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#watching the gentlemen now
velvetcloak · 18 days
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the gentlemen (2019)
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agir1ukn0w · 5 months
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this face☹️
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chunksupreme · 21 days
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The Gentlemen | March, 2024
I’m really hoping this doesn’t disappoint! 🫣😬😅
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mzannthropy · 2 days
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When talking about The Gentlemen, don't forget about the watches!
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mildmayfoxe · 2 months
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i did it i lived bitch. AND i've eaten my customary after market burrito
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mytanuki-kun · 8 months
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...
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youtube
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portinastorm · 1 year
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Benoit Blanc with this Phillip
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clumpofglitter · 2 years
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going thru post-show depression and the only cure is to rewatch it 
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pogasm · 2 years
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guys i am pro choice. every person shld be able to choose if they want a baby or not. i’m also i huge feminist. i go to womens marchés every sunday and try to donate to womens shelters. i hate misogyny.
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stormxpadme · 2 years
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My dash going crazy over Dracula and someone seeing my minaharkers email address: OH YOU’RE ONE OF US
Me, knowing damn well I never read the book but only saw the Dracula musical and only love Mina because of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen which 99,9 % of the world hates:
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kissitbttr · 8 months
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holup— ima need a moment with my thoughts 🥵🥵 miguel sending reader’s ex a photo mid-sex is so petty and so him!! he would follow up with a video of himself giving you back shots (he’ll hide your face because he’s a gentlemen (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)), flip the camera around to show his face with a smirk and say “lose her number” because he’s a cocky ass mf
MAAAN you’re onto something anon, cuz a waterfall just breaks down in between my legs🤤🤤
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“hmm, you like that huh, baby?”
his lips pulls into a lazy smirk, heavy panting as he pounds you from behind. both of his hands gripping onto your hips, talons digging slightly into the skin giving you the perfect pain of pleasure,
“yes papi—fuck yes” you mewl, mouth slightly wide open as you release another moan that makes his cock twitch. “i love how deep you get inside me”
he exhales a dark chuckle as he pounds faster, “sé que te gusta. dirty, dirty fucking girl.” then he leans slightly to whisper on your ear. “only for me, hm?”
you nod, biting down onto your lower lip as you’re running out of things to say. your brain tends to fogged when you have his cock deep inside your cunt, but you wouldn’t have it any other way,
as he about to fist your hair up, he hears a ‘ding’ coming from your phone. his brows furrowed curiously, because who the fuck is hitting up your phone at this hour? couldn’t be someone from work,
“who’s that?” he asks breathlessly as he watches you pull your head back before grabbing your phone and check,
“aw fuck”
“what?” he asks again, hearing you groan. “who is it?”
“remember Jonathan?” you ask as you look over your shoulder at him
oh man, he does not need to be told twice.
his expression then slowly formed into anger and annoyance, grunting in disgust as he snatches your phone,
“i’ll teach him a fucking lesson” he says through gritted teeth, hips snapping back into yours as he continues to thrust even faster,
miguel unlocks your phone, pressing the camera before he starts to take a video of your backside. the sound of your dirty moans are filling the room as he plunges deeper, his other hand coming to give your ass a smack.
the word ‘papi’ and ‘miguel’ keeps falling off your lips like a prayer, and it just feeds his ego even more. because he knows that Jonathan will watch this video and learns that you don’t belong to that sorry excuse of a man anymore.
no. you belong to him.
“tell me, baby” he adjusts the camera to the back of your head, making sure that your face isn’t in it. “who’s pussy is this?”
“yours” you say without any hesitation, knuckles turning white from gripping the sheets far too hard. “and no one else’s”
“good girl” he then flips the camera to show his face. his expression is dead serious, eyes locked into the screen as if he’s staring Jonathan in person. and for the icing on a cake, his fangs make a tiny bit appearance just to creep him off.
“lose her number, tú hijo de puta. or i’ll kill you” with that he sends it to your ex, throwing your phone to the side. “now he fucking knows to not text you anymore ”
hearing that makes you flush as you giggle. miguel’s hand slowly glide down against you back and pressing you onto the mattress so he can lay his body down completely on top. “my woman” he whispers lowly into your ear,
“hm, maybe next time if he does it again, you should take a picture of me sucking your cock, right papi?” you suggest with a sly smirk,
he groans at that, his hand coming up to choke you as the other supporting his weight beside your torso.
“ay, that’s why you’re my everything, mami”
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proxima-writes · 6 months
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𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬
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pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader
rating: explicit
word count: 4.1k
summary: joel agrees to go out to tommy’s favorite bar, where he watches you ride a mechanical bull and wishes you would ride him.
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, no defined reader age or physical appearance besides outfits, alcohol use, joel getting slapped, tommy is a little shit, first date anxiety, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, praise, pet names, girl on top, couch sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, deep throating, more men whimpering and begging 2k23. let me know if any warnings are missing!
author’s note: look, i know i’m in the middle of my spooky specials but i saw two very specific tik toks that left me with the need to write this 😵‍💫 also this post layout is inspired by @bits-and-babs, whose works and aesthetic are chef’s kiss.
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“Why did you pick this place?” Joel grumbles, hand wrapped around a sweating bottle of beer. People keep jostling him as they squeeze past, forcing him to keep his elbow tight to his side to avoid having his beer be collateral damage.
“You’ll see,” Tommy says with a cryptic wink. Joel rolls his eyes.
