoulders the very next day. It was a wondrous ceremony filled with many from across the North.

Everyone gawked at the beauty of the new Lady of Winterfell.

But when one-by-one they moved to speak to her, Cregan was quick to deny them.

The two enjoyed the feast after. Seated at a high table, Cregan often leaned over to whisper things to her.

"You look radiant. Like the sun itself."

"I do believe the other lords may be envious that I have captured the most gorgeous woman of Westeros."

"I do wish you'd eat more. You've hardly touched the plate."

It was a strange sight, seeing such a burly brute of a man whisper sweetly to his wife.

"Is something bothering you?"

She shook her head.

Cregan sighed. "I've only known you for a few days, but I do believe I recognize the shaking of one's hands to associate with nerves."

It was true. Her hands shook violently.

"Is it the bedding ceremony?"

She shrugged.

His brows raised and he leaned closer, "You can be honest with me. I… I want you to be honest with me."

The woman looked down at her hands in thought. Finally, she looked back up at him and nodded.

"Aye. I see." Cregan leaned away and rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands as he rubbed at his forehead. "Then I'll call it off."

He didn't miss the way her brows pulled together.

"The ceremony, lovely. I'll call it off."

…

Not long after, Cregan stood and held his hand out to her. "May I dance with you, dear wife?"

She grabbed his hand with enthusiasm. It seemed she didn't need words, for expressions were enough.

He smiled at her as he lead her to the dance floor.

Cregan was a lousy dancer. Being a northern lord meant there were many more important matters than learning how to properly dance. So, it was put aside.

He knew the steps in truth, and he could lead just fine, his steps were just too harsh, his movements too calculated.

It was just not how he expressed himself.

She, though, was marvelous.

It was as if each step was not one of a practiced art. It was as if it was how she naturally moved.

Cregan was in so much awe that he nearly forgot to continue the lead.

She didn't need words to express herself. Her movements were enough.

He felt as if he was finally seeing her.

And she was beautiful.

The song ended, to Cregan's surprise as he snapped from his thoughts, and the guests clapped for their Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

…

Honoring his word, Cregan forbade the ceremony. No other living creature would be a witness to their consummation but the two of them.

After laying her upon the rich furs upon their bed, he was careful to properly prepare her to take him.

Now, he forced himself to do so slowly, his hips slowly pushed to meet hers as he entered her.

She hissed lightly at the pain, and he swore he heard a small noise come from her throat instinctually.

He began to wonder what her voice sounded like.

Once seated in her fully, he paused to give her a moment to breathe. Her breath was quickened and her hands gripped his biceps as she tried to regain herself.

Cregan placed a light kiss to her lips, basking in the newness of her lips against his, as well as the eagerness she gave back as they did so.

Her hands slid up to cup his cheeks, suddenly gaining confidence.

"Have you adjusted, pretty girl?"

He shifted his hips, not thinking much as he waited for her response.

The sweetest breathy moan left her lips.

Cregan's eyes widened, and he had to stop himself from letting his lust take over then and there.

He tucked his face into her neck, laying heavy kisses along the way. "Easy now. Just tap me to stop."

And with that, he began to move his hips.

Not much came from her lips. She was used to not using her voice, that it almost seemed as if it was more work to use it then stay silent. It was hard for Cregan to tell her feelings, so he often had to tilt his head back up to gauge her reaction by her expressions alone.

He didn't realize how much he spoke in general until he was around her. How someone could happily be so silent, he wasn't sure.

But if the scratching against his back was any measure, he'd say he was pleasing her well.

"You're taking me so pretty."

She practically preened at his praise, her breath catching or escaping each time.

At one point, he pressed his hips firmly to hers, reaching deeper than he had before.

His face found its way to her neck again, her hands pulling at his hair.

But he paused, catching his breath and trying to instill a reaction from her.

Her hands recaptured his hair and pulled again. When he still didn't move, she tried to shift her hips to gain more friction. He was enjoying every second, despite the mere torture it was to not chase his own high.

He pressed a sloppy kiss to her neck, "Patience."

Her motions should have been enough of a reaction for him, but he wanted more. He'd do anything to hear her voice more.

One of his hands moved down to her clit, pressing his thumb down and circling the bundle of nerves.

A small whine came from her throat.

He felt warmth spread across his body, "Needy, aren't you?"

Her hand made a last-ditch effort to pull at his hair. He could hear her barely contained breath in his ear and a small voice.

"…Cregan… please…"

Cregan almost finished then.

Her voice was so soft. So sweet. Hoarse from its lack of use and so breathy.

It was beautiful.

But guilt overshadowed all of that. He shouldn't have pushed her to the point of speaking.

His hand trailed up her body to the bed, preparing himself again. "I won't deny you any longer. I'll give you what you want, sweet girl."

…

She began to speak to him after that.

The times were few and far between, but nonetheless, he never took a single word for granted.

Because she only spoke to him.

She never spoke her mind in full, so Cregan took it upon himself to do it for her.

In meetings, she'd pull at his sleeve, prompting him to instinctually bend his head down towards her to properly hear her soft voice amongst the others. That was how she contributed to meetings: to tell her thoughts to the only one there she trusted. Over time, the men in the meetings caught on, and would pause to hear what the Lady had to say. It was a game of telephone, barely hearing a peep from the woman as she spoke to Cregan, and he voiced it aloud in his own manner.

When they walked through the busy streets of the city, he kept his hand wrapped around hers, promising to give his attention to her when she squeezed it tightly.

Outside of their chambers, their form of communication was touch, often tapping one another gently.

Inside, however, soft exchanges were common. She would only speak calculated thoughts, not one to ramble, but she would talk of her day, her newest book, or questions of things she always wondered about the man.

In turn, he'd respond in the same manner, quieting himself naturally to match her tone as the two gazed into the flames of the fire that warmed the room.

"I wish you'd dance more."

Her head snapped up to him with furrowed brows.

"You're a beautiful dancer. I only wish I could see it more." He leaned against the back of the sofa. "Who taught you?"

"My mother," she spoke softly. "She was wonderful."

He smiled when he noticed the reminiscent look in her eyes at the thought of her mother. He pushed a strand of her hair from her face. "Tell me about her."

She leaned into his touch. "Father mocked me when I wouldn't speak. Said it was shameful. But mother always told me that feelings are expressed by actions rather than words."

"How so?" He absentmindedly asked.

"Men often say that they love their wives, but their actions are rather the opposite."

He hummed as he considered it. "Have I ever made you feel that way?"

"No."

It was the quickest response he'd heard from her. It only fueled his need to know as much as he could. To know her fully.

"Have you always been so quiet?"

As if a switch had been flipped, everything about her quieted.

Her breathing. Her voice. Her expressions. Her thoughts.

Silent.

Whatever had happened had to have been traumatic to instill such a reaction from her.

"Forgive me. That was too forward, even for me to ask-"

"-I don't wish to talk about it today."

He felt relieved that his question hadn't dissolved her trust in him completely.

"Well," he pulled her to him. "When you are ready to speak, I shall listen."

…

The next day, Cregan meticulously planned. And his efforts had paid off.

She walked into the meeting room at the same time she did every week, to see it lacking its usual members.

The table was pushed off to the side, and Cregan stood in its place as he donned a bright smile at the sight of her.

Against the back wall, a few musicians stood with their instruments.

Confusion spread through her and a wave of anxiety as well, prompting her to only stare at him blankly.

He was quick to correct it, stepping forward towards her. "I've excused the council today. I… I wanted to see you dance again."

Once her mind warmed up to the idea, a bright smile came across her face, accepting the hand that he extended to her.

"I must admit, my love," Cregan said as he stepped in time with the music. "I am not a gentle man. But I am trying. For you."

She nodded, not daring to speak her overwhelming thoughts at the moment.

…

After, they sat at the large dining table, the emptiness of it mattering not to the two lovers who sat together at one end.

"My uncle," she stated, breaking the silence.

His head tilted up to meet her gaze, "Hmm?"

Her cheeks turned a slight pink, "You asked how I became so quiet."

Recognition flowed over his face, "Ah. Yes, I did." He sipped his wine and leaned towards her. "Your uncle, then?"

She nodded.

"He was unkind to you?"

She picked at the skin of her fingers, seemingly reliving the moments in her mind.

A battle within herself.

He put a hand on her thigh, "I will not force you to tell me things you do not wish to."

"I do," she insisted. "But I know not how to."

"Begin to speak, and I shall piece it all together."

She took a deep breath. "My uncle hit me when I spoke out of turn. At first, at least. Then… it was whenever I spoke at all."

He felt ice go down his veins and a feeling like a rock going down his throat.

But being such a skittish thing, he knew not to react too harshly.

"When I told my father, he…" her eyes became glassy. "He said he was right for it. That… that a girl was made to only… shut her mouth and open her legs."

He couldn't keep it in anymore. "And you believed them?"

"When I spoke to you for the first time, I feared you'd be the same."

"I bask in the sound of your voice, my girl. I hope that you see that."

A warm tear ran down her cheek as she looked up at him.

"Oh, sweet woman," he cooed as he cupped her cheek. "Do not cry over false words."

When more tears began to fall, he quickly pushed her chair out from the table and pulled her into his lap.

She tucked her face into his neck, melting against him as if she wished to disappear.

He held her close, not caring when his tunic became damp. When he did speak, it was soft and assuring whispers.

Once she caught her breath, she pulled away from him. "Forgive me."

"I don't believe I will."

Her eyes widened, and he realized his mistake in word choice.

"Sweet girl, you've nothing to apologize for. That's all I meant."

She relaxed at that. She reached up and wiped her cheeks with a sniffle. "Actions have always spoke more than words."

He reached up and brushed a stray tear from her cheek. "Have they?" He asked softly.

She felt a smile come to her lips at his touch. "You are different. You could speak or act, and still, I'd only hear a brilliant melody to which I can always trust."

He never felt such love radiate as it did then.

.......................................

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia

#fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #cregan stark x y/n #game of thrones x y/n #house of the dragon #cregan stark x you #cregan stark smut #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd cregan #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfiction

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confused-pyramid · 7 months ago

Text

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem!reader #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x you

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peachpitfics · 6 months ago

Text

Cruel Summer

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Following your romp with Benedict Bridgerton in his art studio, he asked your brother for your hand! Now you're on your honeymoon, and you're getting a little bored, posing for him. A lady must find ways to amuse herself!

Length: 2.1k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), Penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, light bondage, food play.

a/n: This is an anonymous request for a continuation of 'Guilty as Sin'.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Benedict Bridgerton escorting you to view his artwork, at his private studio, was just the beginning of your story. After sneaking around behind your family’s backs for a small while, Benedict gathered enough courage to ask your eldest brother’s permission for your hand. This seemed strange to the y/l/n family, not one of them had ever seen the two of you together, which showed how much attention was paid to the middle child. Benedict made sure to ask you in the Bridgerton drawing room, just before family tea, for everyone to see. He made such a big to-do, confessing his love to you, before every member of the Bridgerton family in attendance. It felt particularly safe there, amongst people who took interest in who you were as a person.

It was bittersweet to have siblings who offered their time, their attentions, and their hobbies freely. You learned so many new things from each of them, from pall-mall, to sewing, even horse riding. In six months, you were married and moved into the Bridgerton house for the meantime, until after your honeymoon. You would never outright tell Benedict you did not want to move out, but he felt it, he knew.

“My love” Benedict whispered, shaking your shoulders gently. Honeymooning in Paris was something the two of you had instantly agreed upon. So far, two weeks of sleeping late, making love, and eating copious amounts of divine food was your only concern. Of course, there were a lot of other lovely things Benedict had planned for your honeymoon – river boat rides and romantic dinners, every moment between locations filled with fine bread, wine, and cheese.

“Yes, my love?” You grumbled, rolling away from him, clearly having not had enough sleep.

“You must wake up, it is midafternoon!” Benedict exclaimed with a chesty laugh, rolling you back into him and tickling your sides. You howled with laughter, pushing him away playfully, leaning up to distract him as only you knew how. His lips were warm and wet against your own, seductive, and luscious.

“You must come downstairs! The housekeeper has left us a feast and I wish to paint my gorgeous wife” Benedict slid his hands around your naked body, lifting you out of bed as you groaned.

“Again?!” “My darling, I’ll be painting you until death takes me” Benedict chuffed, sliding sideways between doorways and down the stairs to the sitting room.

“What if death takes me first?” You smirked back, figuring you had him cornered here.

“I have made God promise I am to go first. And even so, I’ll have every detail committed to memory and these paintings and sketches of you now to keep me company” Benedict squeezed you in his arms, he didn’t like to joke about parting ways, in any sense. It was his truest nightmare, his deepest fear.

Benedict set you down in the sitting room and gestured to what he and the house keeping staff had readied. Paint, canvas, a staging area - littered around the room were bowls of fresh fruit, bottles of wine, candles surrounded by plates of cheese, oil, and bread. You relaxed back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, cupping your breasts sweetly. You giggle a little, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He nodded to your position for the rest of the day, a chair with the back faced to a very high window, casting a streak of sunlight down upon the spot.

There you sat, for hardly an hour before your mind began to wander, circling Benedict in your mind like a shark in open water. You had learned to become comfortable being nude for long periods of time these days, however Benedict had learned nothing of your persuasion or power when your attentions were dashed. Your movements started slowly, daintily taking your hands to your knees, and spreading your legs wide upon the chair. Resting a little, relaxing your back and cupping your own breasts. Your fingers gently grazing your nipples. But nothing, no attention from your husband. He sat close to his canvas, squinting into the detail of his work, his realm of perception clearly inhibited. With a huff and a light moan, you continued to palm at your own breasts, fingers trapping your nipples in a pulling motion- you decided to pretend Benedict wasn’t here. Suddenly, taking notice, you watched as his brush left the canvas, his mouth hung open a little and he removed his glasses, almost tossing them to the floor.

“What are you doing, darling?” He mumbled, swallowing hard. Your hands ran down your mid-section, over your belly and down your thighs sensually, soft mewls slipped from between your lips. Benedict loved the sounds you made.

“I’m just amusing myself, continue on with your painting my dear” Your replying comment was nonchalant in the best way. Benedict almost looked offended that you would suggest he could go back to painting.

“How do you suppose I paint, while my wife ravages her own body before me?” He blinked at the audacity of you.

“Well, dear one, this is what you have chosen for this afternoon’s activities… Now, you must endure” You smiled, sliding your hand between your legs, dipping your finger in the wet warmth there. Benedict shuddered, wishing any part of him were exchanged with your finger.

If there was anything you had learned about Benedict in the last six or seven months, it was that his desire for you was consistent and all encompassing. Benedict watched on as your fingers circled your clitoris, you moaned and exhaled gently - his paint brush never did return to the canvas. Beads of sweat formed on his brow line, the hot, French summer finally taking its toll in the late afternoon. You reached to the small stool next to you, extracting the tiniest jar of honey. You looked into Benedict’s eyes, holding the jar above your body, dangling your head back and pouring a steady stream of honey over your chest. The sun glistened, reflecting little pools of light off your sticky, sweet skin.

