#dio headers

[lawc4tboy]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I'm bisexual, bitch.⠀⠀⠀★✩

[rougepancake]

I MADE SOME SILLIES HAHSHSHSJSNS—

(like/reblog if you save/use!)

[andromachos]

hey check your drawing box

D:

[winterzsurprise]

Take a seat || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!reader

Summary: Never in your wildest dream did you imagine having your husband ask you to sit on his face.

Tags: Face sitting, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, smut, NOT BETA READ.

Words: 1.2k

saw someone plead for this one lmao. They asked so nicely so I delivered, idk if this is how it usually goes tbh. This shit's so rushed but I guess I have to squeeze everything out before school starts again tomorrow aaaaaaaaaa

other than that, enjoy! Thank you all for your love on my fics aaaaaaaaaa im running out of header pics da;flkhwah

mi vida - my life || dios mio - my god || mi bella esposa - my beautiful wife || cariño - honey

“You want me to do what now?”

Miguel sighed exasperatedly as he facepalmed, embarrassed. “Don’t make me repeat mys—”

“No no no, I heard you loud and clear.” Which doesn’t mean you understand why all of a sudden. “But why?”

“Should I have any reason why I want you to sit on my face?”

In a gazillion universe, you’d never thought you’d hear those words come out of his lips. Sitting on his lap, you stared at the man incredulously to which he scowled at.

Usually, oral between you both are usually done with you underneath him as he pinned your thighs open and wide for him since he likes the control. To hear him ask you to sit on his face mid-foreplay shocked you.

You pinched your thigh, unconvinced by his sudden change of mind and Miguel sighed once more.

“Is it that hard to believe? Dios mio, if you don’t want to do it, just say it—”

“No no no, lay back down, I’m just processing.”

Excitement thrummed madly in your veins as you pushed the man back into the mattress. Excitement got you removing your underwear in a second before sitting back on his chest. It’s not fast enough apparently, when his strong arms hook under your legs and pull you directly on top of his lips.

Your breath got stuck into your throat. The mere feeling of his hot breath on your skin caused ripples of heat from your abdomen to your fingertips. You’ve always had orals before, it was something he’d never forget, yet there was something about sitting on top of his face that got you aroused more than ever.

“Go any slower and I would’ve thought you’d want to back out.”

“Not my fault. You’re so impatient.”

“A pretty girl sat on top of me, naked and wet, begging to be devoured. Do you think I’d ignore you, mi bella esposa?”

His dark voice, along with his fogged red eyes staring at you through his eyelash sent shivers down your spine, cheeks flushing beet red. You almost slapped the growing smirk off of his face at your flustered state.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you smell absolutely delicious.”

His arms locked around your thighs and you immediately knew you were done.

His tongue felt like silk gliding through your folds before rolling your clit in figures of eight. You sighed, throwing your head back as pleasure slithered down your spine at his every exhale fanning your skin. 

There was something about the stings his stubbles brings as it scratches your skin along with the stimulation of his tongue that drive you crazy. 

You swear you’re not a masochist by any means, yet when it comes to Miguel, every joy, sadness, pain and pleasure felt like a reward from the high heavens that you couldn’t help but accept with gratitude.

Your hand found stability in his dark locks, pulling and tugging his head closer to your heat, causing him to groan, the vibration seeping into your bones.

His hands roamed your body as if desperate to find a treasure in the unknown, nails dragging the skin from your back and down to the globes of your ass. The sting they left in their wake stirs your nerves awake, the pain mixing in with pleasure. You sighed, falling to lean on the piles of pillows as you dragged your clit with the point of his tongue.

Miguel wandered lower, tongue rolling around the rim of your entrance, sending electric jolts down your legs. You shivered as the sensation of his fangs rubbing against your folds, always so close yet so far away.

You gasped when the appendage plunged into your entrance, his large nose pushing into your clit as he pulled you closer to his face.

“Fuck…!”

“You taste divine.” He groaned. “Give me more.”

Bringing his hand down hard onto your ass, you whined. The stinging pain it left had your body singing for more and you knew Miguel was aware of the effect it has on you with how hard you clench on his silky appendage.

“Move.”

“Huh?”

Another sharp slap echoed in the living room, harder than the one earlier and you cried, hips stuttering forward on his flattened tongue.

“Ride me, cariño. Like you’ve always wanted.”

And you swear you’ve never heard anything more romantic than that.

With a smidge of hesitance, fearing you’d suffocate him, you rolled yourself on his tongue, eyes locked onto his darkened ones that dripped with desire. Still unsatisfied, his hand lands another hit on your skin and you move more desperately against him.

You cry as he starts to pick up the pace of his tongue, putting pressure onto your bead and shaking his head aggressively underneath you. He swats you once more when your hips stutter from the stimulation before clawing your flesh and grounding you further into his mouth.

“Harder.”

“I’m trying—Ah!”

Sneaking a hand below, he immediately inserts two digits inside of you. He spared no time hastening the speed of his thrusts while licking enthusiastically onto your clit making your eyes roll back.

Chasing the pleasure his fingers and mouth offered you, your hips rolled uncontrollably against his face. The obscene squelch echoing in the room would have embarrassed you, yet you couldn’t find it in you to flush.

The tight knot in your abdomen tightens as heat explodes from your chest and reaches down the tips of your limbs. You couldn’t do anything but cry as you tether closer to nirvana.

“I-I’m close.”

“Come for me, mi vida. Give it to me. I want it all.”

With his grounding arm reaching up to rake through your back along with his fingers and tongue, the knot unfurls and you come with a cry. 

Suddenly, he had both arms wrapped around your waist, preventing you from fluttering away from his ministrations. You gasped and pushed at his head but he paid no heed to them, rolling and shaking his tongue onto your clit as if trying to coax another climax from you.

“Miguel…!”

His nails digging into your flesh was the only answer you received and maybe the tug on his lips at your trembling thighs as well. It didn’t take long before pain started to blur with pleasure and your hips rocked against his tongue despite the protest of your heat with one hand tugging on his hair and the other holding on for dear life onto the headboard.

You didn’t have the mind to worry about his nose being blocked by your mon pubis, focused solely on your orgasm. With how he ground your hips onto his lips, you knew he didn’t mind.

And with a weak shout, you unravel, flesh and bones, on top of him. There’s a sound of something breaking in the haze, but paid no heed to it as you fall bonelessly onto the mattress. Miguel pulls away, gasping for air just as you turn to face the ceiling.

Your arousal drenching his face evoked something feral within you, the simmering desire in your stomach stirring awake once more. His eyes turned to the headboard and chuckled, reaching over to run his fingers over the dent with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I guess a Spider-Man will always be a Spider-Man.”

“Oh shut up.” You groaned, chucking a pillow on his face.

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (8/15)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @httpsserene @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237 @niahxo @purplelewlew

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 8: Big Fraud

The Ritz-Carlton in Mexico City buzzed with anticipation as the cream of society gathered for the Almave tequila launch. Rorie stood beside Lewis, her sequined gown catching the soft light of the chandeliers. The ballroom was a symphony of clinking glasses and animated conversations in Spanish and English.

"You look stunning," Lewis whispered, his hand finding the small of her back.

Rorie smiled, leaning into his touch. "Thanks, babe. You clean up pretty well yourself."

As they made their rounds, greeting investors and celebrities alike, Rorie couldn't help but feel a sense of surrealism. Just a week ago, she had been on stage at Austin City Limits, her performance with Lil Yachty still reverberating through social media and music circles.

The aftermath of that night had been a whirlwind. Clips of her performance had gone viral, with music critics hailing it as a triumphant debut to the stage. She unconsciously placed a hand on her still-flat stomach, remembering the moment they had seen those two pink lines on the pregnancy test after such an amazing show.

"Rorie," Lewis's voice brought her back to the present. "Carlos was just asking about your performance."

Rorie blinked, focusing on the smiling face of Carlos Slim Jr. "Oh, I'm sorry. It was an incredible experience. The energy of the crowd was unlike anything I've felt before."

The launch was a culmination of Lewis's hard work and passion, but recent events cast a shadow over their celebration. Her mind kept drifting back to the recent developments. The lawyers had been working tirelessly to uncover the source of the leaked information.