Tommy has dragged him out to a saloon style bar, complete with swinging wooden doors and longhorn skulls decorating the walls. Everything is shiny dark wood and western motif, down to the saddle style barstools. Most of the patrons have leaned into the theme, too — tassels, leather, cowboys hats, and ostentatious belt buckles.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” A man’s voice calls out over the speakers. “The show is about to begin!”
“Show?” Joel asks dubiously. Tommy only grins at him, dragging him by the arm towards the back of the bar.
He weaves through the crowd until they’re only behind a few rows of people that have gathered around a mechanical bull riding ring, of all things. The floor of the ring is inflatable and in the middle sits the brown bull figure. Joel catches his first glimpse of you, a gorgeous woman in denim cut offs standing beside the bull. Your black leather halter top plunges low to expose your cleavage and stops short of the waist of your shorts, a tantalizing strip of your stomach on display. The black leather of the top matches your black leather boots and the cuffs snapped around your wrists.
“One of Salty Saloon’s very own has stepped up to take the bull by the horns tonight!”
You lift a hand to wave, bright smile on your face as you take in the crowd. Your eyes land on Joel and for a brief moment he swears he stops breathing. He can’t hear anything the emcee is saying, all the noise around him just a dull buzz as he watches you swing yourself up onto the back of the bull.
“Alright, alright, alright! Our rider’s goal is to stay on for one minute using only one hand! If she falls before the buzzer, y’all get nothin’. But if she makes it, shots are half off for the rest of the night!”
A cacophony of cheers erupts around Joel and you straighten your spine, holding your hand out with a thumbs up. The music starts, some pop song he’s heard on the radio in the morning when he’s taking Sarah to school, and the mechanical bull turns in a slow circle. You have one hand twisted in a leather strap, the other raised above your head as the bull bucks and swings, your hips moving smoothly with the machine.
“Goddamn,” someone says from behind Joel. “I ain’t ever wanted to be a bull so bad in my life.”
Me, too, he thinks.
Your thighs press tight against the sides of the bull as it swings around, turning you to face the section of crowd Joel stands in. You release the hand grip, both hands in the air now as you rely solely on your legs and core to keep you up on the machine. When the machine turns again, you manage to lift your body and swing your legs around to reverse your position, now seated facing the back of the bull.
“Alright, ten more seconds!” The emcee calls out. The crowd starts to cheer your name and Joel can’t help but join in, eyes glued to you as you continue to swing and sway like all the movements are nothing but second nature to you.
“Three! Two! One!”
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A cowbell goes off, signaling the end of your ride. The bull slows to a stop and you sit there for a moment to catch your breath, waving at the crowd. The bar owner, Johnny, comes out onto the crash pad with a huge grin on his face.
“Great job up there, kid. Now go sell some half priced shots,” he says with a good natured pat on your shoulder.
You return to the bar, where the other two bartenders scheduled tonight field the after-show rush, lining up shot glasses and filling them in quick succession with the requested liquor. When you get behind the bar, a familiar head of curly hair catches your eye.
“Tommy!” You call, excited to see one of you favorite regulars. He shouts your name as you stop in front of him.
“This is my brother, Joel!” He says, slapping the back of the man beside him. You’d seen him in the crowd, a handsome guy with broad shoulders stretching a dark blue t-shirt, warm tan skin, and messy curls that speak to the family resemblance between him and Tommy. You reach a hand across the bar, Joel’s calloused fingers dragging against your palm as you greet the man.
“It’s nice to meet you, Joel. Can I get y’all anything?” You ask. Tommy grins.
“Let me get this man a slap shot!” He yells.
You glance at Joel. “That okay with you?” You ask.
His eyes are comically wide as he nods. You step back to ring the bell behind the bar, your fellow bartenders whooping and cheering, a chant of “SLAP SHOT! SLAP SHOT!” echoing around you.
Haley sets a glass of water on the bar for you and you grab a pint glass, filling it with ice and two ounces of Jim Beam and amaretto. You smack the steel shaker on top, grabbing both glasses and shaking them vigorously over your shoulder.
You strain the contents of the shaker into a shot glass, amber liquid flowing to the brim. When you’ve got everything ready, you leave the back of the bar and squeeze your way through the crowd until you’re in front of the two brothers and can hoist yourself up onto the bar.
“Alright, Joel, are you ready?” You shout. He looks a little confused, brows pinched tight over kind brown eyes, but he nods anyway, holding his hand out for the shot glass. Tommy watches with a shit eating grin. “Three! Two! One!”
Joel takes the shot and you follow it with a glass of water to his face and a slap across his jaw in quick succession. Tommy is howling with laughter and Joel’s face is one of pure shock, red blooming across the skin of his cheek. He turns to his brother.
“Tommy, what the fuck!” Joel shouts. His hand wraps into the neck of Tommy’s shirt. “You little fuckin’ shit!”
You have the sinking realization that Joel wasn’t prepared for what a slap shot entails. You had just assumed this was something Tommy had told him about, having been to the bar so much the last few months.
Joel looks mad as hell, his shoulders tense and you worry he may actually throw a punch at Tommy. You hop from the bar and get between the two men, pressing a hand to their chests and pushing them apart.
"You, come with me," you say, pointing to Joel. "And you," -- you jab a finger into Tommy's chest -- "are on my shit list."
You take Joel by the hand and guide him to the back office, shutting the door and muffling the noises of the bar beyond it. His face is still dripping wet and the water dripping from his chin has gathered into a sizeable spot on the collar of his shirt.
"I am so, so sorry," you start, rifling through the storage cabinet for a bar towel. You hold it out to him, avoiding his gaze. "Tommy comes here so much that I just thought he'd told you about what a slap shot was. I should have told you, oh my god."
