#also imagining them at a formal black tie type event | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mylevisdontfitanymore · 1 month

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Do you ever imagine Steve burping helplessly and Bucky getting turned on in a public place?

This isn’t public public but something that I have been thinking a lot about recently is car rides and how an especially rough ride might jostle burps out of someone while also forcing them to hold their sensitive, overfull tummy, groaning with complaints as the car rumbles and shakes. Then, as all this is going on, there’s also nothing they can do about it because they need to get home. In fact, before they got in the car and started getting jostled around, they really wanted to get home, they were so excited to get home so they could lie down and sleep off all the excess food and/or drinks they stuffed into themselves. So they're just trapped burping and being shaken up like a can of soda, about to pop. And that’s what I’m going with here! I hope you enjoy it!

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the cut. Warnings for alcohol consumption (but Steve can't get drunk because we're talking about serumed Steve, so it's not really intox? yanno?), burping, bloating, button pops, etc.

Steve and Bucky have just spent their evening at the latest fancy, excessively formal gala where they’re playing politics. Shaking hands with the government officials they pretend to listen to when it comes to how to save the world, living up to their roles as superheroes who are definitely not vigilantes and certainly operate under the law, yes, sir. Really actually gritting their teeth against boredom while making polite conversation. They’re doing it for the sake of the other Avengers and so they’re not deemed as enemies of the state… again.

So, once it’s over and they’re free to go home, both Steve and Bucky breathe a sigh of relief upon getting back to their car. It’s all over, well into the night or, actually, the next day. It’s morning now. Early, early morning. But. It’s over with. Thank God.

Steve, however, sighs especially loudly, fidgeting with his tie and instantly undoing the knot the moment he drops his ass into the passenger seat, shutting his door with a little too much force.

“That bad?” Bucky smirks, teasing him but not looking over from the driver’s seat at him because he’s too busy sticking the keys in the ignition and starting the car, flicking on the ventilation system and fiddling with the radio, turning it on low for some background noise.

“You have no idea,” Steve snarks back tiredly, falling farther into his seat as he buckles up with a click.

Amused, Bucky looks over at his best guy now that the car is idling, warming up, there’s something in his voice that catches his attention - he swears if anyone said something stupid to his Steve, they’re gonna pay for it - and

Oh.

After he blinks and takes a moment to process what he’s seeing, Bucky feels his own eyes widen comically when his gaze lands on the way Steve’s gut is suddenly bulging out from his body. The breath gets caught in his throat. His stomach. Woah. It’s… it’s a thing. It’s big. Suddenly, straining the limits of his choking formal attire. His neatly pressed black suit jacket and white dress shirt underneath with the tails of his black tie falling to either side of the hill rising from the middle of his body.

“What the fuck?” Bucky murmurs involuntarily, staring at his best guy and trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. His belly is so pressed outwardly and distended that Bucky can’t see the shiny leather belt that he knows is holding up his slacks. He’s… huge.

With eyes on him, Steve stretches like a cat, arching his back like his belly actually fucking fighting to escape the formal wear and seat belt that he’s wrapped haphazardly around it. His suit looks painted on, so unbelievably tight; his seat belt is curving underneath his belly’s sudden weight and curled over the top of it, emphasizing its heft.

“C’monnn,” Steve whines, high-pitched, breaking his Captain America facade that he uses for these types of events and returning to the punk he really is, “get us out of here already.” He turns his head to the side, his blue eyes glassy.

Automatically, Bucky puts the car in gear and does as he says - he’d do anything for that stupid punk - but, at the same time, he can’t stop shooting glances over to the passenger seat where Steve’s resting, reclining, fully exhausted, in his seat. He sighs heavily again, this time it’s in relief from unbuttoning his suit jacket. Bucky catches an eyeful of it, his dick jumping, trained like a dog to a whistle but the whistle is Steve taking off his clothes. And… if possible… his belly swells outwards another inch. Maybe more.

“Jesus, Stevie,” they come to a stop at a sign, just leaving the parking garage, and Bucky uses the moment to reach over and touch his belly. Just making sure it’s real and he’s not seeing things. Patting him down. Under his palm, it’s very real. Very tight and very real, making a ripe, solid thump sound with each pat-pat he makes.

The collision has Steve stifling an airy belch behind a loosely curled fist, “c-careful, Buck,” he warns.

“Or what, you’ll pop?” Bucky’s teasing but also… he could. He might. Just look at him, nearly bursting out of his clothes. On a goddamn normal day, Bucky can’t deal with Mr. Steve I-Like-Tight-T-Shirts-That-Show-Off-Every-Inch-Of-My-Hot-Bod Rogers. So how is he supposed to deal with Steve when he’s dressed to the nines in formal wear and they’ve just had to deal with a fucking room full of stuffy politicians that frustrate him to the point of wanting to rip out his hair or punch a wall or fuck someone hard? (Preferably the last option, and preferably Steve).

He looks - Bucky licks his lips which are suddenly dry - almost pregnant. Ready to pop alright. Bucky shivers as he shifts gears.

Steve lazily chuckles at him, breathless, explaining his situation away by flapping a hand passively, “everyone wanted to have a toast to or a toast with Captain America,” Bucky nods, trying to listen and barely succeeding, “and you know how it is, I can’t turn anything down when I’m wearing the stars and stripes, it looks bad.” Steve shifts in his seat as Bucky hits the gas, the softest groan falling out of his loose, full lips already driving Bucky insane even before he admits, “so I have no idea how many flukes of champagne I drank.”

As they continue to cruise, Bucky keeps looking over at him, stealing glances, trying but failing to keep his eyes on the road. He’s trying to process the thought of Steve getting fucking wasted in this new century. Sloshed. Hitting glass after glass, bottle after bottle, until he’s flushing pink, and getting stumbly and tipsy and touchy like he used to before the serum when he was the lightest lightweight. Always snuggling up to Bucky, all over him, curling up in his lap like a cat after they went out drinking back in the day, kissing him and clinging to him, begging him with slurred words and dangerously mischievous eyes to fuck him rough and hard. Yanno how I like it, c’moooon, Buck, do meee, Bucky can still hear his drunk voice.

“Christ,” Bucky finally spits out some fucking words, his brain practically smoking, “it’s a good thing you can’t get drunk then, pal.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s breathing is labored as he tries to get comfortable, wiggling around in his seat, pulling at his now open collar and the seat belt cutting into him, “still can get full, though-”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees too quickly, too eager.

“And bloated,” Steve hisses out the tiniest of burps, leaning completely back into the leather seat, flopping back, his hands limp at his sides, “I’m sooo bloated.”

Bucky swallows thickly, “you look it… looks like you’re smuggling a watermelon under that suit.” Bucky’s flesh and blood hand aches with how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel, he’d be worried about breaking it if all his attention weren’t split between making sure he’s not about to crash and Steve.

“Thanks, asshole,” Steve laughs gently, the sweet sound ending in a gasp as he feels the alcohol in his belly swirl, the finger food he ate swimming in it, there’s so much.

“Just look at yourself, baby-” Bucky can’t resist pushing further, teasing and in awe at the same time. That’s what he and Steve do, though, they give each other shit. It’s a love language.

“Mmmmm-hm,” Steve lazily glances down, moving slower with just how overfull he is.

“You were sucking that thing in?” Bucky risks taking one hand off the wheel to reach over and smack his gut. Lightly. But, still, it’s enough to jostle a bigger burp out of Steve. He can’t believe how tight Steve’s belly is. He can’t believe how big Steve’s belly is. It’s making it hard to think. “That whole time? Your poor abs!”

“Uh-huh,” his big chest heaves as he tries to breathe deeply but can’t find the room in his body to fully expand his lungs, his stomach is too big, stretched, taking up all the extra room in his body and more, “Jesus, yeah,” he agrees, “my abs hurt, they’re so stretched-”

Bucky licks his lips, why does that sound so good? To him, and evidently to Steve with his tone of voice… it’s gone all breathy and soft like it does when he likes something. Turned on and weak for whatever it is, unable to put up a fight.

“-But it feels good to let it out, too.”

Christ.

Tease much, Rogers? Bucky wants to bite back.

But instead, Bucky can’t be bothered to be ashamed of himself when he answers, “it looks good, too.” Fucking sue him. He’s attracted to Steve all the time. Constantly. How would this be different? Why wouldn’t he want him like this? Even more of him. He can’t believe how hard that dress shirt is straining to keep his swollen gut covered. There are diamond gaps of exposed pale flesh between every button. It’s as if his belly is dying to get out and swell bigger, needing more space to get larger. And he’s… he’s interested in seeing it get bigger. If Steve can stomach it (ha), at least. He doesn’t want to actually pop Steve. He just wants to push his limits. See how much he can take.

Steve huffs, shaking his head affectionately like he can’t believe it. But he blushes bright pink, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He’s on the same page, just shier about it, “thanks, pal,” he murmurs, ducking his head, “you know how to make a guy feel special.”

Bucky snorts, “sure thing,” they stop at a red light and Bucky indulges himself, finding one of the gaps between his buttons to put two fingertips against his bare skin. Investigating the new landscape of Steve’s mountainous gut. It feels like he has a fever despite being unable to get sick these days, and when Bucky presses his fingers in, just to feel how much give there is in that tight belly -

“Oof,” Steve groans, “be carefu-uuuurpp,” there’s nothing Steve can do to stop the burp that comes barreling out of him.

“Be careful?” Bucky smirks, laughing a little, more breathless than anything, though, he had no idea that a stomach could do that. Could be so tight. He’s felt up Steve’s rock-hard abs plenty. Often, even. But… this is different and it’s exciting. “Or what? What’re you gonna do if I’m not? It seems like you’re having a hard time over there, bud.”

A car drives up behind them, appearing out of the empty night and honking, forcing Bucky’s eyes back onto the road. Ah, the light’s green, it probably has been for a while, too. So, he drives on.

Steve is about to respond, giving him shit right back, he’s sure, when the car hits a sudden pothole, jostling them both. But, poor Steve, it hits him worse. Not just startling him. The pothole is on the passenger side, to begin with, and Steve’s more affected by it anyway with his bloated belly. Despite how tight it is, packed to the brim with carbonated liquid, the dip in the road leaves it bouncing, jiggling, and sloshing violently as the car shakes. Bucky has never so deeply paid attention to the suspension because fuck. The impact seems to send a shockwave through Steve’s whole body, causing him to emit a loud, reckless belch that actually echoes in the tight confines of the car. The last of it turns into a groan as Steve curls his hands protectively around his belly like he can stop it from sloshing around. Meanwhile, Bucky could fucking thank the god-awful Nazis right now for gifting him with super hearing, forgiving all the other torture they put him through, just because he can hear the way the champagne bubbles trapped inside him fizz, tickling his insides almost… pleasurably if the blush spreading over Steve’s face and down his neck is anything to go by.

They’re both breathing harder now.

Not even a minute later after the first cacophonous, obscene accidental moment, Bucky turns onto another road, taking them home on autopilot, leaving NYC and heading towards Brooklyn. On the other road, right after the gut-churning too-fast turn, there’s another polehole, this one worse. Worse not because it’s bigger but because Bucky knows what’s going to happen. He sees it ahead of them and his brain is still processing what just happened, how seeing Steve jiggle and wobble made him feel involuntarily forcing him to picture the way Steve’s ass and tits move when he rides him, the way he groans when his dick bottoms out inside of him, stuffed full, and -

Bucky doesn’t even try to avoid the pothole, he just stares at Steve out of the corner of his eye, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

Steve’s swollen midsection heaves with another burp. Fuck. Bucky might be crazy, he might be seeing things, but his formal shirt, the buttons!, God, they’re almost straining more than they were before.

This time, his burps mix more with his groans and moans of discomfort.

Bucky’s head is spinning.

He feels like he needs to ask, “you alright?” But it’s more excitement than concern racing through him. This is… something about this is hot. Boiling even.

Letting the back of his head hit the headrest, hands supporting the underside of his belly, Steve swallows. Then, he nods weakly, cheeks flushed, “yeah,” he coughs to half-hide another burp, “‘m just gassy.”

Bucky’s gaze lingers on the mesmerizing sight before him, unable to tear himself away. The roughness of the road seems unending, who the fuck is in charge of New York streets anyway? They’re doing an awful job!, every jiggle and slosh of Steve’s belly sends shivers down Bucky’s spine. It makes Bucky’s face hot and tingly, stealing glimpses of his bloat as he takes them home.

Bigger and bigger and bigger.

He’s just filling up more with each shake-up of the contents of his stomach. Gas building. Bubbling.

Reflexively, with each belch and moan that escapes Steve’s lips, Bucky gets more and more aroused. His dick feels as hard as Steve’s belly looks. The tension in the car thickens. Steve tries to apologize for being so noisy and gassy, embarrassed, the manners he was taught holding him back, but Bucky won’t have it. Hastily, he reaches over with his hand not on the steering wheel to massage the roundest, most bulged-out part of his belly, saying, “you gotta let it out, baby, it’s okay. I want you to. Don’t hold back” He digs his fingers in just enough to cause another belch from Steve - a whimper right after - and they both squirm in their seats. “That’s it,” Bucky pats his tummy, encouraging him.

It seems impossible. He’s so full of champagne, so round. And all the sweet, fizzy alcohol is just getting more and more carbonated, more sparkling, more bubbly, more sloshy inside him with every jolt and shake of the car. Despite how much he’s burping, letting some of the gas escape, he just keeps swelling. Little by little, his belly inflates farther, expanding like a balloon. A balloon attached to a helium tank. Bucky is exhilarated by it, and judging by how Steve’s uncomfortable groans have pitched up into sounds that are more like moans of relief chasing each belch… Bucky isn’t the only one.

There’s something so hot about watching him blow up. Inflate. Expand. Swell.

The tension in the air follows Steve’s strained dress shirt, at first, it’s well-fitting, then a little bit tight, then tighter, tighter, until it’s creaking at the seams, ready to burst. The tension is so thick, it could be cut with a knife. Ready to snap. The buttons are threatening to pop off at any moment. All that gas… all the sloshing. The pressure is mounting. Every pothole, speedbump, black-tar snake, and accidental hit curb is a sweet torment for Steve, making him burp and cry out more which in turn torments Bucky. Both of them are wracked with anticipation, crawling with the need to touch each other.

The next time Bucky can take a hand off the steering wheel again and reach out to thump Steve’s swollen gut, Steve lets out a low, guttural moan, his body jerking into the sensation. But at that same risked moment, they hit the deepest, biggest pothole yet and -

Pop!

The first one is so loud and unexpected that it makes both of them jump in their seats, Bucky slams on the break which doesn’t help Steve’s precarious situation.

Pop!

The second one makes Steve whimper, trembling in his seat under the sloshing liquid inside him, swirling around, leaving him aching, the seat belt digging into him harder, feeling as though it’s cutting him in half.

POP!

The third one has Bucky swearing because fuck. Fuck! That’s so fucking hot. Steve is so big, so swollen that the buttons on his shirt, stretched over Steve’s belly have popped right off, flying forward and hitting the dash or the windshield. His shirt is no longer able to contain the bulging dome of his gut. It’s too much to handle, it’s expanded too far for the once perfectly fitted formal attire to hold on.

With each button that bursts free, a pleasurable relief in its own right, Steve’s pale, round, so fucking round, gut spills out into the heated, thick air. No longer held back by his clothes. The audible slosh of Steve’s champagne-and-gas-filled belly swelling suddenly, violently into his lap between the white halves of his now-ruined dress shirt is mouth-watering. With every stuttered breath Steve takes, stunned by arousal and shock, his gut seems to pulse with his overindulgence. Bucky can hear his heart racing and he knows Steve can feel it in his expanded stomach. All that taut, smooth, blushing skin exposed.

Oh, God.

Steve lets out his loudest moan so far, reckless with it. His hands had been braced on the center console and door handle respectively, hanging on as he was sloshed and jiggled. His hands fly up, grabbing his gut now that he isn’t so precariously balanced on the edge, feeling ready to burst with the pressure mounting inside him, forcing burps to come out of his mouth whether he wanted them to or not.

“Oh. Ohhh,” he can’t stop saying it, as if he’s shocked by what’s happening to him and he is, probably just as much as Bucky is. Somehow his flesh is still so taut. The pressure has alleviated some, but not much. He still feels like a fucking balloon.

Swollen.

Bloated.

Spherical.

Shaking, the blond caresses the surface of his shiny stomach. The heat of his belly pressing down against his thighs, in his lap, sends waves of pleasure through his whole body. He may not be so tightly compressed but the burps keep coming, released between his desperate gasps for breath, “ah, urrrp, oh, ooh, auurp, fuck me. Buurp. Guh. Uhhn. I feel so full!” He whines, “I’m so gassy, and, urrrrrp, God, so round.”

Bucky is amazed that he’s still fucking driving because he isn’t fucking functioning. Watching Steve touch himself, rubbing the dome that is his tight middle and daring to try and sink his fingers into his swollen body for relief from the pressure, Jesus Christ, it’s enough to kill him where 70 years of brainwashing didn’t.

Fuck Steve Rogers.

“Ah, oh, ohhh,” Steve’s voice trembles, “I can’t - URP - believe it. Look at me,” he begs Bucky, turning his head to the side to pout at him.

Fuck Steve Rogers.

“‘M so big! Buck! I’m so big! I didn’t know-oh, I could stretch so much. It aches,” he whimpers, “‘m so stretched! Buurp.”

Bucky stops in the middle of the road. He doesn’t give a shit anymore. It’s nighttime. There’s no one driving behind him anymore. There are other lanes. Anyone who does drive up behind him can fuck off. They can go around - they can go to hell. He needs to get his hands on that gut. Now.

Steve writhes as much as he can under the mass of his gut sitting on top of him when Bucky lunges toward him, “look at me!” he whimpers again, happy under his attention, “it, it… it fills my, my whole lap. Urrrrp, ugh, God, ‘m so bloated!”

His stomach feels so tight that Bucky can’t believe it. He can’t imagine what the pressure must feel like for Steve. The fullness. It has to be unbearable. Like being fucked full of cock but so, so much more. Hell, just looking at him is raw and pleasurable in a way that it shouldn’t be, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for Steve. There’s nothing erotic about this yet everything about it is insanely erotic… how he can’t stop making noises, uncontrolled burping. Sloshing. Belching. Fizzing. The way he’s squirming. The way he’s begging Bucky to help him, relieve the pressure, touch him, massage him, anything!