Rorie's phone buzzed in her clutch. She ignored it, having grown accustomed to the constant notifications since her sperm donor's attempts to contact her had intensified.

Lewis sidled up beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Everything okay, love?"

Rorie sighed, showing him her phone. "Five missed calls from unknown numbers. I'm pretty sure it's him."

Lewis's jaw tightened. "We'll handle it, babe. Don't let him ruin this night for us." He leaned close to place a tender kiss on her forehead. "How 'bout we get some dessert?"

"Are you trying to distract me with sweets, Sir?"

Her teasing made her husband chuckle, his eyes brightening with mischief as he waggled his eyebrows seductively. "Is it working? Because I'd love to get you back to the hotel room and cover you in choc–"

"Lewis!" a familiar voice called, causing the couple to turn and face Iván Saldaña, Almave's co-founder and Master Distiller. "C'mon, unravel yourself from the missus for one second for a photo. Dios mio, you're obsessed with her."

"Shit, have you seen my wife?" was Lewis' response, followed by a hard slap on Rorie's ass. She yelped in slight pain, swatting him off, and he had the wherewithal to laugh like the menace he was. "Three photos tops, Iván."

Before she knew it, Lewis was off, padding towards Iván to pose for a couple of photos.

Rorie shook her head, smiling despite herself at Lewis's playful antics. As she watched him pose with Iván, her phone buzzed in her clutch. She pulled it out, her smile fading as she saw an unknown number flashing on the screen.

With a deep breath, she answered. "Hello?"

"Aurora," her father's voice came through, a mixture of relief and anxiety evident in his tone. "Thank you for picking up. I've been trying to reach you."

Rorie's jaw clenched. "I know. What do you want?"

"I want to talk, to explain. Please, give me a chance to—"

"Now isn't the time," Rorie cut him off, her eyes darting around the crowded ballroom. "I can't do this right now."

Before he could respond, she ended the call, her heart racing. She barely had time to collect herself when her phone buzzed again, this time with a text message from another unknown number:

Your perfect little world is about to come crashing down.

Rorie felt a chill run down her spine. This wasn't her sperm donor - the tone was all wrong. Who the fuck was this? Was it the same person from Paris?

"Are you ready to head out?" Lewis's voice startled her. He had returned from his photo session with Iván, concern etched on his face as he noticed her troubled expression.

Rorie hesitated for a moment before showing him the text. "I think we have a problem."

Lewis's expression hardened as he read the message. "We need to talk to our security team. This isn't just annoying anymore; it's threatening."

Rorie nodded, feeling a mix of fear and determination. "You're right. But let's not let it ruin the night. This was your moment, babe."

Lewis wrapped his arms around her in an embrace. "Our moment. We're in this together, remember?"

As they stood there, the party continued around them, oblivious to the tension between the couple. Rorie leaned into Lewis's embrace, drawing strength from his presence.

"I just don't understand who would do this," Rorie murmured, her voice muffled against Lewis's chest. "And why now?"

Lewis pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cup Rorie's face. "We'll figure it out, love. I promise you, whoever's behind this, they won't get away with it."

Rorie nodded, forcing a smile. "You're right. We've faced worse, haven't we?"

"Much worse," Lewis agreed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Remember that time Lyric decided to redecorate the living room with his finger paints?"

The memory brought a genuine laugh from Rorie, easing some of the tension. "God, that was a nightmare. This is nothing compared to that, right?"

Lewis grinned, pleased to see some of the worry leave Rorie's eyes. "Exactly. Now, let's say our goodbyes and head out. We'll deal with this head-on tomorrow."

With renewed determination, they made their way through the crowd, saying their farewells to key guests and thanking them for coming. As they stepped out into the cool Mexican night, both Lewis and Rorie knew that come morning, they'd be ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead – together.

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparations for the Mexican Grand Prix. Rorie accompanied Lewis to the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, her presence a calming influence amidst the pre-race chaos.

The circuit was a marvel of engineering and culture, its layout weaving through the heart of Mexico City. The iconic stadium section buzzed with anticipation, its grandstands already filling with passionate fans. The air was thick with the scent of street food and the sound of mariachi bands, creating a uniquely Mexican atmosphere that set this Grand Prix apart from all others.

During a quiet moment in the Mercedes garage, Rorie's phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text from an unknown number:

Aurora, please. We need to talk. - Dad

Rorie showed the message to Lewis, her frustration evident. "He just won't stop."

Lewis pulled her into a hug, then hesitated. "Actually, babe, there's something I need to tell you. I... I had a conversation with your dad at the Austin Grand Prix."

Rorie stiffened in his arms, pulling back to look at him. "You what? Why didn't you tell me?"

Lewis sighed, running a hand through his braids. "It was unexpected. Toto called me to his office, and your father was there. I didn't want to upset you, especially with your performance coming up."

Rorie's emotions warred between anger and understanding. "What did he say?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "He said he wants to make things right, to be part of your life. He talked about regrets, about missed opportunities. I could see the pain in his eyes, Rorie, but I also saw determination."

Rorie's mind raced. "And what did you say to him?"

"I told him it wasn't my decision to make," Lewis replied softly. "I said that you're the strongest, most incredible woman I know, and that if he wanted a chance, he'd have to earn it. I made it clear that I'd support whatever decision you make."

Rorie nodded slowly, processing the information. A mix of emotions played across her face - gratitude for Lewis's protection, frustration at being kept in the dark, and a lingering sense of uncertainty about her father's intentions.

"I appreciate you looking out for me," she said finally, her voice thick with emotion. "But next time, please tell me. We're in this together, remember? No matter how difficult the conversation might be."

Lewis nodded, relief evident on his face. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just... I saw how stressed you were about the performance, and I didn't want to add to that. But you're right, we're a team. No more secrets."

Rorie leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence. "Thank you for standing up for me. I just... I don't know how to feel about all this. Part of me wants to hear him out, but another part is so angry at him for showing up now, after all these years."

Lewis wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You don't have to decide anything right now. Take your time, think it through. Whatever you choose, I'm here."

"Lewis, it's time!" Rosa yelled, earning a small smile from Rorie.

"Go race, we'll talk later," she told him.

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." After a kiss on her lips, Lewis jogged over to Rosa and his engineers.

Rorie watched as Lewis prepared for the race, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. The constant attempts at contact from her father, the revelation of Lewis's meeting with him, and the excitement of the impending race all vied for her attention.

She observed Lewis as he went through his pre-race routine, his focus unwavering despite the chaos around them. Rorie couldn't help but marvel at his strength, his ability to compartmentalize and perform under pressure. It was one of the many reasons she loved him.

As Lewis pulled on his helmet, he turned to Rorie, giving her a thumbs up. She returned the gesture, forcing a smile despite her inner turmoil. For now, she would push her personal concerns aside and focus on supporting her husband. The race was about to begin, and with it, a temporary escape from the complicated emotions surrounding her father's sudden reappearance in her life.

The roar of engines filled the air as the Mexican Grand Prix got underway and the cars lined up in their designated spots. From her spot next to Toto, Rorie nibbled on her nails, her eyes absentmindedly on a screen, her heart thumping erratically in her chest as she waited for lights out.

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

The Miami bar buzzed with Sunday afternoon energy, sunlight streaming through large windows. A woman sat at the counter, sipping a colorful tequila cocktail. She brushed her long extensions off her shoulders as she settled in her seat, her eyes glancing up at the TV.

Lewis Hamilton appeared on screen, celebrating his podium finish at the Mexican Grand Prix. The woman's lips curved into a slight smirk. There was no denying how attractive he was.

Too bad he wanted to be with such a boring, lame-ass bitch.

She sat up a bit straighter, a cocky air about her. Lewis would be so much better with someone like her on his arm. Someone who could truly match his star power.

Her phone buzzed with a message:

Running late. Be there in 10. - A

She sighed, signaling the bartender for another drink. As she waited, she contemplated the weight of the information she possessed about Rorie and Lewis's life. It was a power that both thrilled and unsettled her.