"Hey, it's okay. I ain't mad at you," Joel says, running the towel over his damp face. "Tommy, though. I'm gonna kick his fuckin' ass later."
"Still," you mumble, twisting your hands together nervously. "I'm sorry. Is your cheek okay?"
He rubs the towel over his head to dry his hair a bit, the action leaving him adorable mussed, curly strands sticking up in every direction. You're staring at him, maybe a little too much, but who can blame you? The man is hot.
"Yeah, trust me. I've had worse," Joel replies with a laugh.
"You get slapped by women often?" You tease.
"The number of times ain't just one."
"Oh, a bad boy. Mama warned me about guys like you."
He laughs again, long and low, running a hand through his hair. "Well, thank you for the towel."
"Right. And your next drink is on me. As an apology," you tell him.
"I'd rather get your number," he says. "You know, as an apology."
You raise your eyebrows at him before turning to the manager's desk, grabbing a marker and tugging the cap off with your teeth. You slide a hand down his arm, lifting his forearm up so that you can write down your number across the smooth, tan skin.
"I'm off next weekend," you comment when you've recapped the marker.
"I'll keep that in mind," Joel replies with a grin.
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Joel's nervous as he waits outside of your apartment building in his truck, fingers tapping a nameless tune against the steering wheel. It's Saturday night and he's here to pick you up for dinner at a restaurant in downtown Austin, one that required he dig out the old black button down he keeps shoved in the back of his closet for parent-teacher conferences and funerals.
The front door to your building opens and you emerge, dressed in a pretty red wrap dress and black heels. Joel gets out of the truck and jogs around to the passenger side to open the door for you and he's surprised when you lean up and kiss him on the cheek.
"Hey," you say in greeting, climbing into the truck and settling into the passenger seat, your purse on your lap. Joel can't help the dopey grin that's surely stretched across his face.
“Hey, yourself. You look nice,” he replies. He shuts the door and jogs around the the driver’s side.
“You don’t look so bad either,” you tell him as he starts the truck up. He can feel his cheeks get warm and he hopes that you can’t see him the proof of his nerves in the dark cab.
At the restaurant, the host leads you both to a small table towards the back of the restaurant, pristine white tablecloth topped with a small vase of flowers and a flickering votive candle. A waiter in a white button down comes by to take your drink orders before disappearing the the kitchen, leaving the two of you regarding each other in silence.
“Look, I gotta be honest about somethin’,” Joel says, leg bouncing beneath the table. “I’ve got a kid. Sarah, she’s thirteen. Light of my life, you know?” He takes a deep breath before finishing with, “And I don’t think I’ve even been on a date since she’s been born, so this is just…a little new to me.”
“You have a kid?” You ask. For a moment Joel worries that he may have ended this before it could even get a chance to begin, but then your face lights up with a sweet smile and you ask, “Will you tell me about her?”
Joel does. In between ordering and eating your delicious meals, you and Joel discuss anything and everything. He tells you about Sarah and his contracting work, while you tell him about your full time job as a pharmacy technician, the gig at the bar a part time thing on some weekends. He nearly makes you snort your water out of your nose with a story about rescuing Tommy from the bathroom of the girl he’d been seeing when her long distance boyfriend, who Tommy didn’t know existed, showed up at her apartment.
“Oh my god,” you exclaim breathlessly. “And he just jumped out of the bathroom window?”
“To be fair, she had a first floor unit,” Joel confirms. “His royal pain in the ass still made me take him to urgent care because he thought he broke his ankle.”
“You’re a good brother,” you say with a smile. Joel feels the warmth of it in his veins.
After dinner, the ride back to your place is quiet, the comfortable silence filled with the low music from the radio. In a moment of bravery, Joel reaches over and lays a hand on your low thigh, just above your knee as he drives. He refuses to look over at you, but from the corner of his eye he sees you look down at his hand before looking back out the window.
He counts that as a win.
He pulls up the curb outside your apartment and kills the engine. You speak before he has a chance to agonize over what to say.
“Will you walk me to my door?” You ask.
He feels relief and anxiety in one fell swoop. He agonizes internally over whether to kiss you goodnight as he follows you up the stairs to your apartment, the buzzing in his brain momentarily silenced while he watches your hips sway as you climb the steps.
You stop on the second floor, guiding him down a long hallway to a door marked with a black metal number three. You turn to face him, looking up at him through your lashes.
“This is me,” you murmur. Joel swallows nervously.
“Right. I, uh…I had a really great time tonight,” he says.
“Would you…want to come inside?”
Joel’s brain short circuits. “Would I—? Yeah.”
You turn to unlock the door, pushing into your apartment and Joel follows you inside. The apartment is dark but you quickly turn on the lights as you move further inside, illuminating an open living room with a dining nook. There’s a door off to the right that he assumes is your bedroom and an open kitchen to the left. It’s small, but it’s cozy, bursting with colors and fabrics and mismatched furniture.
“Well, this is home,” you say with a shrug. You set your purse down on the small circular dining table. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’ve got beer, some liquor on the bar cart over there if you want to have a look.”
“Beer is fine,” Joel says, taking a seat on the comfy looking couch. You return with a bottle of beer, passing it to him before settling in beside him, kicking off your heels and drawing your legs up beneath you.
He takes a sip, fortifying his nerves. He wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a long time since he’s been on a date, but even sex has been a distant thought for the last year or so. He doesn’t want to mess this up.
“So,” you start, your elbow pressed into the back couch cushion while you lean your face into the palm of your hand. “You wanna know what I think?”
“‘Bout what?” Joel asks.
“You.”
“You got a report card ready for me already?”
