#even if this black look with details is kind of like pajamas

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD & FLORENCE PUGH

at the Valentino Womenswear Spring/Summer 2024 after party as part of Paris Fashion Week 2023, in Paris, France.

#andrew garfield #florence pugh #she's so pretty #he's so fucking sexy #even if this black look with details is kind of like pajamas #he looks hot tho #the partners in crime #the press tour of we live in time will be explosive #we live in time #they're so pretty #valentino womenswear spring/summer 2024 after party #paris fashion week 2023 #paris #valentino #black costume #peter parker #spider man #the amazing spider man #tasm #tasm peter parker #tasm peter #andrew peter parker #andrew peter #my edit #sincericida

[cleo-fox]

Unraveled

Summary: It was all fun and games until Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering, godly refractory periods, kitchen sex, semi public sex, Loki in a sweater.

A/N: My explanation for this one is that I saw too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston in a sweater and it gave me thoughts.

Being an Avenger has made you pretty good at rolling with the punches. After your third or fourth encounter with some alien/wizard/android bullshit, your perspective is fundamentally altered and real life seems manageable in a way that it didn’t before. You have to call your insurance company to dispute a claim? Big deal, you’ve negotiated with terrorists; you can handle Garth from Member Services.

The thing is, having that kind of perspective means that the things that do get to you can rattle you a lot more than they should. Natasha had warned you about that, but you were riding high on the thrill of successfully conquering Blue Cross Blue Shield and you kind of got to thinking she was exaggerating.

And then the seasons started to turn and Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

You can recognize when someone is out of your league. When you first moved into the Tower, it had been relatively easy for you to assign Loki to that category: he was a god. He’d been featured in last month’s GQ. You were mortal and your most recent press had been a TMZ story featuring unflattering paparazzi photos of you leaving a bodega in your pajamas at seven o’clock in the morning, a bagel halfway into your mouth. You were clearly not the same.

Up until the sweater, you’d managed to keep your cool around Loki and keep your attraction confined to daydreams and the occasional surreptitious lustful glance. Hell, you’d even had the nerve to be proud of yourself for keeping your shit together in front of him.

The sweater lays waste to all of that.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a sweater that is capable of completely destroying your carefully constructed composure. It’s a fairly standard crew neck in a deep green so dark it almost looks black at a first glance. But on Loki it just…does things to you. The fabric is well fitted, clinging to his biceps, pulling taut across his chest, emphasizing the line of his pectorals. It somehow accentuates how muscular he is while also still making him look lean and lithe.

The first time he wears it, you find your eyes just trail to him of their own volition, like an incredibly horny moth to the flame. It’s a day of catching yourself staring, panicking, pretending that you were actually looking at something else, and then repeating the process five minutes later when your gaze inevitably wandered again. It almost would have been funny if it didn’t put your blood pressure into the stratosphere.

To make matters worse, at the end of that day’s debriefing, he rises from his chair and raises his arms to the ceiling in a long stretch. The hem of the sweater creeps up, exposing the firm, flat muscles of his stomach, lightly dusted with a trail of hair that meanders in a tantalizing path down to his belt buckle.

You promptly choke on your own spit. Clint claps you hard on the back and asks if you’re okay, which is a question you don’t know how to answer (ultimately, you stick to a thumbs up and mumble something about dust getting caught in your throat). Loki is too preoccupied complaining about the entire concept of office furniture to notice. Or at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

You might have been okay if that had been the only incident, but the sweater makes a repeat appearance on Friday. The following Tuesday features the deadly combination of the sweater with a pair of tight, dark wash jeans that nearly send you into cardiac arrest. Your fantasies suddenly become much more frequent and detailed.

You are not really sure what to do about this—it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it, nor can you ask him to stop wearing it without prompting some very uncomfortable questions. The idea that you’ll get used to it is laughable. 

You look at your calendar and note that spring is six months away. At least.

Fucking hell.

*

It’s a Saturday afternoon and in a strange quirk of scheduling, almost everyone is out of town for a mission or a personal obligation, leaving the Tower unusually quiet. As much as you enjoy the daily clatter and chaos that comes with living here, you find a lot of comfort in these moments of quiet, however infrequent they may be.

You intended to make yourself a late afternoon snack. That was the plan, anyway. But as you’re standing at the kitchen counter and cutting up the fruit you just washed, you realize that you’re not entirely alone. From this vantage point, you can see Loki lounging on the couch in the next room and reading.

He’s wearing the sweater. Of course he’s wearing the sweater. And the so-tight-they-should-be-illegal dark wash jeans.

Goddammit.

You have the sense to set the knife down at least. The last thing you need is a trip to the hospital because you got too distracted by your hot colleague while handling a knife.

You let your gaze travel along the firm muscles of his chest. It’s just a sweater. It shouldn’t look this good. It shouldn’t prompt these kinds of thoughts. And yet…

He shifts on the couch and the hem of the sweater creeps up. His hand drops to his belt buckle. It’s entirely appropriate, but the way his long, long fingers are splayed against his stomach makes your mind drop straight to the gutter and wonder what they’d look like wrapped around his rock hard co—

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

His voice comes from behind you and adrenaline surges through you like an electric shock. The Loki on the couch looks up at you and smirks before disappearing in a shimmer of green.

You wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment and a heart attack all at the same time. It certainly feels like you’re about to.

You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, which feels largely futile. Come on, get it together. You’ve negotiated with terrorists and insurance companies. Shake it off.

You slowly turn around, cheeks burning. Loki is standing right behind you, arms folded across his chest. You swallow.

“I um. I was—I was just…” Words escape you as your brain fires in every direction except a helpful one.

“You were just what?” His expression is intense, but you’re not sure that he’s angry.

“Spacing out,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence that you absolutely do not feel.

He places his hands on the counter behind you, intentionally caging you in with his body. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him—a masculine, wintery musk that makes you want to bury your face against his chest.

“Try again,” he says. His voice is deep enough to rattle your bones.

You swallow. Everything you could possibly say seems wildly inadequate.

Loki has never been one to be at a loss for words, though, and after a moment of terrified silence from you, he continues speaking.

“I’ve noticed something curious over these past few weeks,” he says. “When I wear this sweater, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me.”

Your heart is pounding. Fucking hell. Have you really been that obvious?

“Now why is that?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

You briefly consider trying to lie again, but the piercing green of his eyes instantly makes you rethink it. “I um…” You swallow hard. “It’s just…it suits you. You…you look good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I look good?”

You nod.

“Interesting.” His lips twitch in a slight smirk as he looks you up and down. “And how does that make you feel?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach contorting with a strange combination of fear and desire. You’re still humiliated, but the sound of his voice and the dark intensity of his gaze is intoxicating and incredibly arousing.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Oh, I think you do.” There’s a rawness in his voice that makes your cunt clench.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad, but you also don't know where this is going. Surely he’s not making a pass at you…right?

“How does it make you feel to see me in this sweater?” he continues, his voice a low whisper. He pauses for a moment and when you don’t answer, he continues. “Does it…arouse you, perhaps?”

Holy fuck.

This can’t be happening.

You try to think of something clever or sexy, but the bluntness of the question and the fire in his eyes kills whatever remaining brain cells you have left. Mutely, you nod.

There’s that smirk again as he licks his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

Your cheeks burn. You give the tiniest nod possible.

“Hmm.” His hand alights on the button of your jeans. “I believe you Midgardians have a saying that is appropriate here: trust, but verify.” He slips the button free and your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest. 

You cannot believe this is happening.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful in this conversation.” His palm presses flat against your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to see for myself.”

His hand is achingly slow, creeping lower and lower. He watches you intently as his hand cups your sex, seemingly cataloging the way your breath hitches and all the little shivers that run through you.

His middle finger finally slides between your folds and you can’t help but moan.

“Oh, you did lie to me,” he growls, his index finger joining his middle, both sliding up to circle your clit. “You’re not wet, you’re soaked.”

Your legs are already starting to tremble and you grab on to his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The fabric of the sweater is softer than a cloud against your hands.

“Sopping wet,” he continues, trapping your right leg between his thighs and the counter, the heavy weight of his erection pressing eagerly against your hip. “And this is all for me?”

Wordlessly, you nod. There’s no point in denying it—and you don’t think he wants you to, either.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muses. His index and middle fingers lightly circle your clit again and you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he says. His tone is one of light curiosity, like you’re just chatting casually about the weather. “But if I continue, you’re almost certainly going to come.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Oh, you want me to make you come?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Right here in the middle of the kitchen?”

You nod.

“Anyone could walk in, though,” he purrs. “Anyone could come in and see me with my fingers buried in your dripping cunt. What would they think if they saw you so utterly debauched and at my mercy, begging for me to make you come?”

“Don’t care…” you gasp. How are you already so close?

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care what they’d think if they saw us like this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, you must be desperate.” He adjusts his hand, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit while his index finger sinks into your slick channel, making you gasp.

“Loki, please—”

“Begging already,” he says, not letting up in his rhythm. “Has it been a long time, sweetheart? When did you last feel this good?”

It’s not a question you can answer. You don’t know that anyone ever has made you feel like this. You moan, your hips bucking hard against his hand.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “You’re clearly desperate for it. What kinds of filthy thoughts have you had about me?” he purrs. “I’ve seen you staring, I’ve heard your breath hitch. Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

You manage a nod and his smile turns feral. “When was the last time?”

“Last…last night,” you gasp.

“How many times did you come?”

“F-Four.”

“Filthy girl.” His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tips your head back. “Next time, all you have to do is ask.”

His mouth covers yours, his tongue pushing past your lips as he slides a second finger into you. You moan into his mouth as the pressure in your hips increases.

“Oh yes, let me hear all of those pretty noises,” he murmurs. “Are you going to let me fuck you against the counter after I make you come?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “I think you need to be fucked properly and hard. Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. This cunt is just too wet and needy for any other treatment.” He draws back to look at you more fully, giving you a lazy, hungry smile. “You’re about to lose it all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

Your orgasm is cresting, the tingling pressure in your hips becoming unbearable. You nod, lost for words.

With one more smirk, he curls his fingers inside of you. “Come for me, pretty girl, let me see you.”

Your cunt spasms around his thrusting fingers and your whole body shudders as your orgasm overtakes you, your head tipping back as you cry out.

“Oh, that’s it,” he murmurs, “there’s my good girl.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, your hips still moving against his hand, trying to draw out every last ripple of pleasure.

He kisses you as you come down from your high, and you take the opportunity to run your hands over his chest and tentatively feel the hard planes of muscle that you’ve been staring at these last few weeks. But after a few moments, he takes your hand and guides it to his cock.

His preference for leather pants or those sinfully tight dark wash jeans made you suspect that the size of his ego might actually be proportionate to the size of his cock and your initial assessment seems to confirm that theory. You rub your fingers over the denim that covers his thick shaft, feeling yourself grow even wetter at the low groan he makes in the back of his throat.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is so deep and his eyes are so smoldering, it feels like the command goes straight to your cunt. You are practically trembling with anticipation as your shaking hands  make quick work of the button, buckle, and zipper.

You can’t help but suck in a breath when his cock comes into view. He’s long and deliciously thick—big enough to be a little intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.

He guides your hand to wrap around his shaft. He barely fits in your hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, his voice raspy as he guides your hand to stroke his cock. “Feel how hard I am for you, feel how much I want you.”

His cock practically pulses with need, the tip slick with pre-come and you grasp him more firmly, your cunt pulsing as he gives a deeply satisfying groan.

You stroke him from base to tip, squeezing lightly. He groans again. “They told me to stay away from you, you know,” he says.

You aren’t so far gone that you can let this information slip by. “What? Who?”

“Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. My brother.” He reaches behind you and shoves the fruit and cutting board into the side, the knife clattering into the sink. “They saw how I looked at you,” he says. “They saw that I wanted you. They told me you were too good for me. Too sweet.”

You feel your jeans and underwear melt away in a shimmer of green and he lifts you easily onto the counter.

His eyes flash with desire. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you’d let me fuck you raw in the middle of the kitchen?”

For a brief moment, frustration almost wins out over your lust. “We could have done this sooner?”

His gaze turns serious. “Darling, we could have done this the moment we met, but I’m told a handshake is more appropriate.”

You take a breath, about to embark on a rant about the individuals he’d named and how they hadn’t even asked, they’d just assumed, but Loki puts a hand up against your mouth.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” he says. There’s a sincerity and a need in his gaze that you’ve never seen before and it’s enough to calm your anger for just a moment.

“Okay,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist and angling your hips toward his, “but clear your schedule because I’m gonna need you to fuck me a lot to make up for all that time.”

His grin is feral as he pushes into you.

You shiver at the blunt stretch of his cock, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. He indulges in a low groan as his hips press flush against yours.

“If I’d known they were keeping me from this tight cunt, I would’ve done something sooner,” he rasps. “You feel absolutely perfect.”

“Please,” you breathe, “I need—please.”

His hips snap hard against yours and you moan, your head tipping back.

His eyes glitter as he pulls you close, pressing his mouth against your ear. “The next time I have you, I will be sweet and soft.”

“And this time?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“This time—” His mouth presses against the curve of your neck, teeth scraping just this side of too hard against the tender skin. “—I’m going to utterly ruin you.”

His pace is fast and rough—the word possessive comes to mind. You twist the luxurious fabric of his sweater in your hands as his cock hits that sweet, aching spot inside of you, pressing against your sensitive cunt in a way that makes your muscles spasm and clench around him. You moan, a shiver rolling through you as you inch closer to release.

“I’m…fuck, I’m getting close,” you gasp.

His pace abruptly slows and his grin is wide and his eyes are dancing with mirth when he raises his head from your shoulder.

“That was unnecessary,” you say with a scowl.

“Oh, I just want to savor you for a little longer, my love,” he purrs as he settles into an easy and slow pace that still makes your toes curl. “You’re going to take me right over the edge with you and I’ve waited so terribly long to have you.”

“I feel like you’re probably omitting the fact that you like being a tease,” you say.

He grins again, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Both things can be true.”

He does this a few times—taking up a wicked pace that almost sends you hurtling over the edge, only to slow at the last possible moment, silencing your whimpering protests with a deep and slow kiss that is good enough to make you forgive him until a few minutes later when he does it all over again.

You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually, the ache in your hips overwhelms you.

“Loki,” you breathe when his pace again begins to increase. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he rasps, somehow finding the concentration to raise an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

You nod.

“You want to come all over my cock?”

Speech is slightly beyond you at this point, but you manage to gasp a desperate plea as you hurtle into the final plateau, right before the fall.

Loki regards you with that same playful look as he fucks you. You wait, unsure of what he’s going to do, your body desperately crying out for your release.

His lips curl into a smile. “Come for me, sweet thing.”

At the sound of his voice, every one of your muscles is tensing and releasing, the slick walls of your cunt clamping down hard on the thick girth of his cock as you shudder and moan.

The remnants of Loki’s composure are fraying, his eyes closed and his jaw slack as he chases his own end. His brow furrows and he throws his head back, letting out a low groan as he comes and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You sag against him as you both come down from your respective highs, his heart beating hard under the soft fabric of his sweater. He reaches for your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you, impossibly slow and soft.

You’re in the middle of the kitchen. You understand this. In a wholly rational world, you would be quick to hop off the counter, quick to try and negotiate the return of your jeans from whatever pocket dimension he’s sent them to.

Instead, you find yourself wanting to stay in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still pulsing inside you as he kisses you breathless.

You count to ten, then twenty. At forty, you draw back slightly, only to have him pull you back into the kiss.

It’s somewhere after one hundred when he trails his lips to your neck and you manage to say what you intended: “We should probably…” you trail off as he sucks at your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“We should probably what?” he murmurs against your neck, before tracing a lazy figure eight with the tip of his tongue.

It takes you a moment to find that sentence. “Get dressed and such.”

You feel the sharp press of his smile against your skin. “I think not.”

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, the kitchen is fading in a shimmer of green to an unfamiliar bedroom and the two of you tumble into a bed draped in green silk.

“I’d like to stay like this for a while,” he says, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly rolls his hips against you, somehow still impossibly hard. “In fact, I think I need to have you again.”

“I can live with that,” you say. You tug at the fabric of his sweater. “But this is going to have to go.”

His gaze is smoldering and his bare skin is suddenly pressed against yours as the sweater and the rest of your clothes disappear in that familiar shimmer of green.

“Will you like me as much without it?” he asks, rolling his hips against you.

You drag your fingernails up along the firm muscles of his back. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, “because as I understand it, we have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x you smut #loki x yn smut #loki imagine

[bruisedleftknee]

I need to talk about what it's like when you and Noah live together. You're both open to trying new stuff, right?? You have some friends over for a movie night, and you're watching a horror movie that is kind of erotic??? Oh, you know that is going to lead to *things* and I'm gonna tell you all about it.