“Buck, I’m… I’m so full,” he whimpers.

“I know, Stevie,” he growls, his voice low and husky, practically already fogging up their windows he’s burning so hot for this, “but, Christ, babydoll, you look incredible.” He does. His gut is throbbing, red, and shining under the street lights. Bucky can’t stop touching his belly, massaging it worshipfully. Thumping it to hear how much his body sounds like a drum. “We should keep you like this,” he’s already salivating at the thought, his hips jerking forward to grind into nothing but thin air. He wants him so bad when he’s like this, stuffed full, exposed, and incapacitated by the sloshing weight in his big, sexy belly.

“Unnngh,” Steve whines, nodding, “it, it feels so good,” he pants, “urrrp, aarrp, ‘m so fuckin’ full, Buck.”

“You’re like a balloon,” Bucky whispers, leaning over awkwardly in the car to say the words into his mouth, kissing him desperately, “so tight you’re about to pop.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, shivering, “keep, keep touching me, I need-” he cuts himself off, burping right in Bucky’s face with a flare of embarrassment so strong it makes him squeak. Mortified.

Bucky won’t have it, though. He bites Steve’s lower lip hungrily and digs them deeper into the debauchery, “I bet we can find a liquor store that’s still open, you wanna see if we can get a few more bottles into this tanker?” Then, he slaps his gut to make him convulse, curling around his pulsing, throbbing, aching belly.

Steve can’t take it, moaning, “yes! Yes, Buck! Please! I wanna be bigger. Fill me up until I can’t take any-ah-ahh, URP, any more!”

(Why does staring at an overflowing bottle make me horny? What even is this fetish 😂)

#ask #mylevisdontfitanymore #belly kink #text #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #chubby steve #bloating #alcohol consumption #burping

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sailtomarina · 6 months

Text

Wild Lavender

Hermione x Fred | Kinktober Day 30: “Formalwear” cw: implied sex

When Hermione saw the formal invitation with “black tie” in carefully printed letters, she had to admit a part of her almost canceled on Fred right then and there.

The Merchant’s Inaugural Gala was meant to celebrate the reformation of Diagon Alley and related shopping districts after the war. It had been a long time getting back to the previous levels of activity, too long since people felt comfortable in the public spaces that once brought so many of them joy.

It was through that rebuilding effort that Hermione and Fred bonded, with her spending much of her free time on the weekends over at Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes replenishing stocks and shelves alongside her favorite twin.

They were so close to taking that final step towards something more, and when he’d asked her to be his +1, she hadn’t hesitated to accept. Now, standing in his kitchen above the store after going up to get a drink of water, she looked down at the card atop his table.

Black tie.

What was she even going to wear? She didn’t have any gowns suitable for this type of event. The best she had was the red cocktail dress she’d worn at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Could she have it lengthened?

Fred popped his head in the door and noticed her standing there, chewing her lip.

“Everything alright, Hermione?”

She startled at his voice and set the glass down with a loud clunk.

“I didn’t realize the gala would be so formal.”

He sauntered over to look down at the invitation, before looking back up at her with his head tilted. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“I just don’t know if I have anything to wear,” she admitted. She willed her hands to stop twisting the hem of her sweater like she often did when nervous.

“Sorry, I should have mentioned it earlier. I didn’t have anything either, which is why I popped over to Wild Lavender.”

That surprised her. For some reason, she couldn’t imagine him walking into the posh new boutique.

His next words surprised her even more. “If you go for yourself, let them know you’re my date. They’ll take care of you.”

She gaped at him, appalled at the implication. “I’m not letting you buy my gown, Fred!” He obviously had no idea how expensive dresses could get.

“I promise that’s not what I mean,” he laughed, shaking his head. “They’ll just make sure you get something that matches well. The proprietor also may have mentioned wanting to meet you.”

She wrinkled her brow at the strange comment. Why would a stranger want to meet her? Then another idea came to mind and she flinched. What if they were one of those people who got off on meeting celebrities? She was a household name now, alongside the boys, and she’d already suffered her fair share of dodging the press.

As if he’d read her mind, Fred nudged her playfully. “It’s nothing bad, trust me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Hmm,” she hummed skeptically. “We’ll see about that.”

Her mind whirred as she followed him back down to the shop. What could the owner of an up-and-coming clothes shop want with her?

It turned out that the proprietors were none other than Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown.

She should have guessed the connection with the name, but she hadn’t seen nor heard anything about Lavender following her hospitalization. Hermione had known it was a pretty big ordeal—it was Fenrir, after all–and that her former housemate survived, but nothing beyond that.

The two girls circled her like hawks, and Hermione tried to not stare at the scars marring the once-pretty girl’s face, focusing instead on Parvati’s excited smile.

“You’re going to be perfect!” she gushed. Lavender nodded in agreement, continuing to take her measurements.

“I’m sorry, what is going to be perfect?” Hermione asked, her nerves getting the better of her. She had to forcibly stop herself from gripping her sweater.

“We’re thinking midnight blue to match with Fred, and something that accentuates your delicate features,” Parvati answered.

“She won’t need any support with how tiny she is,” Lavender murmured.

Hermione flushed. She knew she was skinny—several months on the run had made certain of that. She had only recently gotten back to her former weight, but it was still difficult making herself eat when she could have easily skipped meals.

Lavender rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, and Hermione looked at her directly for the first time. She hadn’t expected the comfort, to be honest, given their history. Large hazel eyes looked back at her filled with a kindness and understanding to which Hermione couldn’t help but respond. She smiled tightly, tears threatening to fall, and it was only Lavender’s reassuring squeeze that gave her the will to stop them.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Hermione,” Lavender said softly, going on to explain, “I simply meant that we won’t need further adjustments.”

It turned out what they had in mind was more daring than Hermione would have ever, ever chosen for herself.

The drawing Parvati held up to her revealed a slender gown that hugged the model’s willowy frame, the back of which plunged deep past the center of her back with thin straps exposing her shoulders. She appreciated the design hiding the purple scar reaching across her torso—she wasn’t ashamed of it, but she still wasn’t comfortable with showing it off to others. She’d cross that hurdle with Fred if they ever got there.

The skirt flared outward at the knee in a mermaid silhouette. Hermione had only ever considered the shape as something appropriate for wedding gowns, not for anything she would ever wear.

“We’re adding a charm to occasionally shimmer gold as you move,” Parvati described. She waved her hands in her excitement. “You won’t need to wear a bra or anything for support since we’ll have spells weaved into the fabric, not that you even can wear one with this design. I’d advise against knickers, as well.”

“It’s beautiful, but don’t you think it’s a bit…much…for me?” she tentatively asked.

“Nonsense,” Lavender scoffed. Her voice regained the vigor of her youth in her certainty. “In fact, I’d wager you’ll catch every single person’s attention the moment you walk in. You are magnificent.”

Hermione only wanted one wizard’s attention, but she flushed at the compliment, all the same.

“Just make sure you credit Wild Lavender when asked about your stylist,” Parvati added.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. Here was the true reason they’d wanted to meet her so badly. When they refused her payment, she barely argued. If they wanted her to parade their goods to the world, she might as well take them up on the offer.

She had no idea what to expect as she waited for Fred to arrive at her flat. She trusted he’d dress appropriately thanks to the girls, but she also wouldn’t have put it past the mischievous wizard to show up in something akin to his and George’s signature orange.

Hermione had to admit that she wouldn’t even mind.

As garish as the color was, the brightness of it simply suited him. Fred was pure joy. If he hadn’t survived his injuries after the final battle, Hermione knew the loss would have devastated his family and everyone else who knew him, and she would have been robbed of some of the happiest moments of her life.

When the knock came, a cheery trio of raps that was all Fred, she took a steadying breath before opening the door.

Fred Weasley cleaned up extremely well.

The prat knew it, too.

He stood there, one hand casually in his pocket, and the other holding up a single-stemmed rose in a deep shade of red, a single dark blue ribbon tied to the stem.

He wore a three-piece suit in a shade of brown Hermione immediately likened to her favorite dark roast coffee. The color complimented his hair, shorn short on the sides and the longer tresses up top styled in fashionable messiness. Accents of a blue matching the rose’s ribbon could be found in his slim tie and pocket square, both of which brought out his light blue eyes, which were currently pinned on her and twinkling in a way that was uniquely his.

“Hello, Hermione.”

It took a twist of his lips for Hermione to realize she was gaping at him. She shut her mouth with an audible click and hastily cast about for something appropriate to say.

She was an intelligent witch. She could be witty when required.

“Hi.”

Bloody hell.

His damnable lips curled upward into a grin. He then blatantly ran his eyes down her figure, before locking back onto her stupefied gaze. “You look gorgeous.”

Hermione was forced to clear her throat, which suddenly felt extremely dry, before answering. “Thank you. You look very nice, as well.”

She flushed as he chuckled at her stiff response. She sounded nothing like her normal self, and she hated that. Why couldn’t she just act like she normally did around him? It was usually so easy.

Curse Lavender and Parvati for making him look so damn delicious.

Hermione already knew he was a good-looking and fit wizard; a blind witch could have told her that. He and George had been Beaters, after all. They had the muscle mass to back up the skills the position required: broad shoulders, thick thighs that his dress slacks hugged sinfully, and an arse so tight she knew if he just turned around she’d want to bounce a Quaffle off of it.

Were Quaffles bouncy?

“Shall we?” He held out an elbow.

“Yes, oh!” Hermione plucked the rose from his fingers and rushed back to the kitchen to set it in a vase in the dead center of the island. “Now I’m ready.”

A choked sound had her twirling around in concern. His eyes were wide, and she realized that he’d seen her back for the first time.

Her very. Bare. Back.

He smiled tightly at her, closed his eyes for a few seconds, the tendons in his neck standing out, then reopened them before offering his arm once more for her to take.

As she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, Hermione couldn’t help but squeeze lightly in appreciation. He was just so solid and warm, and she couldn’t help but imagine him wrapping those same arms around her. What would they feel like pressing her against the wall, or bent over a desk?

A throat clearing had her looking up into crystal clear eyes that looked hungry.

“Yes?”

“That’s the second time you’ve said ‘yes’ this evening and I’m tempted to make you say it several times more before we even leave the flat.” He sounded hoarse, eyes dropping down to her lips and staring like he wanted nothing more than to bite them.

Circe help her, but she wanted him to bite her.

“Then why don’t you?” she said, far more breathily than she’d intended.

“Be careful what you ask for, Hermione,” he warned, turning to face her and placing his other hand on her hip.

Looking as he did, painfully handsome and dressed up for her, Hermione summoned every ounce of courage in her body to voice her thoughts aloud.

“Make me say ‘yes’, Fred.”

His eyes flashed, and then he was on her, pressing her up against the kitchen island, the hand on her hip sliding down to grip her thigh.

“Don’t you dare rip this dress, Fred Weasley.”

“Then tell me how to take it off, witch.”

She told him, and they ended up arriving at the gala several hours late, but just in time for the final toasts.

“Oh, this? Wild Lavender. You will not regret it.”

WC 1966

10/30 “Formalwear” prompt for @hpkinktober

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3

I don’t know if I’ve ever written Fremione, despite absolutely loving the two of them together? The twins are fantastic if any combination, to be honest, and I should probably write a triad fic for them sometime.

The title is a reference to a couple of YouTube fashion influencers I used to watch all the time. Kudos if you recognize it ;)

#harry potter fanfiction #hp kinktober 2023 #fremione #fred weasley #hermione granger #fred x hermione

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highflyerwings · 2 years

Note

do you think eventually kihyun gets brave and like, corners inguk when he's feeling needy and inguk is surprised because like. mild mannered kihyun is coming on strong. and he always thought the kid was cute but then he notices how broad kihyun's shoulders are in his dress shirt (*handwaves* they're dressed up for some kind of event--maybe not super formal but suits and ties, etc--or another don't ask just go with it) and is super fucking into it

also kihyun is wearing suspenders because he's cute and they're cute but they just make his torso look long af when he takes off his suit jacket and he's got this long thin skinny tie and the whole combination with like shiny dress shoes and everything is fucking appealing, okay. inguk is growing a new kink every time he sees this boy and like. his thirst. he's such a thirsty man around the kid even though he hasn't managed to nut up and act on it yet. and he doesn't know whether he wants to top the kid or be topped by him but the thought of like all that youthful energy at his back is fcking compelling.

(and at the same time, kihyun is mentally unravelling because inguk is all buttoned up in his usual hot af suit and tie and it's not like when they're working together alone and he rolls his shirtsleeves up and unbuttons a button or two and kihyun just wants to see him get messed up. kihyun wants to be the one to mess him up. like in the middle of the event he lost himself daydreaming about ruffling inguk's hair and taking off his tie and making him look sloppy but like in the best way... sigh. which is why he ends up cornering him in a dark corner somewhere because he can't take it anymore, hyung, god.)

i'm not sorry i feel like my goal on this earth is to tease the heck out of you it's so fun mwahahaha

At this point I don’t know which one of us has the bigger suit kink, but all I can say is this has fucked me up. And I can’t even be mad about it, because it gave me an excuse to google pictures of men’s suits to get a visual which I spent way too much time doing.

But is this them?

Is this Kihyun and Inguk?

I like to imagine Jinjoo taking either one of them shopping for this special event they're going to.

Because the thing is, Kihyun likely just owns ONE suit, and it's what he uses for job interviews, and it's basic at best. And with the exception of that one scene, we only ever see Lawyer Ko in a suit. But they’re work suits. They look good on him, but they’re meant for the office, and the courtroom. But what kind of suit would he wear to something a little more formal, I wonder.

What would Jinjoo pick out for them.

She'd immediately pick out the suspenders for Kihyun. "Something modern and sleek, but not too...hipster. You know? With those broad shoulders of yours? Oof." And for Inguk, "A classic three-piece suit. Something that says 'daddy' but isn't obvious about it."

She gives them a couple of different options each (they buy them all, of course). Some chic jackets and accessories for Kihyun. A nice charcoal grey suit with brown dress shoes for Inguk, because "The contrast with your dark hair...oppa, you need to stop wearing black suits all the time."

In any case, neither of them really got a full look at the other one in the suits Jinjoo picked out when they were trying them on. Later on at the event is the first time they really see each other. And the effect is immediate.

Inguk had never really noticed Kihyun's shoulders before. Even Jinjoo's comment earlier had him confused, but she was right. With the suspenders on he was...broad.

And the three-piece suit was a genius touch for Lawyer Ko. Because when he sits down, and he unbuttons that jacket, letting the vest come into full view? it's...the word 'daddy' really is on the tip of Kihyun's tongue. Jinjoo-noona was right.

Inguk can't stop glancing over at Kihyun, and noticing how sophisticated he looks. A far cry from the shy intern he first met. But Kihyun has proven himself a lot more adept at maneuvering any type of situation than the scared baby deer Inguk initially thought he was, so this look suits him. And maybe the pre-dinner gin and tonic helped, but Kihyun looks relaxed and attentive as he gazes around the table, and Inguk wonders what he's noticing.

Kihyun can feel Inguk's eyes on him, and he's pretending so hard not to notice. Not to look at him every few seconds like he wants to so desperately. Because Inguk looks striking in that suit. The way his dark hair, and his dark gaze are thrown into contrast against the charcoal grey. He's wants to reach over and put his hand on his thigh, let his fingers catch on the inseam, and feel the way Inguk tenses and then immediately shifts to let his legs fall open, just enough so that Kihyun's hand slips up a little further. But he doesn't. He just let's the thought swirl around inside his head, and when Inguk quietly excuses himself from the table, Kihyun waits a beat and then follows.

He follows Inguk down a hallway, and watches him slip out a door that Kihyun assumes is a restroom, but quickly realizes is an empty stairwell when he follows him through the door and immediately finds himself pressed up against the wall with a strong hand against his chest.

"What the hell are you doing?" Inguk asks. He's panting a little, and the way his gaze shifts from Kihyun's eyes to his mouth make something snap in Kihyun's brain.

Kihyun uses his slight size advantage to push off from the wall and crowd Inguk backwards until he's slamming his back against the opposite wall with a soft gasp.

"What am I doing?" Kihyun asks in disbelief. "Hyung. God..." He falters for a second and lets his head fall forward. He deflates a little bit. He lets his fingers reach out and tug at the edges of Inguk's suit jacket. He lets his hand slip inside until he's got it wrapped around Inguk's hip, and he squeezes.

"What," Inguk asks. It's heated, and demanding. A challenge.

"I just...I want..." Kihyun can't seem to find the words. He's embarrassed now, and nervous. He can smell Inguk's cologne, and heat immediately pools in his belly.

"What," Inguk demands again.

"I can't...take it anymore hyung, god," and he reaches up to grip Inguk's neck with his other hand as he crashes their mouths together. It's clumsy, and desperate, and Kihyun barely has a chance to feel Inguk's mouth part, and his tongue dart out against his before Kihyun is pulling away to mouth along Inguk's jaw.

Words tumble from his mouth between kisses.

"I want you," he says. "I want you. Wanna feel you," he lets his hand slide around to quickly squeeze Inguk's ass. "Taste you," he slides it back around to palm him through the front of his pants. Feeling him up as he licks back into Inguk's mouth with a desperate whine.

"Yeah," Inguk nods, and pants against Kihyun's mouth. "Yeah. Yes." He repeats as he tugs on one of Kihyun's suspenders and grinds against the palm of his hand. "Fuck. Let's go," he says, and he pulls away from Kihyun and quickly tugs him down the stairs.

"But, hyung...dinner?" Kihyun asks breathlessly.

"Fuck dinner," Inguk says.

"I'd rather fuck you, sir." Kihyun says, and he laughs as Inguk shoves him out the door at the bottom of the stairs with a frustrated groan.

#the devil judge #lawyer ko #babyboy intern #inguk x kihyun

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honnybunnie · 4 years

Text

Of course! A event or party hosted by Diavolo is sure to be be grand. when you say their color, im hoping the color they usually wear or the colors they have on during their demon forms.

I apologize for how long it took, I can’t go in blind, I had to design some clothes to get a better picture of the fancy outfits<3 <3

Lucifer:

There were only 2 reasons you decided to work the party. Diavolo offered to pay for your service, and second once you saw Barbatos display your outfit it became motivation. Lucifer along with Diavolo was the talk of these parties. Even with all seven brothers you weren’t even able to attend a party with a date, so it didn’t hurt to work at a party.