“I think” — you take the beer bottle from his hand, setting it on the coffee table — “you’ve spent a long time being a caretaker. Right? You’ve got Tommy, who was already a handful. Your daughter, who’s obviously priority number one. You’ve got a business to worry about, workers to care for.” You shuffle closer on your knees, swinging a leg over his and settling yourself onto his lap. “This okay?” You ask.
“Yeah,” he replies, probably a bit too enthusiastically. His fingers curl into the couch cushions and he wants to reach up to wrap his hands around your waist but he’s not sure if he should.
You play with the collar of his shirt. “What do you think about having someone take care of you for a change?”
Joel’s stomach flips, cock jumping in interest as the blood in his brain rushes south and leaves him only capable of responding with a mumbled, “Oh?”
“I just think you deserve someone treating you real nice,” you say with a shrug. Deft fingers work at undoing the buttons of his shirt. “Especially when I was so mean when we met, slapping you across the face like I did.”
“Told you not to worry ‘bout that,” he replies, head dropping against the back cushions. “S’not like I didn’t like it.”
“You like to be roughed up a little, Mr. Miller?”
“Maybe.”
Your grin is wicked as you drag your nails down the now exposed skin of his chest. He hisses at the sting of it.
“Interesting,” you murmur. You lean close, chest pressed against his, hands coming up to frame his face. Your nails scratch through his beard now and he groans his appreciation.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks. “Please?”
You respond by pressing your lips to his, chaste as first. Your mouths move together slowly, feeling each other out. It’s you that takes it deeper, tracing your tongue over his bottom lip and dipping it inside to tangle with his. He wraps his arms around your low back, holding you tightly in his lap as he consumes you, drunk on the feeling of your breath in his lungs.
You drags yours lips away from his with a slick sound, trailing them along his jaw and towards his ear. You nip at his earlobe, teeth gentle and breath hot before whispering, “Can I suck your cock, Joel?”
A whimper claws it’s way up Joel’s throat as he nods, already unable to form words. He’s no stranger to turning into a puddle for a pretty woman but he’s certain this must be a new record.
You slip from his lap and kneel on the floor, pushing his legs apart so that you can settle in between them. Your hands reach for his belt, tugging on the buckle and pulling it loose so that you can pop the button of his jeans and tug the zipper down, the metallic sound loud in the quiet room.
Your fingers curl into the waist of his jeans and Joel lifts his hips a bit to aid you in tugging them halfway down his thighs. His cock tents his boxers in an obscene way, a wet spot already staining the fabric. You run your palms up his thighs before bracketing his member between your hands, lightly running your thumbs up his length.
“Christ,” Joel says, teeth digging into his lip.
“That feel good?” You ask.
“Uh huh.”
You smile beatifically before leaning forward, warm breath on his covered cock as you press gentle kisses through the fabric. Joel’s hips twitch and he lets out a deep groan.
You tug the elastic of his boxers over his length, tucking it beneath his balls. He’s practically vibrating with need but you continue to take your sweet time, pressing more kisses along his shaft, tracing the tip of your tongue over the prominent vein.
“You have a pretty cock, Joel,” you say, wrapping your hand around the base of him to hold him steady. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open but he doesn’t want to miss the sight of your tongue lapping at the bead of precum gathered on his flushed tip, or the way your own eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of appreciation.
You wrap your lips around his cock, taking him inch by agonizing inch into your warm mouth and Joel feels any semblance of sanity disappear from his lust clouded brain. Your eyes stay fixed on him as take him in as far as you can, throat fluttering around the sensitive head when you swallow before pulling up, twirling your tongue around the tip, and plunging back down.
“Christ,” Joel groans, reaching out to cup your cheek. “You look so goddamn good like that.”
You lift off his cock and take it in your hand, moving it across your lips as you ask, “Like what?”
“Chokin’ on my cock, sweetheart,” he growls.
“That was nothing.”
Joel’s about to ask what you mean when you lower your mouth over his length once more. He can feel you flatten your tongue, your throat and jaw relaxing enough to take him to the very base, your nose tickling the wiry curls on his pelvis. He moans as you swallow around him, breathing through your nose and holding yourself there for a moment before coming up with a gasp, tears gathered in the corners of your eyes and spit making your chin shiny in the low light.
“So…I could keep doing this,” you tell him, “or…”
“Or?” He asks.
“Or…you could let me make us both feel good.”
You stand up, your hands untying the knot that holds your dress together so you can push it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. You push your panties down your legs and unhook your bra, leaving you gloriously naked in front him, every inch of you like a piece of art meant to be admired. Joel’s hands, greedy and unfulfilled up until now, reach up to grip your hips and pull you onto his lap, your pussy hot and wet against his cock. He lets his hands wander over every inch of exposed skin, relishing the way your ass fits in his palms and the way you hiss when his thumb caresses a tight nipple.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he moans, his lips against your rapid pulse, teeth ghosting the thin skin of your neck. “Need you so bad, baby.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” you whisper, reaching between your bodies to hold his throbbing cock steady, notching it at your soaked entrance and beginning a slow slide down.
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Joel is panting against your sweat slick chest, mumbling desperate words into your skin as you take him inside of you as slowly as you can, thighs burning with the effort. When you’ve finally seated yourself on his lap, his head drops back to the cushion, eyes squeezed shut tightly and fingers nearly bruising on your thighs.
“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he begs. “Oh, fuck, feels so good.”
Where he’s desperate for you to stay still, you’re already desperate to move. His cock is perfect, thick and long with a slight upward curve, pressing up against your g-spot with stunning accuracy. You’re certain this won’t last long for either of you.