Tags & Warnings: Fingering?, Oral Sex (Both Receiving), P in V, Slight power play, After care.

Word count: 2.6K

(I don't think it's anything crazy, but if it needs more tags and warnings, please let me know.)

✦✦✦

It's a typical Saturday night at your place, you and Noah have friends over, and you're watching some old horror movie together.

It's late. The coffee table is covered with empty pizza boxes and paper cups. Everyone's watching the movie, and the house is quiet.

You're sure you've seen this movie before, the woman is handcuffed to the bed and the man dies of a heart attack or something, but you're tired and a little too sleepy to remember any other details.

You're thinking about the ending of the movie, trying to remember how exactly it happens, so you tilt your head to Noah to ask him if he remembers it or not, but you see that he's looking at you. He has his hands up, his fingers locked together, and he looks like he's been staring at you in the same position for a few minutes now. He's resting his head on his shoulder, and you can see he's sleepy too.

You smile at him. "Wanna go to bed?" you ask him. "Yeah, I think I'm getting old for these late nights," he answers as he gets up from the couch. He reaches for your hand to help you get up, says good night to everyone, and you both start walking to your bedroom upstairs.

"Guys, you know where the pillows and blankets are." You tell your friends, and you're walking behind Noah, holding his hand. "Yeah, g-night" your friend Jolly says as he scrolls his phone.

***

You're upstairs. Noah's already in bed, looking at some cat videos on his phone, wearing only his black boxers, with the blanket only covering one of his legs.

You finish your skincare routine, change into your comfy pajamas, and crawl under the heavy blanket.

When you get in bed, Noah puts away his phone and opens his arms for you, He always does this because he loves falling asleep spooning you.

You get comfy in his arms and leave a soft kiss on his bicep. He kisses the back of your head and wraps his other hand around you.

"We've watched that movie before, haven't we?" You ask him. "Yeah, we have," he answers in his low, sleepy voice.

"I don't remember the ending,"

"She gets herself out of the handcuffs and finally faces her fears."

"Oh, you're right; I remember now." You say, "Don't you dare die if you ever handcuff me to the bed.".

He stays silent for a few seconds. "Can I handcuff you to the bed?" He asks in a playful and curious tone, moving his hand and placing it gently on your breast.

"Wait, were you thinking about this when we were watching the movie??" You ask, surprised.

"Hmmm, maybe." He answers, "So, can I?"

"Hmmm, maybe," you say, mocking him, but you're wondering if you want that or not.

"Can I do it now?" Noah asks; his voice doesn't sound sleepy anymore.

"What? Like right now?" You're even more surprised now.

"Why not? I promise not to die," he says, laughing at his own joke.

"You have handcuffs?" You ask curiously.

"No, but we can use other stuff." He kisses your neck and plays with your nipple that is now hard from thinking about the things the two of you can do if you say yes.

"Baby, it's okay if you don't want to; you know that, right?" He assures you between kisses. "Actually, I think I'd like to try." You answer with a little doubt in your tone, you're not sure if you'll like it or not.

"Are you sure?" Noah asks you again, "Yeah," you say, this time with less doubt in your voice.

Noah starts kissing you, and soon you lose count of the number of times he's pressed his lips on your skin.

Noah is lying on his left side; his left arm is under your head. You're lying on your back, your right leg is on his thighs, and your legs are wide open. He has his right hand in your panties, gently playing with your clit.

Between the kisses he leaves on your neck, you hold his face with one hand so you can kiss him.

You try to keep quiet; you know your friends are still up cause the TV is on, but you also know if you make too much noise, they can hear you.

It's quiet in your bedroom; the only noises you can hear are the sound of you and Noah's breaths and the noises your wet pussy makes when Noah slowly fingers you.

All this time, you've been thinking, When is he going to tie your hand? What is he gonna use to do it? Is he gonna tie both of your hands to the bed frame or just one? What is he gonna do after that?

"Do it," you say to Noah after moments of making out in silence.

"What?" he asks.

"Tie me up," you say between kisses. "Don't keep me waiting."

He smiles, kisses your forehead, and goes to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he's back with his Jujitsu belt in his hand.

"You're going to use that?" You ask, you never thought he might use that to tie your hands some day.

"We don't have to if you don't like it," he assures you. But you do like it, you didn't know if you would, but now every fiber in your body tingles to feel the things he's gonna do to you sooner.

"No, I do," you say as you start undressing and lay closer to the bed frame. Noah comes to the bed, holds your hands, and starts leaving kisses on each one of your fingers, then starts tying your hands with the belt.

Now your wrists are pressed together slightly above your head.

"Tell me if it's too tight, baby," he asks you.

"It's good." Your heart is starting to beat faster every second.

You're lying in the center of the bed, and your hands are tied to the bed frame above your head.

Noah sits in front of you on the bed, opens your legs, and caresses your inner thighs with his soft hands.

You don't know why your legs are shaking; you're not afraid, you're curious and excited.

He leans in and starts kissing a line from your glistening core to your lips, inch by inch, he leaves kisses on your skin.

He goes to your nipples and starts licking them. With every lick, you close your legs a little; it's involuntarily.

"Keep them open for me," he tells you, and you try to do exactly that.

He touches your core with four fingers, and you stop yourself before a moan comes out of you, but when he spreads your arousal on your folds and sticks two fingers inside you, your moan isn't something you can control anymore.

"Better keep it down," he tells you, but you're still moaning; you'd cover your mouth with your hands if they were free, but they're not.

When your moans get more frequent, he puts his big hand on your mouth; his hand covers almost all of your face.

When you're finally quiet, he moves his face towards your navel, kisses it a few times, and then goes where his fingers are—your hole.

How long can you really last if he's playing with every sensitive part of your body? Your hole is stuffed with his fingers, his tongue is on your clit and he's moved his hand to your breast and is playing with it like it's his toy. And this has been going on for minutes now, so how long will you last?

You try to pull your hands out of the knot to do something, to control the pace, to grab his head and tell him to stop cause he's making you crazy and you need a pause to breathe, but you realize that there's no escaping this, and it's so exciting.

You shut your eyes, and your mouth opens as he circles your clit fast. Your back arches, and you feel so close to orgasm. "M'gonna.." you tell him, and immediately he pulls out his fingers and lets go of you.

"Not yet, baby." He's not touching you anymore, you open your eyes to see him sitting between your open legs looking at you.

"Whyyy did youuu stop?" You whine and try to stop the vibration that you're feeling inside you by closing your legs and pressing them against each other, but he stops you from doing that.

You turn your face to your side and try to bury it in the space between your shoulder and neck. He holds your face with one hand, says, "Eyes on me, baby, we're just starting," and puts his thumb in your mouth.

He takes off his boxers and sits on top of you; his thighs are on both sides of your shoulders; he strokes his dick, and you can see a drop of precum hanging from its tip.

"Open," he tells you, and brings his cock closer to your mouth, and you listen. "You know that's not enough; open more for me." He waits, and when your mouth is wide open and you have your tongue out, he puts the tip on your tongue. You taste his precum and try to lick it, but he stops you by taking away his cock. "You want it, don't you?"

You bring your head close to him so you can reach his cock, but he pulls away. "Tell me what you want, Y/N."

"You. Please, I want you." You say looking up at his tall figure.

You open your mouth again, and he pushes his hard cock into your mouth. Its tip hits the back of your throat, and you gag a little. Your head is pinned against the mattress, and you can't control the movements; the harder he fucks your mouth, the more you drool. Your saliva is all over your chin, and with every harder thrust in your mouth, more tears run down your cheeks.

"You take me so well, baby. A little more.." He says in between his breaths in a low voice.

He holds the bed frame and fucks your face harder and faster. Your face is covered with your tears and saliva. You feel like you can't breathe right, and he's going faster and faster, then suddenly he stops. His dick pulses and twitches inside your mouth. His eyes are closed, and he's breathing heavily.

He slowly pulls out his cock and comes down to kiss your mouth, His tongue brushes on your lips, and he licks the saliva off you lips.

"You're wonderful, you know that?" He tells you as he wipes your tears with his fingers and smiles at you.

You smile back. "Do you want me to continue?" he asks. "Yes," you tell him.

His dick is covered in your saliva. You can taste his precum on your tongue.

He strokes his dick and sits where he was sitting before; this time he comes closer, close enough that your butt cheeks touche his thighs, he rests your legs on his shoulders. His touch makes you legs legs shake, he kisses them, "Relax baby," he tells you as he slides the tip of his cock between your folds. He doesn't give you all of it, you whine and moan, you want all of him.

"Dies this feel good?" He asks you with a smirk on his face.

"Noa.. h.. I need more," Your tears are running down your face again.

"I asked you a question." He goes a little more in.

"Yes, yes, it's so good."

"Is this all you can take?"

"No please.. Give me all of it, baby, please." You beg him; your voice is a little louder than it should be.

"Shhhhh.." he says as he presses himself into you.

You have him now, all of him. You feel your walls adjusting to him with every thrust. His hands are on your knees, keeping you closer to him.

He starts to circle your clit with his thumb. Your tears haven't stopped, so you have closed your eyes to stop them.

"Open your eyes, baby, look at me," Noah tells you. "Look at me; I want to see how you take my cock."

When you look at him, his head is tilted backwards, and he's hissing in pleasure, trying to keep quiet.

Looking at him, watching his cock and how he thrusts into you and how he's enjoying it brings you close to your orgasm; you feel it in your stomach, and if your friends weren't home, you would scream so loudly, but you don't say anything. If you tell Noah that you're close, he will stop, so you don't say anything, and when he pinches your clit your mouth opens wide and your eyes roll back. He's pounding his cock inside you and playing with your clit. You're seeing stars and trying your best to keep your body still, and seconds later, without saying a word, you come.

"I.. I came," you say quietly between his thrusts.

He looks at you surprised and confused, "No baby you didn't," and slams himself into you harder.

"Noah, p- please" Your pussy feels even wetter than before, your release is all over your cheeks and his thighs and you feel like you don't have the energy to go on another second.

"You're gonna cum for me." He presses his finger on your clit, grabs your neck and slightly presses his fingers on the sides and fucks you harder. "Come on baby, show me you can do it."

As he goes harder, you feel your second orgasm building, your legs are shaking and your back arches, "I'm gonn-" your toes curl, and when you let out a silent scream as you feel the release.

He stops and pulls out quickly. "You did great, baby. Can you give me a little more?" He kisses your belly.

"Mhmm" You nod cause you're too fucked out to talk.

Noah grabs you by the waist and helps you turn your back to him. Your hands are still tied to the bed frame, but you have a little room to change your position.

You get on your knees, rest your head on the mattress, and he puts a pillow under your head.

You haven't said a word since you came for the second time cause you're still swimming in pleasure, but Noah has been praising you for how good you were.

When he's inside you again, he has both hands on your back. You close your eyes and try to focus on the pleasure you feel when he moves inside you.

He's been going for a long time now, and before you know it, his rhythm gets messy, he reasts his head on your shoulders and puts both hands on your sides, and he fucks into you faster. He hisses in pleasure when he comes, empties himself inside you and stays there for while.

He kisses your shoulders and your back and slowly pulls out. His cum drips out of your hole, and you gasp at the sight you're seeing from between your legs.

Noah gently helps you sit on your knees. He opens your hands and kisses the red marks around your waists, then he kisses you and sits you on the bed.

He rushes to the bathroom and comes back with towels and a glass of water.

He hands you the water and kisses your head. "Was that fun?" He asks and starts to clean you with a warm damp towel.

"Yes," you sip your water, "more than I thought, actually. Was it fun for you?"

"Of course, baby. It was amazing. Thank you."

Noah sits on the bed beside you, kisses your head again, and you hug each other.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bruisedleftknee #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian smut #bad omens cult #noah sebastian bad omens #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian imagine #noah sebastian davis #bad omens smut #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #my fic

[f1version]

congratulations on the 1k!! it's well deserved

could i please request alex albon + ❛ i didn’t know where else to go. ❜

❛ who did this to you? ❜

❛ please don’t leave me. ❜

i apparently need some angst!

SAFE & SOUND ★ AA23

pairing: alex albon x driver! fem! reader

summary: you and alex have never had a good relationship as teammates, but for some reason you feel safe in each other’s arms.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, implied and mention of verbal and physical violence (non explicit, not between the pairing, reader explains what happened but nothing detailed), implied toxicity and sexism, anxiety, alex calls reader love.

word count: 1,4k

notes: this ended up being longer than i expected

general masterlist ★ 1k special

Everything hurts.

From the soft leather seats of your car to the speed in which it was being driven. Tears fell down your cheeks while those cruel words rushed through your head all over again. They will never stop, you repeated. But they had to stop, they had to stop because they weren’t true.

You should leave. F1 is not for women. Daddy’s money. Your wins were gifted to you. Cheater.

Every punch, every scream. Everything hurts because the cruelest people are the ones who don't see beyond the differences, the ones who only look for flaws. It seemed like safety was something you couldn’t afford.

It was 3:00 AM when you parked in front of an apartment building in Monte Carlo. You had only been there once 6 months ago, yet you managed to drive there as if it were routine. 

You don't even know why you drove there.

Your name was still on the list of people allowed to go up, even when he said he was going to do a new list and you were sure you wouldn’t be allowed anymore. You guessed he forgot, after all, Alex Albon was somewhat forgetful.

Alex.

You are in front of Alex Albon’s door, your teammate’s door. Questions finally start pouring into your head. Why are you here? What makes you think he will let you in? What makes you think he will help you?

You and Alex weren’t the best teammates, and it was mostly your fault. He took you by surprise with his kindness, he was as sweet and funny as it could get. He was sunshine and you were midnight rain; cold, unpredictable, pushing away every intruder who could throw away what you had been building since you were 4 years old.

Still, you were going to knock on his door at 3 in the morning.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

For five minutes and eight seconds, there was no answer, the wait was doom, it was a sign that you should turn around and leave because Alex was asleep. But he had always been full of surprises.

Two confused brown eyes meet yours, saying your name in such a tone. "Are you. What?"

"I didn't know where else to go" you speak quickly, nervous, the bruises hurt more then.

"I, Come in, let's talk inside"

In that moment a sigh of relief leaves your lips. Of course he would let desperate souls in his house at three in the morning.

The fake blond led you into the living room, where, with a soft motion, asked you to take a seat on the black sofa in front of you.

Alex sits next to you, concern in his pretty eyes. You haven't said anything since he opened the door. You always had something to tease him with, but only a small cry came out of you. You didn't even look at him, something was very wrong.

He calls your name, soft and caring. “Can you look at me?” You hear him say as you stare down at your hands. "Love, please tell me what's wrong, you're worrying me.”

Observing was one of Alex’s greatest qualities, that's why he froze. His gaze was stuck on the bruise of your left arm. On the way here, they had taken on a blueish color, they were painful, especially when you remember the reason why they were there to begin with.

“Y/n?” He says cautiously, scared to mess it up. "Who did this to you?"

Alex gets closer and suddenly you've never felt so vulnerable, so alone. Alex didn't want you here, it was almost four in the morning and he was in his pajamas while you were crying on his sofa, smelling of that goddamn drink someone spilled on you.

"Alex, I’m sorry. I, I know you must be tired," you say in a hurry, trying to get up. "I, I should go, everything is fine nothing, nothing happened."

Alex grabs your hand, looking up at you. "Love, please."

Somehow that’s enough to make you stay. His eyes, such pretty brown eyes drown in worry and sadness. You can't stand it. Seeing Alex sad was something only could bear within race weekends, when your focus wasn’t on him. But, yes, he always looked better smiling.

Alex sighs, "stay here, I'm going to go get an ice pack and some water."

You decided to look down, more tears filled your eyes. He was so good. Alex was a real-life angel in your eyes, and you never thanked motorsports for the things it had done for you until now. Knowing him.

When he came back, a glass of water made it’s way into your hands, calming the nausea and the nerves. 

“Love, can you turn around a bit? I need to see that bruise,” Alex states, you just comply. You knew that if you thought about it too much you would want to run away without looking back. This isn’t the strong, confident version Alex knows, this is some broken toy who has had enough playing. You didn’t want him to see you like this, you were afraid of breaking something that didn't exist.

But maybe it exists, that something. Maybe it’s just hard to spot what that is. Maybe it was all about the laughs, hugs, and soft touches on the get-togethers of the team and the grid. Maybe it was how he looked at you with those gorgeous brown eyes.

That maybe is what encourages you to open up, he wouldn't judge you. He could never.