This party was to celebrate Lucifer’s thousands of years of serving as Diavolo’s loyal friend.

You Stood there welcoming the guests with a bow. The guests smitten by the attire that draped your body. A white laced choker with a red bow, White corset in addition to a red blazer with stilted tails in the back, tight high waist black pants with a damark pattern. The last detail was the red peacock feathers embellished with black and gold eyes. Diavolo acknowledged that even his wait staff needed to be well suited for every occasion. You were at the command of every guest, still not having a sight of Lucifer. There was a slight touch felt on the lower back. Reacting with a full body turn, you didn’t see anyone. Sighing at the action, you resumed your duty of collecting empty champagne glasses, and handing out horderves. Barbatos sent you on a run to the kitchen to get more champagne.

Pouring the champagne into empty glasses, you jolted at the sudden touch that was felt on your lower back. Swinging a hand to hit who the culprit, only to have it caught spinning you around to face them. Lucifer with a smirk pulled you closer by the lower back. “I apologize was this not what you wanted?,” he mumbled adjusting his lips to your ear, “Didn’t you wear this outfit to finally receive my attention. Don’t think I haven’t notice how great you look dressed as my animal, and in my color no less.”

Mammon:

You had told Diavolo about the hotels with gambling as a main attraction. Though gambling was illegal in devildom, he decided to make it into a little charity. As soon as Mammon had gotten wind of it and he needed his lady luck to attend with him. “Mc, as ya first demon, ya should know that you will be attending the gambling charity with me,” he demanded with a slight smirk, “Make sure to wear something that a lucky Lady would wear.” The night of the event you were running late, because Asmodeus kept making adjustments to your look. He said its no good looking like a cheap whore for an extravagant event.

Mammon was already at the event gambling... losing and acquiring more debt as time passed.

Emerging into the event hall multiple eyes turned to glance at your appearance, You wore a ruffled black shirt, tucked into a yellow skirt with a slit on each side of the skirt, topped with gold chandeliers earrings, and a crow pendant necklace. which Asmodeus claimed were both charmed to bring good luck. One demon already approaching them, “why Hello, you must be the hum-,” he was stopped by a knock to the teeth. “Hey they’re spoken for, don’t pursue just any human,” he growled, “this is my lucky charm.”

Walking away with arm around your shoulder, “gold really suits you,” he cooed. The night was mainly you plastered onto his lap, and when you weren’t directing touching him coincidentally he’d lose.

Leviathan:

Diavolo wanted to hold an event to help gather the otaku’s of devildom, and so he planned to host a cosplay cafe in a month, at rad. All the server’s were going to wear different outfits, and Barbatos had jolted down the measurements for the cosplay outfits that the seamstress to sew. Barbotos stated that the seamstress was going to make the outfits and design them. You were excited to see what the outfit was going be designed and sewed for you.

You were excited to tell Levi about the event, but he was always busy in the room, and when he left it was always to run to the craft store. He was definitely working on a big project. The day of the event Levi knocked on your door with a bag stretched out into your face. “th-this will look g-great on you,” he stuttered, “see you at the c-cosplay c-cafe.” Was he the one that made the cosplay, shrugging you stormed to rad.

As the cosplay Cafe was about to begin. You gazed at the cosplay in the mirror. Just wow. White collared purple tank top romper, a black tie, black bunny ears and tail. The top part of the romper was very revealing. Ready to work you picked up a plate and placed some starting treats.

You skimmed the cafe, hoping to find the purple haired otaku. Once in sight you rushed over with a skip. "Welcome back master, I hope these treats will find you well," you voiced. "M-mc!?!?! Huh.. h-huh," Levi panicking concealing his red tinted face with his arm, "t-thank YOU FOR THE TREATS... You LOOK GOOD IN THE OUTFIT I MADE." Your hunch earlier was right, you smiled and bowed, "thank you master, I hope you and I can put it to good use again." "Y-yes we will," he muttered.

Satan:

They caught your attention at Cat Cafe. Diavolo wanted you and Satan to be at the event as helpers, because he was horrified at the thought of some of the demons would eat the cats. You both were instructed to wear a something formal with some cat ears that they will provide. Hearing this you constructed a outfit in your mind.

At the Cat Cafe you presented your self, in a green button shirt, black sailor high waist shorts, cat apron, and green cat ears to match. Satan was stealing glances at you often, and you wanted to confront him about him. “MC... you should wear those ears more often,” he whispered into your ear. He patted your butt, “Maybe next week to the library. lets make it a date while we are at it.”

You blushed at his comment. “I noticed that you choose carefully on the color too, you choose my demon color.” he added.

Asmodeus:

You knew that when ever their was a Diavolo hosted party at the fall, Asmo was always tailing someone to make them his that evening. You wanted to be the next pray, you observed his motions, and types he would pick up at every party whenever both of you attended. He prayed on the ones that covered up more. I guess he was the type to reveal what was kept to the imagination. He also really love people who showed some shoulder showing.

Arriving at the fall, with a long sleeve pink knitted shirt with the shoulders, burgundy leather pants, some caramel high knee boots, and a black scorpion brooch located on the heart. He was already prowling around, but when you swiftly swung the doors opened and strolled in, his eyes locked onto your hips. they swayed side to side, the confidence that build with ever stride.

He approached you. “Mc, what a breathtaking look,” he purred “who exactly are you trying to impress, so I can destroy them. You grin, “well then your gonna have to destroy you self,” replying calmly to his comment. Smitten by the comment he cupped your check, “Oh Mc, this color really bring out the color in your shoulders.”

Beelzebub:

You were to attend as a maid to Diavolo's tea and treat tasting party, he would compensate you for your time. Honestly all you cared about was being able to dress as a maid to impress the cute Gluttony demon. Barbatos prepared a puffy orange maid dress, that have a black leather apron, and gloves for the party. When the party was on its way, you were to offer tea to anyone who requested.

You weren't surprised to oversee the ginger take in every treat in sight. Of course wasn't there for the tea, so you walked passed him to pour some tea for someone who was asking. He must have not noticed you, continuing the duties tasked to you. There were already 2 times that Barbatos had to restock the food that Beelzebub had already consumed. Pouting that not once did he ask for tea. This time Barbatos wanted you to replenish the food that was to be laid out in front of him.

“MC, thank you, I’ve been hoping you would serve me treats and tea,’ he smiled patting your head “you look very cute in orange. Please be my maid again soon.”

Belphegor:

A sleepover party was enough to make this cowboy excited. You could see it in his texts. Lately Belphie’s been urging you for more naps, although he thought that maybe you slept too little to begin with. He was always upset your sleep schedules clashed. If he was tired you’d be wide awake, and vise versa.

He knew that when ever Diavolo organized an event, You would always make time for it, sleepy or not. The best part was that pajama’s were a must, and you needed to make the final tug on the reel. Your attire was a satin cow patterned printed shirt, and satin navy blue shorts. though the type of fabric wasn’t as breathable, and was too nice for a sleepover. The night was spent wide awake lounging around on the bean bag chair. Closing your eyes, enjoying the rain and thunder sound a sudden weight sinked onto your lap. Glancing at a groggy Belphie, “you look adorable, so Im going to sleep here with you,” he demanded “maybe if you were my sweater you’d look cuter.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me Asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me luci #obey me mammoney #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey head cannons

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fashionhub247 · 3 years

Text

Pakistani Attires from all Brands

The way you dress can be the expression of your personality. The outfit you dress yourself in, whether it's a shalwar kameez or a pair of jeans is irrelevant, however, the way you wear your outfit creates the best impression.

If you know how to wear your clothes, any dress is going to look great on you. You need to be your fashion model. It is important to set fashion trends that are visible to others. An average formal

Pakistani Shalwar Kameez can be tailored to suit your fashion. Black is the latest popular color for those who are happy.

Also, The chiffon collection is widely popular in Pakistan which includes a three-piece unstitched collection.

Most men like wearing black attire since it enhances their appearance. Most people love wearing black dresses. According to them, it's a relaxing and soothing shade.

While people in the past were a fan of vibrant colors, today it's an era where most people vote to black. Many people love the idea of wearing a black dress as they can feel something within it. It is among those colors people adore in an abundance.

In terms of the vivid colors available in markets, you will find those who love bright colors and would prefer these colors over black.

Colors are the source of joy and joy in people's lives. In the '90s there was only black and white, but now all colors are visible, regardless of whether you're watching tv or in real life.

It's the time that everything can be resolved within a single eye. In the present, our fashion industry has grown from all angles. From dresses to shoes, and even accessories to hairstyles. The entire range has reached the point of perfection. Every Pakistani fashion retailer has the latest designs.

Tie-dye is a type of fashion that has been trending since the beginning of winter and everyone is obsessed with it.

Although it was first invented in the days of the 1940s. It can give a simple look to an individual. Many fashion brands have launched their tie-dye collections.

Shalwar kameez is among the most exquisite dresses of Pakistani culture. It is a traditional dress worn by Pakistan. A simple white shalwar kameez paired with a vibrant, multi-shaded silk dupatta can be a great all-rounder for women.

The men look stylish in a simple salwar kameez paired with an elegant waistcoat. Kameez with straight pants is also fashionable and provides a very elegant look.

If we think of western clothes, it's very popular on the market. It doesn't matter if it's a gathering or just a casual get-together with friends, you can opt for western attire depending on the event. Many people prefer wearing Western attire. Jeans and sweatshirts with a t-shirt are stunning.

The technological age where there's every type of technology one could imagine. Even though these outfits are well-liked across Pakistan, Designer Pakistani Dresses are extremely popular and common for those who wear them for most of their occasions.

It is believed that the Pakistani fashion industry is undergoing a shift with the development of technological advancement. Nowadays, it's much simpler to print the fabric at a faster speed.

Thanks to the advances in technology, the world of fashion are more advanced than it ever was. Many brands are offering a variety of clothing that are vibrant in color, distinctive styles, and striking fashions.

If you're searching for some trendy clothes then you should look toward Pakistani brands that provide everything. The companies introduce new items to draw customers in and keep their various portfolios to stay in fashion.

Businesses must keep their marketing efforts going with the help of various websites to boost sales. They also negotiate agreements with social media applications that offer ads on their merchandise.

Shoes represent the fashionable female and male. The current generation prefers to walk in style and with confidence and in fashion. They are comfortable too.

The focus was on clothes for an informal or formal occasion but now we're moving towards wedding dresses. Pakistani culture is one of the most beautiful and unique traditions of the time. Our weddings have been truly traditional.

Music, customs, and the dress code have been stunning for a long time. What's a Pakistani Desi wedding without brides wearing a lehenga and stunning cholis and it is not complete without men with a yellow dupatta over their necks wearing simple salwar kameez.

The suits with the option of a short or long gown and a shalwar kameez with the wedding customs in recent times.

Dress is a traditional form of fancy dress that girls and women. It is made up of a skirt and body. It may be affixed or removed based on the individual's preference who wants to wear it.

A three-piece suit, in which the pants, vest, and coat are constructed of the same material. It's a classy dress that is suitable for every formal event.

While the original three pieces were created by tailors using fabrics of the customers' choice, it's available in ready-made at designer shops and malls. They can also be customized.

There is no doubt that the Pakistani style industry has been caught in a period of change due to technology.

With the development of time technological advancement, trends have evolved and grown since there are many creative minds within our designer community. Today, the Pakistani fashion business is growing.

Our main goal is to satisfy our clients with the requirements they desire. We trust you to us and we'll do our best to satisfy your expectations. Your purchase is only one click away, thanks to electronic commerce popping.

So what are you wasting time doing? If you have any questions about your clothes go to our website to place an order for anything you need. We will not let you down.

No matter which brand you're looking for, we can offer you Pakistani clothing on the internet from the USA.

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kiwi-bitchez · 4 years

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Permafrost

Chapter 1: LBD

Peter Parker x reader

word count: 2,823 (whoops)

summary: Tony Stark has hired the mountain guide company you work for to assist him and the Avengers on an upcoming mission, you just happen to be invited to the formal party. You meet a cute spider-boy and some mild smut ensues. Might make this a multi-chapter thing... we’ll see. Also, this definitely does not take place in the MCU timeline with Endgame and Tony dying and whatnot.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, poorly written smut, oral (male receiving)

Although it was nowhere close to your everyday look, you found a strange sense of comfort in the tight black dress wrapped around your body. You look nervously around at all the other tall, beautiful, elegantly dressed people around you and can’t help but feel out of place. This black dress can be your disguise. You don’t have to be yourself here. However easy it would be to come up with some fake name and a fake identity, force yourself to mingle, that just wasn’t you. So you silently reside to another glass of wine and desperately look around for someone you know.

Working for a mountain guide company had its perks, flexible hours, no dress code, living the dream that you had envisioned for yourself since you were twelve. You did not imagine high falutin black-tie events to be in your job description. Your boss had just been hired by Tony Stark to accompany him and the Avengers on some top-secret mission in Antarctica. Something about lost alien artifacts. You weren’t high up enough to get any of the details, but being the only woman hired in the history of the company you got a ticket to the big event to make the company look a little diverse.

You adjust the strap of your dress and fiddle with your handbag to kill some time. You figured it would be rude to sink back into a corner and stare at your phone, yet you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to go introduce yourself to any superheroes or businessmen. So you stay in limbo, finding quiet ways to pass the time, desperately trying to make eye contact with anyone.

Right as you start to turn to go to the bathroom for the third time tonight, perhaps to fix your lipstick for a minute or ten, a strong hand taps your shoulder

“I hate these things too,” you turn to the boy, who was leaning against the door frame next to you, “I’m surprised to see someone my age here, usually everyone at these things are ancient.”

You laugh nervously and turn to him, trying to think of something clever to respond with but coming up blank, distracted by his curls and big brown eyes.

“I’m Peter, by the way, mind keeping me company? I don’t exactly fit in with all this adult chit chat.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure of course,” you stutter, feeling like an idiot, realizing you must have been staring with your mouth wide open. He probably came over here because he felt bad, maybe you should escape to the bathroom anyways… “I’m y/n”

“What brings you here y/n?” he asks, driving the conversation forward, “is one of these old geezers your dad or something?”

“No actually,” you laugh a little, “I work for the climbing guide company Stark just hired.”

“Oooh so will you be guiding us through the treacherous mountains of Antarctica next month,” Peter asks, flirting a little. You stare at him for a moment, trying to register what he meant by “us.” You didn’t recognize him as anyone significant, so you brush it off.

“Nah, they will probably send Stephen and Eric, they are the most experienced climbers. I’ve only been working there for a few years. Never been to Antarctica to climb actually, but I’ve heard its wild.” You look away, avoiding eye contact. His eyes staring intently at you as you talk causes a pink to rise up in the apples of your cheeks.

“Mind if I grab you another?” He offers, gesturing to your empty glass. You agree and follow him across the ballroom to where the bar is stationed. You feel a wave of relief now that you have someone to talk to at least for now, at least until it’s an appropriate time to escape home.

“So if you aren’t guiding Avengers through the snowy mountains, what do you do at this job of yours,” he asks, seeming to genuinely want to know.

“Well I’ve been climbing for basically my whole life, so this job is really a dream. I travel to different national parks and run programs for beginner climbers, show them the ropes and stuff,” you shrug, “but I’m pretty new still, the more experienced workers get to do cool stuff like this job. Hopefully in a few years I’ll be doing more stuff like that.”

You weren’t sure why you felt so comfortable around this boy. You were never much of a talker, and it was either him or the wine that was making you so chatty. Quickly changing the subject, you ask him, “So what do you do here? You the son of one of these old geezers?”

“I deal with more of the local operations of Stark Industries,” Peter answers playfully, avoiding telling you directly that he’s Spiderman, “you know, community improvement type stuff.”

Finding a seat in a far-off corner the two of you talk about everything and nothing. You tell him about your summer spent in Yosemite, and he tells you about his summer trip to Europe. The conversation flows unusually well, despite Peter dancing around questions. It's not that he couldn’t tell you that he’s Spiderman, he just liked the feeling of being treated like anyone else. He liked the feeling of you wanting to talk to him.

His eyes danced across your bare shoulders, admiring the curve of your neck and how your dress fell perfectly across your chest. You notice him staring, but you like the way his soft eyes follow across you. You start to feel your face get hot again and turn away to sip your drink.

“Thank you for saving me, I barely know anyone here and I’m the worst at small talk” you tell him sincerely, “I wasn’t even going to come, but I felt like I had to, you know? Can’t pass up the chance to party at the Stark Tower.”

“I’m glad you came,” he tells you, eyes burning into yours, “then I would have missed the opportunity to meet someone so interesting.”

“Shut up cheeseball,” you laugh as you playfully punch his arm, “for all you know I’m horrible and awful but just an incredibly good actress. This dress just brings out a different side of me.” You joke, sitting up a little straighter in your chair, wiggling your shoulders.

“Well I’d like to see the side of you that’s out of that dress,” Peter mumbles. You stare at him with wide eyes, trying to gauge if he was joking. You laugh a little to ease the tension, but you can see a fire behind his eyes. It was so unlike you to even be at an event like this, so unlike you to be drinking wine and flirting with a cute boy, so why shouldn’t you continue to do some things that are a little out of character?

You grab his knee, leaning in, “outside in 5, yeah?”

He nods a little too eagerly, but you don’t mind. The attention he had been giving you all night is what fueled this strange wave of confidence, and you were going to ride is as long as it lasted.

Placing your glass on an empty table, you sharply turn and start toward the doors, trying not to look too eager. The thought of him not following you crosses your mind, but you are too embarrassed to turn around to check. If he doesn’t show you will be beelining home for sure, take it as a loss and never show your face at Stark Industries again, not that you would ever have a reason to.

You press your back against the cool tile of the wall in the hallway, running your hands through your hair as the reality sets in of what you just did. A pit starts to form in your stomach, the aftermath of all that found confidence wearing off. Just as you were about to book it through the large double doors at the end of the hallway, you see him approaching you. He gestures to a closed door down the hall, and you follow him through it. It was a plain room with a fireplace and some couches, probably used for smaller social events.

Placing an arm over your shoulder, pressed up against the wall behind you, he leans in, close but not too close. “are you asking me what I think you are?” his tone still flirtatious, but with a hint of real concern, “I know I seem very charming and all, but I actually don’t do things like this very often.”