You rock slowly, forward and back, little movements of your hips. Joel lifts his head, looking down at where your bodies are connected with dark eyes. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tangling your fingers in his hair and giving it a sharp tug that has him hissing your name.
You start to move more quickly, rolling your body in smooth waves over his. He’s panting as he looks up at you, sweat gathering at his temple, and his hands grip your ass and follow your movement reverently.
“So fuckin’ good,” he moans, “you’re gonna make me come, baby, goddamn.”
You speed up, bouncing on his lap now. Your couch creaks the slightest bit, protesting your movements, but you don’t care — all you care about is the man beneath you and the desperate little noises spilling from his lips as you make good on your promise to take care of him.
“Touch me,” you command. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”
He’s a good listener, your Joel, his thumb immediately finding your clit and circling it with messy movements that drive you wild, that tension in your muscles coiling tighter. Joel’s hips flex into yours with each drop down his length, the room echoing with the lewd sounds of skin against skin and the chorus of whimpers that spill from both of you.
“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant. He wraps his arms around you, really thrusting into you now as your own movements falter and you collapse forward, head buried against his neck as you come, trembling with the strength of it.
It’s not long after that he goes still, cock pulsing inside of you as the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you. You stay slumped against each other, catching your breaths and waiting for your racing hearts to come back down to earth.
“That was…,” Joel says with a breathless laugh that shakes his chest. His fingers play up and down your back, soothing and gentle. “Goddamn, that was amazin’.”
“Yeah?” You ask, lifting your head. You smooth his messy hair back from his forehead. “You weren’t so bad either.”
He nips at your neck in retaliation, making you laugh and squirm away from him.
“Do you have to get going?” You ask.
“No,” he replies. “Tommy’s watchin’ Sarah for me tonight. He owes me one. Besides, I’m ain’t done with you yet.”
“No?”
“Not even close, darlin’.”
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lewisvinga · 2 months
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the designer vs. the model | charles leclerc x fem! reader
summary; fans begged and begged fashion icon and designer y/n to help charles out, luckily for him, she gave him the girlfriend effect
fc; jennie kim
warnings; ?
taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs
note; requested !
masterlist !
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liked by yourbestfriend, and others
yourusername: cannes film festival; the design, before & after 🎀
username: AN ICON
username: i knew she’d eat this gala up😩
yourbestfriend: my beautiful talented best friendddd😻
yourusername: hehe love u xx
username: her talent needs to be studied
username: pls style charles_leclerc he needs help
username: studying fashion to be just like y/n!
username: y/n we need your talent on the f1 grid specifically in the ferrari garage specifically charles_leclerc
username: heyyy girl, u gonna need to share your styling talents w a certain monegasque 😁
username: oh i just know she’d give charles the girlfriend effect
username: STYLE CHARLES_LECLERC
yourusername: whaaaa ö
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liked by pierregasly, yourusername, and others !
charles_leclerc: new profession: photographer
username: omg y/n liked!
username: we bullied him into only wearing sweatshirts and jeans omg 😭😭
username: thats what he gets for his horrendous style…
pierregasly: imagine you as a photographer 😂
charles_leclerc: hey! i’m not too bad!
username: yourusername pls help this poor man , he has very poor fashion taste🙏
username: ok this fit isn’t too bad, plain! but not that bad!
username: yourusername mother pls help father out
yourusername: i think the people want me to style you , haha !
charles_leclerc: my style can’t be that bad, no?
yourusername: it could use some improvement…
charles_leclerc: well, i’m open for suggestions!
yourusername uploaded to their story !
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[caption 1; don’t worry ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna make sure he has a good wardrobe 😇!] [caption 2; designing n making some new pieces for his closet 😵‍💫]
charles_leclerc uploaded to their story !
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[caption 1; the forced smile after i showed her some outfit ideas…] [caption 2; her real smile after i got her a latte for being patient w my poor fashion skills😁
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liked by yourusername, carlossainz5, and others !
charles_leclerc: photo dump , but do you notice any new fashion improvements ? 😁
yourusername: much better than those horrendous blue and white pants …
charles_leclerc: they weren’t that bad
yourusername: cha…… they were horrid
username: wait…. he fr looks good
yourusername: he’s got a pretty face but thats just enhanced by the better fashion sense!😁
charles_leclerc: u think i’m pretty?😊
yourusername: ur my prettiest model
username: OH HELLO
username: hes 100% dating y/n bc thats an improvement from that horrid blue outfit 😭
username: muy buenos días y que vivan los hombres 😍 [very good morning and long live men]
username: his style is improving, everyone cheered!
username: the sigh of relief i just let out
carlossainz55: mate, you have everyone relieved from your new fashion improvements 🤣
charles_leclerc: and i can see why after i looked at my old outfits…
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liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, and others !
yourusername: the designer vs. the model 🌸
tagged; charles_leclerc
charles_leclerc: where would my closet be w/o you, chérie…
yourusername: unfortunately, seen in the public
charles_leclerc: my favorite and the most prettiest designer ❤️
yourusername: you’re my favorite and the most prettiest model 💞
username: oh my goodness gracious me
username: STOPP THEYRE SO CUTE😖😖
username: she got him a good pair of glasses thank u queen y/n
username: them at the basketball game together 🥹🥹🥹🥹
username: we’re abt to get the best charles outfits thank u y/n😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏
yourbestfriend: watch your back sharl she was mine first
charles_leclerc: womp womp she’s mine now
yourusername: ladies, ladies, there’s enough of me to go around ( btw yourbestfriend come over asap i need to do another fitting on u )
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delicate-dorothea · 7 months
Text
The Last Time
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Summary: Peter's on the verge of losing you after disappointing you yet again.
masterlist
He didn’t show, the night was over and Peter was nowhere to be found. 