Taking your finger, you swept up your belly from your navel, placing your finger on your tongue in clear view of him, and that was his very last straw. Benedict threw his paintbrush to the ground, thrusting himself up and out of his chair, to march across the room to you.

“What do you think you are doing, wife?” Benedict’s voice rasped, his eyes were so dark, the colour had all but gone.

“Playing, my love” You replied cheekily, sucking another nip of honey off your finger. He all but growled watching your finger slip between your lips, his breath quickening in sheer lust for you.

“Are you punishing me for getting you out of bed?” Benedict’s face was so close now, his nose tip to tip with yours. There was such tension in his jaw, his teeth clenched hard in his fierce need of you. You fluttered your lashes back at him, refusing to answer with your words.

“Do you have even a semblance of an understanding of what you are doing to me? This is unbelievably cruel,” He breathed heavily down on you, desperation flooding his body and adrenaline surging behind, “You can’t begin to imagine the things I want to do to you right now” His stubble gliding across your ear and cheek, making you shudder.

“Show me then,” You challenged, “You are my husband after all”.

Benedict’s hands slowly moved to his shirt, shedding it, and throwing it somewhere behind him. He acted with a sureness and a strength you hadn’t yet experienced, but it was drawing you in. Undoing his pants, Benedict took his hard member into his hands, stroking himself against your chest, lathering it in honey. His other hand wove into your hair, tangling the perfect hold, bringing you forward.

“Oh. Goodness. Seems I’ve made quite a mess of myself… Wife, help me clean it up” He smiled smugly down at you.

Something feral, untamed, was unleashed inside you, your eyes darkening, “Certainly, my lord”. As your tongue reached out to meet his tip, his head lulled back in pleasure, his hand still wrapped around the base of him. Your lips parted slowly, encasing his first inch, and swirling your tongue around to suck the honey from him. Benedict exhaled headily, his breaths deep, but quick with the slightest grunt mixed in. The way he sounded, even now, made you wetter and wetter.

There was something maliciously keen in Benedict’s eyes as he watched from on high, your pretty mouth sucking all the honey off him and then some. His body gently rocked forward, his hand heaving your head forward, onto him in a more perverse manner. His head hung back in greedy caution, grasping to the very last straws of his gentlemanly nature as you sunk to the base of him, your tongue wriggling slyly underneath.

His fingers grew taut in your hair, reefing you backwards. His laugh was low, both impressed and challenged by your ministrations. In the next moment, Benedict had hauled you up and over his shoulder, he was charging up the stairs, mad with temerity.

Entering the bedroom, he threw you down on the bed, scrambling for any piece of material in reach, he began ripping. Four pieces of silk fabrics in his hands, he loomed over you in profound ownership. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, Benedict taking each wrist and ankle, tying them to each to their respective corner post of the bed.

“There” He stood, hands on his hips, proud of his work, “There’ll be no more of that”. Clearly touching yourself had had a dire effect on Benedict’s work ethic.

Kneeling between your thighs, his naked body unjustly out of reach, Benedict’s supercilious smile sick with goofy dominance. He thumbs over your folds, his finger descending, extorting whines of pleasure you never knew existed within you. Broad strokes of the most painful, unapologetically evil gratification. Benedict’s tongue flicked over his lips hungrily.

“I need you” The words escaped you violently, the thrill of his touch, his charming smile becoming all too much for you. He ignored you and continued another moment or two, reducing you to a begging mess beneath him.

“Shall I oblige you, my marvellous bride?” His grin was jubilant and all knowing, his hands came down on your wrists, pressing them into the bed. Benedict’s brutal, familiar kiss sown into your lips permanently, as he pushed inside of you with surprise.

“Y/n” He groaned, growled with unrepentant lust. Your eyes cast wide, the length of him stretching you mercilessly while he thrust in and out. His villainous face claiming your entire consciousness as he used your body to his pleasure, decadent facial expressions, and damnable sounds he was delivering straight to your right ear.

“You feel unimaginably perfect” Benedict groaned, your moans joining in alongside his.

Hands grasping for silk to hold onto, you longed for your own release, grinding your hips back against Benedict’s. His movements became more ferocious, keeping up with the sounds you were making. Frenetic energy began to move through your body, your ravenous thirst for him finally quenched. Every muscle in your body engaged in vivid contortion, Benedict pressing into you as deeply as he possibly could before his own body found its own powerful release.

Covered in sweat and honey, you laid tangled together for a moment before Benedict recalled your wrists and ankles were tied. He chuckled with giddiness, sitting up to admire his knots.

“You look fantastic like this, perhaps we should do this more often” He suggested sweetly. His thumb caressed the side of your face, your panting, tired body unable to give a response. Benedict littered your face and neck with loving pecks.

“We could be one person and I still would never be close enough to you. No amount of time with you will ever satisfy me. You are the centre of my world” Benedict whispered gently. Every day you were reminded of the intoxicants his poetic mind dabbled into every sweet thing he said to you.

In another instant, Benedict had sprung from the bed, running downstairs. You laughed, thinking he must be returning with some of the food the housekeeper had left strewn about his romantically planned afternoon. Instead, Benedict returned with a new canvas and his implements. Your mouth fell open all on its own, blinking furiously in his direction as he set himself up off the side of the bed.

“If you could just stay there, like that, that’d be great!” Benedict’s grin, excruciatingly exquisite, and concocting. He held himself with such pride in his agendum, cockiness seemed to fill the room in a potent manner.

“BENEDICT!?” You squealed, tugging frantically on his bindings, your laughter filled with rich resolve.

--------------------

tagging: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr //

If you'd like to be added to this tag list, please let me know!

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maximoff-pan · 11 months ago

Text

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.”

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens.

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too.

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it.

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to.

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist.

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband.

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children.

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington.

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?”

“How will you get it to her?” He questions.

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it.

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered.

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her.

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation.

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way.

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in.

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you.

“I never do.” Is your instant reply.

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested.

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion.

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through.

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.”

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you.

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.”

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that.

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.”

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge.

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak.

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won.

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot.

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.”

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong.

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you.

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column.

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say.

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym.

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to.

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n).

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling.

“What am I going to do?”

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you.

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has.

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so.

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you.

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now.

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions.

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well.

We need to talk.

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that.

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her.

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you.

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too.

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.”

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm.

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor.

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing.

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all.

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x female reader

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shlonguru · 9 months ago

Note

Can we get one of Alastor fucking you in his radio booth and broadcasting it to fuck with Vox~ pretty please with a cherry on top💕

God thank you so much for your request and this idea, it really inspired me so much and I might do even more with this cause I find it inherently hot hehe. I'm so happy so many people enjoyed the first part of Alastor x Fem!Reader x Vox and I'm a degenerate so I wrote a second. I hope you guys like it too! Enjoy my fellow degenerates! o/

I would also like to thank @wipmoop for their amazing art cover for this smut! They're truly the best you can check them out !

And with this, I present you, drumroll please :

Alastor X Fem!Reader X Vox 2 - Rematch !

Summary : You're tired of waiting for your rematch and decide to take things into your own hands. Are you ready to face the consequences of your actions ?

Warning : 18+, Smut, dirty talking, oral, oral creampie, creampie, threesome, cum swallowing, praise kink, teasing, overstimulation, rough, cunnilingus, hair pulling, bondage, spanking.

Word Count : 4883 words (Yup, it's worse than the first one.)

After the events of the party Alastor brought you back to the hotel, explaining to Charlie that you might’ve hmm…had more than you could handle. She was delighted at the idea of you residing at the hotel and extended an unlimited invitation to you. You had your own room and actually enjoyed the people there more than you thought you would. You thought you’d give redemption a shot. However, you had been dreaming of your rematch with Vox and Alastor and it occupied most of your daily thoughts, as much as you hated to admit it.

It had been 2 weeks since you moved in and you hadn’t really been seeing Alastor since the party, he was a busy man after all, he was usually very polite when he saw you and would give you a hand kiss or wink at you. You hadn’t seen Vox at all since the party, but it wasn’t too surprising. Slowly, you started realizing that you were okay with what happened being a one-off thing.

This day you had just finished exercises with everyone and was chilling having some tea when Charlie exclaimed: “Oh Alastor is hosting his radio show! We should bring him some tea! Where’s Niffty? She’d be super-fast.” She looked around unable to find her.”

“She was chasing a family of roaches last time I saw her.” You explained drinking your tea. “I can bring him if you want.” You offered, not thinking much of it, but knowing the idea of seeing Alastor brought a slight smile to your face.

“Really?” Asked Charlie with sparks in her eyes. “That is such a selfless act I love it!”

“Is it?” You questioned. She nodded furiously before handing you a tray with a cup of tea, some milk, sugar, and some biscuits on it.

You left the group and started making your way to the radio tower. As you approached it you heard the demon speaking into his mic.

“And that my fellows, is why you should never trust a demon whose name starts with a V. I will return in a moment, enjoy this musical break of electro swing.”

You arrived in front of the door and knocked.

“Come in.” You heard.

You entered the room to find Alastor sitting in front of his station, his legs crossed.

“Oh, Hello Dear!” He exclaimed seeing it was you at the door.

“Hi! Charlie asked me to bring you some tea. How’s your show going?” You smiled as you entered the room. Alastor looked at you intensely as you walked past him, his smile as wide as ever, you could feel his gaze on your body, you were wearing a short red dress hugging your shape and flared at the bottom and a pair of black thigh highs. You sat the tray on the coffee table he had next to him and poured him a cup of tea.

“The show is going as well as it needs to be.” He replied coldly, pausing afterwards. “But more importantly, this dress suits you very well, I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since that night at the party.” He proclaimed calmly.

Your face flushed lightly and he noticed. He hadn’t talked about the party since that night and the simple mention of it sent back embarrassing flashbacks to your mind. Not that you regretted it.

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed. This is more casual though.” You replied, not looking him in the eyes.

“Is it now Dear?” Asked the demon searching for your gaze then looking you from the bottom up.

“I'm glad you like it." You teased then presented the cup in front of him and thought you noticed a quick glance at your cleavage.

This was enough for you to decide that you had done progress at the hotel and that meant you deserved a little reward, and if you were honest with yourself, you had missed Alastor and Vox’s touch since that night, after all, they had given you a night you could never forget as promised. You had been a good girl but now it was time to drop the act.

You lingered giving him a good look. You then asked innocently: “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He took a good look at you, almost as if he was trying to gauge your intentions. “Actually, I do, would you grab me the mic from the shelf over there.”

“Sure!” You replied smiling. You made your way to the shelf and pretended to struggle to grab the mic which fell to the floor and rolled under the shelf. You then got on all fours and bent over trying to grab it, almost exposing your parts. After grabbing it you stood back up and turned around only to be met with Alastor smiling widely, leaning on the counter of his studio.

“Are you doing okay, Dear?” He grinned tauntingly before taking a sip.

“I don’t know, am I? Here’s your mic.” You handed him the mic. He put down his cup of tea and grabbed the mic slowly, not breaking eye contact with you. He then proceeded to pull swiftly on it, bringing you with it as you hadn’t let go yet. Your body ended up pressed against his.

“You know if you had been craving my attention this badly you should have mentioned it sooner.” He exclaimed looking deep into your eyes.

“Did I crave your attention, or did you miss giving it to me?” You asked smugly smirking back.

“Oh, I can give it to you alright.” He smiled wider, his mouth an inch from yours.

“Do it then.” You smiled back, holding the fold of his jacket.

You felt his lips crash onto yours, the both of you dropping the mic simultaneously. He grabbed your hips tightly pulling you into the kiss, kissing you even deeper as he moved one hand behind your neck. He then lowered his hands to your ass before grabbing both of your cheeks tightly, pulling you off the ground, you legs locking around him instinctively. He turned around, still kissing you while holding your weightless body and sat you on the edge of the counter of his studio. He grabbed both of your wrists and laid you on your back, pinning your hands above your head. He then proceeded to kiss down your neck and onto your cleavage.

“Coming here dressed this way was your mistake.” He smirked.

“Debatable.” You smirked back.

He kept both of your hands pinned together with one of his and took a good look of your flushed, panting, and eager body. While scanning down your body he noticed something that made his eyes widen slightly before he went back to looking into your eyes with a devious smile. His second hand travelled down your body making you realize how sensitive you felt already.

“You might not have missed my attention but this part of you certainly has.” His hand then rubbed against your womanhood, making you realize just how soaked you were already as you squirmed.

“Listen Dear,” he looked at you, still rubbing your pussy, “I’m going to let go of your hands, but you may not touch anything but yourself with them.” He then let go of your hands and pussy before bending over you, resting both of his hands on each side of your head.

“Understood?” He menacingly whispered with a very serious grin.

You nodded.

“Good girl. And be sure to make all of hell know how good you’re feeling.” He smiled before removing his jacket which he threw on his couch.

“Wha-“ You were about to question but then saw him casually turn on the mic of his station. The sign [On Air] turning bright red confirming what you thought.

Alastor then proceeded to kneel in front of you and pull you closer, to the edge of the counter, he then ripped your panties in one movement and started digging in.

You immediately felt his tongue dig deep inside of you, earning a loud moan out of you as he spread your walls. The moans kept pouring as he enthusiastically ate you out, alternating between the inside and the outside of your pussy that he was eating like the first meal he’d had in days. He kept moving his tongue in motions that sent jolts up and down your body.

Before you realized, your hands had made their way into Alastor’s hair, pulling slightly as the pleasure intensified. You only noticed when the pleasure stopped. You looked down, confused, and immediately realized your mistake, letting go of his hair, as the tall demon stood back on his feet, looking at you calmly, which somehow made it scarier.

“Didn’t we agree on you touching nothing but yourself? See not only have you not touched yourself, but you’ve also touched me, and I am not part of you, yet.” He said menacingly.

“Sorry…” You muttered.

“Too late Darling, I’m afraid bad girls need to be disciplined.”

You stared at him as you witnessed him calmly removing his bowtie then grabbing both of your wrists once again, this time tying them together, in a very tight fashion.

“Good.” He exclaimed proud of his work.

And with that he resumed eating you out, this time more aggressively. You felt your walls tighten as he attacked them relentlessly, grabbing your thighs with both of his hands. Your moans were getting louder and louder as his name poured continuously out of your mouth until you felt the knot that had been building up break and the orgasm wash over your body, making your legs shake in the process.

“Holy shit…” You blurted, panting hard as you watched Alastor stand up and give you a quick kiss.

“See, you know how to be a good girl.” He whispered in your ear before licking your ear lobe. You felt his throbbing crotch press against yours.

Before any of you could add anything, you saw a glowing blue circle draw itself around the both of you.

“What is th-“ You couldn’t finish your sentence as you felt yourself fall down through what had now obviously been a portal. The radio demon fell with you, though in a much classier and composed manner, almost as if he knew it was coming.

You felt yourself land on something soft and looked around. It was a very large bed. Alastor had landed comfortably on his feet next to the bed.

“Took him long enough…” He huffed.

You scanned the room; it was very large and luxurious, like a palace. It was a giant bedroom with huge French windows, and tall wooden doors at its entrance. As soon as you laid your eyes on said doors they opened violently.