"I, I was in a pub, celebrating the points from last week with my sister and,” you inhale sharply, "and at some point, she went dancing with her girlfriend and... some people, fans, they recognized me and they, they."

"They did this."

It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. The lump on your throat only allowed you to nod. Looking at Alex you recognized anger, it was something carnal and dangerous, something you hadn't seen before. It wasn't the adrenaline rushing through his veins after something went down on track. This was twisted, crooked.

"Love," He says, slowly. There's that nickname again. "Do you remember their faces?" He asks a few minutes later, tense. “What they were wearing. Something?"

"Alex,"

"We have to do something," he says, standing up abruptly. "This can't stay like this, you,"

"Alex," you interrupt him, "i know what I have to do, but not now, please. I just want, I want to rest, I want peace, I want… Please, let's not talk about this now and," there’s a confession hanging in the air, "please don't leave me"

Your watery eyes find exasperated ones, calming them within seconds. His newfound softness brought you peace. 

"Can I hug you?" The Thai murmurs, eyes never leaving yours.

"Yes, you can."

His arms wrap around your waist gently, doing everything to keep you from moving too much, afraid of hurting you. That made your tears fall inconsolable. You feel Alex's hands caressing your back, they are so gentle.

"Here, put this on the bruise," he says as he pulls away, extending you an ice pack.

"Thank you."

After that, there are twenty minutes of comfortable silence. You notice the music playing in the background, soft and relaxing, lo-fi, most likely.

Alex guides you to the bathroom, letting you shower away the anxiety. He even offers you a t-shirt and pajama bottoms that are just a little too big on you, but nothing wild. He brings snacks for both of you, giving you a sandwich and more water; you make a mental note of inviting him for dinner one day.

"Do you want," Alex says, breaking the silence "I, It doesn't matter."

"Alex," You call, sitting next to him, with your head almost falling on his shoulder. "It’s okay, you can ask."

“It's not what you think, I,” he smiled, “I just want to know if you want to cuddle for a while? Not in my bed, if that’s weird, but I can bring some blankets and pillows, it would be comfortable. I don’t think it would be weird, is it weird to you? We literally live together, you know, Williams. Agh! You know what I mean."

Your body moving closer to his silences his blabbering, your head resting on his chest, legs almost in his lap, a smile in your face. Alex puts an arm around you.

"Yes, that’s okay, really," you muttered. "And sorry."

"Don't apologize for coming, everything is fine I,"

“I mean how I've treated you,” you say and he makes a big ‘O’ with his mouth, then frowns. Is he confused? "I feel like I've been cold."

Alex smiles. "Honestly? I feel like it's just on race weekends, and I know why."

Now you smile. A grateful smile. No one had ever understood or tried to. You feel tears running down once again, this time of overwhelming gratitude. Alex kisses your temple. 

“You are okay, love, safe and sound, I promise”

#‎ “ ࣭⸰ ★ my writings ! #aa23 #alex albon #alexander albon #alex albon 23 #alex albon imagine #alex albon blurb #alex albon fic #alex albon fanfic #alex albon angst #alex albon fluff #alex albon x reader #alex albon x you #alex albon x y/n #alex albon f1 #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1blr #f1 angst #f1 2023

[lou-struck]

Are You Watching?

Katsuki Bakugou x reader

~ Bakugou has never seen your favorite movie before, and so you end up watching him more than the movie.

Genre: Fluff

a/n: I do this alot, I just get so excited when I’m watching one of my favorite movies with someone I want to know that they are liking it.

As you walk through your front door and kick off your shoes that just don't quite fit right, you are hit with an overwhelming sense of victory.

Today was a bitch, but you made it through unscathed.

That in itself calls for a celebration of self-care. With Katsuki still out on patrol for a bit, you decide to slip into something cozy, get yourself a big bowl of microwavable popcorn, and take out your stack of DVDs.

But these aren't just any DVDs; these are your favorite comfort movies, the kind you can watch anytime and never get bored. You know every line by heart, quoting the lines under your breath and laughing in anticipation of your favorite scenes.

You've only been watching for twenty minutes or so, but your mood has already been raised up out of the gutters of exhaustion and disappeared when you first came home.

"Oi, what are you watching?" a familiar guff voice calls from behind you, sending elated prickles over your skin as your turn around.

Katsuki Bakugou, your boyfriend leans up against the doorway, he looks so natural, but you have a feeling he posed himself that way to look cool in front of you. You pause the movie and turn your full attention to your handsome partner, who looks just as exhausted as you did earlier.

"Suki, I didn't hear you come in." you smile, scooting over on the couch. "Get changed and come watch these with me."

"Haven't you seen this one before?" he yells from down the hall, already changing into his comfy clothes. He loves watching movies with you; it makes him feel normal after a long day dealing with the worst society has to offer.

"Yeah, so? It's one of my favorites," you call back defensively. "What's the big deal?"

"I just don't get how you can watch the same damn movie so many times," he grumbles, coming back into the living room wearing a black shirt and some flannel pajama bottoms you got him for Christmas last year. He is already looking more relaxed than he did before. Off in the distance, you can barely make out the sound of the washing machine buzzing to life, cleaning the rest of the day out of his hero costume.

"But you haven't seen it yet." you giggle, flipping up the mountain of blankets dramatically so he can get under them with you, patting the now open spot with your other hand.

He chuckles amusedly and joins you on the couch. His warmth comforts you in a different way than the blankets have as you breathe in his familiar scent. "This is much better," you sigh as his arm wraps around you. You place your head on his chest, your favorite kind of pillow.

"Bad day?" he asks, gently rubbing circles onto your skin.

"Not the best," you admit, shuddering at the memories from earlier today. You'd tell him all the annoying details later, but now, unwinding is the priority. "You?"

"It was pretty shitty, but I've had worse," he responds flatly. You believe him; the news coverage today told you all you needed to know about his bad day. 

"Then I guess we can just stay here until it all goes away," you chuckle, reaching for the remote and pressing play. Bakugou wouldn't admit it out loud, but the idea of just staying here on the couch, cozy with you in his arms, is the perfect ending to any day, no matter how shitty it was. 

Your conversation dies down as you both watch the movie. It really is the kind that you can watch over and over again. 

You think to yourself that it's strange that even after watching this movie in your living room so many times, Katsuki has never seen it for himself.

Wait, if he hasn't seen it before, that means he doesn't know about The Twist. 

You find your eyes drifting from the screen over to his handsome face. His crimson gaze remains transfixed on the screen in front of him. There is something so satisfying about watching someone watch your favorite movie so intently. Even if it's one he would not choose to watch himself.

You know what's going to happen, so you don't need to be watching as close. Katsuki is much more interesting right now. How will he react? Some of your friends said that the Twist was predictable, but others said they had no idea it was coming. The anticipation of it all makes you look at him even more intensely. 

Sensing your gaze on him, he turns his head towards you. "What are you looking at?" he huffs, "Do I have somethin on my face?"

"No," you say, looking away quickly, "It's nothing; keep watching."

He shrugs it off and returns his attention to the screen. You try and focus on the movie, but you can't help it; you have to see what he thinks about the Twist. You have to see his face. You shamelessly bring your gaze back over to him, only to find that he is not looking at the screen at all. His eyes are on you.

"Suki, you're not watching; this is important," you whine dramatically as if you are not the whole reason he is distracted in the first place.

He tsks, "How am I supposed to watch the damn movie if you're staring at me like that?" his voice rising in volume. 

"Just pay attention," you pout, crossing your arms over your chest., "I just wanted to see what you thought about the next part. It's my favorite."

His gaze softens as he tries to untangle your crossed arms. "Such a weirdo," he chuckles, leaning over and giving your cheek a quick kiss. "I'm watchin, I Promise."

Despite the dry air outside, his lips are still soft and smooth against your skin. You uncross your arms and return to your previous position on top of him. "You gotta watch," you mumble, trying to discreetly look at him and the screen at the same time.

And then it happens—the Twist. 

The main character being betrayed by their own best friend. You've seen this part so many times you could quote it word for word. But Katsuki…

"Where the Hell did that come from," he yells, sitting up quickly, ruining your comfortable resting spot against him. His mouth is agape, and his eyes are wide as he stares back at you, hoping for some sort of explanation. His features then go from shock to loving irritation as he ruffles your hair on top of your head. "You were waiting for me to watch this, weren't you?" 

"I knew you'd be surprised," you grin cheekily. Trying to bat away his hand from your head. "There were a few hints earlier on that make more sense."

"What hints?" he asks, narrowing his eyes and biting the inside of his cheeks as he tries to recall any sort of detail that would lead to the reveal of this betrayal. Obviously, he is still very troubled by the turn of events. "I didn't see any damn hints. Gimme the remote; we are watching this thing again."

#bnha x reader #bnha fluff #my hero academia #bnha #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #Katsuki bakugou x reader

[starsinmylatte]

From a girlie who is trying to love her natural, no makeup face more: Nanami would think you’re beautiful no matter how you’re existing around him.

He’s the type of man who finds different kinds of beauty in every day with you. Each moment is like a snowflake to him, both unique and gorgeous.

Nanami x f!reader

Short and pure fluff

One day you’re dressed to the nines in a tight, black dress. The silky fabric flaunted all of your curves deliciously, its effect only accentuated by a pair of your favorite heels.

Somehow, you even found the time to spend an hour on your makeup, meticulously curating every detail of your appearance.

Nanami twirls you around in his arms, grinning as he drank in your beauty. His deep chestnut gaze twinkled with an adoration he only reserved for you. “You look beautiful tonight, darling.”

You blush as the 7:3 Sorcerer presses a lingering kiss to your soft lips, a clear promise of what’s to come after dinner.

—

The next day you’re curled up like a cat, completely tucked into Nanami’s side as the two of you read together on the couch. Your face is bare, hair simply thrown into a bun, as you lounge together in your pajamas.

Nanami sighs fondly, a deep rumbling sound that’s become so soothing to you, “You look beautiful today, darling.”

He strokes your cheek fondly before turning the page of his novel, a small smile on his lips.

#kento nanami #jjk #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen

[talesofadragon]

𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬

Synopsis: The world was not created in colors to be lived seldom in white, black, or even gray. This is what Y/N believed, and she resolutely refuses to be told otherwise. But when a night at the city’s most prestigious nightclub triggers a series of misfortunate events, Y/N’s world of hues is thrown off balance, colliding with a stranger whose eyes may be blue but his world is a handful of shades too dark.  

Pairing: Mob Boss!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Mature scenes. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.2K

Chapter 3 - Star Command Blue | Varicolored Schemes Masterlist

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑 gifted half of the human race, Y/N was not the best judge of character. 

She didn’t believe the proverbs that insisted on the eyes being the windows of the soul. And she was not convinced that a circle of friends could reveal everything about someone's personality. Y/N just liked to observe—refraining from cementing any assumptions she had gathered during first encounters and preferring to see if her opinions could withstand the sands of time. 

But in times like this, she wished she had Yelena’s immaculate ability to read someone from the get-go. Because while Steve Rogers seemed kind, charming, and endearingly enigmatic, he might be more intimidating than Y/N thought. And he certainly seemed to be a lot richer and more important than she had imagined. 

“I feel like I’m sticking out like a sore thumb,” Y/N thought out loud. And while Sam had assured her that she was doing just fine, it was hard to take his words to heart when she was standing in the lobby of the immaculate, high-rise Stark Tower in her seafoam green pajamas. 

Sure, they were a classy pair that cost her forty bucks—and if she were a celebrity or some sort of influencer, she could possibly pass them as a stylistic choice—but she doubted that even her feigned confidence and the two bulky men on her side could make her pass for anyone but her ordinary self. 

“Believe me when I tell you that the concierge has seen worse than someone in their pajamas,” Bucky mumbled while reaching for the overnight bag in Y/N’s hand. He tucked it to his side, confidently striding toward the elevators. 

Y/N, on the other hand, cast a quick glance back at her car. Her poor Toyota Corolla was conspicuous in the sea of Porsches, Cadillacs, and Teslas. Even it looked dejected. She diverted her attention back to Sam when she heard him clear his throat. Maybe the eyes really are the windows of the soul, she pondered. Because while this man was a good six feet-something with a large frame and a set of hands that could strangle someone to death in an instant, his eyes were warm and earthly, grounding her to the present and making sure she didn’t lose herself to her thoughts. 

He motioned for Y/N to walk before him, and she promptly followed after Bucky. Like the building itself, the elevators were sublime and grand—maybe even larger than her own bedroom. As soon as the gilded doors opened, she was greeted with a spacious interior with intricate filigree patterns that went beyond the natural. Her eyes wandered, taking in the vinyl flooring and the framing mirrors, studying the implicit accents embellishing the corner of the elevator walls and the subtle details that sometimes go unnoticed. 

A serene yet evanescent sound infiltrated her senses, attributed to either Bucky or Sam pressing the button to Steve’s apartment. It was on the 40th floor, the last floor displayed on the panel. With great anticipation, Y/N stood between both boys, eagerly waiting for the elevator doors to glide open. And when they did, she expected to walk out into a mesmerizing hallway that mirrored the luxury and opulence of the multi-billion dollar building.

To her surprise, she was met with a door with an imperturbable aura—she doubted that even a grenade could make a dent in it. What was even more perplexing was the lack of a handle or a lock that left her wondering, how the hell does one open a door like this? Bucky seemed privy to the door’s secret, extending his hand toward the digital pad adjacent to the door. With a single thumb swipe, he unsealed the door, ushering everyone inside.

“Welcome home, Miss Y/L/N,” Sam announced, but it was hard to hear him when Y/N’s attention was drawn entirely to the apartment—scratch that. The penthouse—Bucky and Sam led her into. 

While Stark Tower was a vision of opulence with its crystal chandelier and gilded hallways, Steve’s abode was a vision. A luminous dream brought to life by the color palette the designer had chosen. 

Y/N was drawn into a dance of gradient blues that swayed with grace, an intricate choreography of light and dark that played across every surface. Star Command Blue blended perfectly with the white walls and silver furniture, which reflected a bridge between antiquity and modernity. 

Each canvas on the wall seemed to possess a voice of its own, tugging at her curiosity and unveiling a constellation of majesty and allure. And while the tower in which the penthouse was nestled was prolific and intimidating, Steve’s house radiated the warmth of a home. 

“This is,” Y/N started, too lost in this world of perfection to notice that Bucky had already settled her bag somewhere and was walking leisurely into the living room. “Beautiful.” 

“I’m glad you think that.” 

When this familiar yet unsuspected voice filtered through the air, Y/N whipped her head. Through the arch that separated the living room from the kitchen, she caught sight of someone fiddling with two mugs. 

“Steve?” 

“Evening, Y/N,” Steve smiled. “I’m glad you made it here safely.” 

“What are you doing here? Sam said you live upstate.” 

Steve sent Y/N a small smile, gesturing to one of the bar stools beneath the kitchen counter. She pulled it back and sat on it, watching as Steve reached for a jar of hot chocolate. “Marshmallows or whipped cream?” he asked so casually as if he was having a friend over, and they were getting ready to watch a movie. When he received no answer, he spoke again, “I’m not ignoring your question, doll. So, don’t ignore mine.” 

Yes, there was a command in his tone. One that was hard to miss. But the playfulness in his eyes and his casual demeanor made Y/N disregard it and answer. “Both. If it’s not too much trouble.” 

Steve nodded, sending a playful salute. The corner of Y/N’s lips curled, placidity overcoming her being. Her forearms rested on the marble surface, eyes focused on Steve’s effortless movements. 

Though dressed in pajamas of his own, cobalt blue to be precise, with the most delicate white stripes, his motion was no less graceful. He poured a couple of spoons of hot chocolate into a metal pot and placed it on the stove, giving Y/N an unobstructed view of his broad shoulders and handsome frame.

“I thought you didn’t use this apartment,” Y/N remarked. 

“That’s the second question. You haven’t even heard the answer to the first,” Steve quipped. 

“It’s a sentence. Laced with the words you’ve previously used.” 

“No. It’s a sentence laced with an underlying question,” Steve pointed out. He raised his index finger at Y/N, stopping her next words from tumbling out of her mouth. “Hold that thought,” he said. “Bucky. Sam. Where are the marshmallows?” 

“You mean Natasha’s marshmallows?” Sam walked into the room. He held Steve’s gaze as he plucked out a kiwi from the fruit ball, unaware of the curiosity that crossed over Y/N’s features. 

Steve hummed. Both he and Sam turned to Bucky, who stood by the wall with his hands in his pockets. “No.” 

“Don’t waste time, Bucky,” Steve huffed. “Y/N wants marshmallows with her hot chocolate.” 