Your eyes meet his and a smile creeps across your lips, “And I know that I seem amazingly confident” you retort “but would you believe me if I said I don’t do things like this very often either?”

It was true, you were no prude by any standards, but bringing someone you just met into some random locked room at a work function was not really in your repertoire. Even though the butterflies in your stomach seemed to feel more like wild geese, there was a certain quality about him that gave you a sense of ease.

“If you are interested in doing what you think I’m asking,” you finally respond, “then yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”

He leans in closer, lips hovering over yours, breathing heavily but steadily. “If you want to stop, just say the word,” he tells you, and you nod understanding, “but the way you look in this dress has made it so fucking hard for me to not do this any sooner” he whispers into you before colliding your mouths together.

He takes your face between his large hands, stroking his thumb across your cheek as he kisses you deep and harshly. While the kiss was passionate and desperate, there was still something so sweet and gentle about him. You kiss him back with an open mouth, wanting more. Your arms wrap around him as his hands travel from your face down to your hips, grabbing you firmly and pressing you into the wall behind.

Your hands naturally weave their way into his brown curls, pulling his face impossibly closer to yours. His tongue slips under yours and you let out a breathy moan, feeling his mouth on yours. Daringly you take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull back a little, looking back up at him to meet his eyes. Blown out and filled with lust, he stares back at you wanting nothing more than your mouth on his again.

In one fell swoop he lifts your legs off the ground, instinctively wrapping them around his suited torso. You lean into him more, tongues meeting between wet open lips. He slowly starts to make his way across the room with you, not wanting to break the kiss, but also not wanting to trip over a coffee table. He seats you down gently on the couch below him, finally separating his lips from yours.

Although you wouldn’t mind just making out with this boy forever, never leaving the four walls of this random parlor, the way he looked standing above you, hair a mess and suit jacket rumpled made you want so much more. Before he could join you on the couch you sit back on your thighs, causing your dress to ride up quite a bit. Peter bites his lip, “fuck y/n.”

You press your open palms to his thighs and look up to him with big needy eyes. You slowly start to move one hand up, asking permission “can I? take these off?” he nods and helps you with his belt, allowing you to take care of the zipper and buttons. As he takes a moment to pool his pants down at his ankles, you seize the opportunity to let the top of your dress slide down a little, revealing your upper half.

“I knew I would like you better out of that dress,” Peter jokes, but the underlying tone in his voice goes right to your core, growing wetter and wetter the more he looks at you. Noticing the already wet patch at the tip of Peter’s boxers, you lean forward once more and lick a stripe up his clothed member, “and I think I’m gonna like you better out of these too” you comment back.

Throwing his head back at the sudden contact, Peter brings his hands to your hair, holding it back for you but not forcefully. You were taking your time with him, feeling him through his boxers until his tip began to poke out of the top waistband. Taking that as your cue, you slide down his underwear, joining them with his dress pants around his ankles. You were a little intimidated by his size, certainly a bit larger than any dick you had taken before, but your theme of the night was confidence and you tried to not let it shake you.

You take a hold of his base, making sure to look up at him as you lick a long stripe up the underside of his hard cock. “Fuck y/n you look so fucking good like that” Peter praises you as you start to slowly pump his dick. Taking his head between your lips and starting to match rhythm with your hand, you started sucking his dick like you never had before. There was something in you that wanted to make him feel good, that wanted this to be memorable for him, you wanted to give this boy the best goddamned blowjob of his life.

Tears form in the corners of your eyes, surely ruining your perfect makeup. You give it more and more as you take as much of him as will fit down your throat. Continuing to pump the remaining shaft with your hand, you bob your head as tightly and as deep as your throat will allow. The soft mumbles and profanities that fall from his lips encourage you to keep going, letting you know that you are doing a good job. You like the way his grip on your hair slightly tightens, showing you that he likes what you are doing.

Picking up speed, and now jerking him off with both hands as your mouth takes care of the rest, you feel his hips buck forward slightly. “Fuck y/n I’m close, I’m gonna…” Peter moans, and starts to pull away from you to come into your hands, but you lean forward, continuing to suck him off, taking his cum deep in your throat as he unloads into you.

“Shit y/n that was…that was so fucking… you really didn’t have to do that” he says, still catching his breath.

“I know, but I wanted to,” you respond, licking your lips seductively.

“That was so fucking amazing, I…,”he says, hands running through his hair and straightening out his button up. He picks up his phone from where it had landed on the ground, noticing a slew of new messages.

“Fuck,” he looks at you apologetically, “I gotta get back in there, only for a little bit, but I owe you one, because that was fucking amazing so please don’t go,” he rambles as he frantically puts his dress pants back on and adjusts his belt. You also fix your dress, covering yourself back up. “I mean it,” he says to you with sincere eyes right before dashing out the door.

You head into the nearest bathroom and fix yourself up. The pool between your legs had basically ruined the underwear you were wearing, and your makeup was close to gone. You tossed your hair up, fixed up your face although your lips were still a little red and puffy. The thought crossed your mind to just head home, let this be a one-time thing that he can remember, but your purse was in the ballroom, so you had to at least make it back for that.

Entering the event hall, the room was at a hush as someone on stage was making a speech. You didn’t think much of it, keeping your head down and looking for your bag, until you heard the familiar voice of your boss on the mic. “Thank you so much to Mr. Stark for giving us this amazing opportunity…” You turn your head to see your boss and Tony stark shaking hands, with a row of people standing behind them on stage, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, people you commonly knew as the Avengers. Your eyes travel down the line of them only to land on Peter.

Why had you not realized this before. The passing comments, the thing about the Antarctica mission. As your eyes land on him, he is looking directly at you, a smug smirk across that gorgeous face. He shoots you a wink and your mouth drops slightly. You had just blown one of earth’s mightiest heroes. You had just sucked off Spiderman.

#fanfiction #peter parker smut #spiderman smut #spider man smut #peter parker x y/n #tom holland smut #this is questionable #marvel smut #marvel

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erisgregory · 4 years

Note

Possible Sterek prompt if you’d like: Derek is the new guy (school, work, where ever). Stiles always whisper inappropriate things to his friend about him (“god, I want to climb him like a tree,” etc.) Stiles tries to befriend Derek but Derek acts so weird around him and he doesn’t understand why. If only stiles knew Derek has werewolf hearing...

Thank you so much for this prompt. I did make a couple of changes but I hope you can still enjoy it.

Talkin’ Dirty

Rated E

“No, Scotty, you don’t understand this man’s ass, I swear to god. I keep picturing him in lacy thongs. I’m sorry but it’s true, no I just… gotta go!” Stiles hung up on Scott as fast as he could as soon as he heard Erica’s heels on the tile outside his office.

He’d only been there two weeks so he didn’t want to be caught using the phone for personal calls while he was on the clock, but Scott had called to remind him of their standing “date” for X-box and trash talk which they maintained even though Stiles had moved to New York and Scott was still in Beacon Hills. It was hard but they were managing and Scott was going to come up for the weekend sometime soon, so at least there was that.

Still, he didn’t need to be on the phone and he knew it. So he hoped they weren’t actually monitoring his calls or something.

Stiles was hired as Derek Hale’s personal assistant and he had a desk in the outer office where he greeted clients for Derek and answered the phone. He handled scheduling for the most part, though Erica had a lot of input for a receptionist. Stiles had learned to listen to her though because she used to have his job and now she was overseeing both Laura and Derek’s clients. It wasn’t exactly streamlined yet, but he thought he was beginning to understand how things worked at Hale Investing.

“Stiliinski.” Erica greeted him as she came into the room, shutting the door behind her. “I wanted to let you know that Derek’s one o’clock is an essential client. He’s been with Derek since the beginning, and he’s used to special treatment.” She handed over a bottle of whiskey the likes of which Stiles had never seen. This was no Jim Beam like he was used to. This was the good stuff.

“The glasses are in the cabinet.” She pointed to the cabinet under the window and Stiles nodded.

“Gotcha.” He told her. She smirked at him and then left.

There was time enough for him to have a quick bite at his desk and then Derek’s special client was there, a Mr. Argent. Stiles poured the whiskey and pretended to know how to schmooze a client and finally, Derek rescued him and took Mr. Argent back.

The rest of the day was mostly typing letters and emails, so he texted Scott and when the office closed, Stiles stayed to finish since he was something of a slow typer still. He was already better, but not quite up to speed yet. Some days he wondered why he’d even thought to take this job. Really it was all Cora’s doing. She attended night classes with Stiles and insisted her brother needed someone like him around. And the pay couldn’t be beaten, so Stiles had jumped at the chance.

The fact that Derek Hale had turned out to be the hottest man Stiles had ever seen including porn might have also had something to do with why he ended up taking the job. He’d told Scott that first day that he wanted to climb the man like a tree.

He wanted to do dirty unspeakable things to Derek, and he told them all to Scott who was long-suffering but had to put up with it because he’d told Stiles all sorts of stuff about Kira that Stiles had never wanted to know.

“I can never tell if I want to eat his ass or suck his dick more,” Stiles told Scott the next day on his lunch break. “Because that ass definitely deserves to be worshipped, but the idea of getting down on my knees for him really does it for me.”

Scott was loudly objecting but Stiles pressed on. “His ass is obscene and I can only imagine how great his dick is, but Scott, I gotta send you a picture of this guy. He’s like model hot. Like movie star hot. Porn hot. Like a god walking among men in a business suit and tie. I can’t take it. I’ve jerked off so many times this week I’m afraid it’ll fall off if I keep going.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice came over the intercom and it sounded strained.

“Sorry, it’s the boss!” He told Scott as he hung up. He still had fifteen minutes left on his lunch break, but Derek sounded like he really needed something so Stiles quickly folded up the rest of his lunch and stashed it away.

“Yes, Mr. Hale?” He asked as he pushed the intercom button.

“Could you come here please?” Derek asked.

“Sure.” Stiles dusted off his hands and went to the door that separated him from Derek. It was a massive mahogany thing. Stiles could never hear anything that went on inside Derek’s office it was so thick. It was a little on the heavy side too so he pulled it open slowly and stepped into Derek’s office.

“What can I do for you?” Stiles asked.

Derek was looking down at the paper in his hands as Stiles stepped up closer to his massive desk.

“I need you to go over these letters. They’re good, but a little too formal for these particular clients. See if you can make them sound a little more natural for me.” he said, his voice a little more on the stern side than Stiles was used to.

“You got it, boss,” Stiles said and he reached for the papers.

Derek didn’t look up even as he passed the paper to Stiles. He’d been like that from the beginning. No matter how friendly Stiles tried to be, Derek was distant. That shouldn’t have made him sexier, but he was a mystery and there was nothing sexier to Stiles than a mystery.

The next day Stiles brought coffee for Derek, black with two sugars, the way he liked, and Derek just motioned for him to set it on the desk. Stiles did, but then he leaned his hip on Derek’s desk and took a sip of his own coffee. The phone lines didn’t go live for another ten minutes and he wanted to try and break through Derek’s tough exterior. They could at least be friends, right?

“So, it’s starting to get pretty cold out there, huh?” Stiles asked in his most easy-going tone.

Derek just grunted. So the weather was a no go.

“Yeah, I had to buy a big coat because while it does get cold where I’m from, it doesn’t get down to freezing like this very often.” He continued.

Derek finally looked up from his laptop. “Is there something you need?” He asked shortly.

“Uh, no, no, just making small talk I guess,” Stiles admitted. He chuckled but Derek was already back to work so Stiles slipped out and headed to his own desk. Well, there was always lunch, he thought.

Scott was busy at lunch so Stiles called Lydia. She was in between classes at MIT and dying for all of the latest gossip from back home. Stiles relayed what he could from Scott and then dove into catching her up on all his drama. Like how hot his boss was and how unfair it was that he apparently wanted nothing to do with Stiles.

“No, he’s hotter than that. I swear. Jordan Parrish in uniform is hot, I’ll give you that, but this guy is dirty hot. Like dress him up in a maid’s costume and bend him over the dining table hot. Or give him clandestine blow jobs under his desk at work hot. He’s going to be the death of me, I can barely focus on my work just knowing he’s right behind that big door of his. All alone. And no one is worshipping that body of his for him. I could be doing that, Lyds. I want to be doing that.” Stiles rambled on for another five minutes before Lydia had to go.

When Derek came out his face was flushed and when Stiles asked if he wanted something from the deli he didn’t answer at all. Not even his usual grunt! Stiles was exasperated but determined. He was going to make Derek his friend one way or another. And then if they just happened to turn into friends that had benefits that would be cool. Or if Derek were to then fall for him the way he was doing with Derek, even better. So what if Derek was his boss?

Two days later Stiles was heading home at the same moment Derek was and they found themselves reaching the elevator at the same moment it pinged open. There was no one currently in it and Stiles wanted to fist bump the universe because Derek would be his captive audience for twenty floors!

But then Derek gaped at him and turned on his heel and headed back to the office. He must have just remembered that he forgot something. Stiles got on the elevator and thought about holding it a minute to see if Derek came back, but then gave in and let the door close. He went home, his head buzzing with ways to break the ice with Derek.

Stiles started being better at anticipating Derek’s needs. First, it was coffee every morning, which Derek finally started thanking him for. Next, he installed Grammarly on his laptop so he would be a better letter and email writer. Then came lunch runs and asking Derek every day about the clients that were expected in. Derek seemed to take all of this in stride, still avoiding looking Stiles directly in the eye. Sometimes he would get clumsy and spill his coffee on his tie and Stiles always had a spare for him. That usually happened at lunch so Stiles would sometimes just check on him once he was off the phone.

On Friday he went to check on Derek after lunch and found him pacing by his window. He was out of breath and red all the way up to his ears. Stiles was afraid he was having some sort of heart event and begged him to sit and drink some water.

Still, Derek kept his distance no matter how hard Stiles tried. Erica had taken to laughing at his antics as if they were hopeless and stupid, which made Stiles try all the harder.

Saturday Scott flew in for his weekend visit. It was amazing. They played X-box and drank energy drinks and ate too much Chinese food. Then on Sunday, they did the tourist shit that Scott wanted and they ended up eating hot dogs in Central Park for dinner. It was perfect. Stiles could hardly let go of him at the airport before work on Monday. They stood holding each other for the longest time.

Once he was back at work, Stiles felt like all the wind was taken out of his sails. He missed Scott terribly. It wasn’t just Scott either, he missed home, missed his dad, and having Scott visit helped but also didn’t in a weird way.

Stiles was so out of it he didn’t even notice Derek standing awkwardly in front of his desk until he cleared his throat.

He startled and flailed a moment before gaining his composure. “Oh my god, you can’t just sneak up on people! You scared me to death!” Stiles told him.

Derek was looking at him funny. It was sort of a pinched look, almost as if he smelled something bad. Stiles resolved to check his pits after Derek left, though he was sure he’d used deodorant after his shower that morning.

Still, Derek didn’t talk. “Is there something I can help you with?” Stiles asked as gently as possible. He didn’t know why, but he felt it was important not to spook Derek any more than he obviously already had. For some reason.

At last, Derek seemed to shake himself.

“No. No. It’s fine. I um,” Derek swallowed and looked around. “Did you grab coffee this morning?” He asked and he looked so uncomfortable at having to ask that Stiles actually felt bad. He hadn’t grabbed their coffees, he’d forgotten!

“No, I’m so sorry. I had uh, a friend visit me from back home and he had an early morning flight so I guess it just sort of slipped my mind. I’m so sorry, I can go back out right now.” Stiles made to stand up but Derek motioned for him to sit.

“I’ll be alright.” He said, and he sounded so dejected that Stiles wanted to crawl under his table and die. This was no way to get Derek to like him. Get him used to morning coffee and then just take it away? Now he’d be back to drinking the swill they had in the breakroom.

He wanted to say something else, but Derek was already closing the door behind him, literally shutting the conversation off. Stiles decided then and there that he would make it up to Derek one way or another.

At lunch Stiles asked for Derek’s order, bringing it to him with a smile that Derek didn’t return. It’s not that he was being unfriendly per se, but he just seemed so unapproachable. He had no idea how Erica did it. They were clearly on good terms and he’d often seen Erica smiling as she left the inner office.

He sat back at his desk and looked down at his sandwich dejectedly. Thankfully Scott called and that was the perfect distraction.

“You see, I have to make a plan now. Nothing I’ve tried so far has worked and the more he plays hard to get the more I want him. I just want to know him. I want to be his friend.” Stiles complained.

“You want more than that though, right? I mean I have been actually listening to you the past few weeks. Maybe you’re taking the wrong tack here.” Scott was right, Stiles thought. Probably. Though if he did the wrong thing it could spell disaster, so he needed to be careful.

“I just want to ride him into the sunset, you know? I need it. I need his dick, Scott. You have no idea what it’s like seeing him every day and smelling his fantastic cologne and sharing space with him. I’m dying a slow and painful death. Death by blue balls.” Stiles whined.

“Don’t lie, I can practically hear the lie over the phone. You like him. Like really like him. You want to date him.” Scott said with a laugh.

“That’s mean. Of course, I like him. Of course, I want to date him. I want it all. The whole thing. The flowers and dinners and making out and wild monkey sex. All of it.” Stiles admitted.

“And love.” Scott prompted.

Stiles sighed. “And love. Yeah. I feel like he’s already broken my heart though so maybe this whole thing is pointless. He doesn’t even hardly look at me.”

“Why don’t you ask him out? Just be direct. Unless, are there any rules about dating in your office?” Scott wondered.

“No, I don’t think so, but he’s my boss! He could fire me. He could write me up for sexual harassment. And all I wanted was to marry him and his fine ass and have his babies and--”

“You realize you can’t actually have his babies right? You’d need a woman for that.” Scott was too practical. Didn’t he know how bad off Stiles was right now? How far gone he was?

“Scott…”

“If you’re not willing to be direct about it, then I guess you’re back to square one,” Scott said.

“Square one. Yeah, sounds about right. Okay, gotta go, time to get back to work, and back to fantasizing about pleasing my future husband to be.” Stiles said his goodbyes and hung up.

He was just pulling up his latest email for Derek when the intercom buzzed.

“Mr. Stilinski, I need to see you in my office. Now.” Derek said and he didn’t sound very happy.