“The fuck is wrong with you !?” Yelled the handsome tall demon entering the room. It was a very furious Vox. Seeing him furious made you immediately crave him.

“Well, hello to you too.” Smiled Alastor, still in the same relaxed position.

“Why would you broadcast her for all of hell to listen to? Have you lost your mind?” He screamed unable to compose himself.

“I only did so long enough for you to notice.” He mentioned “And if you were so bothered by it, then maybe you should have noticed sooner.” He smiled wider.

“What a dumbass.” Vox walked past Alastor and arrived in front of you. He smiled for the first time.

“Long time no see y/n !” He leaned in front of you making you blush as you took a good look at his handsome figure.

“Hi Vox! I’ve missed you!” You smiled with your face still flushed from your orgasm. He held your chin up gently.

“Fuck I really missed that hot face of yours, I’m sorry you were stuck with such an ungrateful prick for so long, I knew you should’ve moved into my place instead. You’ve clearly gone way too long without getting some well-deserved action, which would have never happened here by the way.” He said that last part louder on purpose. He looked down for a second. “Dear, you are making my sheets wet already, did you really miss me that much?” He smiled looking at your exposed parts, dripping onto the bed.

“We could have settled on a date to have our rematch instead of you exposing her to every lowlife that would listen.” He turned to Alastor.

“Our dear friend couldn’t wait any longer and well I guess I had to take matters into my own hands.” He said innocently.

“You’re such a piece of shit.” Proclaimed Vox with a wide grin on his face, briefly glitching. “I see you’re unable to try and beat me without a head start you radio bastard.”

“It’s not like I was doing anything you could do anyways, Mr. Flat-screen-no-tongue.” The redhead smirked.

“Oh really?” He glitched lightly. “Sit back, relax and shut the fuck up.”

He turned to you, and away from Alastor.

“Y/n! Time to get that rematch baby! Get your ass on the edge of that bed and spread those legs for me!”

Your body moved on its own at this command, and you managed to sit up at the edge of the bed despite your wrists still tied together and sat with your thighs spread open, revealing your most intimate part which couldn’t lie about how much you wanted this. Vox looked at you intensely, taking in the sight he had missed more than he thought he had and bent over resting one hand on his knee, the other holding the bowtie tying your wrists together with a finger.

“Has someone been a bad girl~?” He teased.

“That’s entirely possible.” You smirked back. You could tell from his face he liked that. He let go of your wrists and grabbed both of your thighs tightly, making you lose your balance and fall back onto the bed. The next instant, you sensed something that felt like a tongue slide inside your pussy. It sent immediate literal jolts up your body, earning a loud moan out of you that surprised even you. You came a little from that but didnt say anything, you moved your head, looking at what was going on down there and saw a big blue tongue, sliding out of Vox’s screen and eating out your deepest parts.

“Oh wow!” You exclaimed not knowing what to make of the mix of intense pleasure, surprise and shock you were feeling. A quick glance behind Vox and you saw Alastor roll his eyes unbothered having a cup of tea on the sofa not too far. You didn’t have time to really process anything as the TV demon kept eating you out aggressively, making your orgasm come sooner than you would have expected. You had absolutely no control over how fast it was building up, you just felt it snap and felt yourself come, arching your back embracing the wave of pleasure, grabbing your dress tightly as you did so.

You felt the tongue pull out of you and giving your whole pussy a good lick before Vox stood back up, wiping his face with a satisfied look on his it.

“Fuck you’re so hot when you come.” He blurted trying to keep his composure, but you could already see his member throbbing through his pants.

“Are you done with your ridiculous endeavor? An attempt to prove what exactly?” Exclaimed Alastor in a tone he tried to portray as nonchalant, but everyone else could tell he was ticked off. “Can’t you see she comes so easily you could barely even consider it a challenge.”

That statement pissed you off because as much as you were enjoying yourself you didn’t like being underestimated.

“I had no idea my enjoying myself would make you this insecure?” You responded smirking in your brattiest tone.

“Oh, I like you more and more.” Said Vox raising his brows and smiling at you.

You could swear you noticed an eye twitch on Alastor.

“You brat…clearly if you’re still feeling this confident then we haven’t gone hard enough on you.” He declared with a wicked smile scaring you as much as it turned you on. Alastor teleported onto the bed next to you, grabbed your hair firmly into a ponytail and pulled you further into the large bed, leaving you no choice but to follow him on your knees before pulling your face close to his. Your tied hands were hanging down in front of you as you looked up at the radio demon. “I guess we’ll have to fix that.” He kissed you deeply shoving his tongue in your mouth making your head spin. He pulled away from the kiss for a second.

“Sorry Dear, I am but a terrible spectator.” He went back into the kiss making you dizzy as he pulled down the top of your dress making your breasts bounce out of it. He grabbed one of your tit with his free hand, pinching your nipple and making you whine softly.

"Now you’re going to use all that confidence you were so proud of just seconds ago and you’re going to take it all in.” He let go of you and you fell on all fours, now facing his crotch. You took a good look and immediately noticed how tight his pants looked around his cock, it almost looked painful. With your tied wrists you unzipped his pants, pulling out your reward.

‘Was it this big last time?’ you thought to yourself. A slight look of surprise covering your face for a brief instant.

“Yes, it was.” Replied the radio demon, as if he had read your mind. “You were just too eager to notice.” He finished. You blushed heavily before giving your best shot at taking as much of his member as you could in your mouth, it amounted to about 2/3 of his manhood.

“Not quite, Dear, here, let me give you a hand.” He chuckled before shoving your face down his member, lodging it all the way down your throat. You couldn’t breathe but it still felt good, you pussy was quivering and dripping, and Vox noticed.

“Damn, look at your cunt, don’t worry I gotchu.” You heard Vox who was right behind you and the moment after felt him give your ass a hard spank. That made you moan loudly, and you knew Alastor felt it when you heard a groan coming from him, you looked up only to be met with an intense and serious gaze filled with lust coming from the radio demon. His hands were both in your hair, guiding your mouth up and down, enjoying himself.

Vox stood right behind you, and you heard his pants unzip. Immediately after, you felt one of his hands rest on your hips and the tip of his cock rub against your entrance teasingly.

“Have you missed that?” He asked, lust exuding off his tone. After a few seconds of his teasing, you wanted to beg for him to insert it but you mouth was too full for that.

“Come on…” He teased, knowing he put you in an impossible position.

In one motion you pulled your mouth off Alastor’s cock and pleaded loudly. “Vox please I need your cock in me!” You looked at him with a lewd look on your face .

Seeing you in that state made him blush briefly before he composed himself again.

“Fucking finally! You’re so fucking hot!” He groaned loudly pushing all of him inside of you in one go making you scream of pleasure in the process. You immediately felt Alastor grab your hair in the same fashion he had moments ago, pulling your face close and squinting.

“Let’s not get distracted now, shall we?” He demanded sternly.

Vox felt you tighten around him as you heard those words, pulling an involuntary moan out of him.

“You naughty girl, you’re loving this aren’t you?” He spanked roughly you before starting to thrust at a rather fast pace.

“Obviously.” Declared Alastor smiling before shoving your face back onto his cock. He was the one thrusting now, in fact, they both were and soon enough, you felt that coil build up once again in your insides. Your eyes rolled back as you felt the knot snap.

Vox felt you tighten almost uncomfortably around his member as you came. He grabbed both of our ass cheeks tightly.

“That’s right, come for me!” He groaned throwing his head back and fucking you through your climax, holding your ass tightly then spanking it.

You had just finished coming when you felt Alastor pull out of your mouth. You exhaled loudly catching your breath.

“Good job not suffocating, here’s your reward.” Said Alastor grabbing your panting figure, pulling you off Vox and propping you onto his cock as he stood on his knees, you were still panting but it was now intertwined with moans as he effortlessly moved you up and down his member. You moved your tied up wrists over his head, wrapping your arms around his neck and grabbing it gently, you kissed him softly yet longingly as the moans continuously flooded out of your mouth. You felt his member grow thicker inside of you, as expressed by your moans becoming louder. Your kiss was interrupted by the TV overlord who grabbed your chin, turning your face away from the radio demon.

“Now you can’t just give all your holes away so easily my dear.” He said calmly standing bent over next to you.

“My apologies.” You replied looking up into his eyes.

“You’re forgiven.” He added with a smooth voice before you felt his lips meet yours. You were surprised at how soft they felt, and you had just found out he could do such a thing. He probably didn’t do it every day, but he was such a good kisser, you were dazzled by the kiss before he pulled out of it.

“Now open up dove, we’re not done just yet.” He grinned.

He hadn’t finished his sentence that you had opened your mouth, eagerly awaiting him.

“My god you’re such a good little slut.” He laughed not able to contain himself any longer, he pushed himself deep into your mouth and moaned loudly as he did so, you started moving your head swallowing his member to the base each time.

You hadn’t noticed because of how gradual it had been, but Alastor was now moving much faster than how he had started, hitting your deepest parts each time.

“Are you going to come again and prove me right?” Alastor smirked at you, pausing his thrusting for a moment and spanking your ass roughly. You moaned loudly around Vox’s cock and stopped moving as he immediately grabbed your head and kept the thrusting going.

“Nuh uh, you can’t stop yet.” The TV demon said as he kept pumping in and out of your mouth.

You looked at Alastor from the corner of your eye.

“What is it sweetheart? The TV got your tongue?” He spanked you again this time harder. Your pussy tightened around him, and he felt it, making his grin widen even more.

You looked at him trying your hardest to stay in control.

“Aww you still think you can decide whether you come or not. How adorable…I guess it’s time I teach you this lesson.” He squinted his eyes challengingly before he spanked you one last time, harder than all the other time, this time immediately grabbing both of your ass cheeks very firmly, not breaking eye contact with you.

“I…” He slammed you against his cock. “…decide…” He slammed harder. “…if…” He slammed even harder, digging his nails into your ass. “…and when…” He slammed hard and you felt yourself dangerously close to the edge. “…you come!” He grinned, slamming one last time harder than you had ever felt him thrust in you and he saw your eyes roll back as your pussy started pulsating around his cock. You moaned loudly around Vox’s cock, who pulled out just in time to hear it aloud. You were panting hard, your whole body going limp.

Vox grabbed your face and pressed your cheeks together bringing his face close to yours. “You’ll relax soon enough bitch, but we’re not done yet.” He then proceeded to grab you off Alastor and prop you once again on all fours. You were wobbly at best. “Come on are you already exhausted? After all this big talk?” He spanked you now red ass making you whine. You moaned softly and looked at him with pleading eyes. Your legs felt weak from all this thrusting and climaxing, and he could tell. He let out a soft sigh.

“Here. Let me give you a hand.” He grabbed one of your legs and propped it on his shoulder. “Now you’re going to take it like a good girl?” He looked at you his eyes focusing intensely on you.

“Yes, Sir.” You pleaded. As soon as he heard those words coming out of your mouth he felt an irrepressible urge to take you and you felt all of him enter you once more, at this point your pussy being overstimulated felt so sensitive everything felt ten times more intense. You moaned loudly while your tongue hung out of your mouth, and you gripped the sheets tightly as Vox started thrusting more roughly than he previously had.

Alastor, seeing your tongue hanging and your mouth open, took this opportunity to push himself inside your mouth and started thrusting.

“Enjoy your own taste dear, because you’re about to taste me.” He declared with a sadistic gaze on his now flushed face. You loved seeing the evolution of his boldness as lust took over.

“Shit you’re so fucking tight!” Vox thrusted hard, gritting his teeth, and digging his nails into your thigh, pulling it close against his chest as he lost himself in pleasure, his movement becoming more erratic as he glitched and he brought himself closer to the final release, nevertheless, he never failed to hit your G-spot with each thrust. You felt it coming, despite your best efforts, they both felt you tense up more and more. You still did a great job wrapping your tongue around the radio demon’s shaft, you heard his breath get shakier as he maintained composure fucking your mouth, one hand under your chin and the other in your hair.

You felt the knot about to snap as you hear them both declare as one:

“Are you ready?”

They both thrusted deep in you one last time, releasing simultaneously, filling you up from both sides as you came one last time, almost seeing stars at this point.

Alastor let out the closest thing to a moan as he emptied himself directly down your throat tightening around his member, slowly pulling himself out afterwards and enjoying the sight of your dazed expression.

“Good job.” He patted your cheek smiling and slightly panting, much more relaxed than a few moments ago.

Vox pulled out next and you immediately collapsed onto the bed, cum flowing out of you.

“Holy shit you felt so fucking good!” Vox also felt all sorts of dizzy after his orgasm. He quickly got a grip and they both grabbed what was necessary to clean you up, laying you down comfortably after Alastor removed his bowtie from your sore wrists and Vox handed you one of his shirts to wear.

You were fast asleep and woke up probably a few hours later to both of them having tea in the corner of the room.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you can’t talk your way into being better in bed, she literally blacked out after I made her come, that’s how good it was.” Expressed Vox with frustration.

“Maybe that or you were just so boring she fell asleep.” Replied Alastor calmly sipping his tea.

“Fuck off, weren’t you facefucking her as well? Wouldn’t that make you boring by extension?” He proclaimed, anger taking over his tone.

Alastor ignored him. You moved in the bed making it creak and earning their attention.

“Oh, looks like our friend has finally awaken from her great slumber.” Announced the radio demon.

They both arrived by your side as you fully came to.

“Hello beautiful.” Exclaimed Vox, with his usual smile and composure. “How are we doing?”

“Well!” You replied attempting to stretch then realizing how sore your whole body felt. “Never mind.” You added.

They both smiled with a satisfied look on their face, almost as if admiring their work.

“Yeah, you need to rest. Next time try not to bite off more than you can chew sweetheart.” Declared Vox with Alastor nodding approvingly next to him.

“Any idea who performed best this time Dear?” Asked the radio demon.

“I mean, it’s hard to give you an answer when you both do whatever you want at all times.” You said with a hint of frustration. “Maybe if you both stuck to one hole, I would be able to tell.” You added, genuinely trying to recall all the events in the right order.

“Hmm, No.”

“Nope.” They both proclaimed simultaneously.

“We will, however, keep fucking you until you give us an answer.” Gloated Vox with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“I’m afraid it’s the only way.” Added Alastor calmly.

“Fair.” You conceded.

‘Holy shit what did I get myself into…’ You thought to yourself.

“Now, rest my dear, you’re going to need it.” Said Vox still smiling at you before vanishing into electricity out of the room.

“I’ll see you soon Darling.” Declared Alastor before smiling and disappearing into a shadow.

To be continued...

Vox is genuinely so effortless to write. I love how versatile he can be, Alastor on the other hand is rough -.- but once I'm done I can fully appreciate it.

PS : I know Alastor is Aroace and I hope no one takes offense to my work. I genuinely take pleasure in writing smuts and I've been loving his personality that's all.