“Alright, then. Sam, go buy some marshmallows.” 

Bucky's casual tone made it seem like he was unaware that it was past midnight and there were no 24/7 stores nearby, which is probably why Sam scoffed at his retort. “I don’t take orders from you, Buckaroo. But you take orders from him,” he stated matter-of-factly, pointing at Steve. “Give up Red’s marshmallows. Gentlemen don’t keep pretty dames like Miss Y/L/N waiting.” 

“Watch it,” came Steve’s sharp remark before Y/N could tell them that she didn’t mind having her hot chocolate without any marshmallows. And although Steve’s authoritative voice left a trail of goosebumps on Y/N’s skin, it did nothing to deter Sam. 

“What? I’m not being inappropriate. It’s not like I call her doll or something.” 

Steve leveled Sam with a glare, but this time, Y/N was the least bit fazed. If anything, she mirrored Bucky’s amused expression, watching the two men playfully bicker. 

“Are you trying to tell me something, Sam?” Steve’s eyebrow arched.

Sam smirked, “You’re smart, Rogers. You can figure it out.” 

Steve grumbled in response. Thankfully, the water started to boil, seeking the man’s attention. 

Y/N glanced at Sam, giving him a small smile. “You can call me by my first name, you know?” He lit up brighter than a Christmas tree, and from the way he straightened up and turned to his boss, Y/N knew he was gearing up to fire another playful remark. 

“Heard that, Stevie? Y/N’s okay with using her first name.” 

“Will you shut up, Sam?” Steve pointed out over the dulcet sound of Y/N’s laugh. “As for you, Bucky. Get me those damned marshmallows before I reassign Nat to Singapore.” 

That seemed to kick Bucky into action. He stepped away from the wall and strode into the center of the kitchen. There was no indication as to where he was heading to get those marshmallows, and something seemed to poke his brain because he swiftly turned around. “Close your eyes.” 

Sam and Steve’s voices overlapped, with the former arguing that they weren’t five and the latter insisting he wanted to sip his chocolate guilt-free without having to worry about pelting Bucky with the decorative pillows of his living room. 

Bucky didn’t have any of it. “If Nat finds out I showed you her secret stash, she’ll turn me into those feathery pillows of yours.”

“James, seriously!” 

Y/N turned to Steve with knitted brows. “James?” 

“That’s question three, doll,” Steve said. 

“It’s Y/N, Steve. Not doll,” Sam teased. “Should we teach you how to spell again?” 

“Bucky, get me those fucking—”

“Language.” 

“Goddamn it, Wilson,” Steve grumbled. Y/N was holding a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. For three intimidating men, they sure acted like children. “Bucky, get me those damned marshmallows before I turn Sam into one and roast him.” 

Needless to say, Bucky was like a tree. Unmoving, unyielding, rooted in place. Steve groaned again, turning off the stove. “This is stupid,” he voiced out. And yet, he closed his eyes afterward. Sam did the same. 

Amused, Y/N closed her eyes when Bucky’s voice echoed, “It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to.” 

“That’s favoritism,” Sam protested at the same time Steve remarked, “You’re a punk.” 

“Sorry, lads. But I don’t trust either of you with this.” 

When Bucky was sure both men were not peeking, which was utterly surprising, if Y/N might say. He set a course toward one of the lower kitchen cabinets. 

Surprisingly, despite his bulky frame and substantial muscle mass, he moved lightly on his feet—his shoes scarcely making a sound, even after taking three steps. His fingers eased the cabinet open, once again without a single noise.

It was filled with bowls and other objects like blenders and hand mixers, and Y/N was almost certain Bucky was going to magically pull the marshmallow bag out of one of them until he glanced at her with a wicked glint in his eyes and gently pressed the top of the cabinet. 

It opened, revealing a hidden compartment that made Y/N edge closer in her seat. Once Bucky got the marshmallow bag, he reached for a dessert bowl and placed a couple of them in it. 

Within a few seconds, he stashed the bag, closed the compartment and cabinet, and shoved the bowl in Steve’s hands. “You owe me.”

“Get out of here,” Steve grumbled. Bucky obeyed, not before waving at Y/N. Sam, on the other hand, was still in his seat. “You too.” 

“What? Am I not getting any hot chocolate? I drove her here.”  

“I pay you. Quite well, might I add.” 

With a hand on his heart and a sorrowful expression etched on his face, Sam expressed, “Money doesn't buy happiness. Hot chocolate on the—”

Steve pelted him with marshmallows, mumbling something about how late it was to be dealing with his shenanigans. Sam had managed to catch a white marshmallow in his hands and a blue one in his mouth. He dashed back into the living room, calling out for Bucky. 

“I’m sorry about them. They can be quite bothersome,” Steve said. He poured the hot chocolate into two mugs, adding the whipped cream and marshmallows to Y/N’s. 

“I think you’ve used the wrong word,” Y/N retaliated. The two had quenched her uneasiness, making her feel as if she had known the trio for a long time. 

“Careful, doll. Or I might start thinking you like them more than you like me.��� 

“I never said I liked you.”

“Damn.” Steve feigned hurt, glancing down at the hot drinks. “Kinda makes me wish I was having whiskey instead. I thought we were closer than that, Y/N.” 

A hearty laugh escaped her lips, making all her earlier tension and queasiness dissipate. Gladly, Y/N accepted the drink. Her fingers were careful not to brush against Steve’s, knowing she didn’t want to contradict her earlier statement so easily. 

“Thank you.” 

“You're welcome.” Steve sat across from her on the marble countertop. He sipped his plain and mundane hot chocolate, watching her indulge in the whipped cream. “I hope you’re feeling more comfortable now.” 

The spoonful of whipped cream paused just before reaching her lips. Y/N nodded, a sheepish smile forming as she parted her lips to take a bite. “I really am sorry for bothering you.” 

“You’re not a bother, doll. I’m more than happy to accommodate you for as long as you need.” 

“Why, though? It’s not like you’re obligated to.” 

Steve surprisingly nicked one of the marshmallows in Y/N’s drink and dipped it in his own. Playfully, he caught her eyes and plucked the treat in his lips, licking them clean afterward. She wondered if this was her answer. 

“It’s… complicated. In a sense that it’s hard to articulate it without needing to filter my thoughts.” 

“Then, don’t filter them,” Y/N stated. “Undisguise your thoughts.” 

Steve’s eyes twinkled with mirth. He chuckled, letting his blue eyes fall to the counter. As his eyes rose again, the subtle hints of green within his blue irises became unmistakably apparent. Somehow, the clash of colors was too endearing for Y/N to ignore. 

"My father passed away while serving in the military, leaving my mother and me on our own. Being a single parent in Brooklyn, especially a single mother, was far from easy. Despite the challenges, I always admired my mother's strength. I looked up to women like her and people who faced adversity head-on. Life kept throwing obstacles our way, but she never gave up the fight. 

“I suppose what I'm getting at is that I feel a deep calling to help those in need, especially those who've been marginalized. Some, like Sam, joke about it as a 'savior complex.' Others tease me for trying to be 'Captain Righteous.' Call it what you will. For me, it's about having a strong sense of morality and wanting to aid those who've been treated unfairly by the world, however way I can.”

Steve’s answer caused Y/N to grapple with her own thoughts. How ironic, she had asked him to undisguise his when hers were meandering in her head, elusive and unbridled. After a moment of prolonged silence, Y/N tapped her nails against the mug, looking at Steve from beneath her lashes. 

“So, I gather it wasn’t so that you can sleep with me? Or is this a speech you give to all the girls you invite over after their electricity goes haywire?” 

She anxiously chewed on her lower lip, trying to gauge Steve’s reaction. He narrowed his eyes, and Y/N was scared that she messed up, but the hearty laugh that reverberated through the kitchen told her otherwise. 

“I’m sorry, doll. But you made it pretty clear that you don’t like me.” 

“Maybe not,” Y/N chortled. “But, I do admire your kindness. That’s twice you’ve helped me now without asking for anything in return. And you’ve made me feel safe on both occasions. So, thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome, Y/N,” Steve smiled appreciatively. 

After a minute of silence, Y/N turned back to Steve, catching his attention. “You never answered my question.” 

“Which one?” 

“All of them.” 

“All three?” Steve teased, raising an eyebrow. 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “They were two, but I’ll bite since it’s disrespectful of the guest to contradict the host.” 

Steve snorted, shaking his head. “What was the first one?” 

“What are you doing here if you live upstate?” 

“I do live upstate, but I had this conference call tonight that needed my team to be there, so I ended up at the office. It's pretty close to Stark Tower.” 

“A meeting at midnight?” Y/N asked skeptically. 

“Ten in the evening,” Steve corrected. “With Singapore. It ran for two hours, and you calling me actually put an end to it. So, thank you for that.” 

You’re welcome, I guess? Y/N thought. But instead, what came out of her mouth was, “I thought you didn’t use this apartment, but Natasha has a hidden marshmallow stash?”

"She's not just good at hiding marshmallows. She's got this stealthy talent for hiding whatever we might need. The apartment serves its purpose during times like this—late meetings or emergencies. We don't use it a lot, maybe once or twice a month. Natasha's always on me to keep it stocked, but I usually ignore her advice and pay the price when she refuses to share her stash."

“Fair enough. And why did you call Bucky ‘James’?” 

“It’s his first name. Any more questions, doll?” 

“Just one,” Y/N said. “Who’s Natasha?” 

“My wife,” Steve replied without missing a beat. Y/N’s eyes widened dramatically, the color in them dissolving as her pupils dilated. She shifted in her seat, torn between leaving and staying. Steve’s unadulterated laughter fixed her in her place. “I didn’t peg you for someone who’s easily gullible. Natasha’s my assistant. The one you spoke to over the phone.” 

“You freaking asshole!”Y/N chastised. Her voice was barely audible, overwhelmed by Steve’s boisterous laugh. “It was bad enough I actually thought that woman was your wife when she answered the phone. Do you know how unnerving it was thinking I was going to be yelled at by a woman who’d think of me as a mistress?” 

Steve reclined, and if anything, laughed even heartier than before. His posture arched, revealing his neck and providing an unobstructed view of the prominent veins coursing across his skin.

“It would be anticlimactic if, after that earnest speech, I would turn out to be a liar.” 

Y/N shook her head. “You know? We’re here in your apartment, joking and sipping cold chocolate, and I realized we don’t know much about each other.” 

“Well then, Y/N. Let’s change that,” Steve smirked, placing both his forearms on the table. 

Y/N gnawed at the inside of her cheeks, looking down to hide her flushed face. Steve was now inches away from her face, not enough for their noses to touch, but enough for her to see the green sparkles in his eyes and catch the hint of amber in his perfume. 

“What’s your favorite color?” she voiced out. 

Steve did a double take as if he was shot in the chest. “Favorite color?” He sounded dejected. “Doll, that is a very anticlimactic question. I expected more from you.” 

“Hey! I think it’s important to have the answer to that question in one’s arsenal.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those lunatics that think they can have you all figured out from your favorite color, birthday, and shit.” 

“No,” Y/N chuckled. “It’s just… I think we spend years getting to know people, and yet, we can’t recall the smallest details about them. We’re just left with a general impression. But I happen to care about the details. Without them, everything would be lacking, and there would only be incomplete pictures.” 

It felt somewhat ridiculous to voice this aloud, especially in front of Steve. But even though Y/N braced herself for a bemused look or a sarcastic grin, she was taken aback to see Steve lost in contemplation, as if he were mulling over her words.

Tapping his fingers rhythmically on the countertop, he finally confessed, "Honestly, I've never given it much thought."

“Never?” 

“No. Guys don’t typically get asked what their favorite color is.” 

“Well, I’m asking you now.” Y/N mirrored his prior actions, leaning across the countertop. She grinned, looking expectantly at the man before her. “What’s your favorite color?” 

His response wasn't immediate. Instead, he took a moment, his gaze wandering as he considered. "It's blue."

Y/N pushed herself away from him, her face contorting into a grimace. “Really?” 

“What?” Steve shifted in his seat. “Is it that bad?” 

“No. It’s anticlimactic, though.”

This time, Steve almost fell out of his chair from the force of his own laughter. “You are so mean, doll. So mean! What’s your favorite color? Slytherin green?” 

"No!" Y/N shook her head. Even with the clock ticking closer to one in the morning, the genuine warmth in Steve's laughter radiated like the midday sun. "I don't really have a favorite color."

"Now, that’s anticlimactic."

"No, it's me embracing life's different shades instead of limiting myself to just one."

“So, if someone were to psychoanalyze you based on your favorite color—or lack thereof—would they diagnose you as a non-monogamous person, who prefers to indulge in all the shades of people life has to offer?

“Steve!” 

“Y/N.” 

“Now, who’s the mean one?” Y/N pouted playfully. Steve responded with a wide smile as he took charge, placing the empty cups in the dishwasher and exchanging them for water. "Thanks."

“You’re welcome. Now, it’s my turn to ask.” Steve paused, waiting for Y/N to nod. "Tell me, what's your profession?" Steve's question hung in the air.

Y/N's lips curved into a mischievous smirk as she lightly tapped her index finger against the exquisite crystal water cup. "Go on, take a guess."

With a nonchalant smile, Steve replied, "Well, I've narrowed it down to the top three options."

"Top three?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"You strike me as someone effortlessly elegant and beautiful. My best bets are fashion designer, model, or a sugar baby," he replied, his tone light.

"Steve, seriously?" Y/N exclaimed, her face hidden behind her hands as she fought to contain her bubbling laughter. Despite her efforts, Steve's infectious mirth resonated through the kitchen, tinting his cheeks a vibrant shade of red. "I'm not a sugar baby!"

“Damn, baby. I could’ve used some sugar,” Steve teased. Y/N was torn between the urge to nudge him playfully and the temptation to burst into laughter right in his face.

“I’m an interior designer,” Y/N answered earnestly. 

Steve’s blue-green eyes raked over her soft features, assessing her. His penetrative gaze made her squirm, though it was more welcoming than uncomfortable. “I think it suits you. Where do you work?”

“Potts Designs.” 

“The most elite design studio in North America. So, you’re beautiful, graceful, and intelligent.” 

“Stop.” A blush crept over Y/N’s cheeks, tinting them pink. Her lashes fluttered rapidly as if trying to hasten time before her eyes returned to meet Steve’s gaze at eye level. “What about you? What do you do for work?” 

The cheeky bastard wiggled his brows and adjusted his position. From that act alone, Y/N knew he was going to tease her before giving an answer. 

“Guess.” 

“Well.” She had leisurely stressed on the “l”, giving away that she had already suspected such an answer and was immensely entertaining it. “You strike me as someone annoyingly determined and sophisticated. My best bets are financial officer, real estate agent, or a member of the Illuminati," she lightheartedly responded. 

“Illuminati,” Steve barked, vehemently shaking his head. “I’m afraid that they’ve rejected my application a long time ago. I’m just not cool enough for them.”

“Well, it’s their loss,” Y/N joked. “What is it that you do then?” 

“I’m a businessman,” he answered. “I own a threat security company and a couple of other firms. I’m also an angel investor.” 

“Damn, angel.” Y/N fluttered her lashes, resting her hands near Steve’s, enough to touch the rings on his fingers. “Does that mean you’ll invest your time in me?” 

Steve almost choked on air, clutching his stomach as tears formed on the edge of his lashes. He wiped them away with his fingers. "Tell you what, help me plead my case to the Illuminati, and I'll gladly take you as my sugar baby."

“Lucky for you, angel face, women love a man with power. You got yourself a deal.”

She extended her hand, shaking Steve’s. They only looked serious for a minute before their expressions faltered, and they laughed as if they had known each other for years.

Series Taglist: @crazyunsexycool @patzammit @wintasssoldier @themrsroger @theroyalmanatee @panandinpain0 @spectre-posts @googie-jeon

One Decade Later... Sab has finally updated this series! We're finally kicking it up a notch with this chapter. I'm excited about what's coming next!! What do we think of Steve and the reader? I also want him to give her a new nickname based on the information he now has, what do you suggest?

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x female reader #captain america x reader #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #steve rogers x y/n #mafia steve rogers #mob steve rogers #mob!steve rogers x reader #mafia!steve rogers x reader

[montcumbry-gaytor]

Hi, um idk if you’re in the mood to write this and you don’t have to if you don’t feel the energy to, but could I request a story where its Latino male reader x Loki?

Like where its smut and the plot is that the reader speaks Spanish everytime he and Loki “do it” just to tease and fluster Loki, and the reader always feels proud of himself.