The door opened, and Alexander strode in, his face set in its usual mask of cool indifference. He took the seat next to her, ordering a scotch.

"What do you have for me?" he asked without preamble.

She reached into her bag, pulling out a manila envelope. "Everything I could get my hands on. Financial records, private correspondence, even some additional medical information."

Alexander's eyebrows raised slightly as he leafed through the contents. "Impressive. How did you manage this?"

A conniving smile played on her lips. "Someone close to them who's feeling... overlooked."

"Let me see the files," Alexander said, reaching for the envelope.

She held up a hand. "First, let's talk money. I want more."

Alexander's eyes narrowed. "We've discussed this. I can't increase the amount."

"Do you understand the risk I'm taking?" she countered. "If they find out—"

"They already have a lawsuit against us," Alexander interrupted. "We're proceeding carefully."

The woman leaned back, her posture defiant. "Without more money, I'm not giving you the info. Maybe I'll find another tabloid that values my contributions more."

Alexander's jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes. After a pregnant pause, he spoke, his voice low and controlled. "Fine. If that's what you want to do, then do it."

With that, he stood up and left the bar, leaving the woman alone with her secrets and her tequila cocktail. She watched him go, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty crossing her face as she contemplated her next move. The woman's confident facade faltered slightly. She turned back to the bar, her manicured nails tapping against the polished wood surface.

"Another?" the bartender asked, gesturing to her nearly empty glass.

She nodded, her eyes drifting back to the TV where highlights from the Mexican Grand Prix were still playing. Lewis's face flashed across the screen again, his radiant smile a stark contrast to her current mood.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Her thumb hovered over a name - KiKi. She hesitated, weighing her options. KiKi had agreed to meet with her briefly for lunch a couple of weeks ago, but the meal quickly went left when KiKi realized that it was nothing more than a bashing on Rorie. Despite her initial liking for Kiara, she was still too far up Rorie's ass and she didn't need to draw any suspicion right now.

A notification popped up on her screen - a news alert about Rorie's recent performance at Austin City Limits. The woman's lips curled into a sneer as she read the glowing review.

"If they only knew," she muttered under her breath.

The bartender set down her fresh drink, and she took a long sip, savoring the burn of the tequila. Her mind raced with possibilities. Alexander might have called her bluff, but she wasn't out of options yet.

She opened her notes app, reviewing the information she had gathered thus far. Financial records, private correspondence, medical information - it was a treasure trove of potential scandals. But without Alexander's backing, publishing it would be risky.

Was I ready to put that kind of heat on me? I can always go to TheShadeRoom or something...

A familiar face caught her eye at the other end of the bar. It was a reporter she recognized from a rival tabloid. An idea began to form in her mind.

Gathering her things, she stood up, smoothing down her dress. She tossed back the rest of her drink and made her way towards the reporter, a calculated smile playing on her lips.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice honey-sweet. "I couldn't help but notice you're from The Globe. I think I might have a story that would interest you…"

She sat beside the reporter and began telling him about the secrets she uncovered about Rorie and her family.

The reporter’s brows furrowed as he listened, his interest slowly waning. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "I’m not saying it’s not juicy," he began, holding up a hand to stop her mid-pitch. "But it’s too much heat right now. You’re talking about exposing big names, and our editorial team won’t touch it. They’d rather run another puff piece than risk the legal blowback."

The woman’s carefully constructed smile wavered, but she quickly recovered. "So, you’re telling me The Globe isn’t interested in the truth anymore? That’s disappointing." Her voice dripped with feigned surprise, masking her frustration.

"Look, I get it. You want to break a big story, but this one’s a no-go. If I were you, I’d sit on it until the timing’s better." He gave her a sympathetic shrug, clearly eager to wrap up the conversation.

She forced a polite laugh, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Thanks for the advice." With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the bar, the weight of yet another rejection pressing on her chest.

By the time she reached her apartment, her heels clicking against the floor tiles echoed the pulse of determination in her veins. She wasn’t about to let some risk-averse reporter stand in her way. She dropped her purse on the entry table and kicked off her shoes, moving with purpose through the space until she reached her living room.

The room was a contrast to the polished exterior she showed the world—papers strewn across every surface, sticky notes marking key points, and a laptop open to various incriminating files. She knelt down, spreading the documents across the floor, each one representing hours of careful digging, discreet meetings, and favors called in. Emails, private text messages, medical records — it was all there.

If no publication was willing to continue running with this, she’d have to do it herself. And she had just the platform for it.

Standing up, she crossed the room to her vanity where her ring light and phone stand were already set up. She adjusted the light, making sure it cast just the right shadows to enhance her fierce determination rather than reveal the strain she was feeling. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore—it was about taking control of the narrative, about showing the world that Rorie was nothing more than a bum-ass whore who used people.

She opened Instagram, her fingers moving swiftly as she set up the live stream. Her followers were used to seeing her poised, offering advice on fashion and makeup, but tonight’s stream would be different.

As the screen flashed "You’re live!" her expression shifted from controlled anger to cool confidence. "Hey, y'all," she began, her voice silky smooth, with just a hint of venom. "I know you’re all used to seeing me share fashion tips, but tonight’s different. Tonight, I’m exposing the truth behind the smoke and mirrors. Let’s talk about Rorie Hamilton, and the fact that she's nothing more than a manstealing, fake ass bitch."

She leaned closer to the camera, letting the tension build. "You see, perfection comes with a price, and what if I told you that behind every glowing headline, there’s a trail of deceit, betrayal, and lies? I’ve got receipts—documents, messages, things that will make you rethink every article, every performance, every charming interview she’s given."

The chat exploded with comments as her followers clamored for details, but she remained calm, letting the suspense build. "I’m going to walk you through it all. So sit back, grab some popcorn, and let’s dive into the real Rorie—the one who’s been hiding behind that carefully curated mask."

With that, she reached down and held up the first document for the camera, zooming in just enough to reveal a hint of the damning information. She knew exactly how to play this—releasing just enough to whet their appetites, while keeping the most explosive content for the right moment. She was in control now, and nothing was going to stop her from burning it all to the ground.

As she continued her exposé, detailing every sordid secret, the view count climbed higher and higher. This was only the beginning, and she was just getting started.

Rorie’s nerves were frayed, her fingers tapping anxiously against the armrest of the leather chair in their suite. The luxurious comfort of the hotel room did little to ease the tension that had settled in her chest. The room’s atmosphere was thick with unspoken worries, but the muted sound of Julian’s voice on the phone filled the silence.

The emergency meeting was inevitable after Deja Barnes' Instagram live took the internet by storm. Julian, the Hamiltons’ long-time lawyer and fixer, had booked the first flight to Mexico as soon as the situation escalated. Within hours, headlines were ablaze, tabloids feeding off Deja’s revelations like sharks scenting blood in the water. The story had gone viral overnight, turning their world into a frenzy.

Julian finally hung up the phone and turned to face them, his expression severe. "We’ve got a crisis on our hands. Deja’s live went beyond just gossip; she laid out things only someone close would know. Every major tabloid is picking it up—she’s framed it as the inside scoop on your marriage and the most salacious details about your lives."

Rorie’s hands curled into fists. "She’s not ‘someone close’ anymore, Julian. She hasn’t been for a long time."

Lewis sat across from her, his brows knitted in disbelief. "Deja? This doesn’t make sense." His voice was strained, caught between confusion and hurt. "Why would she do this? We were friends. She was like family at one point. This doesn’t seem like her at all."

Rorie’s chest tightened at the way he said "we were friends." She’d known this moment would come, when the truth she had kept buried would have to be laid bare. Her eyes met Lewis’s, seeing the pain and bewilderment swirling in them, but she had to tell him what she knew—even if it shattered whatever nostalgic image he had left of Deja.

"It wasn’t what you thought, Lewis." Her voice was low, weighted with exhaustion. "Deja had her own motives, and I ignored the signs for too long."

"What do you mean?" Lewis leaned forward, bracing himself for an explanation.

Rorie took a deep breath, bracing herself for the revelation she had kept to herself for years. "Deja had a crush on you. A serious one. It wasn’t just friendly affection or admiration. It was something deeper, something… twisted."