Peace out ! o/

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader #alastor x reader x vox #vox x reader x alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #vox x you #vox x y/n #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #vox smut #smut

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 23 days ago

Text

60 Seconds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: heavy angst, rape (explicit), being bound and gagged and blindfolded, kidnapping, heavy trauma

Request by anon: Would you write something with Spencer x reader (s7 ish doesn't really matter) where you're taken or kidnapped and when they find you, you keep yelling like 'no, no, don't hurt me' and shit like that cuz you don't realize it's them, and Spencer rushes to you and holds you but you're like trashing and hitting his chest until you break down in sobs pls that would be the cutest help. Also love me some team reactions to it happening skskdks OKAY BYE

Summary: One minute can change everything. A lot can happen in sixty seconds, and your entire world is turned upside down when you’re taken off the street in broad daylight. Spencer and the team fight to save you while you’re fighting to stay alive.

Square Filled: laid on a stretcher for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Everything can change in one minute.

That’s sixty seconds.

You pass by the bank you and Spencer have a joint account with. Three seconds. You see a woman and her child playing with bubbles across the street at the park. One second. You wait for the crosswalk light to turn green. Twenty seconds. You cross the street with a group of people. Ten seconds. You stop at a flower stand and buy two roses, one for Spencer and one for you. Twenty seconds. You turn the corner onto a desolate part of the sidewalk. Two seconds.

A van pulls up next to you and two men reach out and grab you. Six seconds.

One minute.

You’ve heard of stories where people are taken in plain sight and in daylight, but you never think it’ll happen to you. You’ve heard stories of victims being tortured, raped, and abused, but you never think it’ll happen to you. You’ve heard stories about victims needing a lifetime of therapy knowing it won’t fix them, but you never think it’ll happen to you.

Until it does.

Spencer moves about the office with you on his mind, excited to go on a lunch date with you. You’re not part of the BAU but you try to visit as much as you can. You have your own art business that you sell out of your apartment. You like to paint, make vases, and occasionally sew. Business has been booming for the last year so you’re not worried about not finding a “real” job any time soon.

Lunch time comes but you don’t show up, and Spencer thinks you might have gotten lost in a project. That tends to happen a lot, so he calls you to see if you’re going to be free any time soon. You don’t answer.

“Reid, JJ got something for us.”

Spencer puts his phone away and will call you later when he has a minute. Just like that, you’re pushed to the back of his mind. He has victims to save and bad guys to put away.

He just doesn’t realize that the victim this time is you.

The two men who took you were only the delivery boys. The men who have you are much worse. Spencer must be on a case if he hasn’t tried to contact you. Maybe he has. You’re not sure. You’re also not sure how many hours have passed or if it’s the next day. Time stops when all you can think about is pain.

They put a blindfold on you as soon as they stole you from the street so you’re not sure where you are in the world or what the room even looks like. All you know is that it stinks in here like dirt, sweat, and blood.

You’re hanging from the middle of the room by your wrists, your toes barely touching the ground. You’ve been suspended like this for so long that you’ve lost all feeling in your hands due to the rope biting into your wrists and cutting off circulation. If you’re lucky, they’ll fall off.

You’re stripped bare to just your panties. Those men love easy access where they can get it. Cuts adorn your once smooth skin and dried blood cake down your body. If you don’t give them what they want, they get violent. You’re surprised you’re not dead right now. They’ve beaten, raped, and abused your body multiple times in a single day.

You just hope that wherever you are, Spencer comes soon. You’re not sure how much of this you can take.

Spencer comes home after a grueling seven days in the field. All he wants to do is take a hot shower and snuggle in bed with you.

“Y/N? You home?” Spencer turns on the light but you’re not there to greet him like you normally are. “Y/N?”

He walks to the bedroom thinking you’re sleeping but frowns when he sees the bed is perfectly made as if no one has used it in a while. He checks the guest room but you’re not in there either. He takes out his phone and calls you but it goes straight to voicemail. He checks the Life 360 app only to see your phone is located in some ditch on the side of the road.

Now he starts to panic.

“Can’t get enough of this team? You just saw us for a week straight,” JJ jokes when she answers his call.

“Is Y/N with you?”

“No.”

“Have you seen her or talked to her all week?”

“No. What’s going on?”

“I think she’s missing,” he panics.

“Who, calm down, Spencer. Why do you think she’s missing?”

“She’s not home, she hasn’t been answering all week, her phone goes straight to voicemail, and I can see her location is in a ditch somewhere off the side of the road. You don’t think…”

“I don’t think what?”

“Do you think she was taken by the Daylight Killer?”

The Daylight Killer has been on the BAU’s radar for quite some time now. They take innocent women off the street in broad daylight only to return them back to their families after weeks. During those weeks, these women endure harsh psychological and physical torture. The BAU hasn’t been able to capture this man because they don’t think he’s working alone. If anything, it’s an organization that keeps him hidden from the authorities.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Spence.”

“JJ, she always answers her phone. Her biggest fear is me not picking up mine because of our job.”

“I’ll get the team together.”

Spencer immediately heads back to work and meets the team in the briefing room. They already have the victims of the Daylight Killer posted on the bulletin boards despite not having concrete evidence that you’ve been taken by him.

“What do we know?”

“I have already looked at the security cameras around your apartment, this building, and everything in between.” Penelope puts pictures of you on the screen for all to see. “She was last seen walking down Main Street when she stopped at a flower vendor on the corner of Main Street and Dobson Road. She turns the corner and continues to walk toward the BAU.” Penelope puts up three more pictures, one of you walking, another with a car parked right next to you, and the other with you gone. “This car stops next to her and she isn’t seen on any other cameras.”

“Did you get a plate?” Derek asks.

“Only a partial, but the system hasn’t come up with anything yet. You’ll be the first to know.”

“What if it is him? Do you know what he does to his victims?” Spencer asks with tears in his eyes.

“We need to speak to the survivors and see if they can remember their time with him.”

“You want to put them through that pain again?” Emily asks.

“What other choice do we have?” Rossi asks.

It’s safe to say that the victims of the Daylight Killer were less than thrilled to have to relive their experiences. Some of them are still in the hospital recovering from their injuries while others are locked away in their houses too afraid to go outside. There are only two girls who are brave enough to come forward. Confident that if they help the BAU, the men will get caught.

“If you need to stop at any time, please let us know,” JJ says gently.

“Okay,” Stacy, one of the victims, whispers.

“Close your eyes and focus on the sound of my voice.” Stacy does, and she wrings her fingers together nervously. “When you were taken, do you remember what you could feel?”

“You mean besides their hands on me?”

“I can only imagine this is hard for you but don’t focus on them.” Stacy nods and tries to relax. “Focus on the car ride. Was it bumpy? Smooth?”

“Smooth but then it became bumpy like they were driving on rocks or a dirt road.”

“How long were you on that road for?”

“It seemed like hours but probably ten minutes.”

“Then what?”

“They parked and took me out of the car. I was still blindfolded.”

“What was underneath your feet? Rocks? Dirt? Concrete?”

“Sticks. Dirt.”

“So, you were in the woods. What did you smell?”

“Dirt. Nature. It was musty.”

“What did you hear?”

“Insects. However, they stopped once we started walking.”

Spencer leaves the room after hearing enough from Stacy. So, they are keeping their victims in the woods. What woods, is the question.

The best part about you is Spencer. He brings out the best in you and pushes you to do your best in everything you do, especially with your art business. He never goes a day without telling you he loves you, and he shows it with the little things he does. He leaves out little notes for you on the kitchen counter before work, he buys you cookies and other sweets before he comes home, and he gets you flowers every single week.

Even in bed, he’s super loving. Sure, he’s been rough with you a few times but your favorite is how gentle he can be. He can spend hours in bed just worshiping you before giving you his sock. He fits so well inside of you like he was made for you. Even now, you can picture him bending you over and sliding his cock into your pussy. He touches your skin as if he’s mapping every inch of your body. He rarely leaves behind any marks because it reminds him that he can hurt you. He’s seen too much in the field to leave marks on you.

You’re pulled from your dream with Spencer when one of the men slaps your ass hard. His dick feels nothing like Spencer’s. He doesn’t care if he stretches you too much or if he doesn’t fit. He’s still slamming into you from behind and chasing his release. Your entire body aches from the pain but you refuse to give him and the other men the one thing they crave.

You refuse to cry.

You slip back into your dream and replace the man raping you with Spencer who loves you.

“According to the camera’s timestamp, she’s been missing for a week. Do you know what these men do to these women? What are they doing to her right now?” Spencer panics.

“I know it’s hard but you can’t think like that. We’re doing everything we can to try and find her. Right now, we have two women who remember being in the woods which means this unsub or unsubs need privacy. They can’t risk anyone finding them so they have to be isolated. That narrows down a lot of places,” Hotch says.

“They can’t be far either because Virginia PD is always on the scene whenever they release these women. They have to have a place close enough to where they can grab someone and release another in the span of hours.”

“Garcia, anything?”

Penelope pulls up a map of the area and circles the places where it’s likely the unsubs are located. All are in densely forested areas with nothing around them for miles.

“Based on the survivors’ accounts of being in the woods and the fact that they both said they weren't in the car for long once they got onto the dirt road, I estimate that the unsubs are located in one of five places. Every single victim has been released at a gas station before walking into town where there is reception.”

“That’s too many to go to. They could see us coming and leave. How are we going to narrow down this list?”

JJ comes marching into the room with a look of determination and worry on her face.

“We got another woman missing. Melissa Summers was out jogging when she was taken. This time, there were witnesses. They witnessed a ‘dirty white van’ and ‘two men grabbing Melissa off the streets’. They saw a partial plate which matches the one who took Y/N.”

Spencer goes rigid at the news because there are two reasons why they took someone early. They normally keep their victims for two or three weeks before releasing them and grabbing someone new. You’ve been gone for just over a week. Either they changed their minds and let you go early or you’re dead.

Spencer doesn’t have to say anything for everyone to know what he’s thinking.

“Reid, don’t go there,” Derek warns.

“Too late.”

Spencer leaves the room just before he bursts into tears. He can handle being by your side while you heal from their abuse but he can’t handle the thought of you being dead.

You wish that was the case. You wish they had killed you. After a week and a half of abusing your body for their pleasure, they leave you to rot on a dirty mattress with your hands tied behind you, duct tape over your mouth, and a blindfold over your eyes. The door opens but you don’t have enough energy to react. You’ve been saving your energy for when it matters the most.

“What should we do with her?”

They must have another girl if they’re already talking about disposing of you.

“We should just kill her, boss,” another man says. “She doesn’t make it fun. She doesn’t cry or beg like the others.”

“We should just leave her here and move on. She hasn’t seen our faces. She doesn’t look like she’ll talk.”

“Enough. Both of you. I’ll decide what to do with her when I’m done with her.”

The door closes and you’re back to lying in the darkness.

“Okay, so according to her parents, Melissa goes on a run on the same route every night. It’s on Mason Trail located next to a gas station. It’s one of the ones Penelope circled,” JJ says.

“We should go check it out,” Spencer suggests. “What harm will it do? The best case is we find the men responsible. Worst case is she’s not there and we try again. We have to do something.”

“I’m with Reid on this one,” Derek says.

“If we’re wrong and she’s not there, it could ruin everything,” Rossi says.

“You’re both right,” Hotch says. “Let’s go.”

The team, as quietly as they can, make their way to the house deep in the woods located near Mason Trail. It’s not quite night but Hotch keeps the headlights off to prevent anyone from seeing the sleek black cars. Virginia PD is right behind them because, despite the concern about this not being the location, Spencer has a feeling it is.

They park several hundred yards away from the house and finish the rest of the way on foot. If this is the house and someone is home, they won’t take kindly to Derek announcing that the FBI is at their door. Instead, he kicks down the door and just barges in.

There are four men sitting around the table playing poker who all jump up from shock. They reach for their guns but the FBI is quicker. Derek, Rossi, Hotch, and Emily take down the four men while the police search the house to clear the other rooms.

“Where is she?” Spencer asks once they are all in handcuffs.

“Dead.”

“There’s a door to the basement,” one of the officers announces.

Spencer refuses to believe you’re dead. Hotch leaves the unsubs in the care of Virginia PD and follows Spencer down to the basement. Light floods the room and Spencer pauses when he sees Melissa strung up wearing nothing but her panties, and you lying on a dirty mattress in the corner.

Emily and JJ immediately go to Melissa to help her down, and she starts to cry when she realizes she is being saved.

“You’re okay now. They’re not going to hurt you anymore,” JJ soothes.

Spencer runs over to you and unties the rope that binds your wrists. The second you’re free, you find the burst of energy you’ve been saving. You swing at the person who is above you thinking it’s one of the men.

Spencer grabs your wrists and tries to stabilize you but you’re thrashing too much for him to control. Derek comes over and helps Spencer hold you down, and Spencer removes the duct tape from your mouth.

“Y/N--”

“No, let me go!” you beg.

“You got her?”

“Yeah, I got her.”

Spencer lets go of you and Derek has to use his whole body to hold you still even though you’re still trying to get away. Spencer removes your blindfold and you blink rapidly to counteract the brightness of the dim lights. For someone who has had a blindfold on the entire time you’ve been here, the dim lighting it very bright to you. You look around and lock eyes with Derek who is the one who is holding you. You notice JJ and Emily caring for Melissa, and Spencer comes into view in front of you.

Almost immediately, you begin sobbing. You’re free. You’re safe now. You’re not going to hurt anymore. Every single tear you have been holding back is now coming out and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. Derek lets you go knowing you’re not going to start swinging which allows Spencer to pull you into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, darling. You’re safe now. You’re okay now.”

You bury your face in Spencer’s chest and sob and wail as loud as you can. Spencer can’t stop his tears from falling, and he looks at the rest of the team. JJ and Emily are in tears, Derek is clenching his jaw tightly, Hotch has a stoic look on his face but is breaking down inside, and Rossi has to look away before he cries.

“We need a medic,” Hotch says into his mic.

By the time the ambulance arrives, your sobs have died down to quiet cries. The men are all arrested and put into separate cop cars, and you’re laid onto a stretcher. Melissa is taken to the hospital in another ambulance, and you’re put into the back of the first one.

“Spencer,” you whimper.

“I’m right here.” He climbs into the back and sits next to you. He grabs your hand and runs his thumb across the back of your hand. “I’m right here. You’re safe now.”

“Please don’t leave me,” you cry.

“I’m not. I’m right here. You’re not alone. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

The entire ride to the hospital is you crying over your innocence being destroyed and Spencer trying not to cry.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst

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bluesidez · 8 months ago

Text

The Love Lab presents:

Boyfriend is to Husband

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!Reader

summary: How would Miguel react if you did the “calling my bf my husband” trend? 🤔

content warning: It gets a little suggestive, but other than that, it’s fluff fluff fluff. There are short mentions of food, but nothing too crazy. The Miguel in here is also not Spiderman. Just a little guy.

credit for art and dividers: Me! and @kimjiho1 (plus another person for the gif divider, if this is yours, lmk!)

a/n: This will be apart of a series called The Trendy Couple! This is the first installment ☝🏾😌. I’m not sure how long the series will be, but right now it’s just based off of cute couple's trends. My fyp has suffered trying to do research for this…

word count: 2.2k

I use the word "buggy" in here. Buggy = shopping cart or trolley. I'm southern so buggy just rolls off the tongue. ❤︎ Plus, it sounds cute!