Stiles swallowed a lump of fear that had gathered in his throat and headed for his office. He pushed the door open and stepped in. Derek motioned for him to close the door so he did and it felt very final. Was he being fired? He wasn’t sure what he’d done, but he had a feeling he was about to find out.

“Please, sit,” Derek said, gesturing to the chair across his desk.

“I’d rather stand if that’s okay,” Stiles answered on instinct.

“It is not. I need to talk to you and I don’t want to crane my neck up while I do so.” Derek pointed at the chair and Stiles sat even though he felt like he might shake right off the edge and onto the floor. He had no idea what had him in trouble.

“Who is this friend who visited you this weekend?” Derek asked, staring straight at Stiles.

Stiles felt his mouth fall open. “What? Why are you asking?”

“I have a very good reason for asking, which I will explain, but I want an answer first,” Derek said.

Stiles couldn’t really argue with that. “That’s Scott, my best friend from back home.” He said, wringing his hands in his lap. This was the longest Derek had ever looked him in the eye and it was unnerving.

“Huh. The one you talk to during lunch, right?” Derek leaned back in his chair, seemed to think better of it, and leaned forward on to his desk instead.

“Why is that important?” Stiles asked, curious, and afraid of the answer. Then he realized there was no way Derek should know that Stiles spent his lunch break on the phone with someone. They must have the phones tapped or something! But then Derek said the last thing Stiles was expecting.

“Because you came in today smelling like an alpha werewolf and I had to know who he was and if he might be a threat to you,” Derek said plainly.

“What?” Stiles felt like the room was tilting off-axis.

Derek grinned then and flashed blue eyes at Stiles and Stiles almost fell off his seat. “Holy god!” He flailed a bit before regaining his composure.

“So you’re a, yeah, and that means, oh my god. You’ve been listening to me this whole time!”

“A werewolf. And yes, I have. Which is what we really need to talk about next.” Derek said seriously.

Stiles could feel it coming. He was getting fired. If he was lucky. If not he was being brought up on sexual harassment charges, which he totally deserved oh god. He deflated and tried to disappear into the leather of his seat.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and Derek called for the person to enter. It was Erica and she was grinning at Stiles. “So it’s all out in the open now huh? Finally.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh. Then Erica sat on the corner of the desk and slid a paper in front of Stiles.

“We need you to read through this and if you agree, to sign it,” Derek said rather gently Stiles thought, considering the situation.

Stiles slid it closer and read the title, Consensual Relationship Agreement. His eyes shot up to Derek’s, shocked. “You want me to sign this?” He asked confused. There was something in his chest though, something that felt a little bit like hope.

Derek smiled then and Stiles just about died looking at his perfectly white teeth. Why were his teeth so cute? “Only if you’re interested in dating me.” He said plainly.

“Only if I’m interested in dating you? Hell yes!” Stiles practically clapped his hands together in happiness.

He ran his eyes through the agreement which was simple and straightforward. “Somebody give me a pen already!” He demanded.

Erica and Derek both laughed and Derek handed over a pen. He signed it with a flourish and then grinned at Derek, his heart feeling like it might just burst. He couldn’t believe things were going this way.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Erica said as she walked to the door. “Just remember, werewolf hearing, it’s all around.” She laughed and tapped her ear with her long red fingernail and then she was gone.

“Hey!” Stiles turned back to Derek and he could feel his cheeks were burning. He was probably all splotchy red at this point. “Can I ask who all is… uh…”

“Wolfy?” Derek supplied and it surprised a laugh out of Stiles.

“Yeah.”

“Erica, Laura, Boyd, Isaac, Jess, Sam, and Cora.” Derek rattled the names off and then stood.

“Wow. So a whole pack. Let me guess, Laura is the alpha?” Stiles wondered.

Derek nodded. “She is. But I don’t particularly want to talk about my sister or my pack right now.” He said, and his voice had taken on an edge that was doing things to Stiles’ insides.

“No?”

“No.”

He came around the desk and stood next to Stiles’ chair looking down at him, his arms crossed.

“What, uh, did you want to talk about then?” Stiles asked. If his voice shook just the tiniest bit then he couldn’t really be blamed for it, could he?

“We could talk about lacy thongs or you climbing me like a tree, but I prefer to discuss whether you prefer to eat my ass or suck my dick more,” Derek said all of this with a straight face that left Stiles gaping once more.

“No fair! I had no idea you could hear me saying those things!”

Derek had the nerve to laugh then, and Stiles wanted to pout, but suddenly Derek was pulling him up out of the chair by his tie and crushing their lips together. The kiss was electric and Stiles could feel it all the way to his toes. My god, the man was talented with his tongue and not at all afraid to use his teeth to drive Stiles mad.

He pulled back and looked into Stiles’ eyes. “I really ought to make you wait until at the very least we’ve had one date, but you’ve been driving me crazy for weeks.”

Stiles had his hands up around Derek’s broad shoulders holding him close. “I don’t care about dates right now. We can worry about that later.”

Derek nodded. “Okay, yeah. Agreed.” He bent to kiss Stiles once more, biting along his lower lip and tangling their tongues together until Stiles could no longer breathe.

When they finally parted Derek asked, “What do you want? Right now. I’ll do anything. Just use that sinful tongue of yours to tell me what it is you want.”

It was obvious to Stiles that he was blushing, and why he should blush now after having said all of those things to Scott, Stiles didn’t know, but he wanted to give Derek what he wanted too so he said, “I want to suck your cock and then I want you to bend me over your desk and fuck me. Hard.” Saying it directly to Derek’s face was different than saying it behind his back, but it was also empowering. Derek’s cheeks pinked up too so he’d have to remember how much Derek liked dirty talk.

“Do it,” Derek said simply.

Stiles dropped slowly to his knees and began unfastening Derek’s belt, then his fly, and then he was pushing Derek’s pants down until they pooled around his ankles. He wore black boxer briefs and he was already hard, the tip just edging out of the top of his underwear. Stiles’ mouth watered and he leaned forward to suckle at it, teasing Derek until Derek’s legs trembled.

Derek was the one who shoved his briefs down out of the way. Then he slid his hands into Stiles’ hair and guided him down over his cock. He set a pace for Stiles, which Stiles loved. He’d imagined Derek like this, forceful but gentle at the same time. He knew what he wanted and he knew how to get it, but he was careful with Stiles too.

“God, your mouth. It should be illegal.” Derek moaned above him and Stiles worked his tongue up the underside of him, lapping at the head and tonguing the slit before sucking him back down. He couldn’t take all of Derek, but he almost could and he knew how to swallow around him to make it really good. Before long Derek was wrenching him off, panting, sweat gathered at his temples and he just looked wrecked.

“I’m gonna come if you keep that up and I believe you wanted me to fuck you over my desk.”

“Oh yeah, yeah.” Stiles agreed. He probably looked as wrecked as Derek. His jaw was already sore and he’s knees were protesting, but other than that he felt amazing.

“Lock the door,” Derek commanded softly as he began stripping out of his suit.

“Jesus,” Stiles said, watching him without shame as he headed to the door.

“Derek will do.”

“Did you just make a joke?” Stiles asked with a laugh, but he did lock the door. Then he began stripping out of his shirt and tie and finally his shoes and pants and it was Derek’s turn to stare.

It made Stiles feel a little self-conscious until Derek came over and pulled him close and whispered, “You’re gorgeous.”

He lifted Stiles so that Stiles had to wrap his legs around Derek and hold on to his neck. He was taken and deposited on the edge of the desk and Derek cupped his face between his hands. “Do I have to do the bending you over part, or can we do it like this, so I can see you?”

“Like this. Like this.” Stiles nodded enthusiastically and pulled Derek in for another kiss.

Derek had to lean over the desk and fumble around but he found a packet of lube and a condom he’d been carrying around and shyly showed Stiles what he had. It was such a soft side of him that Stiles couldn’t even make fun, he just kissed Derek again.

It took a little time to stretch Stiles, he’d been without any lovers for a while, but it had been a particularly long time since he’d had a man in his bed. Metaphorically speaking anyway. So Derek took his time, building up to three fingers and twisting them just so until Stiles was a writhing mess begging to be fucked.

“Please, Derek, please, I need you now!” He cried.

Ever the gentleman, Derek took pity on him and removed his fingers. For a moment he mourned their loss, feeling empty and wanting more, but then Derek was there pressing into him slowly and oh it was so so good.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles sighed and he wriggled around to get his legs around Derek as he continued to sink into him.

“Stiles,” Derek grunted but he was all the way in and holding still, letting Stiles get accustomed to his size.

“Come on, come on.” Stiles huffed, not needing the extra time to adjust. He wanted Derek to move already.

“You’re just as bossy as I imagined,” Derek observed.

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Hey, you imagined this?” He asked, curious to know the answer.

“Hell yeah, you gave me plenty to think about every day,” Derek admitted with a grin. Then he pulled back and snapped his hips effectively shutting Stiles up.

Derek was powerful and Stiles could tell he held back just a little, keeping his pace even and steady even as Stiles pleaded for harder and faster. He was gentle when Stiles wanted him rough, it was something they could work on though, Stiles decided.

When they could no longer maintain a kiss, they panted into each other’s mouths, moaning and crying out, heedless of who might be hearing them. Stiles had never felt so good in his life, he was certain. Derek knew just how to angle himself to bump into Stiles’ prostate every time and when he began jerking Stiles off it was a counterpoint to his hips causing Stiles to completely lose control and come before he even realized that’s what was happening. He was flying high as he felt Derek’s hips finally stutter and lose pace. Derek’s eyes flashed and for a moment Stiles was sure he saw fangs, but then Derek was crushing their lips together and coming with a shudder.

He eased Stiles’ legs down and then slowly pulled out, wrapping the condom in a tissue before tossing it in the trash. Stiles felt shaky and unable to move so Derek helped him dress with soft touches and even softer kisses.

Before Stiles could even work himself up into nervousness about what it all meant Derek pulled him in close and asked, “Will you go to dinner with me, tonight?”

“Yes,” Stiles whispered. “I would love that.”

Getting to know Derek was so much more fun than even Stiles could have imagined. He was witty and charming if a bit on the pessimistic side. He could be jealous, but he admitted when he was in the wrong, and he gave of himself freely. He was a wonder in Stiles’ life and Stiles could only hope that Derek felt the same way.

They said I love you only two weeks later and both acknowledged that it was way too soon, but they couldn’t help it. Stiles had never truly been in love and Derek had never loved someone with such freedom and trust so it was all very new. Work maybe suffered in the beginning, but they promised each other to keep taking it a day at a time.

When things got too hectic or they’d been short with each other, they always found a way to take it back to the beginning when Derek couldn’t believe what he was hearing and Stiles felt like he might die if he couldn’t have Derek. It worked for them and they were ridiculously happy.

The End

#sterek #sterek fic #teen wolf fic #prompts are open!#fanficmakesmehappy

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twistedintern · 4 years

Text

Kyuu’s Chronicle - Entries #1-6

Entry One

“Everything happens for a reason.”

...That was, up until recently, a favorite adage of mine. Through good times and bad, I would think back to those five little words.

Everything happens for a reason.

Struggle.

Success.

Waking up inside a sealed coffin after an unremarkable night’s rest.

...Hello, Lady Fate? Might I be able to file a tiny complaint? WHAT THE FLYING EVER-LOVING F*CK?

You don’t just up and isekai a normal adult woman into the middle of some Harry Potter-grade magical college without providing her with purpose, know-how, and a means of returning home! I am NOT the token light novel hero with a personality that screams ‘lovable fish-out-of-water,’ alright? SHEESH. I could’ve been injured, kidnapped, or worse....

Fortunately--yes, there’s always a silver lining, Kyuu. Remember that--while I now know I could’ve ended up as mincemeat at the hands of delinquent students, I was first happened upon… by a cat. That cat was accompanied by a pair of men. Well, I knew one of them was a man. I couldn’t make out his features clearly in the dimly-lit chamber before he left, but he sounded and held himself like a middle-aged man would.

His companion, though? Different story entirely. When he lifted his lamp to get a better look at me, providing me with some much-needed light with which to take in my surroundings…

Feathers. Gaudy shiny things. A suit, tie, cloak, a grand hat.

Two piercing yellow lights shining from a beaked half-mask.

...Mere inches from my face.

I had never fought so hard to suppress a scream in my life.

Entry Two

A bit of time has passed since that, um, eventful night. Because I’m really bad at keeping diaries, I’ll just give a recap:

I have never wanted to go home so badly in all my life.

The individual I met back then--he introduced himself as Dire Crowley, by the way; a fitting name if I do say so myself (I still flinch whenever I see him or hear him call my name. God, he’s so weird)--turned out to be the headmaster of this place. ...Um, what was it called again?

...Right! Night Raven College. He tells me nonstop how prestigious this place is. He’d better not be exaggerating, though that seems to be his general way of talking about things that matter to him.

(I hope he’s telling the truth: if so, it’s only a matter of time before word gets out that I don’t belong here. He won’t believe me whenever I tell him I’m from another, altogether separate world.)

In the meantime, Crow Man has me holed up in a rather spacious (and quite homey) tool shed a short hike away from the central plaza of the school.

I wish I knew why he’s always so hellbent on emphasizing how terribly kind he is when it comes to doing things for others. Normally, I’d consider that sort of behavior to be incredibly suspicious. I mean, I know administrative heads of these kinds of institutes have it tough and are largely underappreciated, but it really feels like he’s hiding something...

Entry Three

Crowley invited me to his office today, and for once, he was the least remarkable thing in the room.

I have never been so shocked in all my years. So much so that I fainted as soon as I processed what I was seeing. (I don’t faint.)

Portraits flanking his seat, seven in total, suspended midair by magic forces beyond my understanding.

The no-nonsense Queen of Hearts

Scar, the usurper lion king

Ursula, the sea witch

Jafar, the sultan’s scheming right-hand

The beautiful and vain Evil Queen

Hades, lord of the dead

Maleficent, the preeminent sorceress of all that is wicked

When I recovered consciousness, I nearly shrieked.

“THEY’RE YOUR ‘MAGNIFICENT SEVEN’?”

Crowley responded with a simple nod of the head. Hadn’t I seen their statues on the main street? He wished to know why I was surprised.

“I… KNOW THEM.”

Crowley blinked before affirming that yes, I ought to. Very few people in the world don’t. Then I reminded him I wasn’t from this world.

Fast-forward, crow man drags me to some grandiose “Hall of Mirrors” and asks the principal spirit what my deal is. (Why didn’t he do that sooner…?) The spirit (which also looks eerily familiar) validates my entire argument: that I’m a magic-less adult from outside their realm.

And Crowley? Crow Man? He and the mirror spirit might as well have been discussing the weather, because he didn’t seem bothered or troubled by the revelation in the slightest!

Entry Four

A few days later, Crowley made a formal announcement that I would be joining the staff of the college. …As an intern of sorts.

Huh? Excuse me? Did a bird man really just make an executive decision to take me on as his servant?!

For some reason… I’m not as pissed about this as I feel I could be. After all, I’m painfully aware of how I have zero business at Night Raven; it was well within his rights to kick me out. The least I could do is make myself useful.

Crowley (I never thought I’d be calling a bird my boss, but here I am!) sat me down later over a light lunch to tell me about the men I’d be assisting in the days ahead:

Mozus Trein, Professor of Magical History

Very serious, highly respected. A good judge of character with zero tolerance for poor work ethics (yikes!)

Divus Crewel, Professor of Alchemy and Magical Sciences

Exacting, charismatic. A celebrated fashion designer (???) whose wrath has earned him admirers and foes alike

Ashton Vargas, Professor of Kinesiology (I guess he’s the PE guy)

Passionate, persistent. Is known for his narcissism, but is a dependable team player when it counts

Sam, Proprietor of “Mr. S’s Mystery Shop”

The go-to man for all your buying needs. Is a bit on the eccentric side, but that’s part of his charm

Maybe this won’t be such a lousy arrangement after all....

Entry Five

Allow me to amend my earlier statement ever so slightly:

THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST ARRANGEMENT IMAGINABLE.

My first day on the job has been nothing but one disaster after another. These men are unreasonable, larger-than-life characters with the most obtuse expectations and tendencies I’ve ever met! Why oh why couldn’t I have been made younger in the process of this whole isekai-ing business? A great many students, as I’ve now come to learn, aren’t half bad. (The remarkable ones among them certainly left a lasting impression…) What’s more, they actually seem terrified of these fellows birdbrain assigned me to aid.

Divus Crewel is not my type of person AT ALL. He’s vain, cold, and completely unforgiving. He tore at me from the get-go, his cold grey eyes boring into me as he informed me how drab my sense of style was. The headmaster spoke so highly of me; he thought it fair to assume that I would be a remarkable presence having come from a world apart. I know well his type: petty and shallow. (Bastard thinks he can wear fur like that in his line of work? Tch.)

Ashton Vargas was, unsurprisingly, the textbook definition of a musclehead. He chewed me out for my poor physical constitution and demanded that I join him for early morning jogs around campus followed by intense cardio. Not for nothing, but exercise is not my thing. Naturally, he’s so into himself that he didn’t bother listening to me when I tried to politely turn down his invitation.

Sam… where do I even begin about that piece of work? ‘A bit eccentric’? Only a little? Way to downplay things, boss bird! The guy is a bonafide freak. He’s all about making sales and nothing else, and he’s as sketchy as rotten fish smells. And get this… his shadow? The thing has a mind of its own, and he does nothing to keep a reign on it. I couldn’t tell if he was joking, but as soon as he started talking about his “friends on the other side” with a snicker and a twinkle in his eye, I hightailed it out of there. I am never going back to his place of business ever again, even if it kills me.

I haven’t even met the last person the Headmaster told me about, but if he’s anything like his colleagues--or worse--Crowley might as well throw me to the sharks and put me out of my misery. Going by the information that… crow so generously shared with me, he doubtless feels like someone who’s going to see right through me and utterly crush what little self-worth I have left.

Please, I just want this nightmare to be over already....

Entry Six

So… um, hold on. I need to gather my thoughts. Deep breaths, Kyuu. Deep breaths.

Today was… nice. I can’t believe I’m saying any of this but… I’m kind of happy.

Although I had initially considered skipping my appointed first meeting with Professor Trein, I decided to suck it up at the very last minute and take whatever fate had in store for me head-on. I do not regret my decision in the least.