Lewis blinked, stunned, and let out a sardonic laugh. "A crush? On me? That doesn’t make any sense. We were all close, but she never—"

"She hid it well," Rorie interjected, bitterness lacing her words. "But I saw the signs, eventually. The looks she’d give you, the way she always found excuses to be around us, especially when things were tough for us."

Lewis shook his head, still processing. "We were trying to have Lyric during that time. She was supposed to be supporting you, helping us through it."

"That’s what I thought too," Rorie said, her voice growing colder as she recalled the events. "It was all a ruse. She was using our struggles to get closer to you. She even joked once about volunteering to be our surrogate."

Lewis’s eyes widened. "She what?"

"I thought it was a joke too, but it wasn’t. Looking back, I realize she was testing the waters, seeing if we’d be open to something like that." Rorie’s expression darkened as she continued, "It got worse. There was this one night—you had a race, and I wasn’t there. When I arrived later, I found Deja waiting for you in your hotel suite, naked in the bed."

Lewis recoiled, disbelief and disgust mixing in his expression. "She was what?"

"Naked, Lewis. She was there, waiting for you like it was normal, like she had every right to be there." Rorie’s voice cracked as she relived that moment, the betrayal still fresh. "I don’t know how she got access to your room, but there she was, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She even had the nerve to say that you two had been having an affair, but I knew better."

Lewis was speechless, struggling to comprehend how someone he had trusted could betray them so completely. He was visibly shaken, running a hand through his hair as he tried to wrap his head around it all. "What did you do? How did you handle her after you found out?"

Rorie’s expression hardened. "I had security escort her out of the hotel, and I blocked her from everything—social media, our contacts, everything. I didn’t want her anywhere near us, near you, near the family we were creating. She tried reaching out a few times, but I ignored her. I thought cutting her off was enough."

Lewis’s voice was barely above a whisper. "I had no idea. I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone."

Rorie looked at him, her eyes softening for a moment. "I didn’t want to burden you with it then. We had enough on our plate with trying to get pregnant, and you were dealing with the pressure of racing. I thought it was easier to just handle it quietly and move on. But I should have told you, should have let you know what she was really like."

Julian cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to the crisis at hand. "What’s done is done, but now we have to focus on damage control. Deja’s gone public with this, and the longer we take to respond, the worse it’s going to get."

Rorie nodded, her jaw clenched in determination. "She might think she’s got the upper hand, but she’s underestimated us. We’ll handle this, and we’ll make sure the truth comes out—our truth, not hers."

Lewis reached out and took her hand, a silent promise passing between them. No matter how messy things got, they’d face it together. But the betrayal lingered in the air, a reminder of how close their past had come to tearing them apart. And as much as they wanted to put this behind them, Deja’s actions had set off a chain of events that neither of them could fully predict.

For now, all they could do was prepare for the storm ahead.

Lewis sat alone in his driver’s room, the steady hum of the paddock outside muffled by the walls. His phone was propped against the table, earbuds snug in his ears as he listened to the interview playing on The Breakfast Club. He knew Julian had warned him to stay away from it, to focus on the race weekend and leave the crisis management to the professionals. But Lewis had never been one to sit idly by when his family was under attack. Protecting them, especially now with Rorie’s pregnancy, was his top priority—even if it meant shouldering the burden himself.

The interview was already in progress. Deja’s voice, slick with false sincerity, came through clearly as she spun her tale of betrayal and heartbreak. "Rorie always wanted what I had, but I never thought she’d go as far as taking Lewis from me," Deja claimed.

Lewis clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. This woman, someone who had once been close enough to be considered family, was rewriting history with a twisted narrative designed to inflict maximum damage. And what frustrated him most was that people were eating it up—treating her lies like gospel.

Angela Yee, however, wasn’t so easily convinced. Her voice cut through the nonsense with precision. "But let’s be real here, Deja. If you were so close to Lewis, how come we never heard about this supposed love story before? You’re saying you were in love with him, that Rorie took him from you, but from what the public saw, you were just a friend. So what’s the real deal?"

Deja didn’t waver, her delusions fully intact. "Of course, it wasn’t public. We kept it low-key out of respect. But I was there before she was. I was the one he leaned on, and when she saw how close we were, she made sure to push me out. It’s not the first time she’s done this to people, either. Rorie’s always been good at playing the victim while she manipulates things behind the scenes."

Lewis couldn’t take much more. He paused the interview, running a hand down his face. He glanced at a small window to stare at the Brazilian race track. Brazil has always been their sanctuary, the place where everything seemed to fall into place. The chaos surrounding them now was a stark contrast to the peace they had always found there. Brazil wasn’t just another location on the race calendar; it was where their love deepened, where Lyric had been conceived during a trip filled with laughter, love, and hope. It was their “zen den,” a place where the rest of the world faded away, leaving only them, together.

That’s why it was so important for him to shield Rorie now. She was working on her latest Nike Women campaign, a massive deal that she’d landed just before everything started unraveling. On top of that, her ambassadorships were piling up, her brand flourishing. He couldn’t let this mess derail her success or put unnecessary stress on her during her pregnancy. Julian was doing everything in his power to contain the damage, and the cease and desist had already been issued to Deja. But the interview, recorded before the legal warning, was still out there, fueling the frenzy.

Lewis sighed, taking a deep breath as he tried to refocus. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, not with the race looming and all the media duties he had to handle. But how could he not be? His family was everything to him, and knowing Rorie and Lyric were in Brazil as well, surrounded by close friends and family, brought some comfort. They were safe in their haven while he dealt with the ugliness of it all. That was the trade-off: he’d take the heat so they didn’t have to.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Rosa poked her head in. "Media session in five minutes, Lewis."

He nodded, slipping his phone into his pocket as he mentally prepared himself for the inevitable questions. The journalists would be circling like vultures, eager to dig into the drama, but he’d handle it. For Rorie, for Lyric, for their future child—they were counting on him to keep it all together.

Lewis walked into the media building, the energy buzzing with anticipation as reporters packed into the room. Cameras flashed as he took his seat on the driver’s panel, dressed in his black Mercedes team shirt. His expression was steely, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced with something more guarded. He could feel the weight of every gaze on him—some curious, some sympathetic, and others eager for controversy.

He nodded to a few familiar faces among the press corps. The other drivers were already taking their seats - Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, and Fernando Alonso among them. They exchanged brief greetings, a mix of professional courtesy and the camaraderie that comes from shared experiences on the track.

The moderator began the session, and as expected, the questions started rolling in. Most were about the race weekend—the setup for the car, tire strategy, and his thoughts on the circuit. Lewis handled those with ease, but he knew it was only a matter of time before someone brought up the topic he had zero interest in discussing.

And then it happened.

A journalist from a tabloid well-known for stirring up drama leaned forward, his tone dripping with false politeness. "Lewis, we’ve all seen the headlines lately, especially with that recent Breakfast Club interview involving Deja Barnes—"

Lewis cut him off, a bitter chuckle escaping as he shook his head. "Who?"

"What are your thoughts on the recent allegations made by Deja Barnes?"

"Oh," Lewis interjected, leaning back in his chair with a slight smirk. "I don’t speak on snakes. I save that for my lawyers."

The room fell silent, tension thick in the air as Lewis stared down the reporter. "Do you have any questions about the race? You know, the reason we’re here?"

The reporter stammered, caught completely off guard. "Well, uh, I was just—"

"Okay, let’s go to someone who has a question about racing," Lewis said firmly, turning away from the flustered journalist. "I’m not entertaining it."

The moderator quickly moved on, calling on another journalist who thankfully asked about tire degradation and track conditions. But even as Lewis answered the technical questions with his usual focus and precision, the shadow of that earlier exchange lingered.

Fuck The Sun, and most importantly, fuck that woman.

He could sense the ripple it had caused among the reporters, some nodding in approval while others scribbled furiously, eager to turn his comments into their next headline. But Lewis didn’t care. He was here to do his job, to represent his team, and to protect his family. And if that meant shutting down every attempt to drag him into Deja’s delusional circus, he’d do it unapologetically.