You and Miguel have been out since 8 am running errands and grabbing supplies to fill up the new apartment.

After a year of your dresser being full of his sweatpants and hoodies and his furniture hosting several of your blankets, his fridge being stocked of your favorite fruits and your shower caddy holding his body care, you both decided it was best to live together.

Towel sets, bed sheets, comforters, silverware, curtains. This was only the tip of what you and Miguel had managed to stuff inside the car.

After hitting five shops just that morning, you opted to stay in the car while Miguel went and handled a pickup order from the hardware store. It was getting closer to lunchtime and you didn’t want to become irritable because of the long lines.

To pass the time, you decided to scroll on TikTok, watching video after video, reacting to each accordingly.

First, it was chatty kitties begging for food. Then, it was edits of hot wrestlers. Next, it was ramen recipes to cook at 2am. There were even a couple of NPC lives even though the trend was nearly dying at this point.

Finally, you scrolled to a video hosting a girl and her boyfriend huddled together in a car over the console.

She’s leaned up against him, her smile beaming, “Today I’m going to be guessing my husband’s favorite things!”

“I’m not your husband,” are the words that shoot from her boyfriend’s mouth, fast as lightning. Cold. Unkind. Callous.

You watch as the girl’s smile drops and the video cuts, her laughing out of shock beforehand, evidence of her trying to stamp out her embarrassment.

You watch more as his grin widens and she gives him this awkward glance.

“Not yet,” he adds, seeing how quiet she was.

The video ends with her jumping at him playfully, trying to play the situation of.

“Jesus,” you sigh, mouth turned sideways as you pause the video and open up the comments. Thousands of people were telling her to dump him, others questioning why he would say what he said in the way that he did.

Your heart went out to the girl who clearly wanted to do a harmless joke that completely backfired.

You liked a comment about this being a possible red flag. Although he could have responded that way because he wasn’t ready for marriage, his response was so quick and distant that it was like he was disgusted at the possibility of being with her that long.

After working yourself up by scrolling through the comments, you decide to go even further by pressing the “calling my boyfriend ‘husband’” search at the top.

There were so many stitches to the original video with people giving their own thoughts about the situation. Some people were proclaimed dating coaches, others psychologists, and a few influencers.

You even see a follow up video from the original couple with the guy giving a shitty excuse as to why he was so quick in his response.

“Yeah right,” you mumble, watching the girl snicker at her boyfriend’s pouts. You agree with the comments that his response makes the original video even worse.

Still scrolling down, you find another video featuring a new couple.

They’re at a table eating donut holes out of a hat, and when the girl calls her boyfriend “husband”, the guy’s entire body lights up. He’s grinning, cheeks rosy, and can’t stop staring back at his girlfriend.

From there, you were able to see countless other couples with cute videos, all of the guys radiating at the word “husband.”

Biting your lip, you wondered how Miguel would react if you called him your husband.

You loved him with all of your heart and you were sure that he loved you. You guys are literally moving into an apartment together. But the thought of him being unsettled by you calling him your husband weighed on you.

Just as you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a knock near the trunk of the car startling you. Looking up in the rearview mirror, you see Miguel standing with a few bags and wood planks in his hands. You reach over and press a button to pop open the trunk.

“Got everything?” you ask, turning to watch as he drops items in the back.

“Yeah, I think so. Although there was almost a brawl over some potted plants,” he said. “Some older lady just came up to this guy and snatched his monsteras.”

“What?” you respond, watching as he closed the trunk and walked around to the driver's seat. “Out of his hands or the buggy?”

Miguel laughed, both recalling the scene and finding your terms adorable. “She just came up and snatched it out of the cart while he was waiting at the end of the line. She swore that she saw it first.”

You listened to him retell the story, hand under your chin as you leaned closer. He was cute, lilt in his voice to make an impression of the plant thief. Thinking to yourself that you liked this little moment of playfulness, you take your phone out to record.

Placing your phone in a case attached to the dashboard, you smile at the camera while Miguel’s still going.

“‘You youngins think the world owes you everything, and that’s just not the case!’ And the poor guy is standing there going ‘ma’am, I just want my plant back.’ He looked so distressed.”

“I would be too! A random lady just shopped from my buggy. It’s like, why are you this close to me to see what I’m trying to buy?”

Miguel turns the car on and buckles up. “It started to escalate when the lady’s friend came over. Then there were two shrill voices fussing at this guy.”

He started to back the car out of the parking spot, hand behind your seat and head turned towards the back window.

You slowly glanced at his arm, eyes tracing a vein up his shirt.

Too bad you were in a car right now or else you’d let his arm wrap around you elsewhere.

You tune back into his words, silently scolding yourself for letting something so simple get you to fold.

“Luckily, I was able to calm them both down. All it took was me showing them some dasheen leaves,” he said, driving the car closer to the exit of the parking lot.

You came to a conclusion. There was no better time than the present.

“Aw, look at my husband. Saving the day with his genius,” you say, hand reaching out to pat his chest.

Then you feel your body jerk to the right. The seat belt tightens as the car jerkingly swerves in between two parking spaces.

You stare in a panic at Miguel who puts the car in park and turns his entire body towards you.

“What did you just call me?” he asks, eyes searching yours, a little startled but mostly hopeful.

You decide to keep the charades going, “I was just praising my husband for stopping the creation of another Karen video. Why did you turn the car like that?” You’re still looking at him as if he has two heads.

“You just-!” Miguel takes your hands into his and places his forehead on his fists. “Baby, you know what you just said.”

You laugh, a little giddy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Miguel leans back against his seat and closes his eyes, reaching down to take his seatbelt off. His eyebrows scrunch up as he brings your hand to his chest, “Feel my heartbeat.”

Your mouth drops as you feel his heart rattling against his chest. He really wasn’t being dramatic.

“Baby look at me,” you grab his hands and hold them tight. “You did a good job today.”

His breath stopped, as he looked at you. His face was tinted from the whole fiasco.

“Husband.”

Miguel’s entire body slumped as he grinned wide. He nearly jumped over the console to sag his body onto yours.

His shoulders were shaking and you heard his laugh muffled by your shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and make a face at the camera.

“What’s up, Mig?” you say, trying to get him to talk.

He mumbled into your clothes, shoulders still shaking.

“I can’t hear you, you gotta sit up.”

He sits up and sniffles, turning his head toward the backseat.

Looking at his profile you can see a few streaks down his face.

“Are you crying?” you ask, turning his face towards yours.

Miguel swipes his wrist across his cheeks, “Stop, this is extremely embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not! I promise it’s not,” you say, rubbing your thumb across his ear. “Talk to me.”

He chuckled, eyes looking down, “It just feels really good to know that you think of me that way. We don’t have to ever cross that line, but one day, if you would like, we can make that title true.”

“Is this a pre-proposal?” you ask, heartbeat in your ears. You went out on a limb to follow a trend, not knowing how it would end. Now you’re staring at Miguel’s flushed face with his heart pouring out into your lap.

“Maybe,” he whispered, grabbing your hands. “Possibly a promise for what could be.”

You bite your lip to hold back a grin, “Can I know what could be right now?”

“And expose my plans? Not a chance,” Miguel smirked. “Besides, a husband knows what’s best for his partner, right?”

“He does,” you quip, rubbing your hand in a circle on his chest. “He also apparently forgets that SUVs can flip very easily.”

“Lo siento, mi amor,” he says, looking sheepishly at the placement of the car. “Did I startle you?”

You just giggle at his concern and give him a quick peck on the mouth. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that big of a reaction.”

“How would you react if I casually called you forever mine? While driving!”

“Go 90 in a 70,” you joke. “Maybe pull over and do a little more than make out.” You rub your hand down his chest, and squeeze playfully at his pec.

Miguel stared back at you, body instantly reacting to the shift in conversation. “We can actually do that right now.”

He leaned forward and brought your lips to his. You could taste the mint from the gum he had earlier, humming when he pushed further into your mouth.

He started to reach for your hips, ready to pull you over onto his lap.

Your stomach let out a loud grumble, making you jump.

“Ok, let’s try this again after we get you some food,” Miguel says, plastering kisses on your face.

The day moves on smoothly with Miguel not letting you out of his sight, hands itching to hold you in some way.

He also never lets the husband thing go.

As you’re ordering lunch, “One lemonade for my baby. And a water with lemon for me, the husband.”

As you stop in a clothing store at the mall for a small break, “These say boyfriend jeans. Do they have any husband jeans?”

As you’re trying to reach the top shelf to grab the last of your favorite detergent, “No, cariño. Let your husband get it for you.”

As you’re looking for throw pillows and towel sets for the apartment, “You think they have a couple’s set? I want something that says ‘Mr.’ on it.”

As you stop at a gift store, looking for something extra to give to the movers, “Look, this shirt says it’s made of ‘hubby material.’ Should I get it?”

This feeling is only amplified when you post his initial reaction online. The comments were full of people yearning to be in your predicament.

“If my boyfriend doesn’t crash the car when I call him husband, THROW HIM AWAY. 😒”

“Does he have a brother….asking for a friend”

“I needed this after the “I’m not your husband” he in LOVE”

“If your bf doesn’t cry at the thought of you, what are you doing”

“He was blushing HARRRRD 😭😭😭”

“So when’s the wedding? 🤨”

“He was literally cheesing and crying omg”

“Get you a man that stops the car to declare his love”

“What if I did a five mile marathon on i-55”

“He’s so in love with you that it’s palpable”

“He was ready do a lot more than make out 😭”

Miguel saw most things, a little embarrassed but mostly happy that so many people found him to be genuine.

You laid on his shoulder as he checked the comments, liking the funny ones as they passed by.

“Do you want to make a response video?” you say, liking a comment going ‘he’s a good man, Savannah.’

“No, I think this is enough,” he replies, handing the phone back to you. “Let me keep a little mystery. At least until I actually propose, of course.”

You looked at him with stars in your eyes.

“A mysterious husband. I kind of like the sound of that,” you say, wrapping your body around his side. “Maybe I can be nosy, find out his secrets.”

“I bet you would, cariño,” he voiced, nuzzling his chin on top of your head. “After, everything is planned and done.”

You laughed and snuggled closer, happy to be with him.

Once again, I hope you enjoyed reading! ❣️

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and welcomed.

I'm excited for the future of this series and I hope you guys are too. When I finish the series masterlist, I'll link it here. If you guys have any trends that you want me to include, then just let me know and I'll see what I can do!

- Blue ♡

#love lab fics 🧫#husband jeans 👖#The Trendy Couple 💟#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x gn!reader #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara fluff #spider man 2099 #nerdy?miguel idk #soft miggy 🥺#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction

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gumiiiiezzzz · 19 days ago

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☆*:.｡.｡.:*☆ multiple hcs: halloween costumes! with the jjk boys

summary: the costumes the jjk boys would wear with you during halloween ☆*:.｡.｡.:*☆

warnings: gn!reader, sfw, mentions of parties and possible drinking, crack asf, fluff☁️

includes: toge inumaki, yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, and yuta okkotsu

toge: mordecai and rigby, regular show

- your asses will be in the corner crying laughing over some brainrotted tiktoks and lil pranks you will be pulling the whole night

- you two put chili powder in the punch, yuji consequently decided to chug it, bro turned bright red from coughing so hard (you two were crying laughing with nobara and maki)

- will be saying/texting eachother “she mordecai on me til i rigby”

- will be making far too many regular show references

yuji: jake and finn, adventure time

- you two EMBODY jake and finn energy SO MUCH JFCCC!!!

- y’all will also DOMINATE in flip cup/ rage cage/ pong/ any competitive drinking game

- THE happiest of bestest friends in love fools

- you debated going lady rainicorn/jake BUT decided that jake/finn is ultimately more epic 😎😎😎

yuta: kiki and tombo, kiki’s delivery service

- the most lover boy to ever lover boy!

- you two both adore this movie so much, he was sooo excited to make this costume with you :,)

- y’all are off in your own lil world together, people watching, chatting, enjoying toge’s antics

- long eye contact from across the room!!!!!

- he will constantly be getting drinks and snacks for you the entire night :-)

megumi: coraline and wybie, coraline

- we all know he does NOT gaf ab this party, ONLY there for you!!!! (he’s so down bad)

- you and yuji will drag him up for karaoke

- bro has no rhythm at all

- smiles (secretly) at your attempts to get him to be festive

- he loves to see how happy you are in your couple costume (won the costume contest!)

- end the night up on the roof of the party house together, watching the stars, holding hands, talking

* ੈ✩‧₊ TEEHEEE that was my lil halloween blurb, lmk if u guys liked :,)

* ੈ✩‧₊ imma (hopefully) make some smaus based on this short post! comment or send in recs if u have any ideas 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

* ੈ✩‧₊ love you all sm sorry for my hiatus ya girl was busy,,, erm well heh… girl bossing🐺😏 #gradschool #grindset

* ੈ✩‧₊ i did this in 45 mins its 3 am WHOOPS😘

costume pic creds: ALL off of pinterest, so specific accounts linked, will link if anyone knows @!!!

cover art creds: @vah_arina on twitter <3

border creds: @cafekitsune

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giannaln4 · 2 months ago

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Silly Little Bet

lando norris x artist!reader

summary: You were an artist and Lando loved to do what you did best with you, even if he wasn't very good at it. (917 words)

warnings: this turns into a make out (not heavy, very short), use of y/n

a/n: hi lovelies! i know i said i was going to take a little break, but honestly i just need to not think about quali today (still crying about it idk what to tell you). anyway, this is incredibly short so i’m sorry but i still hope you enjoy it! pls let me know what you think!! feedback is very much appreciated 🫶🏻 i also wanted to thank everyone who reached out to me and sent support ❤️‍🩹 ily all so much, i really appreciate it!!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

Quiet nights were your absolute favourites. Getting to spend time with your boyfriend without having to worry about some schedule one of you had to stick to was perfect, to say the least. You always found a way to occupy yourselves, doing anything and nothing at the same time.

Tonight, though, you got to do one of your favourite activities: art. You were an artist, a professional one, and of course he loved that about you; he loved seeing you in your element, so focused on what you did best, and even though he didn’t know yet, you loved dragging him with you so you could see him struggle a bit to at least not be the worst artist the world has ever seen.

Now, he was extremely talented, and if he weren’t a racer, he would be somewhat of an artist; he’s said it himself many times, but that was before he met you, because compared to you, he would never say that about himself, no matter how many times you have said it to him.

Right now, you found yourselves sitting on your shared bed, facing each other, trying to win a silly little bet you made earlier. It was simple, really. You were supposed to draw the other person, and whoever loses would have to come up with a plan for dinner, which the both of you already knew would end up being a homemade meal, eating it on the couch, and watching some dumb show. This really worked out for him because, as talented as he was, he still struggled to draw real people, and he knew he was setting himself up when he accepted.

You knew that too, and you also knew he only gave in so he could have another one of your drawings of him. But that was okay, because another one of your favourite things was to admire his focused expression while he tried to replicate someone on a blank piece of paper.