But a few nights go by and Loki really wants to learn how to speak Spanish; not only because it can be a way to communicate with the reader better but to get back at him and remind him who’s in power. (So like a smut and power kink story basically). And Loki takes lessons from one of the readers’ family members (but they don’t tell the member the reason ofc)

And then when the night comes, and the reader and Loki are invited to come to this super fancy party with the Avengers, and the whole night, the reader decides to tease Loki discreetly and later, Loki can’t tolerate it any longer so they both teleport back to the tower, and blah blah blah they start to have steamy sex.

Loki then decides to tease him and starts whispering Spanish in his ear all seductively: and suddenly the reader gets all shy. And then they do it, and the end there’s the obvi aftercare, and they live happily ever after :)

(Idk if you do POC readers, but I’m asking bc I haven’t seen barely any that do. I know this was a lot and in detail so I deeply apologize for that. Again, you don’t have to do this cuz ik you have a busy life rn or u just don’t feel like doing it. Have a good morning/night! :D)

Right side of the bed

Loki Laufeyson x Latino Male Reader Smut

FEM ALLIGNED DNI || MLM/NBLM TARGET READERS

A/N : I am so sorry that I haven't gotten to this sooner, I've been giving excuses but Im finally getting on track with writing and here we are.

CW : (Kind of) Public sex, Magic use, Alcohol, Use of 'Sir'

"Focus, Carino."

You hummed, Looking down at Loki's disheveled state below you, tendrils of black hair sticking to his pale forehead, Mouth hung agape as your hips bounced on his.

"Love- slow do—ah~ slow down~"

Loki whined, Slender fingers holding your hips, though he begged he never stopped rutting into you, Tip grazing your prostate each time your body connected with his.

Grabbing one of his hands, you placed it on your lower abdomen, letting him feel as tip rutted near your stomach.

"Siente lo profundo que eres mi rey~"

You said, feeling your end draw near, your words failing you as you fucked yourself on Loki, Stroking your twitching length, White spurting from your head and onto Loki's stomach.

"Fuck, That felt amazing Carino."

You hummed into his ear, smiling as his pale skin became even more red than it had been, kissing his cheek before hopping off of him.

"I'm gonna take a shower, Amor, Feel free to join me~"

You said, your voice trailing away, Leaving Loki to clean up after himself, Stuck in his thoughts, Never understanding what you were saying, He felt so lost.

He needed to show who was in control.

But how? Thor didn't know anything, He wouldn't expect him to, And he wasn't going to ask any of the Avengers, Definitely not.

Who did he know, Who knew Spanish?

"Oh! Ohoho.. My prince is going to regret this."

Loki muttered under his breath, becoming quiet as he dressed himself, Contacting a certain someone Via. Your silly human devices.

"What are you doing, Amor?"

You asked, slinking over to your dresser and slipping pajamas on, Slyly revealing bits and pieces of yourself as you did.

"Oh nothing my prince, Just thinking."

Loki hummed, Placing the phone aside, opening up his arms to welcome you into them, hands hugging around your waist, his peachy lips kissing your forehead.

"You should rest, my love, You heroes are always so busy."

Loki hummed, rolling you over with him, spooning you in his tall figure, letting him bring a blanket over the two of you and drifting off to sleep in his arms.

It had been a few weeks since then, Being that you were busy, You hardly noticed Loki's absence from your shared flat.

As days went on as per usual, Tony had decided to throw a party in the Tower, Even though you had wished to rest in your flat, maybe go out to dinner with Loki, you had agreed, and Loki—Although Hesitantly—Agreed to go aswell.

The party consisted of most of the Avengers, and some people you didn't know that you assumed were invited by Tony, though you didn't care to engage with them either way.

"Whiskey, Please."

You said to the bartender, crossing a leg over the other, leaning into Loki's presence beside you.

"Make it two."

He hummed, the bartender nodding and pouring your drinks, passing them to you both before walking off to deal with other people at the bar.

"You're deep in thought, Carino, es lindo."

You said, looking at him smugly.

"Thinking of all the the things we could be doing if we weren't here."

"Me encantaría que me jodas sin sentido ahora mismo, amor."

You whispered in his ear, swirling the amber liquid in your glass before downing it, returning the glass to the bar, where the bartender poured it another round and shuffled off again.

"No me gustaría nada más que eso."

Loki hummed back, Eyeing your face as it contorted into shock, Standing from his seat and downing his drink, grasping your hand and weaving throughout the tower, finding one of the guest rooms, and hurrying inside.

Quickly shutting the door by pressing your back against it, he wasted no time locking the door and putting his hands on you, lips sloppily smashing with yours.

Tongues sliding against one another, the taste of alcohol still tingling on your tongue, tugging on Loki's suit, whining as he pulled away from you, clasping your wrists in one hand above your head.

"ah ah ah, Amor, I'm the one in charge, no olvides."

He hummed, pressing his knee between your legs, though using his free hand to keep your hips pinned to the wall, forcing you to take what friction he gave, his mouth closing in on your neck.

"You smell sweet, Mi amor, Delicious.."

He groaned, rolling his thigh against your groin, prompting a sweet sigh from your lips, your attempts to rut against him hopeless.

Magic tingled through your body, making it hot and on point, your body staying pinned as it was even without Loki's hands on you.

"You look adorable like that, Carino, aunque te ves mas lindo sin ropa."

And in a blink of an eye, he pulled off your blazer, tugging your tie off, then your shoes, and so on until you were bare, save for your button up and briefs, erection pressed against the stretchy fabric.

"Loki- ah~! We- we can't do this here.. someone will find us.."

You squirmed, body flushed as Loki sent waves of magic through your body with every touch he made, and you couldn't fight it.

"I wouldn't mind that, Darling, Someone seeing you get corrected for thinking you're in control."

Fingers danced around the hem of your briefs, slipping up your shirt and running over your nipples, thumb pads stroking the erect buds.

"No matter how many times I play with these, you never do seem to get used to it."

Loki sighed, the shocking waves of pain and pleasure forcing your back off the door as he pinched the bud.

"Let's take this to the bed, Shall we, Carino?"

He hummed, hand guiding your movements to lay on the bed, body shaking with anticipation, Precum spilling out of your cock head and staining into your briefs.

"Darling, You're making a mess, Let's clean that up, Shall we?"

Kneeling down on the bed, he pulled your briefs off tantalizingly slow, his smirk becoming wider—if possible—as your cock slipped free of it's constraints, twitching as it was met with cold air.

"Loki... "

"Shhh... amor, don't speak unless spoken to, understand?"

"Y- Yes sir..."

"Ooh.. sir? I like that name."

Loki hummed, the tip of his index finger teasing the slit of your cock, trailing down your length before pulling away, leaving you to whine in his absence.

"Now, tell me my prince, what would you like me to do?"

"Fuck me... Please.."

You whimpered, arms straining with a need to hold Loki, as if you feared he might up and leave just to toy with you.

"como quieras, mi amor."

In swift movements, Loki threw tossed his blazer off, rolling the sleeves of his button up to his upper arm, Unbuttoning his black dress pants and pushing down his briefs, his dick presenting itself eagerly.

Sitting on his shins, one hand slipped underneath your knee, holding your leg up, the other guiding his cock to slip inside of you, eyes trailing up to yours with a gentle smile before pushing in, causing your breath to thin.

"Ooo... Fuck-"

"No, Talking, Carino, Break the rules again and I'll have to punish you."

"Yes- Yes sir.."

"Good."

He hummed, hugging his arm around your thigh and pulling your ass to connect with his hips, your leg resting over his shoulder while the other one sat beside his thigh.

"Te sientes tan caliente por dentro, My prince."

He sighed, running a free hand over your stomach, Magic seeping out of you as you found your hands no longer stuck to the bed, instantly clinging around Loki's neck, Smashing your lips together as his hips began to rock into you.

"Shit... You feel amazing."

He moaned, pressing his forehead to yours, nearly folding you in half as he fucked you, heat building with each thrust, sweat beading on your bodies.

"Speak to me, Darling, I want to hear you."

He groaned, tip grazing your prostate, rutting against it each time.

"You feel so good Loki~! Fu—ck.."

You whined, Your spine arching off the bed, the crown of your head pushing into the mattress, your insides felt like they were melting as you both chased your climax.

"I could say the same, darling, you fe-ah.. you feel wonderful.."

He whined, you could feel his cock twitch inside of you, threatening to burst.

"I'm gonna cum.. ah... Loki- "

You whimpered, your cock spilling out precum as it rutted against your stomach, the friction bringing you closer until your body halted, taking your breath away as white spurted from your slit, spilling on your stomach.

It didn't take long for Loki to finish himself, pulling out and cumming between your legs, panting as you both came off your high, hair sticking to your faces.

"That was... Exhilarating."

Loki sighed, wiping his forehead before whipping his head around the room, locating a bathroom and rushing off to wet a rag, coming back looking refreshed, pants buttoned and all.

"Come here darling, let me clean you up."

A/N : Hope you guys all liked this!!! I hope it came out to your liking Anon!!!! I tried my best to not drag on everything but keep everything true to the plot so 🫶

#loki x male reader #loki laufeyson x male reader #mcu loki #male reader #smut #male reader smut #mcu #loki laufeyson x male reader smut #marvel #the avengers

[an0nfr0mth3d3n]

more headcanons/story bits/whatever

So one day Pac woke up early because he really needed a piss and he got up out off the bear furs (shush I know we haven’t seen bears yet on purgatory but I had the idea in my head that soulfire uses animal furs as blankets around the base and there’s a sleeping room that is lined with the reeeally fluffy furs and everyone pretty much dog piles in there and it’s pretty much a hot mess, but necessary cause they can’t afford to keep the campfires burning at night because DUH the BASE might BURN DOWN and it gets REALLY COLD so they just have this insulated room and it’s nice and cozy and OKAY I’ll get on with it) and he left the room to go to the elevator and get out.

He got to the surface and went in the woods to do his business, and it was like, that morning purple? Where the sun isn’t up but you can see the outline of trees where they just look like they were painted black against the sky? And occasionally a bird will fly by and they too just look dark against the sky. The first couple whistles of tentative birdsong are echoing in the silent woods and he turns around to go home, shivering and regretting not grabbing a winter coat or at least one of the furs.

When Pac gets near the base however, he sees Fit sitting on a fallen spruce tree, facing towards the sea, sharpening a Diamond sword on his knee. (Rhymes. Hah.)

Fit, who heard him approaching, turns his head and beckons pac over to sit next to him. Pac does so, even though he is SO COLD he thinks if he sits down the bark will freeze to his pants. He sits because he is a massive simp, and they kind of just watch the sky slowly brighten up, and additional details get revealed onto the silhouetted trees as if someone is carefully tracing over them with cyan dye, and bleeding it into a mix with dark green.

Pac is still super cold and he doesn’t NOT shiver because A. That’s hard to do when you are pretty much in your pajamas in 20 degree (FAHRENHEIT BISHES IM AMERICAN although metric is better Fahrenheit is better on a numerical scale cause when it is 109 degrees F it feels like it would be the number 109 and not some wacky other number. I will concede metric units to you because as an engineering student every time I see American units being used in a problem I cry a little inside)

(wait a second Pac would use Celsius becau- oh whatever it doesn’t matter that much)

apologies for the rant

in 20 degree weather, and B. Maybe Fit would-

“Do you want me to. Uh. Go down and grab a coat?” Fit offers, his throat husky from disuse.

Pac mentally facepalms. “Ah, no I’m doing good actually! Great! Really. I’m not, it’s not like I’m cold!”

They sit for a while in awkward silence. The stirrings of the world become more frequent around them, woodpeckers knocking into trees, and the breaching of whales in the distance. Fit turns around to look towards the base where all of their friends are still sleeping.

As if he had been checking that no one could come up and see them, Fit puts the sword into his inventory and reaches over, gently dragging Pac to sit, not in his lap because that would be crossing a line of things that roommates did, but on the log space in between his legs (ok so like I imagine he like, moved back a bit on the log, and like, manspread so there’s a seat there). Fit’s arms wrapped around Pac, just to keep him warm and stop his shivering, it wasn’t as if there was ANOTHER reason what are you talking about of COURSE not.

They sit there, watching the world around the base slowly come to life. The first cloud lights up a golden color, and the sky blushes with beauty. Its still cold, but sometimes the cold isn’t all that bad.

This was not a headcanon what went wrong what did I do oh god

#qsmp fitmc #qsmp pactw #fitpac #hideduo #qsmp soulfire #q!pactw #q!fitmc

[older-men-are-sexy-okay]

Soft Spot

CH 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2k

Summary: You have just graduated with your Bachelor’s degree and decide to stay at home with your dad to save some money before graduate school. The thing is, he is moving from California to Texas to live next to his best friend/college roommate, Joel, along with his daughter, Sarah. Growing up, you heard so much about him from your dad. It’s almost like you know Joel, but you don’t. You’ve never actually met him. This Summer will be interesting…

Warnings/Tags: Dbf! Joel, slow burn, eventual smut, kinda mean Joel, explicit language, references to death, struggles with depression, reader is younger than Joel (22/43).

Note: Sorry not a lot of Joel in this chapter, just setting up the story:)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 2

You’re sitting on the passenger side of a truck. You’re not sure who’s truck it is, the inside interior is gray and it looks to be pretty old. You look out the window to see a sunset. You don’t remember it being that late in the afternoon and you don’t remember ever getting in a truck. You must be parked because the truck isn’t moving. It was then that you feel a soft brush on your hand. You whip your head to the driver's seat to see Joel looking at you with his hand on top of yours. “Joel?” You ask. “What are we doing here?” He says nothing. He just scoots closer to you, now sitting in the middle seat. He still has your hand in his and he slowly brings it to his cheek. Your breath starts to get shaky feeling his warm skin and scratchy facial hair against your palm. He never breaks eye contact with you, even as he brings your palm to his mouth and places a small kiss to the center of it. You then hear your name being called loudly, but Joel’s mouth isn’t moving. You hear it again and are startled awake. You open your eyes to find yourself lying in your bed, alone. ‘God damn it’ you think to yourself. ‘That was a bit weird’. But you feel a dampness between your legs. Do you want to fuck Joel?

You hear your name being shouted a third time from downstairs, the voice sounding like your dad. “What!” You yell back to him. You sit up in your bed waiting for a response but, in typical parent fashion, he now grows quiet and does not respond to you. You huff in annoyance and pull yourself out of bed to see what he wants. You're only wearing a baggy black t-shirt and underwear, so you slip on some pajama shorts to head downstairs. As you reach the last step you see your dad on his phone leaning against the kitchen island. “What time is it?” You ask.

“It’s 11 am, sleeping beauty. What were you up all night doing?” He asks. You don’t usually sleep in this late, but you knew today would be a Sunday and you needed some rest.

“Talking to Larry, she was asking about all the details of the move.” You say as you reach to open the cupboard to grab a mug. Larry (Larissa) was your best friend from back home. She was the only one who you dreaded leaving.

“Well tell Larissa I say hello.”

“I will, dad.” You place the mug under the coffee machine and press the button.

“What were you calling me for?” You turn around to face your dad and lean against the kitchen counter waiting for your coffee to brew.

Just then you hear a click from the door right next to the kitchen, the bathroom door. Just as you’re beginning to wonder who it could be, Joel comes out. Your heart drops. You didn’t expect Joel to be here and you’re not sure if you should pretend like he’s not there or say something. Damn, he looks good. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that outlines his muscles, blue jeans and brown boots. He walks over and sits on the barstool on the other side of the island and looks at you.

“Joel and I just got back from getting my new car!” Your dad says excitedly.

You turn to look at your dad, “Really? That’s awesome. What kind of car?”

Your dad looks to the side as if he’s trying to remember something. “Shit, I forgot already. You know I’m not a car guy.”

“It’s a white 2023 Honda civic. Nothing special.” Joel answers for your dad. You begin to wonder if Joel is a car guy. As you’re nodding your head as if to say ‘oh, cool’ you notice Joel is looking down at your legs. Now you’re very aware that all you have on is a baggy t-shirt and very short shorts. You start to get a bit shy at the thought of Joel looking at you. “I’ll come look at it later, gotta start getting ready”. You grab your cup of coffee and rush upstairs. A piece of you wonders if Joel turned to look at your ass as you walked upstairs. You doubt it, he hasn’t shown any signs that he even likes you as a person, let alone that he’s interested in you.

The whole day today is spent unpacking, setting up the living room and your room. You hate living in an empty house, so you want to make it feel like home as much as possible. Your dad is gone all day, presumably running errands with Joel or something. But you prefer him out of the house so he isn’t in your way. Around 5 PM, as you’re just finishing unpacking your closet, your dad texts you.

Dad🤓: I was talking to Joel about Sarah needing a ride to school all of this week. I offered on your behalf, hope you don’t mind kiddo.