You tried your best to mask your disappointment with a tall face as all the attendees started to trickle out of your college’s art exhibit, a handful of them congratulating and complimenting you on your artwork as they passed you. 
It wasn't until you saw May walking towards you with a sympathetic look on her face that you felt your facade falter, “I’m so sorry darling,” she said as she brought you into a hug squeezing you. 
“It’s fine, May. Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it.” You give her a sad smile pulling away from her. You take a deep breath, “May…I hate to do this but do you think I could get a raincheck on dinner tonight? I just want to go home.”
There’s a visible look of sadness on her face but she nods, “Of course you can, it’s beautiful by the way,” she says, angling her body to face your painting. 
You mimic her actions, giving your painting a one over, “Thanks, I wasn’t sure about letting them display it when my art professor–she's the director of the exhibit asked. But I’m glad I did, a lot of people seemed to like it.” 
“I can see why!” She exclaims. 
Just as you were about to speak, the voice of your professor cut through all the chatter, “Ladies and gentlemen the art exhibit is now closing! Please make your way to the exit!”
You motion for her to follow you as you head to the doors. “How are you getting home? I could give you a ride,” she questioned. You shake your head, "I don’t think I can be around a Parker right now, at least not without wanting to cry.” 
She frowns upon hearing your words, “Oh.” You push and hold the door open for her, “I know this is an unfair thing to ask of you but can you tell Peter I don’t want to hear from him anymore?” 
May freezes the second she makes it outside, fully processing what you just said, “I’m sure he’s sorry–” She’s trying to save him, you both know she is. “I’m sure he is but I’m not interested in hearing his poor excuse of an apology. He knew how important this was to me and he said he’d be here, but he’s not. There’s only so many times you can let a person disappoint you, May.” Your eyes well with tears as you think back to telling him about being a part of the exhibit and how he added opening night to the calendar on his phone as well as the one that hung in his room, even going as far as drawing a heart around the square.
Cars start to whizz by as the traffic light turns green and you let out a defeated sigh, opening your arms to hug her goodbye, “It’s getting late and I don’t want to miss the train, you should head home too.” This time she hugs you tightly, “Give me a call when you get home, alright?”
You nod your head in response, “Thank you for coming, it means a lot to me. Have a goodnight and drive safe, okay?” Her hold on you gets even tighter, mumbling a goodnight to you before releasing you. 
She stands still and watches you disappear down the street before pulling her phone out, attempting to reach Peter herself and when she's unable to, she leaves him a devastating voicemail, a voicemail he wouldn't hear until thirty minutes later when he was stood in front of ESU’s now dark and empty art center. 
“...She said doesn’t want to hear from you anymore and honestly? I don’t blame her. She watched the door all night for you. All night, Peter, all night! She looked so heartbroken. She was trying her best to hide it but that look on her face, it was soul-crushing. I think this is it for you, ‘there are only so many times you can let a person disappoint you’ those were her exact words. She’s disappointed in you and frankly so am I, I didn’t raise you to act like this. You fucked up big time, there’s no point in sugarcoating it. I adore that girl and I know you do too but you’re losing her…”
Peter could feel the panic rising in his chest as he listened, the thought of losing you made his stomach churn. There's a slight shake in his hand as he presses his phone to his ear, his breath is caught in his throat as he waits for the calls to start ringing, praying you hadn’t blocked him. A sigh of relief escapes his mouth when it does but when the rings halt and his phone buzzes with a text message from you, he could feel all the air leave his lungs. 
Sorry, I can’t talk right now.
Peter rushes to text you back; I’m so sorry honey. 
He can see that you read his message but when you don't respond, he sends you another, and another, and another.  
May left me a voicemail 
I know I fucked up 
And that I keep fucking up
But I can fix it 
Can we please talk? 
A spark of hope ignites within him as he watches the three dots appear on the screen but the feeling dwindles once he reads your message; It’s late, I’m tired and I don't want to hear or see you, please just leave me alone.  
Peter goes to respond but another message appears in the chat informing him that you had silenced your notifications. His eyes never leave the screen, reading and rereading all the texts you’d sent him throughout the night, heart getting heavier and heavier with every message. He knows he should just listen and let you be but he goes against your wishes and sends one last message, I love you, I’m sorry.
—————————————
The sound of your phone ringing slices through the noise of the hand mixer you were using and the crinkles of the paper bag your cat was playing with. You glance at the screen, eyes scanning the contact name before turning off the mixer, answering the call, and bringing it up to your ear, “Hello?” 
“Hello sweetheart, how are you feeling today?” Your elderly neighbor’s voice comes through clearly on the other end. A sigh leaves your lips, “Better, better than yesterday at least, I’m trying to keep myself occupied…giving baking a shot.” She hums in response, “Listen dear…I hate to be the bearer of bad news but he’s here.” 
Your eyebrows knit together, “What do you mean?” 
“That boy of yours. I’ve been watching him, he’s been standing at the door for the past half an hour.” You walk into the living room and over to the window, peeking through the blinds and sure enough there he was standing in front of the door of the duplex with his head hung low. “Do you want me to shoo him away? My grandson left his toy gun here the other day, you know the one with the foam bullets…I’ll take him out for you, sweetheart.” 
Despite being amused by her words, a frown forms on your face, “Stand down, Mrs. Temple. I’ll handle him.” 