If he was being completely honest, the top reason he loved doing some type of art with you was because you would always come up to him and help with something, holding and guiding his hand or just being really close to his face as you explained something, so he would never say no to that suggestion.

“Okay, so I do you and you do me. Do I have to paint it as well?” He asked as you poured some of your art supplies on the bed.

“No, just a quick sketch,” you replied, scanning the bed as you carefully chose the pencil you wanted to use. “I’m starving, anyway.”

You started sketching each other; you were faster (and probably better) than him, but you couldn’t help but blush any time his eyes fixated on your face for too long, studying every aspect of you to try to draw it. After several minutes, you were done, just finishing up a few details before placing the paper on the bedside table next to you, away from him so he wouldn’t see it yet.

“How is it going?” You asked.

He looked up at you and yelled, “Don’t move!” When you started to get up.

"Sorry,” you whispered, going back to your previous position.

You stayed like that for a while, watching as Lando looked at you repeatedly and then back at the paper, occasionally erasing stuff. He was almost done, but there was one thing holding him back. “I can’t get it right,” he sighed, dropping the pencil.

“What can’t you get right?”

“Your lips. They look too big or too small, and now the paper looks worn out from erasing so much.” He was clearly frustrated.

“Can I see it?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Lando asked you with an embarrassed look.

“Of course I’m not going to laugh; why would I do that?”

“You are a real artist, Y/N. You finished a while ago, and I’ve been stuck here trying to fix it, but I’ve only made it worse.”

“Lando, you are actually talented; I don’t make you do art with me because I wanna have a laugh. C’mon, show me.”

He sighed again and slowly turned the paper, showing you the drawing. “It looks terrible.”

Your eyes set on the paper, and an endeared smile appeared on your face. “It looks great, baby.”

"No, it doesn’t; as I said, you’re an artist, and you know exactly what’s wrong with it.”

“I mean it." You whispered, leaving your spot on the bed and sitting next to him, “Maybe the proportions are a bit off, but it does look great, I promise.”

“Thanks,” he replied with a smile, a moment of silence filling the room as you both stared at the drawing. “You know, maybe I just need to take a closer look at them.”

“Oh- I guess that would be helpful." You turned your body to face him, cupping his cheek and brushing away a few curls that rested on his forehead. “Do you want help?”

He nodded and broke the distance between you, locking his lips with yours as he pulled you onto his lap and his hands fell on your hips to intensify the kiss. You got closer and closer, pausing when your bodies couldn’t possibly get any closer to each other even if you tried.

“You know I can actually help you,” you said against his lips and in between kisses.

“Uh huh” Lando replied, not really thinking about the drawing anymore.

#lando norris #ln4 #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris smut #giannaln4 writes #f1 #formula 1 #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #lando norris x y/n #mclaren #lando norris one shot #lando norris oneshot #f1 x reader

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totalswag · 6 months ago

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nonsense — DREW STARKEY

authors note i've wanted to write a singer!reader drew fic for the longest time. i've read some singer!reader fics lately and it gave me some inspiration to write my own. i hope you guys enjoy reading. this was also requested by an anon not long ago, so if you’re reading this enjoy 🩵. the song choice is nonsense and just think to when sabrina is performing this song at coachella.

summary performing at coachella for the first time with friends and your lovely boyfriend supporting you in the crowd.

warnings none!

Coachella.

This is your first Coachella where you are performing. You will be playing live in front of millions of people. This is the last weekend for the festival.

Tens of thousands of people travel from all over the world to attend Coachella. The festival features sculptures, art installations, and other open events in addition to music.

When your manager called you about being invited to perform you couldn't believe your ears. Now, here you are about to step on stage.

Standing in a circle backstage with your crew, discussing everything you've prepared for over the last few days and having fun out there. This is what you always do before a show.

Second weekend of the festival.

Walking on stage seems like a surreal experience for you. Looking around, you can sense the intensity of the enormous crowd in front of you.

The weather was lovely, with the sun still shining and the breeze brushing over your skin.

"Hello Coachella, my name is Y/F/N, what's yours?" You smile into the microphone while waving away.

You began by introducing the crowd to yourself, your backup dancers, your music, if everyone is having a great time, etc.

Interacting with your fans is one of your favorite parts of singing on stage. You value your interactions with them since you like conversing. When you read comments on your shows, they usually mention how fascinating you are.

After singing a few songs from the set list, you took a little breather and spoke to the crowd saying a joke, making them laugh.

You begin the next song by sipping from an old-fashioned soda bottle while seated in a chair. As you take a seat, you glimpse your boyfriend, Drew, along with a couple of your friends and security.

You two make eye contact. Butterflies fill your stomach. You offer him a small wave, and he smiles and turns around, presumably blushing.

Fans up close captured the brief interaction with their phones out. We'll see it on social media later today.

Drew and you began dating in the midst of season three of Outer Banks. The first outing was Pougelandia, and fans began to speculate about your relationship because it came out of nowhere.

To be honest, Madelyn Cline and you were close friends before she began filming season one of Outer Banks. She’s the one who introduced you to Drew.

"The last song I'll be playing for you guys is nonsense, so if you know the lyrics, sing along," you cheer, lifting your free hand in the air, moving it around with excitement.

"Is it possible we get my amazing dancers out here," you turn around, pretending you have no idea where they went, "guys come out here, we could perform some sort of choreography, you know" as you gaze at your dance crew coming out the set.

Nonsense is about Drew.

It is one of your favorite songs that you have written. When you first released it, many were unsure who it was about until photos of Drew and you emerged.

Think I only want one number in phone

I might change your contact to "don't leave me alone"

You said you like my eyes and you like to make 'em role

Treat me like a queen, now you got me feelin' thrown, oh

You dance with your dancing crew, who are behind you and moving in sync. The choreography is muscle memory for you guys because you've been performing this song for a few years now.

But I can't help myself when you get close to me

Baby, my tongue goes numb, sounds like "bleh bleh bleh"

I don't want no one else (no no) baby, I'm into deep

Here's a little song I wrote (a song I wrote) its about you and me

When you sing the last line of the pre-chorus, you gesture to Drew in the audience, who moves his head side to side while listening to you sing and blushes when you point to him. You giggle into the microphone.

Fans started cheering louder as they watched you motioning to your lover in the audience.

You continue to move around stage all throughout the song.

You go around the center of the stage as your backup dancers finish their final few dances. One of your backup dancers grabs a chair for you to sit in.

At the end of nonsense you always come up with rhymes. Started doing this after the first performance and can't stop doing it.

Told him he makes me weak to my knees

Everything about him just so dreamy

By the way he's name Drew Starkey

When you say your boyfriend's name, the crowd cheers. You saw his response as he mouthed the words "I love you," dropped his jaw, and put his hands over his heart.

"Coachella, you've been amazing to me these past two weekends. Thank you so much. Can we please give a huge around of applause for our amazing dancers, come on out guys!" Excitement in your voice when you call your dance crew out on stage.

Once you guys made it off stage, you guys began cheering with a bunch of energy. Everyone gave each other hugs.

"Water is calling my name right now" you groan with urgency.

Approaching your manager, holding a cold water bottle for you- thanking her a few times as you open the bottle. You were about jugging down the water when you heard Drew's voice approaching.

"Hi baby," you squeal, dragging the y in baby, and rush into Drew's arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. Being in his arms sends relief in your body.

He smells so good.

He chuckles, "You did so well out there, so proud of you," and delicately places you on your feet.

"Thank you," blushing to the point where your cheeks were red. "Did you enjoy the outro of nonsense?" You inquire with curiosity, despite the fact that you already know his response.

He softly grins that makes your heart flutter, "Mhm yeah I did" kissing the top of your head, wrapping his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

"Why don't we get something to eat?" "How's that sound, baby?" Drew asks, his arm still around you.

Your ears and eyes light up from his request, “obviously yes.”

Before leaving you heard the voices of friends turning the corner. The rest of your friends, as well as Drew's cast members who are also your friends, returned to stage, thrilled to see you.

It was so good to see them.

Drew and you returned to the van to change, drove to the Airbnb to relax before returning to watch other artists perform after the sun had set with your friends.

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sunflowerwinds · 4 months ago

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stick ‘n poke | e.w

summary: it’s the first day of the campers arriving and you have a discussion with ellie about tattoos. during the supervised session of the campers doing arts & crafts, she mentions that she knows how to stick ‘n poke and you take her up on the offer. late night tattooing and exposing questions ensue.

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

contains: even more flirty!ellie, oblivious!reader, needles and slight bleeding so tw for that, steve being a himbo ally.

word count: 3.6K

a/n: maybe i love this series. comments & reblogs are much much appreciated lovelies <33

under the summer stars masterlist

The first day of the children arriving was more than hectic. More of the staff came the day after everyone else had arrived like the chefs and security for the grounds. Now, the seven camp counselors, including you, stood in a row outside of the main office on the opposite side waiting for the children to come out one by one to sign in with their parents. You recognized a few familiar parents and children but there were always new faces which you loved to see.

Ellie stood on your left while Steve was on your right. The group wore white baseball short-sleeve shirts in blue, green, and red blocking with block letters reading ‘STAFF’ on the back those coordinating colors. You thought they were insanely cute compared to the years before; it was strictly neon but Dina and you begged for something less bright and more flattering.

Thankfully, Tommy, Joel’s brother, and owner of the campgrounds, heard the complaints and had the dress code changed. You forgot every year how exhausting it was trying to reassure sketchy or overprotective parents that their children are safe and are never going to be alone. Etc. You could never blame them considering what people hear a lot about summer camps: specifically slasher-type movies based around the isolation of camps.

There were a lot of kids you recognized from the summers prior, making sure to let them know it, especially the ones that recognized you first.

Once the early crowd came by and huddled into your cafeteria for a complimentary lunch before the parents headed off home, you finally were able to take a breath, turning to the auburn-haired girl with a smile.

“Jesus, I always forget how overstimulating that is. How many parents asked if I was thoroughly CPR trained?” You exasperated to which Ellie threw her arm over your clothed shoulders, tugging you in for a moment.

“Trust me, I get it. Almost every parent asks if I’m even allowed to work here because of my tattoos.” Ellie rolled her eyes and held her arm up to you, turning her wrist from side to side to show you the tattoo. “Like do they think I’m gonna just grab their kid and shove a needle into them?”

You simply chuckle, resting your head on hers. Her thumb rubbed at your shoulder through the fabric causing you to slowly close your eyes with a hum. Every touch from her felt like a stress relief.

“Definitely. They saw tattoos and thought ‘she can definitely do a stick and poke on my child.’” You hum.

“You don’t have any tattoos right?” Ellie questions as her hand moves from your shoulder to your upper back.

You shake your head with a disapproving sigh, trying not to think about how her thumb was now massaging into your tense upper muscles. What the hell was she doing? Trying to send you into a coma?

“I do want some though. They’re just expensive as hell,” you lowered your voice which Ellie hummed in agreement.

“Well, I’m sure when you do you’ll look even better than you already do,” Elise raised her eyebrows at you with a cheeky smirk.

You shrugged her arm off your shoulder and shook your head.

“Shut up,” was the only argument you could come up with as you felt flustered at her comment.

Ellie merely chuckled and held her hands out in defense. “What? You want me to lie and say you’ll look like shit?”

“I didn’t say that, Els,” you look around as she openly cusses without thinking, hoping none of the helicopter parents heard her.

Before Ellie could retort something back, the two of you heard Joel calling the whole group of counselors over. You give her a pointed look before she playfully pushes you along as you walk, making you giggle like an idiot. When you get to where Joel is standing, Ellie’s hand lingers on the middle of your back as he speaks to the entire group.

You couldn’t believe how touchy she was being. Not that you were complaining but you swore years prior she had never been as lingering with her touches with you.

“After everyone is done in the cafeteria, gather your groups so that y’all can go to the cabins and help them unpack. After that, take them to the arts cabin to make their name tags for their bunks and tie-dye their shirts for next Wednesday for the field trip to the Botanical Garden,” Joel reads off his see-through red clipboard.

The group nods as they agree to the set schedule for the day. Once every single parent had said tearful ‘goodbyes’ and ‘love you’s’, your friends began to round up their troopers for their cabin. This was arguably one of your favorite parts of camp; getting to know these adorable children.

One by one, each of the counselors called the names of all 12 of the campers for their assigned cabins. You introduced yourself to the children, smiling at them kindly in hopes they would become comfortable with you. Some of them were more shy than others but that’s usually the case.

“Okay guys, you’re just going to follow me to the cabin where everyone will put your bags down before we head on over to the art cabin. If you have any questions, any at all, do not be afraid to ask me, okay?” You look at the wide-eyed and curious faces before they all agree to your statement.

You reluctantly had to walk away from Ellie and made your way to the cabin, checking to make sure every child was accounted for once you arrived. After about half an hour passed where you explained the basic rules for camp to all the kids, you gathered them to make their way over to the art cabin.

You felt more at ease when you entered the much larger cabin to see the rest of your friend group already having the kids make the name tags. Your campers dispersed once you gave them the ‘okay’ to go and color.

Ellie gradually made her way over to where you were standing, watching over the kids to make sure they weren’t drawing anything inappropriate on their name tags. Her shoulder bumped your own, a brazen grin on her face. Your brows set in a furrow at her fidgety manner.

“What’s up, Els?” You question, turning to her.

“I may or may not have gotten stuff to do stick and pokes,” she lowered her voice, making eye contact with you.

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at her words. The children were thankfully distracted by the rest of your friends to even listen to what you two were talking about.

“Where the hell did you get the materials for a stick and poke?” You asked in disbelief.

“Gave Tommy 50 bucks to go and get everything from the grocery store down the street.” Ellie shrugged nonchalantly.

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“I could give you one, you know. Free of charge, of course, since it’s your first one.” Ellie added on which really spiked your attention.

The offer was tempting if you were being completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t as if Ellie was a terrible artist; she actually had a bit of talent in that department. She was pretty much the only person here you would trust to do such a thing. On the more selfish side, you could be alone with Ellie.

“Miss Ellie! I need help!” A young boy shouted from across the room.

“Alright, buddy. I’ll be right there,” she called back before turning to you to point a finger in your direction. “Think about it, okay?”

You nod slowly. “I will.”

Content with your response, Ellie jogged over to the boy who had gotten the glue on his face. You internally freak out as your eyes dart around the room. All of your campers were doodling away, chatting amongst each other while you were having a crisis.

You had zoned out so bad, that you didn’t even realize that Steve was now standing next to you.

“Oh, Steve, hi.” You greeted him with a small smile.

“Hey, um,” he cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back, “I don’t want to seem nosy but is there something going on between you and Ellie?”

You snap your neck before shaking your head furiously, a weird chuckle leaving your lips.

“No! No, absolutely not.” You persisted.

“Okay,” Steve trailed off, “you… like her, though, right?”

You looked at Ellie who was leaning over all of the kids' drawings, commenting on how all of them were ‘sick’ or ‘cool’. It was undeniable.

“Yeah, why?” You raised your brows at him.