The lush greenery of São Paulo's outskirts provided a serene backdrop as Rorie lounged by the pool, watching 15-month-old Lyric splash around in his floaties. Her sister, Aaliyah, kept a watchful eye on the toddler.

"Wa! Wa!" Lyric babbled excitedly, kicking his little legs in the water.

Rorie smiled, her heart swelling with love. "That's right, baby! You're in the water!"

Aaliyah, at 23, shared the same warm smile as their mother, Marian. Though technically her half-sister - the daughter of Marian and Greg - Rorie never thought of her as anything less than her full sister. Aaliyah guided Lyric gently through the pool. "He's fearless, just like Lewis," she remarked.

"He really is," Rorie agreed, watching her son with pride. "Thanks for being here, sis. It means a lot."

Aaliyah shot her a supportive smile. "Always. That's what family's for, right? So, have you decided if you’re going to call him back?"

Rorie’s gaze shifted to her phone resting on the lounge chair beside her. The text from her father, Martin, had come in earlier that day, and it had been gnawing at the back of her mind ever since. She’d been going back and forth about whether to respond, torn between curiosity and the desire to avoid more stress. Aaliyah’s question brought that internal debate back to the forefront.

"I don’t know," Rorie sighed. “Part of me wants to just ignore it, but… I’m curious. I want to hear whatever bullshit he’s trying to spin this time."

Aaliyah raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to open that door? You’ve done well keeping him at arm’s length. Sometimes it’s better to let toxic people stay where they are."

Rorie knew her sister was right, but something inside her nudged her toward at least hearing what he had to say. "Yeah, I know… but I think I’m gonna call him. Just to see what he’s really on."

Aaliyah shrugged, "Your call. Just don’t let him mess with your head. You’ve got enough going on without letting him add more drama."

As the day progressed, Rorie's mind kept drifting to the unopened messages on her phone. Martin's texts and voicemails had been piling up, each one a reminder of the decision she'd been avoiding.

After putting Lyric down for his nap, Rorie retreated to the privacy of her room. She took a deep breath, her thumb hovering over the call button, before eventually pressing the button.

As the phone rang, her mind raced with thoughts of Deja's betrayal, the media frenzy, and now this impending conversation with her long-absent father.

"Aurora?" Martin's voice, a mix of surprise and hope, came through the speaker.

"Hello, Martin," Rorie said, her tone neutral.

Martin took a deep breath. "I know I have a lot to explain. I've made many mistakes, and my absence in your life is my biggest regret."

"Why now?" Rorie asked. "Why reach out after all these years?"

Martin hesitated. "I've been following your career, your life. I'm so proud of the woman you've become. I... I want to be part of your life, if you'll let me."

Rorie's voice hardened. "You had that chance years ago. Why should I believe you've changed?"

The conversation continued, with Martin explaining his past actions and expressing remorse. Rorie listened, asking pointed questions about his absence, his current intentions, and his sudden desire to be in her life.

"I understand if you can't forgive me," Martin said towards the end of the call. "But I hope you'll consider giving me a chance to prove myself."

Rorie took a moment before responding. "I appreciate your honesty, Martin. But I need time to process this. I can't promise anything right now."

As they ended their call, Rorie sat on the edge of her bed, her mind reeling from the conversation. She replayed his words, searching for sincerity, for any sign that his intentions were genuine.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. "Ror? You okay?" Aaliyah's voice came through.

"Come in," Rorie called out.

Aaliyah entered, concern etched on her face. "I saw you on the phone. Was it...?"

Rorie nodded. "Yeah, it was Martin."

Aaliyah sat beside her sister, placing a comforting hand on her back. "How do you feel?"

"Confused," Rorie admitted. "He said all the right things, you know? Apologized, said he regretted not being there. But I don't know if I can trust it."

"You don't have to decide anything right now," Aaliyah reassured her. "Take your time."

Rorie leaned into her sister's embrace. "I just keep thinking about Mom and Greg, how they've always been there. And now, with everything happening with Deja and the media..."

"Hey," Aaliyah said firmly, "You've got us. Me, Mom, Dad, Lewis, Lyric. We're your real family. Whatever you decide about Martin, we've got your back."

Rorie felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. "Thanks, sis."

Just then, they heard Lyric's babbling through the baby monitor. Rorie couldn't help but smile. "Sounds like someone's up from their nap."

"Want me to get him?" Aaliyah offered.

Rorie shook her head, standing up. "No, I've got it. I could use some cuddles from my little man right now."

She padded over to Lyric's room, her heart instantly lightening at the sight of her son. Lyric was standing in his portable crib, his little hands gripping the rail as he bounced excitedly.

"Mama!" he exclaimed, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"Hi, baby," Rorie cooed, reaching in to scoop him up. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, inhaling his sweet baby scent. "Did you have a good nap?"

Lyric babbled in response, his little hands patting Rorie's cheeks. She couldn't help but smile, feeling the stress of the day melt away in her son's presence.

On a whim, Rorie decided she needed more than just a quick cuddle. She gently lowered Lyric back into his crib, then, to his delight, climbed in after him. It was a tight fit – the portable crib wasn't meant for adults – but Rorie managed to scrunch herself in, lying on her side next to Lyric.

Lyric giggled, clearly amused by his mama's antics. He snuggled close, his little body fitting perfectly against hers. Rorie wrapped an arm around him, savoring the moment.

"Mama swilly," Lyric said, patting her arm.

Rorie chuckled. "Yeah, Mama's being silly, huh?"

As they lay there, Rorie felt the tension from her conversation with Martin slowly dissipate. The world outside, with all its complications and challenges, seemed to fade away. In this moment, it was just her and Lyric, safe and content in their own little bubble.

Lyric's eyelids began to droop, the excitement of Mama's surprise visit giving way to post-nap drowsiness. Rorie hummed softly, a lullaby she remembered from her own childhood.

As Lyric drifted off to sleep, Rorie continued to hold him close. She knew she'd have to face reality again soon – decisions about Martin, dealing with the Deja situation, preparing for the baby on the way. But for now, she allowed herself this moment of peace, drawing strength from the pure, unconditional love of her son.

In the cramped confines of the portable crib, Rorie found a spaciousness in her heart. Whatever came next, she knew she had this – the love of her family, the joy of motherhood. And that, she realized, was more than enough to face any storm.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[baby-dr1ver]

Reader waking up to feel Carlos peacefully sleeping w his head on her chest n hands gently squeezing her boobies

I’m fine w whatever

I gotta say that ur work is absolutely scramdelicious n every time I read on of ur f1fics I eat it all up

the thoughts I thunk.....

seeing as Carlos just got home from a double header, you thought he'd sleep in for the first time in awhile. wrong. think again.

you were half awake really, eyes wanting to open but they seemed glued shut with sleep. you could hear your lover next to you, shuffle around until his head found your chest. you smiled and let a hand fall to his hair, scratching enough to keep him asleep.

you finally opened your eyes and saw him in all his glory. Carlos was happily asleep against your boobs, back bare against the sunlight and hands under you armpits. you admired him for awhile, wondering how you got so lucky to have a beautiful specimen in your life when - oh

Carlos hands travel to rest against each boob and gave a gentle squeeze. you gasped and tugged on his hair, making him groan. you froze and waited for him to wake up and when he didn't you relaxed. you thought that would be the end of it, that he'd drift back into a deep sleep, not moving. wrong again.

he squeezed your breast again, this time sliding a little upwards to pinch your nipples. while this is happening, Carlos hips rutted against the bed without permission. "Carlos? honey?" you shook him a little to try and wake him up. he groaned before settling back in, moving his fingers so they focused on your nipples, rolling them between his fingers.

his hips kept moving under the sheets, bumping into yours. if you could get your legs around his waist he could hit the perfect angle.

instead, you tried to take him again before this could go to far. "carlito? c'mon baby wake up." you pushed against his shoulders, and nothing. you resorted on giving a sharp tug on his hair. his head shut up, "aye! dios mios amor! what was that for? was having a great dream" he asked as he rubbed his head.

you looked down at him with wide eyes, "yeah I could tell." you gestured to his hand glued to your boob. his mouth dropped open and he slowly moved his hands.