Where do I begin? I was so damn nervous when I knocked on the door to his office. A voice urged me inside, but the first thing that greeted me wasn’t the voice’s owner… but a cat.

This fluffy black and white feline, its expression demure, ran up to me immediately and took to rubbing against my leg. It was the cat from that fateful night I woke up inside a coffin! He held still and stared at me expectantly before issuing a rawl. I looked up to find a stern man, dressed in antiquated robes, regarding me with an unflinching glower. I was paralyzed with fear--I’d screwed up, hadn’t I?

Then he smiled at me. “It has been a while, Kyuu. I was expecting you.” He was the other person from that night! I just nodded my head dumbly and followed him inside. I could see how one could find him intimidating, what with his piercing visage and strict, commanding aura, but for me there was something almost comforting about his olden mannerisms.

We had a delightful talk over freshly-brewed tea. He asked me about myself, and I was stunned to learn that he and I had many things in common! He was positively amazed how quickly his beloved cat (who’s name is Lucius, by the way) warmed up to me. All the while, I was fondly reminded of my university days where I would spend hours on end talking with one of my favorite history professors after class.

I eventually opened up to him about my catastrophic first day with his colleagues. He expressed sympathy, but at the same time he was quick to point out that perhaps I was taking things too personally, and that I had jumped to conclusions without putting things in perspective. Knowing my tendencies, I conceded that he was probably right.

#twisted wonderland #twisted-wonderland #kyuu's chronicle

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dahvangogh · 4 years

Text

and empty words are evil | Jason Todd

[ prologue | one | two | three ]

[ao3 link]

note: Another week, another new chapter. Unfortunately, I haven't gotten any comments yet (except one in tumblr) but I did get a few kudos and hits which made me incredibly happy. I hope I got the new characters' introduced in this chapter well... like I'm a bit scared that they sound OOC or not credible enough. What do you think? Leave a comment on AO3 or here, please!

Also, I apologize for any grammatical mistakes, I tried my best to correct it all but I might have missed some things (english is not my native language)

Take care, guys. xx

CHAPTER TWO

“Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.”

― Allen Saunders

The art gallery this morning was emptier than a banker’s heart, which suits her best if she is being honest, with her current predicament and all. While she doesn't work at the art gallery per se, like showing the displayed artworks or buying imported ones, she does work at the back of the gallery in one of the many workshops. Hence, if the place is full or has a chatty crowd, the sound will still get to her and echo all over her workshop.

Thankfully, that isn't the case today.

Grace is sporting a hangover as big as the Empire State Building. Yesterday night, while checking pictures and maps of Black Mask’s warehouse surroundings, she had chugged down two expensive wine bottles as if they were water.

You reap what you sow, dumbass.

She didn’t even like wine, like at all.

Her boss Rose had gifted her the two bottles for her birthday very kindly and when yesterday night she had seen the bottles collect dust in her pantry, she had thought she either drunk them now or threw them to the nearest trash can.

A coughing, as if someone was throat cleaning, sounds from behind and startles her.

Grace stops her precise strokes with the cotton swab and throws it into a bowl with many others that have been used before. Then, as she turns around towards the workshop door, she lowers her face mask. Her boss, a beautiful mature woman sporting amazing pink hair up in a tight knot and matching it with multicolored eyeshadow, is standing at the threshold of the door, tapping away something on her phone.

“How is it going with the portrait?”

Her gaze is still on the phone.

“Great. Maximum two or three days outmost for me. Then Caesar can frame it again and we can return it to the owner.”

At that, her boss looks up at her and smiles as kindly as usual. Rose Whitehall was the type of boss many dreamed about having.

And Grace knew she was lucky to have her.

When she had come to Gotham City, the first day Grace had visited Gotham’s Art Palace and fallen completely in love. She had hunted down Rose Whiteman, resume in hand, and insisted for weeks to have her at least be an intern. Rose had taken her resume and scanned it from head to bottom, commenting on how lucky Grace had been to be doing her apprenticeship on Museum Island in Berlin. Then, she had agreed to take her as an intern for two months. If she was as good as it seemed from her resume, she would hire her.

And now here she is, working for Rose and getting paid every month doing what she loves most.

“The owner will be coming in fifteen minutes, Grace.” She says which instantly makes Grace gape at that, eyes wide in shock. Forget what I said, she is a fucking bitch… “Don’t worry! He just wants to see how the process of restoration is going.”

Thank God.

The raven-haired girl now raises one of her brows in question.

“It isn’t common, I know. But we needed to check some details for the Gotham Annual Gala Dinner he is hosting, the one where we will auction some artwork, and he asked if it was possible to see it.” Rose approaches her while explaining. Then, she stands beside her looking at the big white worktable where the painting is placed and being restored. “You see, this portrait is very important to him.”

Grace stares at the painted canvas too.

It is a huge family portrait, clearly of a wealthy family, and the members seem happy. The tall man has broad-shoulders, probably in his early thirties, and is wearing an expensive-looking suit with matching black tie. His combed dark hair contrasts quite a bit with his vibrant blue eyes. Besides the proud man stands a dashing woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with light brown hair up in a chignon and soft but plump pink lips. She is wearing a green strapless dress, those that you would only wear in formal events or at a Gala.

From the first moment Grace had seen the painting, the woman had taken her breath away, –despite how dirty and darkened the portrait is–. She still looked positively and extraordinarily beautiful. If Grace had ever seen her walking down the street, she would have immediately taken her small sketchpad out of her handbag and drawn her.

The painter clearly had done a remarkable job depicting them.

Though, as usual with any type of paints, the painting was forever condemned to be restored a few times and treated with preventive care until the owner decides to dispose of it.

Now, Grace follows with her eyesight the strong hand that the man has placed on a petite shoulder, and a smile immediately blooms on her face. It always happened these past days too. Whenever she looked at the third and last member of the painting she would inevitably smile.

A young boy.

He was probably six or seven years old when the portrait had been done. He looks like the spitting image of the older man, undoubtedly they were father and son, but has the same soft smile as the lovely woman.

“You have done a remarkable job, Grace.”

Her boss pats her on the shoulder, still looking at the couple depicted on the portrait.

“I never asked… do you know them? Personally, I mean… ”

Rose smiles sadly.

“My parents were friends with them, so I do remember meeting the family once or twice at dinner parties… sadly, the couple passed away due to very unfortunate circumstances.”

Grace now smiles saddened, trying not to imagine the sweet young boy crying in front of two stone gravels, utterly alone in the world.

A whistle-like sound, which Grace knows by now that it means a notification of Rose’s phone, echoes all over the workshop.

“And that must be him.”

Rose starts walking towards the door, the sound of her heels following her, but stops and then looks over her shoulder.

“Keep working on that! Now!”

And with a wink, she walks off towards the gallery section, disappearing from her sight.

“Aye, aye, captain!”

Grace pulls up her white face mask and rubs her gloved hands together, feeling a bit anxious about facing a client for the first time. She has never done so, an art restorer never meets her client unless she works at a museum –which means the museum is the owner, unless the piece was donated, that's another case altogether.

Though in this case... She did know that the restoration of this portrait was a special request to Rose, she said so, but now she understands why. The reason being that Rose knew the family sort of personally.

But she still never expected to meet the client.

She assesses that she mustn’t look that bad, thanking her morning-self for choosing an outfit that looks classy and professional on her.

Her hair is tied up with a ribbon in a high ponytail, very 60s with how her curls look, and her floral long skirt complements her white v-neck blouse. She had even gone as far as putting on some nude lipstick which looked great with her Bridget Bardot inspired eye look.

I hope my eye make up isn't ruined... Pandas don't look professional and efficient.

She sighs loudly.

Wait… Why in Hell am I worried about how I look? Pull yourself together!

She sighs again, which feels weird while wearing a face mask, and now picks up a new cotton swab, proceeding with socking it in a special liquid for cleaning. Before being interrupted, Grace was working on some details on the young boy’s suit and so now she goes back to working on that.

If everything goes according to her plan, she will finish today with the final touch-ups, and tomorrow she will varnish the whole thing.

Grace focuses on the section of the boy’s suit, who is placed at the bottom of the painting, and starts cleaning.

She has taken longer on this work because of how huge it was, plus she had two other more urgent works to do. Nevertheless, she feels confident that between today and tomorrow she can perfectly finish it.

Suddenly, the brunette sees a dark blurb move from the corner of her eye and so she stops her soft strokes to look beside her.

A child?

The young boy is attentively looking at her hand and analyzing its movements.

She raises an eyebrow in question.

The boy turns to look at her, his brows now furrowed and arms crossed, as if pissed that she has stopped doing her job.

They both stare at each other, no words spoken between them for a bit.

“You are surprisingly good for someone so young.” His child-like voice is a heavy contrast to how serious and formal his words are. “Though I assured father that I was more than capable of handling such an easy task.”

Grace blinks a few times, at first paying more attention to the pale scar at the tail of his right eyebrow that stands out against his tan skin, but then she registers what he has just said.

You little sh...

“Then your father was being smart, for such a delicate portrait deserves an experienced hand and....” She pulls her face mask down and smiles sweetly, all while looking down at him. “I highly doubt you would be up to that high standard.”

The boy, despite his sun-kissed skin, blushes notoriously. Yet, his brows are still furrowed, even more so now than before.

“I will have you know that… ”

He looks adorable, all angry while clenching his fists at his sides, and she can help but soften at the sight.

Grace quickly interrupts him.

“Though I’m sure that with proper study and practice, when you are older you might be able.”

He blinks a few times and then relaxes, though still sporting his adorable blush.

“Damian, don’t harass the lady while she is working.”

A deep and rich voice asks –probably to the boy, Damian is not her name– and both the kid and her turn their heads towards the threshold.

She holds a gasp.

Grace has just come across Bruce Wayne himself.

He is standing in the workshop threshold, all calm and poise. The man is surprisingly more handsome in real life than in the newspapers or tv. He is beautiful, yet I wouldn't paint him ever. Don't mistake her, he is handsome as hell. He looks extremely fit in his probably very expensive dark suit and as dashing as ever with his chiseled face, straight nose, and smiling soft lips. Yet something is amiss with him.

He doesn't look whole.

Too perfect.

“Father!”

She turns towards the young boy and sees it. The connection. They are identical, though Damian reaches her elbow, has a much darker complexion and his eyes are green instead of blue. Everything else is positively the same. As in the same well-kept haircut, long at the top and not too short at the sides –though the boy' is styled more child-friendly–, the same bone structure in the face and the same poise while standing.

Damian is a walking mini-Bruce.

The man walks towards them, still all calm and charm, and she can't help but search for any flaws. His blue eyes feel like they are analyzing her, which she quickly attributes to him being a worried father of finding alone his child with a total stranger, and so she tries to relax her and look non-threatening. After all, they were just talking.

“Bruce Wayne.” he introduces himself, offering his big hand. “Quite young for an art restorer, aren’t you?”

You just didn't...

She tries to smile and raises her hand, not shaking his but waving it.

“Grace Henderson, would shake your hand but I’m wearing protective gloves and they need to be as clean as possible,” she says nonchalantly, though she still wants to grunt out loud for his damn comment. “I’m 25 years old and was personally tasked to do this by Miss Whitehall, though I personally believe she knows what she is doing, you are more than free to go and request another restorer.”

She hears Damian laugh, but she holds Bruce's stare, not backing out.

He smiles charmingly, taking a step forward.

“I didn’t mean to… ”

Her smile enlarges.

“Yes, you did.” Grace waves her hand as if dismissing him. “I’m used to it, though. So no offense is taken.”

Liar... It stinks.

Bruce opens his mouth as if to reply with something, but then his eyes zoom on the portrait laying on the work table and he instantly closes it.

He stares at it, almost as if zooming out.

“Well... Now I can see why.” He smiles, not a charming one but a soft-looking one, his eyes shining a bit. “It looks just like the first time I saw it.”

Both Damian and her turn towards the portrait on the worktable.

She rubs her hands, a bit taken aback by the subtle compliment.

“It’s still not finished! I’m giving it the final touches now and tomorrow I will varnish it properly.”

She looks at him, expecting another smart comment, but he is still attentively looking at the canvas.

Oh my...

Grace holds the gasp in, realizing that the young boy in the portrait is none other than the man standing right beside her. Bruce Wayne, who had lost his parents tragically when he was a young boy, patron of the city and famous playboy. The sight of a young boy crying in front of two gray graves materializes in her mind again.

She gulps.

“Caesar who is a more experienced curator will frame it again and will also take care of the handling of the portrait until it is delivered safely to you.” She further explains, her voice shaking a bit. “It will be as good as new, I promise.”

The handsome man now turns to her and smiles kindly, placing a hand on her arm.

“Thank you for your hard work. Rose assured me that it was being handled by the best hands, but still… ” He moves his head to the side, presses his lips together for a moment and then smiles again. “I wanted to be sure.”

She nods reassuringly.

“I understand.”

Bruce takes his big hand off her arm and places his other atop Damian’s head.

“And again, I hope Damian wasn’t bothering you too much.”

The young boy huffs, crossing his arms and raising one of his eyebrows at his father’s words, either embarrassed or annoyed.

“Not at all.” She looks at both of them with a smirk on her lips. “He seemed to think the same as you.”

Bruce looks down at Damian, who raises his chin almost proudly while staring at the work table and the portrait.

“Though I believe that was just a misconception…” She lowers a bit her torso towards him and smiles truthfully at the young boy. “Right, Damian?”

Now the dark-haired boy turns to look at her, but just as suddenly as he does that, he blushes. Quickly, probably to hide it away, he turns his stare towards the workplace again while his hands move towards his back in a very regal pose.

Then he huffs.

Aw... Adorable.

Bruce looks at him, curiosity now shining in his blue eyes, and then laughs broadly. The man pats ruffles his son’s head.

“He is very much interested in the arts, Miss Henderson.”

Grace finally feels herself relax fully in their presence, her body completely viewing Bruce and Damian Wayne as nonthreatening.

He won't hurt me.

“I assumed as much.” She focuses on Damian, who is looking askance at her, and she smiles again. Grace sees a bit of her in him. “Well, if you ever want to talk about art... You will be more than welcome here.”

That seems to catch his attention. Damian now turns to look at her fully, curiosity shining in his green eyes, and raises his chin as if trying to seem taller.

“I might, though my schedule is usually very full.”

Bruce laughs again while Grace nods –trying very hard to hold a laugh in– at what Damian just said. He sounds like a tiny old man.

“Perfect. And with that settled… we will leave you to your work, miss Henderson.”

She nods again, turning towards Bruce.

“Pleasure to meet you both.”

He nods.

They both leisurely walk towards the exit of the workshop, but while Bruce doesn't look back, Damian looks over his shoulder at her.

Her smile is sweet, waving her hand to say goodbye.

“Bye, Damian.”

He answers with a humph, a pretty blush on his cheeks, and disappears from her sight together with his father.

– – –

The elevator of her apartment complex, one of the many skyscrapers in Gotham City, is probably slower than a snail. She leans back on the mirror, not wanting to see her reflection, and sighs loudly.

As if the elevator would notice her annoyance and decide to finally be quicker.

Her phone vibrates on her hand.

She unblocks it and laughs softly when she reads Harley’s message.

hey hey hey! tonight is the night, right?

I haven’t been this excited since x-mas.

Grace sends a reply as fast as lightning.

Chill, girl. I will be at your house around midnight or so.

A bubble with three periods appears, Harley writing an answer at the moment.

GREAT! I will make margaritas then, to celebrate, ya’ know?!

The dark-haired rolls her eyes, a smirk now plastered on her lips, and the doors of her elevator finally open on her floor. She sees the amazing views, even in the hallway, and her shoulders finally sink. Tonight Grace just wants to have a bubble bath and rewatch her favorite movie, Top Gun, while munching a few snacks.

She pouts while opening her apartment’s door.

But suddenly, when thinking about what she will actually do tonight, the butterflies appear and start flying like crazy in her stomach.

Grace’s mood changes.

She had really missed doing her thing and Harley’s offer was the perfect excuse to finally put on the suit and say goodbye to her boundaries.

Normal is overrated, girl.

The midnight-haired girl writes a quick reply while kicking her shoes off.

Can’t wait!

– – –

The night air is ice cold and furious, smacking on her cheeks nonstop and messing with the hair of her ponytail. Her domino mask is only protecting her eye area, so the other parts of her head are now being subjected to the icy harsh wind and she can’t do anything about it.

Perhaps I should invest in a full-face mask or a helmet…

Nevertheless, despite the cold, she had missed the feeling of her suit on her skin. It is a full-on one, completely black and its texture similar to shiny leather, with a thin Kevlar armor underneath it and a utility belt laying low around her hips. Her high heeled boots and pair of gloves are also the same material as her suit. Furthermore, to conceal her identity, not only does she wear her domino mask but she has also grown her hair to waist length, wearing it in a sleek high ponytail.

Her powers can do wonders.

Thank you, Sir meteorite. The powers you have given me will never cease to amaze me.

She sees a new white van coming, then parking in the big parking lot in front of the warehouse’s main door and four men get off from it.

Black Mask’s warehouse is at Miller Harbor, surrounded by many other storage facilities and storehouses, which makes it quite easy for her. The storage facility in front of the warehouse has four floors, the building a bit higher than other facilities around it, so she has the perfect view of the warehouse and surroundings.

She is sitting on the rooftop’ railing, childishly kicking her feet up and munching the leftovers of kebab, while observing a group of five Black Mask’s thugs unload the truck while two others guard the door.

Mr. Ahmed, I would marry you if I didn’t know you already had a wife; she can’t help but think about the sweet cook. Your kebabs are the reason why I still believe in humanity.

She finishes it and crumples the aluminum foil, making a ball out of it. Then throws it up in the air and waves her hand at it, making it disappear in thin air as if it had never even existed.

Where? It’s better if you don’t ask her.

“Time to play.”

She jumps off the railing and extends her arms, her body pose resembling a cross up in the air, and lets the restraint on her powers go. Grace knows that she won’t break her legs, also very sure that a soft green bluish glow surrounds her, and so she lands gracefully on the ground.

Her high-heeled black boots make its characteristic sound as she calmly walks towards the parking lot and the thugs.

All of these guys are big, as in they probably live in a gym by the day and work here by night type of big. They are all dressed in black, wearing bulletproof vests and military boots in said colors, some even wearing black beanies or gloves due to the cold of October.