“Damn. I owe Robs 20 bucks.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. You mouth ‘what?’ to yourself before Steve continued with: “She thought you just liked her and hadn’t told her yet and I thought you two were screwing in secret.”

“And you placed a 20-dollar bet on that?” You narrowed your eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve said ashamedly. “Robin went on and on about how ‘not everyone is hooking up just because I do’ and how ‘it’s different because it’s two girls’. I understand that but it doesn't mean, you know, two consenting adult women can’t be hooking up too.”

You blink at the flawless-haired man, listening to him ramble. Robin and he had very valid points.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyways because I’m never going to tell her,” you added, shrugging your shoulders as you scanned over the area to see if any of your campers needed help.

This time Steve whipped his head to stare at you.

“Why not?”

“Uh, because I could humiliate myself and lose her as a friend. I know our relationship wouldn’t be the same if I did,” you explained with a long sigh. “She’s not making it any easier either. She asked me if I wanted her to give me a stick and poke tonight.”

Steve whistled playfully before you bumped his shoulder. He scoffed at your annoyed expression before putting his hand up in defense.

“I’m just saying if I know flirting,” he leaned down to mutter to you, “and I think I do, she wants you just as badly as you want her. My personal opinion is to go for it.”

You shake your head at his words but don’t necessarily push the thought away. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Robin and Abby whispering amongst each other. Robin glanced over to where you and Steve were standing before nudging the taller woman.

“You know what’s going on over there?” You lean into Steve with furrowed brows.

“No clue but I think I gotta go. One of my kids just shoved a googly eye up his nose.” Steve patted a hand on your shoulder before speed-walking over to this table full of campers.

To your surprise, none of your children had spoken up once. You jinxed yourself almost immediately as a little girl with dark coily hair pulled into two ponytails raised her hand and waved it around to get your attention.

You make your way over to her, leaning over to lean over her small shoulder.

“Hi, Vanessa. What did you need help on, sweetheart?” You tilt your head and look at her name tag.

“Oh. No, I didn’t need any help. I have a question though,” Vanessa turned in her chair, looking up at you.

“What is it?”

“Are you and Mr. Steve boyfriend-girlfriend?” She pointed her little finger in the direction of Steve tilting the child’s head back to see if he could get the googly eye out.

You awkwardly laughed at her question, scratching underneath your jaw. Kids, from what you’ve learned working at this summer camp, are extremely nosy and have zero filter with their questions. You remember just last summer when a little boy asked you what were the dots on your face: you were breaking out the first week. He was talking about your acne.

“Uh, no. Mr.Steve and I are good friends.” You said slowly. “Boys and girls can be just friends, you know?”

“Oh, well, he’s super cute,” she giggled as she covered her mouth like it was a secret.

The girl had taste but you just didn’t swing that way. You didn’t know what else to say but thankfully, Abby shouted over the conversations to turn in your name tags to their designated counselors so that they could get started on the tie-dye shirts.

You retrieve the hard stock paper from all twelve of your campers before tucking them underneath your clipboard.

“When your group is called, carefully walk up to the front table to grab a white shirt. If you need help picking out a size, ask for help from any of the counselors.” Abby grinned before making her way over to you.

You turn to her with a small smile, nodding your head over to her group of children.

“You doing okay with your kids?” You question, tilting your head up at her.

“Yeah, they’re not too bad but I give it a few days before they start pulling pranks on us.” Abby sighs with a shrug.

You nod sadly, knowing how truly creative these children can get when it comes to pranking. You still can’t stand the smell of a bubble bath.

“Well, you promised to help me prank Ellie so you’re really one to talk,” you raised your brows at her with a soft chuckle.

Abby couldn’t even say anything to you as you were right.

“I meant that, too. I got a few ideas for her.”

A part of you tried to ignore the quite obvious disliking Abby held for Ellie. Her tone triggered you from the first day and their little tense bicker.

“I will, Abs.”

Abby simply smiled before patting your shoulder with her own clipboard. You rolled your eyes playfully as she walked away from you. You catch Robin’s eye and she avoids your gaze almost immediately.

Weird.

“You sure this is safe?” You question for probably the tenth time that night as Ellie dipped the needle into the little plastic cup of ink.

Ellie let out a soft chuckle at your antsiness, reaching over to place a hand on your fidgeting one. You, after a lot of second-guessing, made your way to the cabin next door, making sure to only knock on the counselors’ side to not wake up the children. Every single voice in your head was telling you that you were betraying your one goal you had for this summer but your heart was telling you to spend as much time alone with her as possible.

Your mental and emotional state often collided with one another.

Now here you were in your oversized gray tee and a pair of green pajama shorts that had white shamrocks on them, sitting on her springy mattress as she dipped the disinfected needle into the tattoo ink. Ellie had on her signature black wife pleaser and a pair of boxer-briefs, one singular black glove on her right hand. The dim yellow of the lamp on the small desk was the only source of light in the small room.

“It’ll be okay. Now, it will sting a little bit because, well, it’s ink going into your skin but let me know if you need a break.” Ellie gave you a heads up, scooting in closer to you on her swivel barstool. “You said you just wanted a sun with a swirl in the middle?”

You nod as you watch her place a hand on your knee to steady your shakiness. You were nervous but excited for doing something like this. Outside of the camp, you weren’t someone who left their house often unless it was to eat, for school or when one of your three friends invited you out which you declined most of the time.

“Can we talk about something so that I don’t move a lot and fuck it up?” You nervously chuckle.

Ellie sucked in a deep breath as she began to poke the needle into your skin, causing you to scrunch up your nose at the pain.

“How about you tell me about life back at home? Just tell me everything, you know.” Ellie looked up for a second to give you a reassuring smile.

You mutter a soft ‘okay’ as you close your eyes, gripping onto the thin sheets on the bed.

“I don’t really do much. It’s not that I don’t get opportunities to. I just never have the courage to do a lot in my life so that gives me a lot of free time to read romances even though they make me feel extremely lonely. It’s annoying but I guess I kind of did that to myself,” you sucked in a deep breath when the pressure grew stronger on your upper thigh.

“You’re doing good,” Ellie whispered as she dipped the needle back into the ink cup. Her thumb was gently rubbing underneath the skin where she was placing the tattoo.

Great. Now you’re getting aroused and you’re in pain. A dangerous combination.

“Um, oh, I tried dragon fruit and kiwi for the first time last week. It was in a really big fruit bowl with melon, strawberry, mango, green grapes and pineapple.” You blurt out as you remember how delicious the refreshing bowl was.

“Very summer-y,” Ellie hummed with a cheeky smile as she was finishing up the spiral in the middle.

“I thought so,” you hum, sucking in a deep breath as she wiped a disinfectant wipe over the finished swirl portion to clean up some of the dots of ink and blood resting on your skin.

Ellie sat upright to stretch out her hunched over position, looking at you with a gentle smile. You weakly smiled back as you looked at the swirl, tempted to ask her to just finish there but that would mean going back to your cabin which you really didn’t want to do.

“How’s it looking?” Ellie cleared her throat, twiddling the makeshift ink pen around her fingers.

“It’s so clean. How did you do that?” You ask in genuine shock.

Ellie sheepishly shrugged her shoulders as she scratched at the space behind her ear. You let yourself take a few breaths as you brace yourself for the last bit of the tattoo.

“Okay, I’m good now,” you grin as your hand finds itself gripping onto the sheets once again.

Ellie nodded at your ‘okay’ but her eyes locked on your tight-knuckled hand. She clears her throat before motioning to her knee that was pressing into the metal bed frame.

“You can… put your hand on my knee. Just so you don’t screw up my sheets,” she teases as her eyes flicker to her exposed knee.

You hesitantly release the nylon sheets before carefully placing your hand down on her protruding bone. You held back every urge to rub your thumb on her pale skin just as she had been doing to you this entire time. You did, however, feel the little pricks of hairs that Ellie missed on her knee. You weren’t going to judge her, of course. It was comforting knowing how human she was.

“Is there anyone special back home?” Ellie hummed as she dotted the sunbeams.

Your eyes bulged out of your head. How fucking ironic the girl you had been head over heels for is asking you this question.

“Uh, no, not back home,” you shake your head at her question.

You weren’t technically lying. There was nothing waiting for you at home other than your dads.

“So you don’t have feelings for… anyone at all?” Ellie sounded almost nervous asking you the question.

Suddenly your palm grew hot and sweaty at the on-the-nose question. You could lie and say ‘no’ but your lack of immediate response captured Ellie’s attention. Ellie’s eyes flickered up to you with a shit-eating grin on her pink lips.

“I-I don’t.” You accidentally stutter, making you want to wring your neck right then and there.

“You’re a shit liar,” Ellie scoffed as she wiped off the excess blood and ink. “Who is it?”

“No one. Seriously don’t start,” you let out a strained chuckle.

“Why did you get so tense all of a sudden then?” Ellie quipped.

Well part of it has to do with the fact that I would give anything to have your tongue down my throat, you thought to yourself.

“Nothing. It’s no one and nothing, Els.” You shake your head before motioning to your tattoo. “Aren’t you supposed to be tattooing not being nosy?”

Ellie shook her head with a raise of her eyebrows. “So it is someone?”

You mutter an ‘oh my god’ to yourself before she continues to speak. “If it was really no one, you wouldn’t have called me nosy. I’m just saying.”

God, her sarcastic tone both irritated and comforted you.

“I don’t know. Abby is pretty… cool and sweet.” You blubber out, your word vomit causing your head to ache.

Ellie’s features dropped for a moment at the name. You even felt a nerve in her knee twitch. Why did you say Abby of all people? She pursed her lips before going back to the task at hand.

“Abby?” Ellie hummed. “Really?”

No.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with Abby?” You question the freckled girl, eyes flickering to her furrowed brows.

Ellie sucked in a deep breath, shaking her head. You wanted to scoff at her reaction but you simply kept your hand on her knee, allowing her to finish what she started.

“What about…you?” You carefully ask.

“What about me?” Ellie raised her brows.

You sigh. “Do you have anyone special?”

Ellie’s soft green eyes followed up your body to your lips before shaking her head, dismissive of your question.

“No one you know of.”

This needle is digging into your skin and your blood is seeping to the surface but Ellie’s words hurt the most tonight.

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#cherry’s fics!#wlw #sapphic #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x female reader

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utterlyotterlyx · 8 months ago

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Can I request something where Azriel has to pick up Nyx from school one day and thinks his teacher is cute & is very flirty with her?

Yes! Love this idea so much!

When I Kissed The Teacher

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Feyre loves Nyx's teacher but loves playing matchmaker even more. After sending Azriel to collect Nyx from school one day after feigning a studio related emergency, she's very happy to learn that Azriel's affections are completely in the palm of your hand.

Warnings - none really, just cuteness all round

Feyre had always been worried about sending Nyx off to school, even though she believed Rhys when he told her that the schools of Velaris were the best in Prythian, she couldn't help but feel anxious that he wouldn't thrive.

Then she met you, and all of her worries faded away.

You were everything Feyre wanted in a teacher for her child, it had taken a lot of weight throwing to get him into your class, it was full to the brim of children from higher born families, only wanting the best for their offspring. Feyre wasn't even surprised.

It was clear how much you cared about your children, in nurturing them into intelligently creative creatures. Other teachers focused solely on the academics, but you had a passion for the arts, you said creativity helped children to find their passions and grow into more compassionate and joyful souls.

Nyx had run into her arms when she had come to collect him that first day, babbling on about what a wonderful time he had with you. Miss Y/L/N. Feyre had never seen such wonderment in his eyes when he told her in that broken infant language how great you were. Everyone's worries about Nyx becoming a shell had vanished.

The little thing had returned home with paintings, reciting poetry from your favourite passages; he had the desire to read, making different voices for the different characters like he had learned from you. Nyx was well and truly flourishing.

Feyre had insisted that you walk home with them one afternoon, since you only lived five minutes from the River House and it was on your route home anyway. From that walk, Feyre had learned much about you, that you were from Spring but left after being disowned by your family for wanting more from life than being married away to be used as a breeding tool. After that you had travelled the continent, making many friends along the way and opening your mind to the world before settling in Hewn City, only to be brought to Velaris on Rhys' orders because he had heard of your talents and passion and wanted it taking root in the children of his city.

The more you spoke, rambling on about art and books and theatre, did Feyre come to the realisation that a certain someone would be absolutely besotted with you. When you had hugged Nyx goodbye, ruffling his hair and telling him you'd see him in the morning, did Feyre begin to hatch her plan.

Azriel wasn't one for sunshine and rainbows, but even he had to admit that Nyx's and Feyre's gushings about you had him intrigued, even Rhys had commented on how sweet you were, seemingly very fond of how Nyx was excelling under your wing.

"Az, would you mind grabbing Nyx today? I have to head to the studio, delivery emergency," Feyre floated past him toward the door, a thin cloak fitted around her shoulders to protect her from the afternoon summer breeze that drifted along the Sidra.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," he waved Feyre from the house as she dashed down the path shouting over her shoulder what time to be at the school for.

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky but warmth still flew through Velaris, Azriel walked along the winding paths and up the hill to the school, the skittering sound of children's laughter filling his ears as he approached. Parents parted as he walked down the cobbled stone path, not wanting to graze against his wings with slight unease in their eyes. Azriel was used to it by now, the looks of disapproval, the slight fear in the people he passed.

The bell rang and birds shot to perch on the branches of the trees that surrounded the plush gardens teeming with bright flowers and wildlife. Children began to file out from the open door, grabbing their bags and running to their parents with wide smiles, excited to tell them what you had taught them that day.

Azriel spied the inside wall littered will paintings and cards, all addressed to you, as well as a wooden table filled with the gifts the children had no doubt made their parents purchase for you.

Then he saw you, and the Shadowsinger audibly gasped. There you were, dressed in a loose white blouse with stringed corset, an earthy brown skirt that fell to the floor covered in colourful handprints that reached your thighs, your hair was unbound and baby hairs whispered along the sides of your face.

You were sunshine. You were radiant.

Nyx's hand was curled in your own as you led him out of the classroom and Azriel could have sworn he'd never seen a brighter look on anyone's face as the little man searched the crowd, "Uncle, Az!"

Your gaze had also fallen on him and you drank in his smile as Nyx left your grip and hurtled to the Shadowsinger, his grin was large, showing off all of his teeth as he bent down and wrapped Nyx in his toned arms, laughing loudly and asking about his day before standing up.

"I don't think we've ever formally met," you held your free hand out, your other carrying Nyx's bag, "I'm Y/N, well, Miss Y/L/N."

You were as soft as summer rain, adoration in your orbs, and you radiated purity and grace. Azriel glanced at your outstretched hand, sliding his own into it and feeling a force of gravity will him closer to you, "So you're the one that has Nyx ready for school at the crack of dawn," he felt relief when you didn't recoil at his hand in yours, the hands that usually made people grimace, "Azriel," you giggled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your pointed ear.

High Fae.

"Guilty as charged," your voice was like butter, smooth and rich, the perfect balance of femineity.