You: Sure, that’s fine. Won’t you be taking the car to work though?

Dad🤓: I’m not starting work until next week. You can take the car.

You: So you could’ve taken her.

Dad🤓: Thought it would be a good opportunity for you and her to get to know each other. I’ll be home in time for dinner.

You toss your phone on the bed and continue unpacking. You really don’t mind dropping Sarah off at school all week, it’s not like you have anything else to do besides unpacking. You spend the whole rest of the Sunday unpacking and eating takeout with your dad.

Monday morning your alarm starts blaring. You turn it off and look at the time, 7:30 am. Ugh. You take a few minutes to get dressed and brush your teeth before walking across the street to knock on the Millers door. You know Joel is at work this early, so you aren’t worried about having to awkwardly see him. Sarah answers the door with her backpack already over her shoulder.

“Ready?” You ask.

“Yeah, thank you for the ride.” She says.

“Of course.”  

“Can Obie come with us?” She asks.

“Hmm, I don’t think my dad would like it if Obie was in his brand new car.”

“Please! He doesn’t have to know.” She says as she attempts to give you puppy dog eyes and a pouty lip.

“Fine. But tell no one!” You say smiling. You run to your house to get Obie and load him in the car.

You and Sarah are driving to her school, which is about 15 minutes away. You unlock your phone and hand it to her to let her choose the music to play. She puts on some Taylor Swift.

“How did you know I love Taylor Swift?” You asked surprisingly.

“I didn’t! She’s just one of my favorites!” Sarah says smiling.

“I wonder what else we have in common.” She taps her finger to her chin as if she’s thinking of something. “What’s your favorite animal?” She asks eventually.

“Dog. It’s a given.” You answer. “You?”

“Bear.” She says.

“A bear? Why?” You take your eyes off the road for a second to look at her.

“Because people call me Sare Bear.”

“That’s the only reason it’s your favorite animal?” You ask as you begin to chuckle.

She laughs, “Don’t make fun of me! I like the nickname and the animal!”

“Fair enough.” You say laughing. “From now on I shall call you Bear.”

“Great!”

You arrive at Sarah’s school and drop her off.

She closes the door and you roll down the passenger window. “Your dads picking you up right?” You ask to make sure.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Okay, see you later!”

“Bye! Bye, Obie!” She waves to your dog.

The rest of the week goes exactly the same. You wake up at 7:30, knock on Sarah’s door and drive her to school. You hate to admit it, but you actually have a lot in common with 12 year old Sarah Miller. Not sure if that means you are immature or she is very mature. Either way, you two start to get close. Like every other day, you wake up and head to the Miller's house. It’s Friday today, the last day you will have to drop Sarah off at school. You knock on the door and wait for Sarah to answer. After about 30 seconds go by and no answer, you knock again. It is then the door swings open. It’s Joel, standing there in his blue flannel pajamas, black shirt and coffee mug in hand. His hair looks all disheveled, as if he just woke up a few minutes ago. You both look at eachother. You could tell he wasn’t expecting you as he cocks his head to the side as if to say ‘what are you doing here?’ He then has a realization that you were supposed to drop Sarah off today.

“Shit” he says. “I forgot to tell you that I don’t work until later today so I can drop Sarah off.”

You give him a half smile, “Oh, it’s okay.”

He just looks at you as you stand there awkwardly, waiting for you to leave.

“Oh, uh, I can still drop her off. If you want.”  You offer.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He responds.

“Really, it’s fine. I’m already awake anyways.” You say as you shrug your shoulders.

He thinks for a second. “Sure”. He opens the door wider and steps to the side to give you room to walk in.

You take a few steps in as he shuts the door behind you.

“Sarah should be down in a minute. Coffee?” He asks.

“I’m alright, thanks.” You take a seat at the dining table.

He leans back against the kitchen counter, as if he’s just waiting, sipping his coffee. “Thanks. For taking her this week.” He says but does not turn his head to look at you. It’s almost as if it pains him to say something nice to you.

“No problem, she’s a great girl.” You answer.

He responds with a low ‘mhm’. And continues staring across the room while he sips his coffee. You look around awkwardly in silence.

“Not a man of many words, huh?” You say jokingly trying to break the silence.

He says nothing, almost as if he wasn’t even listening to what you said.

Just then, Sarah walks down the stairs and sees you.

“Hey! You’re still taking me today?” Sarah asks.

“Hey, Bear. Yeah, I am.” You say standing up.

She walks over to Joel to give him a hug. He kisses her on the head and says “Bye, honey”. He doesn’t say bye to you. And you don’t say bye to him. You both just walk out the front door.

You drop Sarah off and spend the rest of the day wondering what you did to make him not like you. Even when you did him a favor by dropping Sarah off at school all week. Did you give off a bad first impression? Insult him in some way? Does he find you annoying? Your mind wanders. It’s starting to eat at you that Joel Miller hates you. Your dad mentioned a game night at your house this Saturday with the Millers. That’s tomorrow, you realize. You’re now dreading tomorrow. It’ll probably be awkward and uncomfortable. This seems to be what every interaction you have with Joel is like.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #dbf! joel

[wytchsbrew]

As the soft, dim lighting of an overly fancy floor lamp illuminated the man standing in the living room, Nicholas D. Wolfwood felt the overwhelming urge to cry.

Not from sadness or a feeling of grief, not from a memory of a life long left, no, but from something wholly, entirely different. Something he truly never believed himself capable of feeling after everything he'd been through.

It was late, far passed midnight, when Wolfwood had descended the stairs to poke his head out the front door for a cigarette, but the glow of light in the living room had given him pause at the bottom of the stairs.

The quiet movement in the lighting of their shared home enraptured him, made his entire body stall in the entryway like he'd turned to stone in a split second.

The year since the horrors ceased had been kind to Vash. Nicholas noticed the differences in him every day, of course, but right then, those things struck him all at once like a barrage of bullets.

As Vash stood in the middle of their living room, swaying back and forth, holding a small, orange kitten in the crook of his arm, every minute detail unfolded before him in blinding beauty, like the first time he'd ever seen them.

His hair had grown shaggy since the end, nearly to his shoulders, but tonight, he had it piled into a messy ponytail. The underneath of his hair lay pitch black, while the rest of his golden hair shined bright in the lamplight. Long, slightly unruly pieces of silken bangs fell into his impossibly blue gaze, which looked soft and free of worry, easy and gentle.

His crimson coat and impossibly tight leather outfit had been replaced by fuzzy, pink slippers, soft, cotton sleep pants that clung to every piece of his thighs and bottom and drew Nicholas's gaze, and a beige, oversized cardigan, unbuttoned and revealing his upper body. The scars still lay along his skin, but they looked... lighter, less sharp, less dire, on his new body.

A body that had grown a little softer in places. His arms still remained muscled and strong from work around the house and yard and his daily workout regime, but the abs of his stomach had grown a little less defined, a small pouch in his stomach now visible above the waistband of his pajamas. He'd been eating since they moved into their home together, smiling bright and happy each time Wolfwood lay a plate of food down in front of him. He never denied himself, not anymore. He let himself live, and it showed in every piece of his body now.

The second sleeve of his cardigan had been folded upward, showing the empty forearm no longer wearing his prosthetic. He took it off often now, and let himself be comfortable in his own skin, especially at night.

Gun replaced by a kitten. Bloodied coat replaced by pajamas. Battle hardened, terrified eyes replaced by a gaze that peered across the room at Nicholas, and softened to the point of near blinding affection.

They'd found peace.

They'd survived.

"Nick," he whispered, and his voice - even his voice - sounded happy. "Why are you awake?"

Overwhelmed, Nicholas approached him, on padding bare feet across the shining, wooden floor. Vash had but a moment of surprise on his face, before Wolfwood's hand caught his chin between his strong fingers, and he placed a warm, soft, chaste kiss onto the soft lips that parted for him.

The hands that ached to hurt and bloody and kill Vash, clawed at his skin, had been replaced, too.

By hands that curled around his lower back and pulled him flush against Wolfwood's body, cradled him and caressed him, and loved him.

And if Vash noticed the soft tears that fell down Wolfwood's cheeks as they kissed, he didn't say a word, and simply kissed him back with a smile on his lips.

#vashwood #woodvash #trigun #i have no reason for making his hair dual tone beyond the fact that i wanted to #trimax has changed my brain chemistry #but #wv #cutie patooties #they're in love #this made me cry also by the way #i hurt my feelings #vw

[morethanaloveinterest]

An Outta Sight Look at Victoria Vinciguerra's Costumes in the Man from U.N.C.L.E.

The fashion in this movie continues to be amazing. Let's dig into what our villainess is wearing and it tells us about her.

(check out my review of Gaby's costumes here)

We meet Victoria Vinciguerra at a party she is hosting, which Napoleon Solo crashes to get close to her. The majority of Victoria's wonderful costumes in this movie are black and white, with gold accents, but this one has by far the most gold - even her sandals have it!

As an introduction to our villain, it's perfect. In a story where everyone has facades, with double agents and all, wearing an animal print is very appropriate. Is it a zebra pattern or a tiger? Is she the prey of super spy Solo or is she actually hunting him? A+ costume choice for this scene, no notes.

This also sets her apart from Gaby, our female hero. Victoria is far more done up - more makeup, dripping in accessories, complex pattern, there is nothing simple here. She is a fabulously wealthy woman and she is flaunting it.

As we'll see with the rest of her costumes, she's also clearly the one wearing the pants in the plots. Yeah, her husband may have inherited the business but she is definitely the one in charge at every point. While still looking fabulous.

Female representation: 10/10 Fantastic villain outfit, especially for a spy movie. Definitely set apart from the way villainesses are usually portrayed

Practicality: 10/10  It's obviously perfect for that context but I'm sure she could take care of anything that came up without breaking a sweat (or tripping over anything).

Both ladies wear their pajamas in this movie, and they couldn't be more different. Victoria continues to be the height of fashion, looking just as put together and intentional as she does in anything else she wears in this film. The geometric pattern on her robe is very fashionable and reinforces her black-and-white costuming. A little more gray here, perhaps begging the question of if she has been taken in by our charming spies (she has not)

Female representation: 10/10 I'm going to go off of the movie instead of this particular picture, lovely as it is. In the film, she wears this in a darkened room while behind her desk, on the phone. We do see her leave to go change, dramatically slamming the doors, but nothing else. Which makes it still one of the best filmed nightgown scenes I've come across - she continues to be gorgeous without catering to the male gaze (this isn't how women in spy movies are usually filmed, you know?)

Practicality: 9/10 Not sure they'd be the most comfortable pajamas but they're great for spending time in one's boudoir.

I wanted to include more detail, but couldn't in the distance shot. This is what she wears after hearing that someone has been snooping around, and she immediately goes to the hotel to investigate Solo. Her makeup is a bit less obvious than at the party, but she certainly has a full face. She even had time to accessorize before heading out. Her shoes might be gold, which is delightful.

The vest is clearly made of scales (alligator seems most likely to have been fashionable at the time, but it could be a kind of snake). Whatever the source, it is very appropriate for the villain of the story as she goes to investigate our hero with intent to kill. Before getting up to something a bit more entertaining.

Female representation: 10/10 For a snake-themed outfit our villainous lady wears to take out the hero, this is quite understated. Very focused on her own sense of fashion rather than the male gaze

Practicality: 10/10 One of the more practical things she wears in this movie, perfect for going to murder and/or sleep with a spy

I gotta be honest here, I'm not sure when she wears this (is it a deleted scene?). It's clearly in the lab, no doubt getting an update on what our spies have discovered. It's the least dressed-up we see her, while she still keeps to her color scheme.

Female representation: 10/10 Villain gets a report from her captive scientist wearing this? Perfection

Practicality: 10/10 It certainly rivals the last one in practicality, though I can't be sure what the whole ensemble looks like.

Absolutely show-stopping, I love how the costumes step up a notch for the climax (as does everything else). The clearly divided black and white is perfect for the way this scene plays out. Is she fooled by Solo or fooling him? She's worn pants in basically all of her scenes (other than her nightgown), but this one is definitely my favorite.

Female representation: 10/10 Our female villain poisons our spy hero in this outfit? Perfection once again

Practicality: 10/10 Fantastic choice for revealing your plans and taking down your nemesis

She wears this coat and scarf over her previous costume, while out and about to cause mischief. It fits her color scheme and style, but now that we all know she is the villain, the white is just an accent while black has taken over.

Female representation: 10/10 Again, for being the black costume our villainess wears in the climax, I can't think of anything more lovely and empowering. She's definitely in charge here.

Practicality: 9/10 I am sure she has underlings to grab things for her, but I don't feel like she could move her arms very much - something I consider important in a coat. Still, it's gorgeous.

Her final costume in the film, when she is escaping on a fishing boat. Shockingly, she seems to have put on an outfit that isn't black and white, with even some blue! Presumably she was trying not to attract too much attention as she escaped on a simple fishing boat, but she is still incredibly stylish with proper accessories.

Female representation: 10/10 Again, female villain getting her comeuppance at the end, dressed very comfortably, you gotta love it

Practicality: 10/10 I can't see the whole thing, but Victoria always has the right outfit for the occasion, so I'm sure this is perfect for her current plot.

Want to hear more of my thoughts about female characters and fashion? Check out my other costume reviews or my YouTube channel (episode on Gaby out now!)

#victoria vinciguerra #the man from uncle #the man from u.n.c.l.e. #costume reviews #costumes

[amysterywrappedinanenigma]

Ranking (bullying) LD Curtain's season 2 fashion choices

Because even if the show seems to have forgiven him, I sure haven’t. 

DISCLAIMER: This is in NO WAY criticizing the costume designers of this show- it couldn’t be farther from that. They’ve done an amazing job with every single piece in the show, and all of these fit Curtain’s personality and aesthetic perfectly. This is just me mocking the in-universe fashion choices that the character makes, because he needs to be bullied more. All lighthearted, all in good fun.

Disclaimer #2: I know literally nothing about fashion, please don’t attack me. 

Okay, from least heinous to most heinous, here we go! 

First up:

As much as it pains me to admit this. I actually. Really like this one. (”And if you told me I would never say something like that, well, I would never say something like that, but here we are.”) I think the silhouette is interesting, and all of the pieces come together well. Plus, in some of the tighter shots you can see that the fabric texture and detailing is really cool:

The leaves as clasps and that crinkly texture kind of really slap, and I really love the way the collar sort of wraps into the placket.

8 / 10

Interview outfit:

Wow, look! Another one that doesn't inspire immediate feelings of rage! We're doing so well.

This one isn't as visually interesting as the first outfit, but I do sort of like it. The collar folds create kind of a cool shape, and the grey accents under the top is a nice little contrast. I don't know how I feel about the zipper right below the collar, it's kind of a weird choice and might look better if it wasn't so visible, but I'll let it slide for this one since we have a much more heinous zipper situation coming up later.

I like the contrasting shades of blue with the button up shirt, and the lavender shirt he wears under it later in the episode, and the fact that part of the collar can kind of fold down to make a different shape.

6 / 10

Clown sleeves:

So the sleeves on this one are. kind of a lot. But they gain a couple of points for being the only thing in this outfit that really pops. They're sort of weird, but I can see the appeal of them standing out against the black vest, and being a pretty nice contrast that draws the eye.

5 / 10

Meh:

Time for the part of the post where I include 6 outfits that I just kind of don't have strong opinions on, mainly because they feel like pretty standard, decent outfits with no real reason to bat an eye at them.

The last image is saved on my computer as "are those your pajamas?" but. acceptable.

sure / 10

Dancy dance:

🧍‍♂️

I don't have much to say about this one other than, for some reason, the visual of him wearing tennis shoes makes me viscerally uncomfortable.

🤡 / 10

Elizabeth Holmes Chic:

He looks like a kid playing dress-up in their dad's giant overcoat, except someone let him go outside looking like this. I know oversized clothing items can be fashionable but here he's like drowning in it.

And then when he takes the coat off:

This maybe wouldn’t be a terrible outfit, it’s just so goddamn pretentious. He seems like he's trying to look like Steve Jobs, but ended up looking more like Elizabeth Holmes.

about to start another pyramid scheme / 10

Vacation dad (derogatory):

On someone else I might like this outfit, but on him it just looks so dumb. He looks like he's about to go skydiving with how much he's buttoned up. Better watch out or he could get carried away and spend 20 minutes unstrapping and unbuttoning it to reveal his fun little vacation shirt underneath! It's somehow stupidly formal and stupidly casual at the same time, and I just think it's a very silly little outfit. He's joining the army as penance for his fashion crimes. If you ask very very nicely he might tell you what's in his four huge, weirdly-placed pockets.

what's in the pockets / 10

And now.