"amor I'm so sorry-" you stopped him with a hand over his mouth.

"if I hated it, I would have stopped you the second it happened. I just wanted you to fuck me while we were both awake. we haven't really had the somno talk yet." you both laughed as he kissed you passionately and got to work.

[livingdeadmlm]

good night my friend! thank you for putting up a smile in my face at 1am of this saturday night

would you ever be interested in writing a bottom male reader x polnareff, or maybe even hol horse? love those two whores fr. it doesn’t have to be NSFW necessarily if you aren’t a fan of it, though if you’re ok with writing smut, that’d be very good lol

I don’t have the best imagination so I’d say perhaps things get steamy during that ‘fake hotel’ in Pakistan, or during the Hol Horse and Boingo episode

Thank you my friend! It’d be very cool if reader was a crusader if it’s with Hol Horse, or a Dio’s servant that is not that loyal to his lord if it’s with Polnareff

Thank you for reading this! :) Ur fire🔥🔥

I'm trying a new header which i got inspo from another writer on here that i found recently

Pronouns: The reader is referred to as a man but no exact pronouns are used after that. Physical Sex: AMAB How far are things going: Things get pretty steamy but not full-on smut. Warnings: the attraction to each other is very heavily implied which is why they’re dogs with each other, mentions of jerkin it and the lack of it happening, mentions of tension with the other of age Crusaders, mentions of the young girl from part 3 that hol horse lead on, Hol horse is restrained for a lot of this. Rushed!! i am still getting used to writing steamy stuff Outline: The reader is traveling with the Crusaders and in the hotel in Pakistan reader discovers Hol Horse before everyone else, anger, and a mix of pent-up frustration cloud both men's minds as they confront each other. What inspired me to write how I did: I have been very much into the rise in popularity of the honda odyssey scene, I love gentle love but I am a sucker for a steamy fight (as well as I could write it anyway)

You wandered down the hotel halls, trying to find any sort of food area or vending machine, you had run out of packed snacks a few days ago and wanted to keep yourself stocked up. However, you have yet to find one or even staff who could help you. As you made your way back to the lobby, just then the bell had rung, and you felt the urge to hang back into the room, something didn’t feel right…

“So the Joestar party is on the third floor? Maybe me and my six-shooter outta pay them a visit.” The gruff voice was complemented by the scent of cigarette smoke giving you a harsh reminder of the blond man who must be in the room. The old woman made her way down the stairs with a gasp. “Ah Hol horse so you’ve come!” her shrill voice held some delight as he kneeled to her level and spoke.

“That's right..” his voice was almost alluring if he hadn’t threatened your lives and your friends just moments ago. As he pulled something from his pockets you felt a hand pull you back around the corner, it was a free cold, and hard hand. Quickly turning with your stand you noticed it was Silver Chariot. It covered your mouth and pointed your head to where Polnareff was on the stairs, he made a shushing motion with his hands as Silver began to lift you while climbing the wall you had just hidden behind. Your stand began to help up the wall and just in time just as Enyaba ran into the room crying. Hol Horse follows behind her. 

Each stand pressed you against the wall as your hands reached for your mouth to hush any sounds you might make. The conversation between the two was hard to follow as the piecing voice of Enyaba was hard to focus on. As they spoke you heard Enyaba mention her son and being friends with Hol Horse…Were the two of them working together? Was Enyaba a stand user of her own?

Glancing back to the duo talking very loudly it truly dawned on you how fucked you were. You couldn’t stay this high on the ceiling for much longer as both stands will get tired soon. And eventually, someone will look up.

That’s when a saving grace came as Polnareff’s voice rang out with the small bell on the lobby counter. Hol horse ran deeper into the room as Enyaba ran out to help. Silver Chariot floated you down to the ground as your stand materialized behind Hol horse grabbing his arms against his torso and holding an iron grip on him. His face twisted in shock as he stared up at you walking over. 

He coughed as your looming figure practically had a darkness radiating. “Hey! Hey, I’m sure a smart man like you is willing to work out a deal, I can give you any info you want just, ya know let me out! You’re a lot stronger than I thought…” his voice trailed off as he struggled against your stand. “You are a coward Hol Horse! Using any person possible to get what you want!” Your stand squeezed him tighter as you remembered watching him ride away on a horse from all of you after leaving behind the young girl who sacrificed herself for him.

He had thrown out comments about wishing to see you again that made you flush with anger at the coward in front of you. “What kind of deal cowboy? Just what do you think will convince me to let you go still intact?” Hol Horse stuck his leg out attempting to pull you closer, “I just wanna make you feel good, (Name)!” He tilted his head to the side scanning your face, “Won't you let me?” His voice was husky as he did his best to lean forward to your face. You scoffed, “As if I would enjoy myself with a coward like you, you seem like a selfish lover anyway.” Hol horse's face became angry before a smile began to spread.

“But you’re entertaining this whole idea anyway, it's been almost a month of not getting any kind of attention, especially the special attention I know you’ve been needin'.” Your body felt hot with anger and embarrassment he was right, sharing rooms with at least one other person the past few weeks had cut your alone time down significantly. While you threw flirty comments around with Polnareff and Avdol nothing would progress past long stare-downs in shared hotel rooms. “You wouldn’t keep toying with the idea of being with me if you didn’t need it.” Neither of you could admit to wanting the other. 

“You know you keep, ugh tightening your stand but I’m likin’ it.” In a moment of disgust, your stands grip on the man loosened and he took his chance to leap at you. You both fly backwards landing on the ground with Hol horse landing on top of you. His lips stuck to yours and just as quickly his hands went up your shirt caressing your sides. You practically melted at the contact you’ve gone a long time without someone else touching you besides getting punched a few times this trip. His hands had slight calluses that slightly scratched your skin. 

Your hands tangled in his dirty blond hair as your core burned at the feeling of his hard-on pressed against yours. Everything felt electric the hate you had for the man on top of you made everything so much more intense. His hips moved against yours as he pulled away, “Come on, a man like you deserves to just let go.” The movement got harsher as you wrapped your legs around his hips, you wanted to be selfish and feel more and more. Once more a yell could be heard as Polnareff called your name as he ran to the back room you were in. Just as fast as everything started Hol Horse grabbed his hat and made a break for a second side door you had missed. 

“Sorry there sweetheart! Maybe next time you’ll get me in full glory!” frustration bubbled in your stomach as Polnareff finally made it to the room and joined your side with a look of confusion.

[amywritesthings]

meet me on christmas. / an eddie munson holiday ficlet

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader ( stranger things ) word count: 1.2k / rated mature summary: It's the Christmas of '87. You and boyfriend, Eddie Munson, cruise Hawkins for your annual town lights crawl. tags: post s4, eddie munson lives, explicit language, holiday lights, christmas fluff, childhood friends, established relationship credit: dividers by @saradika / header by @nicostiel

welcome to the sixth day of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!

“The rich assholes always have the good stuff.”

“Just because they’re rich doesn’t mean their decorations aren’t tacky,” you argue back, ripping a Twizzler at the center of the rope with your teeth.

"Can't argue with that," Eddie Munson quips in return, holding out a hand for the Twizzler pack.

You hand it to him — if he wasn't idle in the driver's seat of his beat-up van, then you would have tossed it.

Since the battle of the Upside Down, you could argue his reflexes have gotten much better.

Eddie likens it to Spiderman-esque rabies powers from those nasty vampire bats.

(You're just happy he's here.)

“That’s way too many reindeer on that lawn — look."

You lean over the passenger seat to point out of the windshield towards a bloated, light-infused lawn.

"The Weston's put up a ton of them, but that's inaccurate. Santa did not have twenty reindeer.”

“Damn, did Mr. Weston feel bad about the team rejects?” Eddie comments with a feigned sigh of sympathy, tone melodic. “Gave the bench reindeer the gift of playing in the big leagues for Christmas of ‘87.”

“Imagine wanting to do your job.”

“Couldn’t fuckin’ be me, that’s for sure.”

You’re lucky Eddie even agreed to do this with you.