"Can't say I blame him," he smirked at the heat that rose to his cheeks, at the sheepish smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's very nice of you to say," one of your students walked past you, waving goodbye, and Azriel watched you bend down and fix her jacket to her body, telling her to have a lovely weekend in the sun, "Nyx has had a lovely day today. He just keeps on flourishing, it's remarkable," you had told him once you had risen again.

"I'm sure anyone could flourish with you around. Must be the Y/N effect," he cocked his head to the side at your giggle, just happy to be able to examine the woman who had Nyx all excited every morning. Feyre and Rhys were right, you were remarkable. Like a rainbow rippling in a storm.

"Must be it," the birds jumped from branch to branch around you, like they wanted to keep an eye on you for as long as possible, flitting to the bird houses you had erected by the pond of ducks and in the trees.

"Would you like to walk home with us? Feyre mentioned that you didn't live too far from the house?"

Your mouth fell into the perfect o shape, "Oh, I wouldn't want to impose-"

"You're not," Azriel smiled, looking down at Nyx, shaking his little hand and asking, "Is she, Nyx? Would you like Miss Y/L/N to walk home with us?"

"Yes!" Nyx shouted and you laughed, a laugh that made the edges of your eyes crinkle, you disappeared into the building, returning a few moments later with you satchel, locking the door and taking Nyx's free hand in your own after handing his bag to Azriel.

Azriel was positive that he'd never seen Nyx shine so brightly.

The walk home was full of light chatter, you made Azriel laugh more times than you could count, and Nyx was pointing out random things along the way, looking up at you for approval and tapping his feet on the ground when you nodded and smiled.

From the house, Feyre watched through the curtains as Nyx ran up the path, and kept watching as Azriel lingered behind, she wished she could hear what he was saying to you. But as you smiled, and blushed, and then nodded at the Shadowsinger who was kicking his feet like a schoolboy, she knew it was going well.

Strong arms wrapped around her midsection and her back hit a hard chest, his deep chuckle vibrated through him and his warm breath fanned against her ear, "Playing matchmaker again, darling?"

Feyre hummed with a gentle smile, accepting the peppering kisses over her shoulder as she watched you walk away, looking back at Azriel and waving before turning the corner, "I think this is my best one yet," she told Rhys, noticing the pursed smile on Azriel's lips and the faint pink tinge to his complexion as he followed Nyx up the path.

"I'm inclined to agree."

SO CUTE!

Thank you for the request! x

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schemmentigfs · 24 days ago

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Heyy babes😘🩷🪩

I've got a request for a Melissa x art teacher!reader where R and Mel are married but they both kept their own last names (and maybe they were wedding bands instead of big sparkly ring) so nobody really caught on, but they've never hid it so like if anyone asked they wouldn't deny it <3

And maybe reader is like really sweet and kind and loves to go on and on about Melissa but understands time and place and just doesn't do it at work. Kinda like a grump x sunshine

Wedding Bands.

Summary: the Abbott crew unexpectedly finds out about your marriage with Melissa.

tags 🤍: @lisaannwaltersbra

Being married to Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti is like living with a storm that balances between chaos and calm—blunt, sarcastic, and fiercely protective, but with a tenderness that only you really get to see. She’s fire and steel on the outside, especially when it comes to her students and her friends, but behind closed doors, with you, she’s a softer, more vulnerable version of herself. It’s a love that surprises people who only know the tough, no-nonsense second-grade teacher with her sharp tongue and devil-may-care attitude. But, it's a love that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Though you both kept your last names after getting married, there’s never been any secret about your relationship. You wear matching, simple wedding bands, understated and meaningful rather than flashy. There was no grand show when you exchanged vows, no glittering diamond engagement rings or social media announcement. It was just you and her, standing together in the truth of your love. You’ve never hid it either. If anyone asked, you’d tell them. But most don’t. Maybe they assume you’re just close friends. Maybe they’re too focused on the fact that, at work, you’re the soft-spoken art teacher with paint-splattered aprons, and she’s still the formidable Ms. Schemmenti.

Today, though, is not a workday. It’s early Sunday morning, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. You’re in bed, nestled in a cocoon of warmth, Melissa’s arm draped across your waist, her hand resting lazily against your stomach. The slow, rhythmic sound of her snoring fills the quiet room. It’s not the delicate, quiet kind of snoring you’d expect from someone so beautiful.

No, actually your wife snores like a bear, loud and unapologetic. The kind that can startle you awake at night, though by now, you’re more amused than anything.

You turn your head slightly, watching her sleep. Her fiery red hair is splayed across the pillow, messy from a night of tossing and turning. There’s drool on her cheek, and it’s smeared against your neck, leaving a wet patch on your skin. A small smile creeps onto your lips as you stifle a laugh. She always denies she snores, and the drooling? She flat-out refuses to acknowledge it, no matter how many times you tease her about it.

As much as you want to stay wrapped up in her warmth, you need to get up. There’s a list of house chores waiting for you, and if you’re going to make breakfast for the both of you, you need to get started. You shift gently, trying to slide out from under Melissa’s arm without waking her, but as soon as you try to pull away, she lets out a low, grumpy groan.

“Mm-mm,” the older woman mumbles, still half-asleep, her arm tightening around your waist. Her lips brush against your neck, and you feel her nuzzle closer. “Hm, babe?”

You chuckle softly. “Mel, I need to get up,” you whisper, trying to pull away again.

“No. Stay,” your wife grumbles, voice thick with sleep. She sounds like a grumpy old bear as she buries her face further into your neck. “Too early.”

Her lips press lightly against your neck again, but this time, they linger, and you feel her teeth graze your skin. You freeze, not because you’re afraid, but because you know what’s coming next. Melissa Schemmenti, for all her gruffness, has a soft spot for early morning affection. The moment you try to escape, she pulls you back in, refusing to let you go.

“Lissa….” you sigh, laughing quietly.

Before you can protest, she bites down on your neck—not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to make you squirm. Then she starts sucking, slow and deliberate, her lips pulling at your skin as her grip tightens around you.

You gasp softly, trying to wiggle away, but she’s got you trapped in her sleepy hold. “Melissa Ann, come on,” you whine playfully, knowing full well that she’s not going to let you go so easily.

She doesn’t stop. In fact, she only intensifies her efforts, the wet, lazy kisses trailing along the curve of your neck. You can feel her smiling against your skin, and you know exactly what she’s doing. She’s using her favorite trick—those soft, irresistible puppy eyes—to get her way. Melissa, grumpy and stubborn as she is, knows how to play you like a fiddle.

“Please?” the redhead woman mumbles, voice barely above a whisper, still sleep-heavy. “Just five more minutes.”

You groan, unable to resist her when she’s like this. She can be a total grump, but when she looks at you like that—her dark green eyes soft and pleading, her lips pressed to your skin—it’s hard to say no.

You sigh, letting your head fall back onto the pillow. “Fine. Five more minutes,” you mutter, pretending to be annoyed, though you’re smiling the whole time.

Melissa makes a satisfied noise, finally easing up on her hold, though she keeps her face buried in your neck. You can feel her lips curve into a grin as she gives your skin one last playful bite before settling down. Her snoring resumes almost instantly, deep and steady, like the rumble of an engine.

You lay there for a few more minutes, listening to her breathe, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against your back. She’s a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure, but moments like this, when it’s just the two of you, she’s like a big, sleepy kitten. All her sharp edges soften, and the walls she keeps up for the rest of the world melt away. You can’t help but feel a surge of affection for her in this vulnerable state, her warmth surrounding you like a protective barrier against the outside world.

But, true to her nature, Melissa doesn't stay sweet for long. The peace of the morning is interrupted by her grumbling as she rolls over, releasing you from her grasp but leaving a lingering bite mark on your neck.

“You’re ridiculous as fuck, you know that?” you tease, rubbing at the sore spot.

She cracks one eye open, smirking lazily. “You love me.”

You sigh dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

The rest of the day goes as most of your Sundays do—comfortable, slow, filled with the kind of peace you’ve learned to savor after a busy workweek. You make breakfast while Melissa lingers in the kitchen, sipping coffee and watching you cook with a half-smile. You love these little moments, the quiet domesticity of your life together. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos of school, where she’s the tough-as-nails second-grade teacher and you’re the laid-back art teacher, happily covered in paint most of the time.

At work, your marriage isn’t something you flaunt. Not because you’re hiding it, but because there’s no need to announce it. You’ve always been the kind of person who believes in keeping personal life personal, especially when you’re at school. Besides, anyone who really knows you two could easily guess there’s something more between you. There’s the way Melissa’s eyes light up when she talks about you, the way she sneaks glances at you from across the teachers’ lounge when she thinks no one is watching.

And of course, there are your wedding bands. Small and simple, just the way you both wanted them, they’re easy to overlook unless someone knows what they’re looking for. You remember the day you picked them out, how you and Melissa both agreed that neither of you wanted something big or flashy. Just something meaningful.

“I like that we don’t need to make a show of it,” you had said at the time, sliding the band onto her finger with a smile.

“Good,” Melissa had replied, grinning as she slid yours onto your finger. “Because I’d rather die than wear a giant rock.”

Later in the day, when you’re both lounging on the couch, your wife pulls you into her lap, wrapping her arms around your waist. She’s still grumpy from the morning, but she’s softened considerably since then.

“You know I hate when you try to leave me in bed,” she grumbles, pressing her lips to the back of your neck.

You laugh, turning your head to look at her. “Yeah, well, I hate waking up covered in drool, so I guess we’re even.”

Melissa groans, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face. “I don’t drool, dumbass.”

You smirk, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “Sure you don’t, Mel.”

She narrows her eyes at you, playfully biting at your shoulder, but you just laugh, knowing that as tough as she acts, she’s completely wrapped around your finger. And that’s something you’ll always cherish—knowing that, at the end of the day, no matter how grumpy or sarcastic she gets, Melissa Schemmenti is yours, through and through.

Your marriage wasn't a secret at Abbott, but somehow, most people just didn’t seem to catch on. You wore your wedding bands every day, and if someone asked, you’d have no problem sharing the truth, but the topic just never came up. Despite there being rumors, you figured the quiet art teacher with the sunny disposition and the tough, no-nonsense second-grade teacher seemed like an unlikely match to the rest of the staff.

Of course, Barbara Howard knew from day one. She was your wife’s best friend for god's sake. Melissa had too much respect for Barb to keep something like that from her. The kindergarten teacher would give you knowing smiles at staff meetings during development weeks or breaks and occasionally make cryptic comments that sailed right over the heads of your co-workers, though you and the older woman always exchanged smirks when they happened.

But now, as you’re sitting in the teacher’s lounge on a normal Wednesday afternoon, sipping your coffee and chatting with Janine and Jacob about the upcoming art fair, the rest of the crew is about to have an awakening.

Melissa bursts into the lounge, her usual fiery energy turning heads as she stomps in, tossing her bag on the nearest chair. You glance up at her and smile, knowing from the look on her face that she’s had a day. Before anyone else can react, she strides across the room, stopping directly in front of you. Without a word, she leans down and plants a quick kiss on your lips—something she doesn’t usually do at work, but it’s clear she’s too frustrated to care right now.

The teacher’s lounge goes silent.

Jacob, who had been mid-sentence, looks like someone just unplugged his brain. Janine’s big eyes are wide as saucers, and Gregory, who had been quietly minding his own business in the corner, slowly raises his eyebrows. Even Ava, who’s notoriously hard to surprise, is staring from her spot with an amused grin.

Melissa pulls back from the kiss, scowling as she collapses into the chair next to you.“You’re not leaving earlier and letting me with those monsters today. I’m taking you home,” she growls, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip without asking.

You giggle, kissing her nose that scrunches immediately. And lean back in your chair, as the rest of the room remains frozen in shock.

“Wait, wait, wait—what?!” Janine is the first to find her voice, her hand flailing as she points between you and Melissa. “Did you—did you just—”

The redhead shoots her a look, half-exasperated and half-amused. “What, pipsqueak? You’ve never seen a married couple kiss before?”

Jacob’s mouth drops open, his eyes flicking between you and Melissa like he’s just put two and two together. “Married?!” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, looking completely flabbergasted. “You two are married? Like wife and wife?”

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh, glancing at Melissa, who rolls her eyes. “Yep, Hill,” you say casually, holding up your left hand to show your wedding band. “We’ve been married for about six years now.”

Janine practically jumps out of her seat, hands flying to her cheeks. “How did I not know this?!”

Ava, who’s been watching the whole thing like it’s her favorite drama, lets out a cackle. “Y’all are just now figuring this out?” She leans back on the brick wall, crossing her arms. “I knew it. I mean, look at them. The only question is who lasts longer in bed.”

Melissa narrows her eyes at the principal. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You smile at that, glancing at your wife, whose grumpy expression has softened into something more affectionate. She leans in closer, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before muttering, “We should’ve told them sooner. Now they’re never gonna shut up about it.”

You laugh. “Yeah, but you love it.”

“Hmm,” your wife grunts, though the smile tugging at her lips gives her away. “Maybe.”

As the crew continues to ask questions and process the fact that you and Melissa have been married this whole time, you just sit back and enjoy the moment. It’s not like you’ve been hiding your love, but there’s something nice about finally sharing it with the people you work with every day.

And even though the second grade teacher will grumble and complain, you know she secretly loves that they all know now too. Because, at the end of the day, being with you is something she’s proud of, whether she admits it out loud or not.

From across the room, Barbara catches your eye and gives you a wink, as if to say. I told you they’d figure it out eventually.

You wink back.

Later that evening, after a long day filled with laughter and revelations, you and Melissa find yourselves cuddled up on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms again. The soft glow of the lamp casts a cozy light over the room, and you can hear the faint hum of the city outside your window.

You rest your head on Melissa’s shoulder, feeling her fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. It’s a comfortable silence, the kind that speaks volumes about your relationship. You’ve always loved this about her—how she could be so gruff and intimidating to others, yet so tender and nurturing with you.

As you sit there, your mind wanders back to the day’s events. You can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if the rest of the crew had found out sooner. Would they have treated you differently? Would they have reacted with shock and excitement or simply accepted it as part of the dynamic? The thought brings a smile to your face.

“What’s so funny, amore?” She asks, glancing down at you with a quizzical look.

You shake your head, grinning. “Just thinking about how everyone reacted today. It’s kind of wild, isn’t it? They never saw it coming.”

Melissa chuckles, her laughter a low rumble in her chest. “Yeah, they’re pretty clueless ‘n a bunch of dumbasses. But it’s funny to see their faces.”

You nod, leaning into her a bit more. “I love that we’re us. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The older woman turns her head slightly, her green eyes sparkling in the dim light. “You mean that?”

“Of course. You’re my everything, Mel,” you say earnestly.

Her expression softens, and she leans down to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead. “You’re mine too, sunshine.”

As you settle back against her, a warm feeling spreads through your chest. You realize that regardless of how others might perceive your relationship, it’s what you have that truly matters. Your love, your partnership, and the moments next to her.

You know that you wouldn’t trade this life for anything. Not the snarky comments, not the grumpiness, and definitely not the way she loves you. Together, you are perfectly imperfect.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x y/n #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary

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