However, both the four thugs keep unloading big boxes out of the truck’s onto the pavement and the pair at the main door don’t seem to even register her presence.

“Need a hand, boys?”

All of them look up towards her, two even pulling out handguns while the others pull out knives and where the heck did that guy put a baton off?

“Girl! Get the fuck out of here!”

“Where did she come from!?”

“Get lost or we will fuck you up!”

She laughs sweetly.

“Sorry, no can do.”

And she goes out to town.

Grace runs towards the one closest to her and jumps, her legs enclosing his thick neck, then pulls him towards the ground. She hears the loud sound his head makes when it hits the pavement, but without missing a bit she extends both her arms at her sides, palms up and glowing in her usual color. A wave of power flows through her hands and they fly across the parking lot.

Four down, two left.

“You!” One of the guys at the door says, running towards her with a shotgun in his hands.

She waves a hand, a motion of shooing away, and he collides against the main door.

One left.

Grace calmly walks towards the last one, who is shaking in fear or perhaps because of how cold it is, still guarding the main door despite his buddy being knocked out near it. His aura is shaking like jello. When she stands a few feet away from him, now trying not to laugh at the poor man trying to be brave, he directs the muzzle of his shotgun at her.

“Hello.”

“What… what are you!?”

The raven-haired merely smiles in answer and extends her left hand, the man floating at the speed of light towards her hand, like a magnet attracted to a metal piece.

Grace tightens her hold, now estrangling him while he still floats in the air.

“Where are the explosives?”

He croaks, opening his mouth like a fish a few times, emitting broken sounds.

The raven-haired scrunches her nose, then relaxes her hold on his neck just a bit, easing the flow of air to his lungs so he might talk more easily.

“Where is it?”

He opens and closes his mouth again and again, but no sound comes out from his thin and chapped lips.

“If I… If I tell you, he will kill me!” He cries out, his legs kicking the air uselessly, visibly shaking. “I can’t tell you! I can’t! He will kill me! He will kill my family!”

She grunts a bit, tightening her chokehold on his neck.

“Trust me… If you don’t tell me where it is right now, whatever I do to you will be ten times much worse than what he might do.” Her voice now raised an octave, pushing him through a burst of power to the hard metal doors. Next, she pushes him with each following word for emphasis.“So tell me. Now.”

His mouth keeps opening like a fish but still, no sound comes out of it.

“I see… ” she says, sighing dramatically.

Time to put on a good show.

She closes her eyes and tries to center her powers on only her vision, but her power is too unstable and takes much concentration than that. So she relaxes herself, takes a bit of time, and then the brightness of the glow that surrounds her whole body reaches sun-like-blaze levels. There. Next, while she bites her lips trying to focus much more, she visualizes what she wants to achieve. A few seconds pass and when she finally opens them, she has mastered the brightness and her eyes are now the only thing shinning.

As in shinning as bright as the sun.

But there it is, also that side of her powers that is too untameable or unstable to fully be mastered by her. Grace feels her hair float, almost like there is no gravity surrounding her, which she hadn't meant to do.

Nevertheless, it probably helps her look scary and powerful. So, she tights her choke on his neck.

“One last chance… ” her voice sounds modified, not human at all, which she hadn't meant to do either.

She sees him open his eyes –if it is even possible– much more open than before, sort of like a cartoon character would do. Grace now knows that she looks terrifying with her domino mask with glowing eyes, hair floating around, and a creepy voice.

“No! No! No!” he begs in a yell, still kicking his feet up, completely horrified. “Wait! Wait! Wait, please! I will tell… I will tell you!”

She relaxes a bit her hold.

“They are stored inside three wood boxes... and they have written fragile in red capital letters all over them.” he croaks, and Grace feels every word he says through the palm of her hand. “They are the only ones marked with those words, to differentiate them!”

She nods, registering the information.

“Thank you.”

And she smacks his head hard against the metallic door.

The raven-haired checks the auras of all the thugs scattered around her, to see if they are still unconscious or if there are more out there that she hasn't seen, but what she finds confuses her. There are seven more scattered inside and around the warehouse, but weirdly enough they feel like they are barely there.

Oh, oh. Not good.

This reminds her of the first time she killed someone. When she had her first run with the Serbian Mafia, one of the caporegimes had infuriated her so much that she had just killed him right then and there, on the spot. Despite instantly becoming a target for them. And the feeling… She had felt how the soldier’s aura slowly evaporated into nothingness. Similar to how the light of a bulb diminishes until it completely burns out.

Those auras sort of felt like that.

However, they could probably be saved if she called an ambulance or the police.

What do I do? Should I...?

She sighs, still debating about it, and while opening the door, searches for more auras. Trying to find either a perpetrator or another human being who would help them. However, there aren’t any on the warehouse or its premises.

Weird.

Grace scrunches her nose, overthinking for a few seconds until the thought of them working for Black Mask and probably having done bad things for him makes her decide to just leave their fate to luck.

Screw it.

The raven-haired girl lets her powers surround her, no longer focusing on her eyes, and starts walking inside confidently.

Whatever is inside, it should be scared of me.

The first thing she notices is how the lights are out, which she quickly remedies with a snap of her fingers, then how the whole warehouse is full of thousands of wooden boxes scattered around, though the pillars here and there obstruct her view a bit. The place reminds her of a hangar but without the airplanes and fighter planes.

She groans, cursing herself for not asking where exactly are the boxes placed, and so she starts walking around looking for something red.

No red.

A Subway's meal leftovers.

No red.

Is that a used condom? Ew. Also, no red.

No red.

A few minutes later, she ends up at the center of the warehouse. The three boxes are stacked up in pairs of two, so the odd one is pilled up with another one without a mark on it. She kneels in front of the regular box, now debating whether to take it with her too or to just do some heavy lifting and stack the odd one with the others, until she feels it.

So bright and warm.

Oh my…

Grace even gasps loudly.

An aura, five feet behind her, burning as bright and fiery as the blazing sun.

It could burn me alive if an aura was even tangible.

She had probably been too immersed in searching for the correct boxes that she hadn’t realized the moment the person had stepped in. Moreover, before going inside, she had checked if there was anyone else around and had come across no one on the premises. So, that person had probably entered when she was looking for her special cargo.

This is Black Mask's fault! Screw him for having his warehouse so disorganized! Didn't his mother ever teach him of keeping his things tidy?!

Grace tries to center herself, not wanting to appear scared or nervous. Then, rising up calmly from her kneeling position, she turns around and comments nonchalantly: “It is considered rude to stare at someone and not greet them.”

Red.

That’s what she first sees.

A man wearing a red helmet, no facial expression on it, with white slits in the form of eyes. He is standing five feet away from her, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar, his arms crossed against his ample chest and with his military tactical boots also crossed at the ankles.

Red?

She scans him while thinking of Gotham's vigilantes and criminals.

Red...

Red Robin? No, he isn't wearing that weird cape Lisa mentioned.

“Red Hood, I presume?”

He shrugs, all calm but fiery aura.

“In the flesh.”

His voice low and tinted with humor.

Red Hood looks like a brute, as in a big and quite muscular guy. He is wearing a brown leather jacket and underneath it, some sort of black-grey armored under-shirt with a red bat symbol Emblem in the middle of the pectoral area. His black-grey cargo pants are the same color as his undershirt, almost making it look like it's a whole bodysuit, plus also carrying two tactical holsters united in a utility black belt.

Damn, someone doesn’t skip leg day. Those are some big thighs.

His tighs are probably bigger than her head, though she tries not to stare too much.

She probably fails, but whatever.

“Thought you didn’t go around killing people anymore?” she tries to buy time, remembering what Lisa had told her about the vigilante.

She bobs her head to the left, assessing him.

Red Hood. Gun guy. Former Crime Lord, had painted Gotham City red until he had stopped killing and started using the same methods as Batman & Co. Still, too ruthless for my liking. You say his name and everyone shits their pants. A vigilante, but not one you want to meet, unlike Nightwing or Batgirl. From what I heard from one of the police guys at the clinic, he is good in a fight, quite at par with Batman.

He stands up from his position, and while he is looking calm and confident, she can clearly see the signs of him being ready for whatever she is about to do.

“Rough night. Bat can suck it.” his voice is low and clearly electronically modified. Then, he points at her with his black-gloved hand, like a child. “Now, time for you to introdu… ”

She holds her glowing left hand up, interrupting him midsentence.

Then, she runs towards him.

“And you talk about manners…” his annoying voice chastises her, which somehow irks her.

Grace knows she probably won't win against him like this, but he clearly has a big ego and his confidence can be used against him.

Men and their egos.

He effortlessly dodges her first punch, which she knew he would, and she throws another one towards his face. Red Hood merely captures her fist in his gloved hand, a tight hold that almost feels like he will break all her bones, and clucks humorously.

“You suck at fighting, so stick to magic.”

She wants to roll her eyes so badly.

They are pretty close, only a feet apart, and despite her high-heeled boots she still has to look up to see his masked face. It irks her even more, her height is something that has always bothered her.

“Oh… As you wish.”

She smiles prettily while shrugging her shoulders.

One of his feet steps back, his instinct probably screaming at him to pull back and so he tries to pull away, letting go of her fist, but it is already too late.

Got you.

Grace opens her fist up and he starts floating, a feet up in the air, his jacket opening a bit with how fast she elevated him. He has a green bluish glow around him, which is actually what is keeping him up, and she starts to smack the air.

His face turns left and right, clearly feeling her slaps, completely powerless to her ministrations.

“It’s fun, right?” she laughs, though she feels no joy or pleasure from what she is doing. “You should have shot me right when you saw me, Red.”

He grunts but gives no further reaction.

She stops slapping the air and his face stops moving, still motionless and floating in the air. She supposes he is looking at her, after all his red helmet is facing her.

“I heard so much about you.” She stares at those white slits, smiling sweetly at the man. “From what I heard, you painted Gotham City red for a few months. So many fear you… If only they saw you now. Completely powerless.”

The explosives, girl. Focus! she tries to focus on her “mission” and stops mocking him. Right, the explosives.

The raven-haired girl keeps her hand up, keeping him afloat, and turns to the side. She is still able to see him, but now can also clearly see the wooden boxes.

“Who are you?” he asks, humor no longer in his voice. He doesn’t seem scared, which sort of surprises her a bit. “What do you want with Black Mask? What are you doing in Gotham?”

“None of your business, Little Red Riding Hood.” she mocks him, scrunching her nose in annoyance. “Now shut it or I will gag you.”

She raises her other hand and with her open palm, draws an O near where the boxes are located, closing her eyes and furrowing her brows for further concentration. Grace pictures Harley’s house, not the inside of it, but the front door. Just the front door. She hears the wind howling and when she opens her eyes again, inside the perimeter of the O there is the view of Harley’s door.

Grace knows she has a few precious seconds before the portal closes –multitasking was never her forte– and so she quickly directs her palm’s towards the boxes, imagining them floating as if there was no gravity.

“His explosives?” Red Hood grumbles in a low whisper, probably a thought said out loud.

Suddenly, a surge of power in her characteristic color surrounds them and the boxes start floating as Red Hood currently is. Then, they start dancing through the air towards the portal until crossing it and gently settling in the doorstep.

Mission Accomplished.

She snaps her fingers and the portal closes, just as if she had just turned the TV off with a remote.

Now, let's get out of here.

Grace turns around and lowers her other hand. Red Hood slowly starts lowering towards the ground, still surrounded by her power and fully in her control.

The raven-haired girl purses her lips and then smiles, as if a great idea has just come to her.

“Now, would you please sit down like a good boy and let me leave unharmed?” she asks in a pleading mocking tone.

She can imagine him smirking under the helmet while huffing a laugh, despite being at her mercy, and she can feel danger oozing from him.

The man is clearly not scared of her.

And very confident in himself.

“No can do, sweetheart.” his raspy and modified voice almost shocks her.

She walks towards him with a pout on her lips, trying to appear confident when she actually isn’t feeling like that at all, and looks up at him. Grace hopes she looks sort of attractive, or at least cute enough to not make him kill her if she slips and lets him go.

“Pity.” she exaggerates her pout, totally mocking him. “I would have even invited you to a drink or something.”

Wait... why do I sound flirty?

He lowers his head a bit, which to say the least surprises her. He shouldn't be able to move at all, but he has just moved his head, and so she tries to not freak out in front of him. To keep calm and seem confident.

“Let me go.”

She laughs as if that comment is the funniest thing she has ever heard.

“As if I’m that stupid.” she pats his chest with her left hand, leaning into him. “You will turn me into a colander. So, no. Your guns stay where they are. Thank you.”

He lets out a laugh that rumbles through his chest, clearly amused. Grace can even feel it through her gloves and his armored under-shirt, and she tries not to laugh too.

“I could go slow… be gentle.”

She answers with a moan as if the mere idea excites her, and did he just take a small step forward?

He is starting to break through, shit. You should have mind-controlled him, idiot!

“As tempting as that sounds, I will have to pass on that… You see,” She pats his chest for emphasis one last time, nodding along to what she herself just said. Then, she shrugs her shoulders.“I’m an old-fashioned girl, so you would have to take me to dinner first. Perhaps even sweep me off my feet?”

The raven-haired girl turns around and when she is a few feet away, just where the wooden boxes were sitting before, she opens the portal again to Harley’s house. She crosses through it, her footsteps slow but surely, until she no longer is standing inside Black Mask's warehouse but in Harley's doorstep with the four boxes.

Grace proceeds to raise her left hand, as if throwing something over her shoulder, and she doesn't have to turn around to know that the walls close on the Red Hood.

Yet, she still turns around to see. She doesn't know why, but she views as the whole building crumbles in, no sight of Red Hood, who is probably dead or buried underneath all the rubble.

She doesn't feel good.

But she knew he wouldn't let her go, not before probably torturing her or giving her up to Batman or even to the police.

“Goodbye, Red.”

#jason todd fanfiction #Jason Todd x reader #jason todd x you #Jason Todd x oc #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #dc fanfiction #dc imagine #my writing #hope you all like it #aewae ff

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rapeculturerealities · 5 years

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We all know that when the common white person was a poor farmer, being fat was attractive and being skinny was gross. When the industrial revolution hit the lower and middle classes then being thin was beautiful. This lasted until the recession all but removed the white middle class, leaving the vast majority on starvation wages, only then did we start selling white women on having an ass, being curvy, looking healthy. It was always about further emotionally abusing and guilt tripping the poor.

Hi there,

A lot of factors contributed to the way fat bodies have been viewed and valued (or devalued) in our society. Racism, wealth, social status and region have all played large roles in these changes and continue to impact and shape what we are told is conventionally attractive, healthy and acceptable.

As humans moved out of the hunter-gatherer status and into the stone age, we see depictions of larger bodies in art and religious iconography. As you mentioned, this was generally because a fat body was seen as proof of fertility and wealth/access to a reliable and plentiful food source.

This carried into the Renaissance, where social status, famine and disease helped further cement the difference in body size, right up through the industrial revolution, which slowly allowed food (and medical care) to be accessed by a larger percentage of the population. During this time, many cultures throughout the world still celebrated fat bodies as ideal including in China, Africa and Indigenous populations of the Americas.

In the 18th and middle to late 19th century a lot of racist “science” was being used to justify slavery and posit the “inferiority” of Black bodies and very tied to that was the concept of body size being analogous to morality. The belief that “civilized” (read “white”) people could control themselves around, among other things, food, served to help “other” Black and Brown bodies and cement them being portrayed as “wild” and weak-willed.

So in the early 20th century in North America and parts of Europe we start to see a trend that not only shifts the beauty standard toward thinner, but also more racially motivated ideals. Around this time a lot of media described beauty in veiled racism like “Nordic” or “European”. Of course, these parallels that were being drawn between morals and such weren’t only driven by bogus race science, but also the politics of the time.

Sabrina Strings has a phenomenal book out that details some of the ways that race and racism dovetail with the shift in how fat bodies are seen;

Fearing the Black Body; The Racial Origins of Fatphobia

You can hear her discuss it on the Food Psych podcast here and I’m going to quote below from the transcript of that episode:

So in the beginning a lot of the interest was on whether or not black people were "greedy eaters." And so there was this concern that, you know, black people had a very fond relationship to food and there were even prior to the rise of this particular type of race science which was in the 18th century as early as the 16th century there had been tales coming out of various colonial reports which suggested that if you went to Turkey or Egypt that you could see these women who had like a fondness for the art of feeding, right? And so that they would like, spend their entire day basically feeding themselves, right?

So it's not as if it began entirely in the 18th century only that it was formalized as a form of racialized logic by that time. What we find is that some of these reports that were being written, again, a lot of these were being written by French theorists were being read in places like England, and so that some of this race science would make its way into mainstream reports of well just pretty much day to day chronicling of events. So that you might find in something like The Spectator, which was like a men's magazine as it was in the 18th century that they would also talk about weight in these racialized ways which was kind of fascinating when I was reading this, I was like, "Oh, well here they're sort of reproducing the idea that there are certain places where you go and you will find certain types of beauty."

And in Europe or in England in particular, as they're talking about in the Spectator, this is where we find a beauty that's refined and refined beauties do not have, you know, they would say things like "rolls of fat," like if you want to go and find they would use terms like, "a beauty by the time," you know, here are some other places where you can go and find that. So this received wisdom from the race science was being reproduced in mainstream sources in England and the United States is the place where the slender aesthetic took off so it became the place par excellence for the thin ideal by the 19th century, because not only did they have the legacy of getting these reports from racial scientific theorists, but also of course Americans, you know, in the 19th century frequently imagined themselves to be the sisters or the kin of English people. And so they were taking on a lot of the ideas that were being produced in English popular media and simply republishing them.

So what we’re seeing now in terms of the devaluing of fat bodies and the way that morals are linked to fat bodies is heavily tied to racism, ableism and classicism.

Today, of course, this carries on, We see fat bodies being linked with laziness, poverty and lack of control. Whereas poverty used to be marked by a smaller body, now it’s linked to inability to access “good” food and inability to control oneself when eating.

The fat acceptance movement has been working to combat these notions and to highlight their racist, classist and ableist roots. And I want to note that the fat acceptance movement should be seen as separate from the BoPo (body positive) movement, and many fat activists have worked to distance themselves from BoPo as it is increasingly taken over by diet culture and fails to center anyone but cis white women who exist on the smaller side of plus size and still enjoy a lot of thin privilege.