“Alright, but if he gives you any trouble just let me know. I’ll give him hell.” Her soft voice now stern, “I know you will, remember how you asked me for his number last night cause you wanted to cuss him out?” You can hear her let out a huff on the other end before exclaiming, “He made you cry! I should go out there and jam my knitting needle through his eye.” 
“That won’t be necessary, I’ll just tell him to leave and everything will be fine. And oh! Before I forget, do you like funfetti cake? I’ll bring it up for you and Mr.Temple a few slices when it's done.” 
“We’d love that!” 
The two of you exchange goodbyes and end the call. You take a second to collect yourself, taking a deep breath before opening the window, “What are you doing here?” 
His head darts up, “Honey,” the sound of his voice catches the attention of your cat, who jumps on the windowsill to see him. He turns his entire body in your direction, digging his hands further into the pockets of his jacket, “Can we talk, please?” 
You shake your head, “I meant what I said, Peter, I don't want to see you. Just go home.” 
He opens his mouth to protest but you’re quick to shut the window and draw the blinds close. You walk back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder expecting to see your cat following close behind but much to your surprise, he’s waiting by the door. The sight made your heart hurt, “Snaps… I’m sorry buddy but he’s not coming.” 
—————————————
Disaster. 
That’s exactly how you’d describe the state of your kitchen. Your sink was piled high with mixing bowls and baking pans but it was all worth it once you added the final dusting of rainbow sprinkles to the frosted cake. 
“Okay, Snaps, the cake is done, emergency chocolate chip cookies are in the oven. How do we feel about Coming to America tonight?” You ask aloud as you slice into the cake. 
You look up at him perched on the windowsill, head poking around the blinds to watch the rain pour outside.“I’m going to run upstairs, you stay he–” you’re cut off by your ringtone, “Hey Mrs. Temple, I was just about to bring some cake up for you guys.” 
“He’s still here, dear.” Her words made you feel uneasy, “He came back?” 
“I’m not sure he ever left….he’s just sitting there.” You rush over to the window, pulling the blinds back, squinting your eyes trying to catch a glimpse of him on the stoop. “Oh my god! Can I call you back?” You didn't wait for her reply before ending the call. 
You can feel your chest tighten as you leave your apartment and make the short walk to the building’s entryway. You inhale sharply before opening the door, to reveal Peter scrabbling to his feet. The rain mercilessly beats against his already drenched skin, he looks completely exhausted. “Hi,” his voice comes out as a whisper. 
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you have any idea of how sick you'll get?” You scold him, stepping aside and opening the door wider for him to enter. 
“I’m sorry,” he croaks out as he follows closely behind into your apartment, you ignore his words and the way Snaps starts to nuzzle against Peter’s leg only to pull away when he feels the cold and wet fabric of Peter’s jeans, “Go warm up in the shower, I’ll bring you a towel and some clothes,” you say walking into your bedroom. 
You search through your drawer for something warm, eventually settling on a pair of flannel pajamas bottoms he’d left at your place for the nights he slept over, the sweatshirt you’d slept in the night before, and a pair of your fuzzy socks he stole from you. 
You use your knuckle to knock on the bathroom door, “Peter? I’m coming in,” you said, turning the handle. “No, wait!” Peter calls out but he’s too late, you’ve already seen it. His suit. 
“What the fuck!” Your eyes go wide as you scan the spider symbol on his chest. 
Peter freezes, paralyzed by fear, this was not how you were supposed to find out. “It’s not what it looks like!” he blurts out, voice laced with panic. He watches your shoulder slump back and your eyes well with tears, you’ve never felt worse. 
“Please, don’t cry. I can explain–” the sound of the oven’s timer going off causes you to shift your focus, shoving the towel in his hands. “I laid some clothes out for you,” was all you said before hurrying towards the kitchen. 
—————————————
You were sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling trying to make sense of it all. Every moment you spent with Peter replaying over and over again in your head, mentally berating yourself for not piecing everything together sooner. All the cuts and bruises you’ve cleaned and iced, the dates he missed ‘cause he ‘lost track of time’, every question he’d answer vaguely or just flat out avoid, every question you wanted to ask but held your tongue afraid you would come off as pushing or invasive and he’d leave. 
The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing followed by Peter’s faint footsteps and a soft meow causes you to shut your eyes, bracing yourself for the impending conversation to be had. You listened intently as his steps got closer and closer until they stopped right in front of the couch, you had a feeling he was standing over you and your suspicions were confirmed when a droplet of water falling onto your forehead caused you to open your eyes. 
The sight of Peter cradling Snaps like a baby immediately comes into view, “Sorry about that,” he says, shifting your cat to support him with just one arm, and using his now free hand to wipe your forehead. 
“It’s fine,” you mumble, sitting up and scooting over, patting the spot next to you. 
An awkward silence falls over the room, neither of you not knowing where to begin, “Thank you for doing this– for letting me in.” Your leg bounces as you try to work up the nerve to finally address the elephant in the room, opening your mouth to speak but shutting it when no words seem to come out until, “So…you’re Spider-Man?”
Peter swallows thickly, “I am.” 
“Oh,” you say nervously fiddling with your fingers, “I guess it makes sense.” 
“It does?”
You shrug your shoulders, “The longer I think about it…yeah. I’ve always assumed that whoever was under the mask was too smart and too courageous for their own good, no one fits that description better than you. And then there's every single injury you’ve ever had ever, no one trips and falls that many times, Pete.” 
He was just about to say something until he hears you, whispering to yourself under your breath, “I can’t believe I dated a superhero.” 