We've arrived. We're finally here. The last one. The moment we've all been waiting for.

The worst of the worst:

I'll be honest, I don't really know where to start this one. There are too many things to choose from. Do I start with the weird asymmetrical pattern on the sleeves, with the red and blue stripes that aren't even made up of the same type of pattern?

Or maybe the fact that the buttons (and the piece of fabric they're attached to) ends too high above the neckline of the top layer?

Or we could talk about the fact that the top layer looks like one of those smocks you'd wear to get an x-ray at the dentist, made in a fabric that must have been rescued from the back of a fabric store after 50 years of not being bought.

I think by far the worst part is the length:

The fact that those strange little smock flaps go almost a foot past the zipper, halfway down to his knees. It swallows like 2/3rds of his body in this horrible block of grey fabric, and this man has the audacity to carry himself like it’s fashionable, instead of an assault on the senses. 

I want to set it on fire. I want to burn him along with it. I want to gently take his tailor aside and ask if Curtain held him at knife point and made him design this monstrosity. TEAR IT TO PIECES, GET IT OUT OF MY SIGHT, TURN IT INTO SCRAPS FOR SQ'S ART PROJECTS.

Anyway.

This outfit is such a menace to this world that I thought everyone should get a chance to tear it to shreds, so presenting, the communal roast:

“GROSS. SHUN.” -@mvshortcut

"prison chic. dentist x-ray chic. ugly." -@mysteriouseggsbenedict 

“the terrible zip up vest that just keeps on going fucked a potato sack” -@bi-demon-ium

“runway model for the most pretentious fashion designer who ever lived” - @sqenthusiast

“Trying to be casual but also Better Than You. The definition of 'you really thought you did something there'” -@echo-delta

“Child with one of those books where you can draw clothes over top the shape of a person” -@mysteriouseggsbenedict 

“Mr Curtain sir I don’t feel very happy looking at this. I think it’s a little counterproductive.” -@mvshortcut

Truly horrendous.

borrowing constance's acid to destroy the outfit and then clean the eyes of anyone who wants to forget they saw this monstrosity / 10

Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me, and as always, send the x-ray bib to hell.

#the mysterious benedict society #mbs disney #mbs #mysterious benedict society #ld curtain #this post has been in the works for a WHILE so I hope people enjoy it #we don't need to talk about how long it took me #this post really just devolves as it goes on #a portrait of me losing my mind #i could also scream about how much i love the costume design of other characters on this show #but this was the funnier option #on any other characters i would be complimenting them for their bold fashion choices (except for maybe the last one) #ledroptha curtain

[strawbearytae]

bad faith📎

“popular”! jungkook x underclassman! reader

genre: angst + hurt/comfort

synopsis: after stumbling out of your apartment when Miya broke the news about Jungkook’s return, you come across a familiar figure at the convenience store.

series: part of my papercuts smau

You walked aimlessly around in your pajamas and crocs, trying to process the revelation that Miya had quite literally dumped on you.

You weren’t running away, at least you didn’t think so, you just needed time to think. It wasn’t as if you hated Jungkook… but the news that he was in the same campus, the fact that you could potentially see him again?

That was hard to stomach.

You didn’t hate him.

But that didn’t mean that you had to be okay with meeting him… right?

It had been your fault. Partially. Kind of. If you hadn’t messaged him in the first place and did better research about his relationship with Miya… Maybe everything would’ve been… okay? You didn’t regret your decision, not really. You wouldn’t have been able to find solace in Miya nor developed the friendship that you had with your messy roommate if you hadn’t completely wrecked her relationship (though she assured you that you didn’t, you knew it was still partially true); you didn’t regret it. Really. Yet you still wonder at times like this how things would’ve been, how you would be if you hadn’t developed feelings for Jungkook.

You felt a surplus of emotions rise in throat that you had to fight to swallow down as you continued to walk. Comments, insults and insecurities that seemed to lie dormant for the last few months rose again with hellfire. Insults about your intellect, your weight, your body, your mind… everything seemed to add to the dark cloud that loomed over your every step.

You sighed as you surveyed your surroundings, it was the convenience store beside your university. Might as well buy a soju or something to ease your nerves (logically you knew it would do the opposite but currently you really didn’t give a fuck).

You brain continued to go into detail about every single feature of yours that made you even remotely inadequate: the little sac below your stomach that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you worked out (of course it wouldn’t, that was your freakin uterus), the hair on your head that never wanted to cooperate, the shape of your nose, etc, etc.

And by the time you had chugged the rest of the soju you had been nursing and had your mask back on, you were thinking of Jungkook.

That motherfucker seemed to refuse to exit your brain.

You missed how you felt with him.

And sometimes you missed him.

Maybe it was the alcohol.

It was an odd feeling, to dislike and love someone at the same time so intensely. You loved the moments, the feelings and sometimes him… But it was always laced with questions. Did he think I was ugly when I snorted while laughing? Is that why he broke up with me? Was it how I ate? Was it my looks? My personality?

Break-ups without specific reasons were the worst.

You let out a loud sigh as heard a small “fuck” from your left. You looked over to the next table to see a lump of black fabric that loosely resembled a guy slumped over. He suddenly sat up and sniffled before checking his phone, whatever notification he got made him groan and slump down on his chair again.

“Jaegguk?” Your question seemed more like a statement.

His doe eyes widened, “Sunny?”

———

“Are you drunk?” You looked over at Jaegguk’s flushed face on the bench next to you.

He held up the hangover medicine that he had finished, “Was. Wish I was though.”

“Guess today sucked for both of us.” You slightly slurred.

“What happened to you?”

“My ex came back.” You shrugged not knowing that the very ex you were talking about was right next to you.

Jaegguk’s eyebrows wrinkled, “The douche?”

You nodded, “Apparently he transferred to our school.”

Jaegguk laughed, “Well your bad day beats mine.”

You couldn’t help but survey his puffy eyes (which did not seem like it was from the alcohol), “What’s wrong with you?”

“I deleted my twitter.” He shrugged.

“You wish you were drunk because you deleted your twitter?” You tried to raise an eyebrow at the statement but your drunken haze left you unable to.

“No…” He looked away as if he was contemplating even answering the question.

“You don’t have to answer. Not if it’s personal.”

“I know.”

You don’t know why made the simple two words made you blush slightly. How often did you say that he already knew it was part of the equation?

Jaegguk didn’t make any move that indicated that he noticed and stood up, “Want to take a walk?”

“Okay.” ———

The cool October air was proving to wake you out of your drunken state as you and Jaegguk continued to chat. Topics jumped repeatedly, starting at with your assignments to his guitar to your respective interests in high school to, eventually, your failed relationships. Jaegguk listened patiently as you explained the situation you had found yourself stuck in with Jungkook. Of course, you didn’t go into deep detail of him… just the way he had made you feel: insignificant, worthless, disposable…

“Sorry.” You muttered by the end of your story, rubbing your eyes away of your tears, “I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional.”

Jaegguk did not respond and simply leaned down while hesitantly bringing his fingertips to the edge of your mask, “Listen Sunny: You are worth so much more than the words of an 18-year-old frat boy.” His thumb grazed your cheek, you could feel it through your mask, “You are and always will be mesmerizing.” He murmured before slowly wrapping his hand around your head, bringing you close, “Don’t forget that.”

They were simple words and at the most, generic. However, coming from his lips they felt like a dose of cold water on the grueling sun that was your mind. They felt fresh and comforting.

You let yourself bury yourself in his chest, “He was the reason I started going to the gym, you know? I felt ugly. I didn’t feel like I was enough.” You felt him visibly tense against you, “but.” You pushed yourself slightly off him so he could meet your eyes, “Not anymore. Not now. Now I’m going for me.”

Your gaze went down to his sneakers before meeting his eyes again, “I’m starting to be slowly okay with who I am, maybe at one point I’ll love her again.” You thought wistfully again to the naïve 17-year-old girl that had giggled over Jungkook’s texts, “I think she deserves that. I think I deserve that.”

Jaegguk didn’t answer, he just pulled you towards him again before burying his masked face into your hair. ———

“It’s late.” Your teeth chattered, damn you for only slipping out with your pajamas in the middle of October.

Jaegguk stared at your shivering form before chuckling, “And cold too apparently.” He pulled off his black hoodie, leaving him in short-sleeved white t-shirt. You couldn’t help but stare impressively at his tattoos when you handed it to you, “Wear it.”

“You’ll be cold too.” You whined.

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not the one who’s shivering right now, love.”

Ignoring the pet name that slipped out of his lips that was very much affecting you, you begrudgingly accepted his hoodie. Yet, you were still shivering.

“How far is your apartment from here?”

Jaegguk asked, noticing your still chattering teeth.

You looked around to see the bar you and your gang frequented, “A-about 30 minutes I think?”

Jaegguk sucked in a breath before checking his phone, “There’s no uber that’s available in the area… you’d still have to wait at least 20 minutes for one to get here.”

“S-shit.” Jaegguk tried to hide his amusement at your simple reaction but ultimately failed.

He looked around the neighborhood again, “My apartment… I share it with one of my friends.” He shifted weight from foot to foot, “It’s about 3 minutes away. If you run.”

“Fucking hell, let’s go!”

Jaegguk made no move, “You’re wearing crocs.”

You looked down, indeed you were, “Oh, I can still run-“

Jaegguk rolled his eyes before he picked you up causing you to let out a startled yelp, “You must be an idiot if you think I’d let you break your ankle at 2 am.”

And with that Jaegguk ran to his apartment, carrying you bridal style in his arms. ———

“Do you feel a little better?” Jungkook asked piling on another weighted blanket on you on his sofa.

You let out an exasperated sigh, fishing your mask from the sea of cloth before pulling in back on, “If you give me another blanket, I’ll be flat as a panini.”

Jungkook froze before breaking a smile, “Glad to see you feel okay enough to make jokes again.”

You smiled before leaning back into the couch with Jungkook joining you. You snuggled to his side, claiming that he was warm when in reality skin was ice cold and in dire need of weighted blankets more than you did.

“Feel better?” He craned his head to look toward you, resting your head on his shoulder.

You could smell him even through the mask. “Yes.”

The moment was broken by the continuous dings of his phone on the table. Jungkook didn’t even spare a glance at the influx of messages that he seemed to receive. But you were able to see some. Scum. Go die. Fuck you. Manwhore.

Your face flushed red, itching to grab his phone and go off at the malicious texters, “You can get it-“

“No.” Jungkook shook his head, “I know who it’s from. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“Okay.” You didn’t ask any further questions though you were dying to ask them or at least give the messengers a piece of your mind. Jungkook seemed to know the look in your eyes, “It’s my roommate. Well… some of them.

He kinda…” he bit his lower lip through his mask, “He accidentally kind of exposed me.”

You blinked, “Come again?”

Jungkook laughed, “Wait no… not like that…” He shook his head lightly, “Well, I’m not really in touch with most my high school classmates. My roommate is… he was a year ahead of me, so they don’t really have much of a problem with me… but with me…”

“They have a problem with you?” You quipped a brow.

Jungkook’s hesitation seemed to be an answer enough.

“Why?” You pressed.

“Because… Because.” He flexed his tattooed fingers, “I deserve it.”

You didn’t make a movement, you just stared at him. Trying to figure out what in the world the sweet man in front of you did that made his whole graduating class seem to be after him.

“I cheated, remember.” He said almost bitterly, “No one likes a cheater.” He shrugged, “I deserve it, really. It’s not that bad. It was worse at first.”

“How.” You demanded, “How is this better?” You motioned to the phone that continued to ding with hateful messages.

Jungkook shrugged as if you just asked him about the weather, “I mean I lost my scholarship after I got kicked off the soccer team…”

“What?!”

Jungkook looked away, “It was a long time ago… it doesn’t matter now.”

“You think you cheating as a stupid 18-year-old justifies you being cyberbullied after 3 years and losing a scholarship?!” You wanted to simultaneously slap some sense into the man in front of you and hug him.

Jungkook didn’t answer. He didn’t know if it justified it. He frankly didn’t care. Not really. Not anymore. His life was fucked up, he knew that, but he still felt guilty. He could never make right what he did to Miya, what he did to you. Taking the unfair punishments from others was a sort of payment in his mind to atone for his sins.

“I deserve it.” He muttered, trying to convince himself more than trying to convince you. Because he knew that the moment he realized how truly fucked up the situation was, the more devastated he would be. It seemed easier to blame himself for someone else’s malice than believe that they truly hated him.

If it was his fault he could continue on in his journey of self-loathing and delusion that the abuse he was facing was well-deserved. If he finally broke that… he would be faced with the fact that he was hated, and the hate was receiving was unjustified. It scared him.

“Do you remember when you asked me why I like Dramione?”

He slightly cocked his head to the side, “Yes?” It was almost like a question.

You didn’t look at him, you seemed lost in your own thoughts, “Even though Draco’s a bigoted, superficial, pompous and probably racist bully?”

“…Yes?”

You crossed your arms, “I like Draco Malfoy because from an author and reader’s perspective, he has so much potential.” Jungkook took a second to process your words, “Think about it, he’s a from an elite and very ancient bloodline with a questionable upbringing. Highly intelligent. Probably musically talented and very dedicated seeing how he created a wholeass chant for his housemates to sing just to piss off Ron. He was brought into a war as a child like everyone else, a pawn for two older men to use to their own disposal while watching his own parents fear for their lives in their own home. He bullied a girl just because of her background and called her slurs when in fact the Rowling confirmed that he only bullied her because he had a crush on her.” You shifted your gaze at him, “Problematic?”

Jungkook nodded, “Yes.”

You leaned forward to straighten your back, “So for this pompous, problematic, rich boy to ever become a likable male lead or at least someone worth writing about… he has to change. Somewhat.”

You continued, “He has to find the error in his original way of thinking and attempt to make amends. He has to humble himself to a level in which he realizes that blood purity means nothing. That he was wrong. For him to become in anyway a suitable candidate for Hermione Granger, he has to learn.” Your voice seemed to rise, “He has to pay for his crimes.”

Jungkook let out a shuddered breath.

“But.” You softened, “He also has to learn that he can’t change the past. The girl he loved would be the girl who was tortured in his home when he could do nothing but watch. He has to learn that nothing he could ever do could change that moment and he has to learn to live with it. And to still let himself love her and let her love him even though they both know exactly what happened that night.”

You finally looked at Jungkook, “I drew fanart for an unpopular and highly controversial couple because I think everyone deserves a second chance. He is horrible, prideful and a conceited bully, but he is still insightful, intelligent, cunning and loyal. As long as he is able to learn from his past and never commit anything like that again. As long as he strives to do everything in his power to make amends, he can change.”

You studied Jungkook’s dazed face, “You can change.” You stopped to think before looking back at a teary-eyed Jungkook, “In fact, I think you already have.”

25. bad faith🖊

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a/n: thanks for reading! please remember to hit that rblg button as a pat on the head for me for a good job (•ᴗ•◍)!

synopsis: flirting with your crush of 3 years wasn’t something you thought of when first getting twitter, a nasty breakup wasn’t what you expected either… but why is it that after 3 years and loads of droning on self-improvement and trying to become “that” girl, your gym buddy reminds you of the one person you wanted to forget?

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Advent ( @squealing-santa )

Panda’s Notes: Was wracking my brain on what to write this year, until I saw an ad. >w< Enjoy this chaos. Happy After Christmas to @vallee-ace and all of you who joined Squealing Santa this year. Remember to give all your love to @hypahticklish for hosting and get ready to see what happens in the new year.

There was no such thing as tradition in the bunker. Then again, it was the first holiday season they’d all spent together here.

Thanksgiving—Friendsgiving—Whatever they’d decided to call it. It went off without a hitch. Nothing day-ruining, at least. A sprinkle-and-icing war or two during dessert-crafting makes for good photos.

Black Friday would be easier for everyone if they had two separate angels that can just zap them in and out of stores. Hell, one of them is even capable of not ruining surprises “for the lols”. Asshole.

Speak of the angel, Sam nearly flinched out of his chair when an ornate wooden, um—cone? Christmas tree. It was kind of a Christmas tree shape—was thumped loudly on the table in front of him.

“Happy Crimbas, Samwich.” Gabriel sneered, hands on his hips like he’d solved the energy crisis.

Sam stared at him for a moment, before looking at the tree. “It is November 28th…” He said slowly, his face stuck between amused and baffled. “We haven’t even gotten our tree up yet. We haven’t even talked about getting one for here.”

“Well, don’t talk about it, because we’re going to. It’s gonna be a big one that fills up that little space near the spiral staircase.” Gabriel tapped Sam lightly on the head with the edge of his hand. “But that’s not important right now. This is for you! Take a look already!”