Then again, you’re pretty certain you could have asked him to watch A Christmas Story fifteen times in a row, and he would still enthusiastically say yes. 

Whatever made you happy — when most boys said it, they never meant it.

Not Eddie.

Now that you're home for the holidays from college, you're happy to close the distance with your best friend — your boyfriend — and rekindle old traditions.

Cruising around the better-off parts of Hawkins in his beat-up van was a staple ever since Uncle Wayne taught Eddie how to drive.

Thirteen years old and all too eager.

(A little too young, but hey, 'tis the damn season.)

Truth be told, hiding here with Eddie felt more in line with the Christmas spirit than anything your family had planned for the holidays.

All of the incessant inter-connected drama...

The non-stop questions about college...

The inevitable judgment when you talk about the future they don’t wholly approve of...

None of that mattered here.

Eddie cranked Dio really loud to make sure of that.

(He loves to argue that Dio could put out a killer Christmas album, same as the Carpenters, but they’re too busy churning out the sickest tunes of the decade.)

“I think their neighbors gave up on decorating this year,” you judge, holding out your hand to get the Twizzler pack back. “Look: only a stupid wreath on the door. Remember when the Thomas family used to do that crazy display with the boombox and stuff?”

Eddie keeps one hand on the wheel as he holds out the pack to you, plucking out two final red ropes for himself.

“Apparently Mrs. Thomas divorced Mr. Thomas," he explains, "so they don’t exactly have the budget to be Hawkins’ beacon this year.”

You gasp, jaw dropping.

“No.”

Eddie smirks, chewing on the candy.

“You missed way more than real-life Dungeons and Dragons in Hawkins, Indiana in your pursuit of higher education, Miss Thing.”

He isn’t wrong — you caught the tail end of this town almost getting swallowed by a Mindflayer.

Apparently what few months you had spent away from this small town gave the evils below plenty of time to rip the fabric of reality in half.

Then there was that one time Eddie almost died from a flock full of vampire bats.

Neither of you really talk about that day.

No one involved in that mess does. 

It’s for the best.

“Oh — shit, do you see that one?” you ask out of the blue, leaning over the dashboard to point at an upcoming house littered with string lights.

“What?”

“That!” you exclaim, smudging his windshield as you press against the glass.

A two-story house is decorated from roof to foundation full of sparkling white lights, changing its pattern every few seconds.

In truth, it’s a little disorienting.

Still rad, though.

Eddie slows the car down to a near stall, squinting ahead under his heavy, curly bangs.

“It’s all white. That’s so lame.”

“Lame?” you ask, turning your chin towards him.

He turns to you, too, then a smug smirk crawls over his lips.

The boy leans over, pecking a kiss to your pursed lips.

“You’re cute when you pout. But yeah, fuck white. Multicolored all the way.”

“I didn’t think you had opinions on string lights, Munson,” you tease, smiling wider from the tiny kiss.

You want to pull him into a deeper kiss, but safety first: you have to convince him to park the car first.

“Well, my sweet Christmas angel, that’s where you’re wrong. I am very opinionated.”

“You didn’t even decorate the trailer this year,” you remind him, flopping back down to the passenger seat. “Which, by the way — I noticed. Talk about being disappointed when I rolled up this afternoon to see a totally blank canvas.”

His brows knit together in playful confusion.

“What, did you seriously think I was going to do the lights this year without you?”

The statement surprises you.

Sure, you helped the Munson duo decorate — it’s almost as much of a tradition at this point as the holiday lights crawl.

Ever since you and Eddie became best friends, you’d spend hours meticulously turning a two-person man cave into something warm and cozy, with fake buffalo snow and tiny string lights.

According to Uncle Wayne, something about your touch on the place was warranted for the holidays.

Yet you had assumed they would have started without you this year on the principle that you’d be coming home for the holidays later than anticipated.

(That, and the near death of Eddie had taken a large toll on Uncle Wayne altogether.)

But neither were the real case:

They waited for you.

Your heart swells with the realization.

Before you can turn the moment sappy, Eddie winks and turns left at a corner. 

“Let me show you a real house. C’mon, it’s down the block from here. I scoped this shit out when you were busy with finals.”

You stay in your seat, too busy staring at the curly-haired boy as he navigates the streets of Hawkins to find a perfect house.

Suddenly the town isn’t so interesting.

Truth be told, it never was.

If it wasn’t for Eddie, then you’d never come back to Hawkins.

You imagine he feels the same way about his Uncle Wayne.

He can't leave, so you'll stay.

“Why don’t we go home?” you suggest.

The boy frowns as he pulls over.

“Home? You don’t wanna look at other lights?”

He gestures to the grand outdoors.

“You love this shit.”

“I love decorating with you and Uncle Wayne way more,” you tell him.

Finally, Eddie takes a pause.

The boy studies you for a moment, considering, before a smile starts to grow so wide that he has to bite his lip to keep it at bay.

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” you promise.

You raise your boot, poking it at a hole in the calf of his ripped jeans.

“C’mon. Fuck the rich assholes. We can outdo them by miles.”

It takes another pause to pass, but Eddie finally grins like a Cheshire cat. 

“What my lady wants, my lady gets.” 

He switches the van in reverse to ready a three-point turn. 

“Christmas with the Munsons, it is.”

.

[dio-in-dogspace]

hi, welcome to my kink blog !!

i will be interacting from @the**********mx

! DNI !

minors

bigots, terfs, racists

zionists

ageless blogs

detrans/ ED/ SH blogs

about me ~

hey, i'm Dorian! you can call me Dio too!! :]

im 18,. my pronouns are listed in my header, so please do not use she/her for me!! i am polyam, transmasc and genderfluid — he/they/xe are good to use :]

i will be tagging my posts with these things!

#dio.dogbarks <- posts that make me flustered, things i think would be fun to do, general kink things i want to save

#mail for mommy <- posts i want mommy to see

#puppy union <- posts for things i want to do with other dogs

#leashed and collared <- sub tags for things that make my brain explode

#teeth bared <- for when im feeling dominant

#dog writes <- concepts i write :)

#give a dog a bone <- asks tag

kink list + preferences score below the cut

i'm only going to list my favorites here, because my list of kinks is Long and would take forever to read.

Favorites:

petplay (duh) | masochism | somno | cnc | praise | cockwarming | overstim | degradation | breeding

Hard Limits:

race play | watersports | extreme bloodplay | mutilation | gun play | anything to do with electricity | detrans stuff | feederism

anything that's not listed here is likely something that im open to trying!! shoot me an ask and we'll find out~

[scarymonsters-andsupercreeps]

for the ask game- lashes, noses, and the colorful shading like in your dio header !!

Ahhh!! Thank you so much, I love doing that shading so I’m glad people associate it with me!!

[diodellet]

It's still a bit of a mess, but an attempt at organizing was made.

diodellet/dio | she/her | 23+ | english/tagalog | mdni

Before you follow/Rules

Sporadic posting times, slow writing (I won't take requests), rambly tags in reblogs, beware spoilers

My fanfic writing is a personal creative outlet for my emotions. I’m of the opinion that depicting sensitive subject matter does not mean condoning it but I also understand that fanfic is a source of comfort and entertainment for most readers, so I’ll make sure to put a warning beforehand.

If you are below 18, please do not interact with my smut writing.

Preemptive warning for: smut, dead dove (noncon/dubcon), yandere, casual self-deprecation, symptoms of anxiety and depression, disordered eating, codependence, mild religious sacrilege*

*I'll update these warnings every now and then. Please make sure to read the beginning notes and tags++blacklist/mute accordingly. If I miss anything, don't be afraid to ask me to tag it.

I use the block button liberally and I encourage you to do the same if anything i post icks you out. Don’t worry, I will not take it personally.

As a general rule on my blog: Let's try to be kind and respectful when interacting with each other.

Blog Navigation

Here's my masterlist!

(i also crosspost my works on ao3 at anionji)

Some other tags I use include:

#dellet-writings (for my fics, hcs, and abandoned/unfinished stuff)

#dellet-asides (misc shitposts, wips, half-baked writing posts, gacha game blogging)

#dellet-ort (the rare self-indulgent art, beware scuffed trad art)

#for-dellet (general comfort/writing inspo for me)

#fic reblog (scrumptious writing from my mutuals and writers i look up to)

You can also check out my fanfic reading blog @ladiota for more!