“Dated?” He repeats back your use of past tense only adds to the unsettling feeling in his chest, you were giving up on him and he deserves it. 
You hum in response, “I know May told you what I said– about there only being a certain amount of times you can let someone disappoint you, and you are way past your limit. I think it’s better if we both just accept this is how things were meant to be. Look you can stay tonight but I think it’s best that in the morning all we are is strangers.” Your voice wavers at the end and it makes his heart plummet. 
Tears pool in his eyes, “S-strangers?” 
He shakes his head repeatedly, “No, no, no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go–”
You furrow your brows at him, “And how exactly was this supposed to go?”
He hangs his head, glancing down at the cat looking back at him, Snaps stretches his paw out to touch his face, “We were supposed to talk it through, I went to the show- I bought flowers, they’re in my bag they're probably ruined now but I have them! I was going to tell you about being Spider-Man but then you weren’t there so I came here.”
“Me knowing about Spider-Man doesn’t really change anything.” 
“It doesn’t?”
“I guess It does-” he picks his head up as the words leave your mouth but it is quick to drop it again when you finish your speaking, “-just not in the way it counts.” 
“Oh,” he can feel his entire body deflate, “What does that mean?” 
 You let out a defeated sigh, “It means I understand why you were always running late or missing dates completely, and why you’ve shown up here sometimes looking as good as dead.” 
“But…?” 
“But it changes nothing about us, our relationship has never been a priority–”
He’s quick to cut you off, “That’s not true.” 
“But it is, Peter. You’ve had a million chances to prove otherwise and you haven’t. I love you-”
“I love you too.”
“-but I can’t keep doing this, I don’t have it in me anymore,” you wipe away the tears that start to roll down your cheeks. “You just aren’t reliable, Peter.”
“What if I could be reliable? Give you stability?” 
“Peter we’ve already been down this road before–” 
“It’s different this time,” he insists, “I haven’t been able to balance being me and being Spider-Man, I’ve lost so much because being Spider-Man has completely dictated my life and I was fine with it because all heroes have to make sacrifices but none of it is worth it if it means I lose you too.” 
Snaps wiggles out of Peter’s arms and onto the floor, giving Peter the chance to grab ahold of your hands, “I can be both and also give you stability, you deserve better and I’ll do everything I can to be better. I don’t want to lose you, Honey, I don’t. Please, let me show that I can be reliable–that our relationship is a priority.” 
Your silence is deafening, you do your best to avoid Peter’s pleading eyes as you weigh options,
“Parker, I swear to fucking god you better pray your lucky number is a million and one because this is the last time I’m ever doing this with you.”
He perks up immediately, eyes glistening as he processes what you said. His mouth opens but you start to speak before he’s able to get a word out, “If we’re doing this then there's a few rules I’d like to set and they’re all non-negotiable.” 
“Lay it on me.”
“Date night. Twice a month, no expectations. I don’t care if we go out or stay in, I just want a couple of nights off with my boyfriend. You flake, you’re out. Got it? ”
“Got it.”
“Wait, that made me feel like a bitch, to clarify that doesn’t apply to serious situations. I’m not going to stop you from helping or anything like that, I just want two nights out of the month reserved specifically for us.”
“I knew what you meant,” Peter reassures. 
“Could you call or text me when you get home after you’re done with Spider-Man stuff? I’d like to know you’re safe.” 
“Consider it done. Can I add a rule of my own?” 
“Go for it.” 
“Can you leave one of the windows in the bedroom unlocked for me? Since you know now I figured I could come over right after patrol and skip the whole ‘changing in an alley somewhere’ part.” 
“I can do that.” 
You stand up and start walking to the kitchen, “This isn’t a rule, it's a favor but could you run this up to Mrs.Temple? And before you ask, yes you can have some.” 
Peter trails behind you, eyes sparkling when he finally sees the baked goods on your countertop. “God, I love you,” he says, giving you a wet kiss on the cheek.
—————————————
Peter’s knuckles knocked against the door, he could hear shuffling around the room before the door opened revealing Mrs. Temple with a big smile plastered on her face. 
“Oh it’s you,” she says, her smile faltering. 
He holds out the plastic cake dish for her to take, “Uh yeah, Y/n’s asked me to bring some cake up for you guys.” 
“Mmmhm…I heard what happened,” she eyed him up and down, “and by the looks of you being here, I assume my sweet girl forgave your ass?” 
Peter nods, “She did–” 
“We’ll I’m glad things worked out,” she steps closer, poking him in the chest with her finger, “But if you ever make my baby cry again, it will be the last thing you ever do.” She takes the dish from his hand, her next words were lower than a whisper, “I know a guy.” 
“Well, you and Y/n have a goodnight, tell her I’ll give her a call in the morning,” she adds before retreating back into her apartment.
“I don't think I’ve ever been more terrified of an elderly woman than I was just now,” were the first words to leave his mouth the second he returned to your apartment. 
“Oh god, did she threaten to shoot you?” 
His eyes bulged out of his head, “She has a gun?” 
You wave his question off, “No it's just a Nerf gun.”
His mouth forms into an ‘O’, “so the implication that she could put out a hit on me was a bluff?” 
“No, she really does know a guy, he’s nice.” 
—————————————
Extra:
Your head rested against Peter’s chest, the soft thumping of his heart mixed with his hand rubbing your back made your eyelids feel heavier. 
“Pete?” 
He grunted in response. 
“Why didn’t you go home? When I told you earlier?” 
“Home is where the heart is.” 
You pretend to gag at his statement, “That was too cheesy, even for you.” 
“It’s not cheesy, it's the truth and it’s endearing.” 
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