So when we work toward fat acceptance, we need to acknowledge the ways that it’s necessary to include and center the experiences and voices of Black bodies, disabled bodies and other marginalized groups. This has particularly been an issue that’s overlooked in otherwise leftist groups:

#MarALard*ss and the Left’s Fat Problem

FAT PEOPLE MUST BECOME A PRIORITY TO THE LEFT

So yes, A lot to consider in rethinking the history of fatphobia and a good chance to reflect on the roots of fatphobia that tie into so many other issues we are working to address. But I think a deeper understanding of these things helps us to move forward more inclusively and better equips us for the struggles we all face.

-Spider

#fat #fatphobia #fat acceptance #racism #classism #Strings #Fearing the Black BOdy #Podcast #Foodpsych #bopo

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ohnohetaliasues · 4 years

Text

Tokyo OC (Setsuna Miyuu)

(Kat)

So, an anon sent me a note about this OC, and I found her almost immediately on Hetalia Fan Characters Wiki. Let’s get into it.

I made a Tokyo OC a while ago, so this should be interesting.

Tokyo (東京 Tokyo) is the capital city of Japan in the series Hetalia: Axis Powers. She is sometimes referred to as Tokyo Metropolis (東京都 Tokyo-to). Her human name is Miyuu Setsuna (刹那美夢ー Setsuna Miyuu).

Okay, so both Miyuu (more commonly spelled as Miyu) and Setsuna are first names.

Also I read the Kanji for ‘Miyuu’ as ‘Mimu’ so there’s that.

This looks like a Love Live character.

Okay, so as cute as this chibi is, I think this character is a bit whitewashed. She looks Caucasian as opposed to Japan, who does look Asian for the most part.

Name: Tokyo Metropolis (東京都) Human Name: Miyuu Setsuna (刹那美夢ー Setsuna Miyuu) Alternative Spelling(s): N/A Age: 16

No.

Too young.

Tokyo was originally called Edo, and Edo castle was built in 1457, then became the center of Tokugawa Ieyasu’s military government in 1603. She would be a little older than 16.

Gender: Female Birthday: February 10th

This date has nothing to do with Tokyo’s history. You could try May 1st, which is the day Tokyo was established as a city.

Hair Color: Caramel Brown (manga), Caramel Brown (anime) Eye Color: Maroon (manga), Cherry Red (anime)

Seeing as none of the countries have abnormally colored hair and that they physically cannot dye their hair, this is not normal because Japanese people typically don’t have red hair. They have dark hair.

Case in point.

Height: 145 cm

Why in fresh hell is she 4′7″? The average height of a Japanese woman is around 5′2″ or so.

Appearance

Tokyo, Japan

She has brown hair that reaches a few inches below her shoulders and a P-shaped curl on the middle of her head.

Does this represent anything?

Her hair is wavy and some of it on the side also curls inward. This was from the effect of having to tie her hair up too often when she was a child.

No. This isn’t how hair works. I tie my hair up plenty and it doesn’t leave a permanent dent, even if my hair is naturally curly.

Despite this, Tokyo's original hair color is actually black.

Like I said, countries cannot dye their hair, so this is not plausible. Leave her hair as black if you wanna stay accurate.

In her first appearance as a character, she wore an above-the-knee black yukata with a reddish-pink sash and a bell at the side. However, when she grew up with Japan, she is seen wearing a seemingly military-type set of clotes with gold linings and black accents.

She would still wear pants and not a skirt because wearing a skirt as a military uniform in combat would be really silly.

Her left boot is noticeably shorter than the right.

Is there a practical reason for this?

As a child, she wore a white kimono that looked big and loose on her. Her hair was styled like two triangular-shaped buns that looked like riceballs.

A white kimono?

From what I know about kimonos, you don’t wear white kimonos unless you’re getting married. Other than that, white kimonos are only ever worn under the actual kimonos and are called nagajuban.

Personality and Interests

Though described as determined and strong-willed, Tokyo doesn't know much of other nations. She tends to be rather shy and gentle to strangers, sometimes acting nervous like she would make a mistake.

Tokyo has the best metropolitan economy in the world, so I’d imagine she’d be generally pretty outgoing. She’d talk to others in a business-like manner because of this, possibly. My own Tokyo OC is afraid of explosives because of the bombings that took place in Tokyo and she is also careful with what she spends because of the economy thing.

Despite this, Tokyo shows a more outgoing and cheerful side to the nations or capitals she's already a bit close to.

Tokyo secretly likes making robots but she doesn't usually reveal her inventions to the other nations or capitals, only to Japan.

I mean, Japanese electronics are pretty common, so I find this silly.

She has a verbal mannerism to say 'ryuun' just like the way China says 'aru'.

Is there an actual reason for this?

Tokyo was relatively quiet and timid as a child. There showed one time when she kicked Susanoo square on the face for eating her sushi, showing that she was quite aggresive.

Who in the hell is Susanoo?

Relationships

Japan

When she was a child, Tokyo lived in Japan's house at a separate room and only went outside to eat a snack or use the bathroom. Eventually, she started to open up more when the other nations China, America and England started visiting Japan. This lead to her meeting Washington and London and seeing her childhood friend Beijing again.

Um.

No.

Holland was the first to visit Japan after he closed his boarders for nearly 263 years, and I’m concerned that he’s not mentioned. I mean, sure America arrived around 1853.

Also, why Washington? It isn’t inaccurate since Japan sent cherry trees to plant along the Potomac River in 1910, but that was 57 years after the boarders opened again.

Okay, did this person even do their research?

China

Main Article: China

China took control of Japan when he was a kid. Before being Japan's capital, she secretly followed him. When China found out about her, she was forced to work as a servant.

N O.

NO.

Okay no.

China never formally occupied Japan, at least not as far as I know. They were connected politically, but China never actually totally controlled Japan.

However, during WWII Japan did actually occupy some of China’s land.

Do your goddamn research.

Beijing

When Tokyo became China's servant, she met Beijing. Beijing introduced himself as her boss, being China's capital, and often made fun of her and made her work twice as usual.

One time when Beijing asked for Tokyo to cook siopao for him, Tokyo screwed the dish and made Beijing throw up. Since then, he never asked her to cook for him.

This is irrelevant since this was never a thing.

Germany

When Japan became part of the Axis, Tokyo had an opportunity to meet Germany. There is not much known about there relationship, save for the fact that Tokyo dubbed him as a "respectable person".

Uh, okay.

Berlin

Berlin met Tokyo through Germany. They became friends and often shared thoughts, only about war and fighting. Tokyo stated that Berlin was "a person to go to when you're in trouble", contrasting the fact that other nations avoid Germany when they have trouble.

This is irrelevant.

Paris

When Paris went to a vacation in Japan, she met Tokyo and made friends with her. She thinks that Tokyo is her little sister and loves going shopping with her. Paris likes her a lot and is the reason why Tokyo has a lot of "weird" clothes. Despite this, Tokyo hates shopping and going to places with crowds.

Okay, no. Tokyo is a giant city. She would have to be pretty used to crowds and shopping since Tokyo has many markets and shopping districts.

I might even say she would like things like this.

Italy

Italy met Tokyo when he was running away from Germany. Tokyo introduced herself while Italy forgot about being chased.

???

Italy said that Tokyo was like a kid by the way she looks and sometimes calls her "sorellina".

Um. Okay.

Rome

Rome and Tokyo hang out as much as Italy and Japan. They are shown to have good relations with each other as Rome feels that he can trust Tokyo to tell about his problems. Rome often asks Tokyo for tips on how to woo women but it eventually turns out to a disaster since Tokyo doesn't know much about "wooing".

South Italy (Romano)

Tokyo and Romano don't have a good relationship. When the two met, Tokyo was dressed up as a boy so Romano didn't recognized her as a woman. The two bumped into each other and Romano cursed at her, still not knowing her actual gender.

Tokyo's gender was only revealed to Romano when Tokyo went with Japan to look for Italy. But since then, Romano's harsh attitude still hasn't changed towards her.

WHY ARE EITHER OF THESE RELEVANT?

London

Yes. This is accurate. London and Tokyo have a partnership agreement. They even have universities which are connected.

Tokyo and London are close friends just as Japan and England are.

But that’s not why they could be friends.

They met from London being introduced by Japan and since then they have been good friends.

No.

London and Tokyo both enjoy having conversations about anime or about who they ship. Due to London being honest with her opininon Tokyo is always able to confide in her.

Don’t trick me into thinking you did your research when you didn’t.

Name

The exact inspiration behind her human name was from the Japanese word "setsuna"

Japanese name, you mean. But yes, also a word.

which means "in a split second" and "miyu" meaning "beauty" or "dream". This in total gives her name a meaning of "beauty in a split second" or "dream in a split second".

And, my dear readers, this has nothing at all to do with the city of Tokyo.

Discussing further, it is known that Tokyo has a hobby of drawing scenes or events that happen in her dreams. She does this first thing in the morning or whenever she wakes up from sleep. It is revealed that she keeps a pencil and a sketchpad underneath her pillow which she calls her "dream board".

Okay, but this is again, irrelevant. Characters are allowed to have their quirks and hobbies, but with Hetalia OCs, you have to be careful of giving them totally unrelated hobbies.

Character Songs

Marukaite Chikyuu

Hatafutte Parade

Mawaru Chikyuu Rondo

There are no links even on the wiki page, so I guess those are useless.

Trivia

When the Axis celebrated Tokyo's birthday on February 10th by buying her cake, she ate it all without sharing which lead to the fact that Tokyo loves confections. She said sorry after not giving the others the food.

Alright, I guess.

In a comic strip, Beijing mumbled to himself in his room that, "I'm gonna be her boss so we'll finally meet so she can notice me," revealing that Beijing was quite lonely and only wanted Tokyo as a playmate and not actually a servant.

What comic strip? Is this person just pretending Himariya wrote their characters in? I’m confused.

China once called for Tokyo and Japan and looked at them in their eyes. He stated that their eyes looked dull and same but had a different hue.

China just called Japan and Tokyo to look at their eyes? Doesn’t he have better things to do with his time?

Okay, so all that is left is a bunch of art in the gallery, but I don’t know how much of it is stolen and how much of it isn’t, so I’ll just leave it where it is.

Anyway, this OC needs research. Look up information about Tokyo’s history, about Japan’s history. Surprisingly, that video on YouTube, ‘History Of Japan,’ that’s actually a usable source, as silly as it is.

Anyway, I’ll see you guys later. Thanks for recommending this character to me, Anon!

~Kat

#ohnohetaliasues #aph hetalia #hetalia OC #aph hetalia oc #aph tokyo #mod kat #Mod Kat reviews stuff #Mod Kat reviews things #mary sue #DO YOUR RESEARCH #do your freaking research #please #needs research #no research #do your research hetalia fans #it is important #Self Insert

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komorebirei · 5 years

Text

The Water Was Never Afraid - Chapter 3: Lake

(AO3 link)

“Careful of the duck poop,” Adrien warned, steering Kagami around a dark patch on the sidewalk.

“Thank you.”

There was a lone bench at the edge of the lake. Adrien led Kagami by the crook of her arm and gestured for her to sit. Smiling sweetly, she gathered her skirt primly and sat. He followed, settling beside her.

That was one thing he liked about Kagami—she was confident, headstrong, determined, and had no problem showing him who was boss on the fencing strip, but she also helped him patiently when he needed it, and let him lead her as a gentleman would. She was a tantalizing combination of unyielding and yielding, hard and soft.

The sounds of the party carried across the air and seemed to dissolve across the surface of the lake. The speeches and performances had finished and the guests were all up and about, dancing and mingling in a jumble of sophisticated chaos—the perfect chance to slip away for a taste of the night air.

“Mother said your playing was beautiful,” Kagami murmured, fingering the edge of her sheer sleeve, embroidered with tiny chrysanthemums. “I thought so, too. Very expressive.”

“Thank you.” Instead of just going through the motions, he’d imagined he was playing for Kagami. “It helped to have someone special in the audience.” He tested his flirty wink on her, usually reserved only for Ladybug.

It worked. She smiled and diverted her eyes, probably blushing, though it was difficult to tell in this lighting.

It felt nice to be able to affect someone that way.

A fountain pattered the surface of the lake, its hidden light source casting a dreamlike glow across the rippling water. Though the sun’s disappearance went a long way in cooling the air, the night was still fairly warm. Adrien shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in an ash grey waistcoat, matching slacks, and white button down shirt. He removed his emerald cuff links, tucked them into a pocket, and loosely folded his shirt sleeves up to the elbow.

“What? Don’t judge me,” he joked in response to Kagami’s raised eyebrow. “You have sheer sleeves, while I’m boiling alive in a three-piece suit. Men’s formal wear in summer—the curse of being male.”

“Don’t get too comfortable. We have to go back in soon,” she reminded him.

“Let’s stay out here for a little while,” he pushed back.

The blinking of fireflies along the bank distracted him. “The fireflies are out already,” he noted, pointing across the lake. “I forget about their existence every year, until the next summer rolls around.”

“They look like your tie,” Kagami said with a faint smile, curling a petite hand just below the knot.

“Huh?” Adrien looked down. Kagami tipped his tie left and right, and the tiny crystals embedded in the fabric caught the light from the fountain, twinkling just like the fireflies. He chuckled. “You’re right.”

Kagami rested her head in the hollow of Adrien’s shoulder, letting her hand slide down from his tie to rest against his side. “Is this okay?”

“Of course.” Adrien curled an arm around her, surprised at how small she was. He didn’t think of her as a delicate person, but she seemed delicate now, tucked into the crook of his arm. “You’re not cold? Your dress is practically sleeveless.”

Her dress was a combination of eastern and western styles. A deep red silk bodice showed through a cream organza kimono top with flowing sleeves. The sheer material clearly showed the silhouette of her arms, and tucked into a wide obi around her waist, the same color as the bodice, that gathered in the back and joined her layered red-and-black A-line skirt to cascade down to the ankle. Overall, the dress was very flattering on her, cropped to the knee in front to show off her toned calves and contemporary geta shoes shaped with graceful curves and elevated heels.

Kagami shook her head. “Not at all. It’s nice out. And you? Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” His answer wasn’t confident. It felt better to be away from the crowds, the pressure to entertain and make scintillating conversation and be generally perfect. It felt better to be out of his stifling jacket. Yet, being outside reminded Adrien of being whipped by the wind at the top of the Eiffel tower, crouching behind chimneys making hurried plans with Ladybug, and squinting for footholds as he leap-frogged across the roofs of buildings—and all of that awoke a different type of longing in him.

Stirred by years worth of latent memories, he was suddenly seized with the urge to leave the party and just go somewhere else with Kagami.

“Do we really have to go back?” he asked, testing the waters.

“Why, do you have something else in mind?”

“We could explore the city.”

Kagami tipped her head back to meet his eyes, clearly disapproving of the idea. “We can explore another day. Do you really think we won’t be noticed if we just leave?”

“We’re adults. We can come and go as we please.”

Kagami shook her head. “I don’t want to upset Mother. She hasn’t been in good health lately.”

Adrien frowned, feeling a sting of disappointment, despite his suggestion being only half serious. “Ah, well,” he shrugged. “It was worth a try, anyway. You owe me an adventure, then.”

“I’ll be sure to deliver.” Kagami smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Adrien…”

“It was a stupid idea anyway.” Taking her hand, he stood, tugging her with him. “Let’s go back.”

“You’re not angry, are you?” Kagami put her other hand on his cheek and turned his face to hers.

“Of course not. Why would I be?” Adrien forced a smile. He shouldn’t have thought about Ladybug. He wasn’t angry—just frustrated, nostalgic, a seed of his old depression sprouting a leaf. He didn’t feel like staying outside anymore.

“I’m not sure, but you seem upset.”

Adrien had no reason to be upset, and felt bad that Kagami had sensed his mood. He gazed back at the lake, watching the ripples, trying to mentally shake off the feeling before heading back inside.

When he didn’t answer, Kagami stood on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to Adrien’s cheek, right by the corner of his mouth. The scent of her perfume lingered along with the tingling of his skin, fresh jasmine mixed with other florals.

“There’s a time for everything, Adrien,” she said quietly, her expression solemn yet soft. “Without accepting that, you’ll never be happy.”

“I know,” he sighed, interlacing his fingers with hers. Her words struck home for him, more than she probably intended.

He hated stuffy events like this gala, and he wished he could have a night out with Kagami without having to worry about impressing the public and their parents, like other young men his age, but that just wasn’t his life. Even when they traveled abroad, he had to constantly think about how he was representing the Agreste name. Couldn’t he do anything as Adrien that felt as free as he had felt with Ladybug, as Chat Noir? He was determined to try.

“Promise me one night we can just go out and enjoy the city like normal people.”

Kagami raised an eyebrow. “Why do I not like the sound of that?”

“Come on, Kagami, you know me. I wouldn’t want us to do anything we’d regret.” He looked at her imploringly.

She kept him in suspense for a moment before answering. “All right. I promise. I trust you.”

“Thank you.” Eyes crinkling in a smile, Adrien led her back up the path.

#MiraculousLadybug #Miraculous Ladybug #MiraculousLadybugFanfiction #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrigami #Marichat #The Water Was Never Afraid

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honnybunnie · 4 years

Note

Can I request MC dressing up fancy in the brothers specific colour (maybe even an access of their animal or something close to it) at an event that Lord Diavolo was throwing Whether they already set with the brothers as a date or doing this to get their attention is up to you

Of course! A event or party hosted by Diavolo is sure to be be grand. when you say their color, im hoping the color they usually wear or the colors they have on during their demon forms.

I apologize for how long it took, I can’t go in blind, I had to design some clothes to get a better picture of the fancy outfits<3 <3

Lucifer:

This party was to celebrate Lucifer’s thousands of years of serving as Diavolo’s loyal friend.

Mammon:

Mammon was already at the event gambling... losing and acquiring more debt as time passed.

Leviathan:

Satan:

You blushed at his comment. “I noticed that you choose carefully on the color too, you choose my demon color.” he added.

Asmodeus:

Beelzebub:

“MC, thank you, I’ve been hoping you would serve me treats and tea,’ he smiled patting your head “you look very cute in orange. Please be my maid again soon.”

Belphegor:

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