More detailed information under the cut (graphics credits, fandoms list, about the writer, etc.)

Icon Credits: @/beelscustard || @/savemebeel

Headers Credits:

It Was a Very Lovely June by Eight

Cinnabar by haruno 

Town of Jade by Mer (for my late 2022–mid 2023 writing)

About the writer (very misc):

Fandoms:

Twisted Wonderland, Shall We Date?: Obey Me!, Genshin Impact, Honkai Star Rail, Haikyuu!!, Zenless Zone Zero, Reverse 1999

-Direct messaging is really scary for me, but I do welcome replies (finally, they have sideblog replying aahh) and anon asks. Being tagged in reblog games and fanfic writing is also cool with me!

-I've tried having a queue multiple times (read: it didn't work out. I decided to just embrace my spontaneous bursts of energy.) Sorry if you're expecting something scheduled/timely responses to interactions, but they just happen when they happen and/or if I remember to respond 😭😭I really don't mean to come across as cold/unfriendly.

-If you wanna know who my favorites are just look at this blog's archive and my writing masterlist, you'll spot 'em relatively quickly.

-I feel very strongly about the act of writing itself so there might be writing-related discourse in the occasional reblog. (For example: you won't find me talking favorably about AI art or AI writing.) I'll make sure to keep these tagged under #for-dellet.

-Interacting with the works in my unfinished/abandoned drafts is okay. Same with taking inspiration from the premises/ideas. (Obviously I won't allow full segments of my writing, actual or abandoned, to be copy pasted and/or fed into AI.) The list is my own attempt at being more forgiving instead of perfectionistic and deleting any "unworthy" writing.

-Some additional misc tags I like to use include: #[character's name]core, #mdni jus in case, #mecore, #any time is kalat time, #jamil x 8 hrs of sleep, #character study

[the-literal-sun]

Hey! Listened to my header request! Thank you. it looks so much cuter now.

Little dio

:D

[anthenasikes]

see i would make the Phi Obliterates Dio photo my tumblr header but i think it counts as spoilers

[vivislifeday]

In every other universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spider-Man.

And in every universe, I will fall for you.

Hola, mi vida hermosa. ¡¡FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS!!! Es el segundo cumpleaños que celebramos juntas (ya sé que lo he repetido MILLONES de veces el día de hoy a lo largo de todas mis felicitaciones, perdón por parecer disco rayado {rallado?? rayado?? rayado..}) pero verdaderamente me siento eternamente feliz por poder pasar un cumpleaños más deseándote un feliz día, y claramente, dando todo de mí por asegurar que sea así.

Aunque me encantaría hablar de lo muchísimo que te amo, de lo feliz que me haces todos los días y la increíble y maravillosa novia y esposa que eres, el día de hoy trata sobre ti y solo sobre ti, así que, voy a hablar de ti.

Dios, mi vida, ¿qué no puedo decir sobre ti? Esa es la verdadera pregunta que me hago al querer escribir esta cartita que no sé si resultará siendo larga o corta, nunca he sido buena escribiendo pero por ti intentaría absolutamente de todo. Pero, a veces mi cerebro funciona de formas incomprensibles para el ser humano (AVDD). Pero bueno; lo que quiero decir es que, hay muchas cosas de las que podría hablar sobre ti, en especial hoy que estamos celebrando tu nacimiento, el día en el que se conmemora tu llegada a este mundo, al mundo en el que existo siendo tu pareja y donde tú existes siendo el amor de mi vida.

Mi amor, de verdad que no miento cuando digo que eres la mejor persona que ha podido existir en este mundo, vida y universo. Eres tan preciosa y tan magnífica que a mi cerebro le cuesta comprender cómo es que una persona es tan genial y perfecta, o sea, no sé cómo es que alguien puede llegar a tal nivel de perfección como el que tú manejas todos los días.

Y no lo digo solo por ser tu novia, sino que, porque en algún momento fui solamente tu amiga y es algo que he podido ver siempre, desde el momento en que te conocí.

Mi admiración por ti empezó el día que me llegó la notificación más linda del mundo: “@sithdraft comenzó a seguirte” (que creo que ese era tu username en ese momento, sino, porfi ignora AVDD). Mi curiosidad no dejó pasarlo, entonces fui a stalkearte como buena fan y me di cuenta de lo interesante que eras (y eres!) por tus tweets, por la forma en la que acomodabas tus biografías o simplemente la forma en la que combinabas tu icon con tu header. No sé por qué mi mente estaba tan decidida en conocerte, en ver cada tweet que ponías para saber más de ti, pero estoy segura de que fue el destino que sabía que serías alguien esencial para mi vida, así que me dió un leve empujoncito hacia ti.

Al momento de conocerte finalmente, cara a cara, boca a boca (ojalá 😞) supe que eras diferente a cualquier persona que me había cruzado anteriormente. Y no me refiero a que ya sabía que seríamos pareja, sino que estaba tan intrigada por tus gustos y me sentía tan decidida a que te gustara mi personalidad o te interesaras en mí, porque me moría de ganas de tener tu amistad o simplemente tenerte cerca.

Todo el proceso de conocerte fue una montaña rusa de emociones, en el mejor de los sentidos que pudiesen existir. Pasé de emoción de por fin tener la oportunidad de hablarte, a emoción por ser tu amiga, a aún más emoción por poder tener una nueva mejor a amiga, hasta esa confusión de empezar a tener sentimientos románticos por alguien que pensaba que no debería, la desesperación por poder decirte mis sentimientos, hasta finalmente, llegar a la paz que es estar contigo.

Y no me refiero a que antes de ello no me hayas dado paz, al contrario. Siempre has sido el sol entre mis cielos nublados, porque eso es exactamente lo que haces: iluminar la vida de toda persona que se te cruce.

A este punto, estoy segura de que ya leíste algunas de las cosas que algunos de nuestros amigos escribieron para ti para felicitarte. La verdad, es que me puso tan suavecita (A MÍ!!!!) el ver el cariño tan enorme que te tienen todos ellos. Desde que los reuní para comentarles que buscaba que te felicitáramos entre todos, más de uno expresaba su emoción por tu cumpleaños y estuvimos contando juntos las horas y minutos hasta la gran hora. Espero que sus palabras te ayuden a darte cuenta y de que nunca, nunca dudes del amor que obtienes por ser la persona tan magnífica que eres.

Aunque me digas mil veces de que eres una villana, que eres un ser de odio, que tratas a todos mal menos a mí, yo sé con toda mi alma que eres una persona preciosísima que se ha ganado el amor y cariño de todas y cada una de esas personas. Yo lo puedo ver claramente, así como ellos también.

Me hace tan feliz que estés rodeada de personas así, que se emocionan por tu cumpleaños y que esperan con ansias a que sean las puras 12 para poder felicitarte. Mereces ese cariño en tus amistades más cercanas y también con las que hablas cada dos años.

Mi vida hermosa, muchas gracias por permitirme pasar un año entero a tu lado. Sé que esta emoción por tu cumpleaños irá creciendo cada año, pero me fascina poder celebrarte el día de hoy. No hay cosa que no daría por poder acompañarte en cuerpo y alma, pero tenemos toda una eternidad de cumpleaños que celebraremos de esa manera.

Te amo con todo mi corazón, alma y existencia. Me hace tan, pero TAN feliz saber que existimos al mismo tiempo, y que de alguna forma, terminamos en la misma habitación donde nos reunió el destino.

And isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me? 🤍

— C, your love. ♡

[lawc4tboy]

oii, tudo bem??? 😄 você poderia fazer headers do dio brando, por favor? pode ser de qualquer parte, a que você achar melhor!! agradeço desde já ❤️

oiee!! eu fiz essas aqui em vários estilos, espero que goste!! ❤️ ^-^

[lemonlurkrr]

Is that frikin Dio Brando kissing Link on your header inage? It's lovely.

Yes, they are my otp💖 (drawn by the lovely mmmWafflesArt)