Sam almost became wary when he said that. The tree did look pretty nice. He’d call it expertly carved; every detail painted intimately; the little ornament shapes and any corners sanded perfectly round and smooth. He would say all that, if it wasn’t for the fact that Gabriel could just conjure any item he could picture in his mind. Still, he couldn’t complain.

It’s the thought that counts. Literally, it seems.

“Have you seriously not noticed?” Gabriel griped, reaching to prod him again.

“Noticed…?” Sam murmured, having reached to nudge one of the ornaments. His eyes widened a bit when he found a tiny ‘9’ etched into it, and when he pulled a bit, a small compartment pulled away from the tree. Gabriel quickly bat his hand away, closing the little door before Sam could see what was inside.

“Is this thing an advent calendar?” Sam thumbed a dog ear into his book before setting it aside to try and examine the tree from other angles.

“Oh, wow, maybe you are the smart one.” The angel taunted, moving to lean on his shoulder.

“I’ll admit it; that’s pretty cool.” He fiddled around the tree looking for numbers, even though Gabriel was strictly keeping him from pulling when he found them. “How do you think of this stuff?”

“Unlike some people, I spend my time thinking about how to enjoy life.” He smirked playfully. “Now then, as you were so polite to remind me: it’s not December yet!” Gabriel tapped the side of the tree with one hand, and it blinked out of existence. “Sneak peek’s over, I’m afraid. Hope you’ll be ready when the surprise hits.”

Gabriel was gone before Sam could ask any more, and Sam chuckled softly and crossed his arms. Well, now he wasn’t interested in reading anymore. Point Angel.

--Day 1--

Sam’s brain practically rattled with the sound of jingle bells way too close to his ear. They were shaken gently—how merciful—but it was still too damn early. He flailed his hand toward the source of the noise, and he received a handful of cold metal, the little openings on the bells nibbling his palm. He opened his eyes groggily, and Gabriel was lying beside him with a Santa hat on with the ugliest Christmas themed pajamas.

“Morning, beanstalk.” He hummed, poking Sam’s nose before getting up.

As his eyes adjusted to being awake, Sam found his room absolutely decked out in decoration. Lights were strung around the ceiling and bedframe along with tinsel and ornaments, and small Christmas rugs were tossed around the empty spaces on the floor.

“I take it today is the first?” He grumbled, yawning as he palmed around for his phone.

“It is! Aren’t you hunter-types supposed to be more aware of things like that?”

Sam rolled his eyes, and Gabriel snapped his fingers. A tray appeared suddenly on the bed, only instead of a lovely breakfast in bed, Sam was presented with the familiar wooden tree on a plate. A cracked plate, because apparently this thing was heavier than it looked. Sam took the tree and turned it in his hands, a fond smile on his face as Gabriel crowded against his side to watch.

The number ‘1’ was etched beside a divot in the base, barely visible with the way it was painted. Sam just barely hooked his fingernail in enough to pull a tiny door, and a piece of paper stuck out of the compartment. It was about the size of a fortune cookie slip, with Christmas greens and reds along the borders and fancy writing that simply said:

“Merry?” Sam read out curiously, flipping the paper over. Yep, that’s all there was.

“Merry, indeed.” Gabriel nodded, and the grin on his face was suddenly devious.

In another snap, the tray and tree were gone, and Gabriel’s hands were on his ribs. They'd barely touched down before they were already scribbling fingers across his shirt.

Now, Sam was more than used to being rudely attacked by off-brand tickle monsters, but today, Gabriel wasn’t going full jumpscare. His hands were gentle, nails just barely grazing as his fingers ran wild. It was shocking more than anything, honestly, and Sam forced himself to believe that the shock overwrote the embarrassment that was coming from the childish, bubbling giggles that were shaking his frame. His legs tangled in the blankets as he kicked and squirmed. Gabriel got onto his knees to chase his torso across the bed, but he didn’t try to pin him down or even drag him back.

“And, stop!” The angel said playfully, grabbing Sam by the arm just as he had wiggled himself to the edge of the bed. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t watch where you’re wriggling, Winchester.” He pat Sam’s back lightly before pulling away from him with a grin.

Sam managed to catch his breath in less than half a minute, watching Gabriel sit up and stretch. That was it?

“Oh?” Gabriel sneered as he turned around.

Shit. Something, something, loose lips and all.

“Someone’s greedy all of a sudden.” The angel leaned into the hunter’s face as he sat up warily, but he only tapped him on the nose with one finger before hopping out of the bed. “But, alas, I’m a man of my word. Ta-ta for now, big boy~”

Sam hardly realized he was staring until the door clicked shut.

He already wasn’t sure he was going to make it to Christmas.

--Day 2--

Their little family was clearing the kitchen after breakfast. Cas was washing the dishes while Sam was hogging the last of the coffee.

“Rough night?” Cas asked, just a bit concerned.

“Nope.” Sam said shortly, putting the pot down and stepping quickly away from the machine while slightly hiding his mug in his hands.

Almost on cue, Dean came shambling into the kitchen; he leaned into Cas’s shoulder, not really kissing, just being there for a moment.

“I saved you some food.” Cas chuckled, shivering at Dean huffed against his neck and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Don’t worry about it… Just need some coffee.” He grumbled, patting Cas’s stomach before pulling away.

Cas chuckled softly and nodded in understanding.

And then he actually understood.

Sam was already not-hiding in one of the libraries when he barely heard Dean cursing his name, and he snickered to himself as he finished his coffee while refreshing himself on his Latin.

“Wow, I think you might deserve this one today.”

Sam looked over his shoulder when he heard Gabriel’s voice, but when he turned around, that Christmas tree was on the table in front of him. He flinched when hands rested on his shoulders, but he smiled and picked up the wooden tree.

The number ‘2’ was on an ornament, and pulling it dragged a little pin out of the tree. Almost immediately, the little paper wrapped around it unraveled, and Sam managed to pry it away and read it.

“War.” He’d almost stammered as he said it. He looked up at Gabriel, a hint of concern in his eyes.

Gabriel just snickered, and the tree and paper vanished in favor of the single coolest weapon Sam had laid eyes on in a while: A plastic pump-action gun nearly the length of his arm with a belt of bright green darts feeding through it and a red water bottle giving it a satisfying weight. There were little LEDs in round cases dotting the case, and—this thing was just decorated like another Christmas tree.

“You like it~” Gabriel teased. It wasn’t a question, and Sam wouldn’t deny it.

“But, why exactly is today labeled—” It was a stupid question, and Sam was lucky he didn’t get to finish it.

“Charlie!” Kevin was laughing, and footsteps rushed loudly past the door. Sam recognized the sound of whistlers, and he took a few steps toward the loud clacking noises of darts hitting the walls.

“Get back here and face your death, you coward!” She shouted back without skipping a beat.

They had already passed when Sam peeked out into the hall, and he found himself looking back and forth as he plucked a handful of the darts off the floor and fit them into the holster that he definitely wasn’t wearing thirty seconds ago.

“Yeah, those aren’t going to fit in your pocket while you’re running, big guy.” Gabriel said playfully, slipping past Sam while dropping a pair of plastic goggles over his head. He fixed his own pair over his eyes, flaunting his hand before another dart gun appeared in it. “By the way, I told Deano where you were. He’s gonna be looking for this too.”

He snapped his fingers, and a bright green and red bandana tied itself tight around his wrist.

“They all are, actually.” He winked, and suddenly, he was gone.

“Game on, nerds!!” The whole bunker echoed with Gabriel’s voice, and the lights went out.

Sam shivered, and he found himself smiling in the blinking lights on the gun.

And then, some-fucking-how the bandana started playing music. Loudly. Of course.

“Sammy!”

Sam sprinted in the other direction.

--Day 6--

Sam’s face was buried in his arms at the dining table, and he flinched as nails dragged gently down his back.

“Is somebody feeling sick today?” Gabriel cooed close to his ear, pecking his temple before patting his back.

Sam glared at him. The past three days’ tags had been “Candy”, “Chocolate”, and “Alcohol”. All in a row.

“You know what you did.”

“I am not apologizing for Christmas.” He teased. He snapped his fingers, and Sam huffed as he heard a thump. He blinked as he turned his head.

“Is this thing getting bigger?” He asked warily.

“If it lasts more than four hours, I’ll be concerned.” Gabriel hummed without missing a beat, and he sneered as Sam glared at him again.

Sam nudged the top of the tree with one hand, trying to tip it a bit. Yeah, it was definitely heavier than he remembered. Gabriel leaned on his shoulder, looking down at him.

“Are you going to stare at it the whole time, or are you just waiting for me to make another joke?” He taunted.

Sam huffed and scanned the tree. It kind of felt different too, actually… The edges of the wood sort of flicked under his fingers as if he were brushing over paper.

He found the number ‘6’ on the green part of the tree, and he found it easier to fit his thumb into an edge that revealed a sort of hatch. A rolled piece of paper popped up, and Sam took it just before the tree disappeared. Gabriel pushed himself away as Sam unfurled the slip.

“Tinsel.” Sam chuckled for a moment.

And then there was a garrote around his neck. It was tinsel, obviously. But there was at least a percent of a second where Sam was going to have a heart attack.

“I’m not even pulling on it!” Gabriel laughed, leaning into his back and fluffing the tinsel against the sides of his neck.

“Y-You can’t just scare—” He’d tried to argue, only to nearly bite his tongue when the plastic frills dusted his ears. “Gabriel!”

Gabriel snickered, pressing a kiss behind Sam’s ear as he laughed and grabbed halfheartedly at his new boa. “Aw, c’mon, Sammy, you can fight harder than that!”

“You’re such a prick—!” His voice was caught up in louder laughter as his feet kicked slightly under the table.

--Day 10--

“Son of a—” Dean snarled, pacing near the stairs while glaring at his phone.

“You alright?” Sam asked casually, rummaging through the box of extension cords before looking over the railing.

“The goddamn hardware store cancelled the Christmas tree we ordered.

“Again?!” Charlie griped from under the stairs. “How many stores is that now?”

“Too damn many…” Dean flicked through his phone and growled again. “Everyone’s starting to run out now. Kevin, have you got anything?”

Kevin looked up from some lights he was untangling. “I’ve been trying to ask my mom since Thanksgiving. Every time I ask, something bugs out.”

Dean gripped the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Forget it for now. I’ll try Garth again once all this stuff is up.”

Sam descended the stairs enough to give his brother a reassuring shoulder punch. “Don’t stress out too much, alright? Garth has a way of coming through in the clutch. And if anything does happen, we can ask one of our resident troublemakers.”

“Your troublemaker, maybe.” Dean scoffed, smiling a bit. “If I mention it to Cas, he suddenly has somewhere to be.”

Sam paused for a moment. But he snickered with his brother about how skittish his angel suddenly was before excusing himself to the bathroom.

He actually ended up in his bedroom, which was still decorated with the stuff Gabriel put up on the first. There was also a suspiciously familiar wooden Christmas tree in the corner that came up to his knee.

“Looking for something, Samsquatch?” Gabriel was lounging on Sam’s bed with a Christmas catalogue.

“I might be.” Sam chuckled. He walked over and nudged the book in Gabriel’s hand. “Come on, lay it on me already.”

The angel grinned, resting the book against his chin with a coy gaze. He snapped his fingers though, and the tree was practically on top of his foot. “Well, if you’re gonna be impatient.”

Sam gave him a suspicious glance before kneeling to examine the tree. He had to admit it was a bit easier to look around the thing now that he could see the numbers properly.

The number ‘10’ was on another ornament, and the piece of paper came away easily when the pin was pulled.

“Angel.” The word was barely out of his mouth when he felt the air shift, and before he could move, six brightly feathered wings wrapped themselves around him and yanked him backwards.

The others didn’t even have the decency to send a search party when he started cackling.

--Day 14--

The hunter family returned to the bunker in kind of a storm. Doors were slammed, everyone was separated, and the whole building was silent. Castiel had said a witch was to blame. Some kind of truth curse. Things were said; secrets revealed. The brothers, especially, were hurt the most.

“Hey, Sam.” Gabriel tested his normal tone, but he knew better than to yell.

“Leave me alone, Gabriel. Not in the mood.”

Gabriel hummed, stepping closer to the bed and sinking down beside him. “Listen, um…Today—”

“Look, I know you want to do your present thing before midnight. I’m not up for any dumb games, alright?!”

“I know…” He hesitated to touch him, but he rested  a hand on his shoulder. “That’s why I changed today.”

He snapped his fingers—quietly, somehow—and instead of the tree, Sam only felt a card slipping between his fingers. He growled to himself, but it was already here, so…

“Cuddle…?” Sam glanced over at the angel, and Gabriel shrunk just a bit.

“I, um… It’s up to you, obviously. If you really want to be left alone, I’ll go help with dinner. But, y’know… I’m here. Free hugs and all.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, and he eventually curled up and sighed, reaching to take Gabriel’s hand. “Stay with me?”

Gabriel stayed, squeezing his hand tightly.

Apologies were reluctant and bitter sounding, but the brothers were civil and calm at dinner.

--Day 15--

“Mistletoe…” Sam had woken up to the card taped to his hand. And also a weird headband on his head. A bit of wire dangled a very fake piece of mistletoe right in front of his face.

He’d definitely expected today to be embarrassing with that kind of setup, but now…

He couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or amused.

“I’m still pretty certain that mistletoe is supposed to be red.” Dean commented with half a grin as he flicked the wire on Sam’s head. This was not the first time he’d brought it up today.

“It’s white.” Sam chuckled, not really looking up from his book this time.

“All those dumb little hats we found back in the day always had red sprigs on them.”

“Holly berries are red.” Kevin called as he grabbed something from the cabinet and ran off. “Mistletoe is white.” In place of a kiss, he tapped his forehead on Sam’s shoulder as he passed.

“Honestly, Winchester, you think the Angel of Christmas wouldn’t know the difference?” Gabriel asked playfully, stepping up from behind Sam and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been full of it.”  

Gabriel gasped, feigning offense, and they proceeded to argue.

Sam just shook his head and smiled to himself.

--Day 19--

“Any word from Garth about the Christmas tree?” Charlie asked softly, watching Dean pace again.

Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing. He said something about being busy in town lately, and I’ve barely heard from him at all besides check-ins.”

Sam sat nearby, keeping his mouth shut.

Earlier, in his room, he’d been met with a tree that now came just under his chin and distinctly smelled of very alive pine despite still looking like a wooden figurine. Gabriel looked very proud of himself and simply motioned for Sam to take his pick.

19 was up toward the top of the tree. A little door opened, and a folded index card practically jumped out as it was freed from the pressure.  The first thing he got upon opening the folds was a burst of confetti in his face. The second thing was an…ache? Something in his head. Like a button press. Like a…switch. And the paper:

“Really?” Sam huffed, a grin on his face as he glanced at Gabriel leaning on his arm.

“Have fun~”

The paper vanished from his hands, and left behind an itch in his fingers. Gabriel, a coward, made himself scarce at the same time.

Back to the living room, around an hour afterward, and Sam was watching Dean and Charlie’s conversation over the edge of his tablet from across the room.

There’s a trick to catching prey, after all. And, also, for waiting out stupid prank curses.

Both come down to opportunity. Or lack thereof.

He had gotten here first in an effort—a hope, maybe—to keep everyone else away from him.

…Buuut, he also could have gone to one of the libraries. No one usually went there.

Dammit Gabriel.

In the middle of this thought, something spiked. Sam tapped his foot, trying to focus on keeping the energy down.

“Sam?” He flinched when he heard Castiel’s voice, and the angel eyed him curiously, having appeared right next to the chair. “Are you alright? You seem…different?”

Sam had looked up at him, and Cas squinted at him as he took half a step back.

“Cas, would you be able to drop in on Garth for us?” Charlie called excitedly, crossing the room at a jog.

Sam tensed, and Cas took his eyes off him for a second too long.

“Wait—” The angel had begun, only for Sam to spring out of the chair and wrap his arms around him. Before anyone could say anything, Castiel broke into loud laughter while Sam’s fingers scribbled under his coat.

“Sam?!” Dean called, chuckling as he stepped closer.

“Stay back!” Sam insisted, despite grinning himself and making quite an effort to wrestle the angel down. “I’m not—Gabriel did this!”

“H-He’s possessed!” Castiel supplied, voice giving way to cackles when Sam dug into his stomach and followed his squirming.

“Should we be worried?” Charlie snickered, stepping back when Sam took a step toward them.

“Please. Mojo or not, I can take Sammy, easy.” Dean snorted, cracking his knuckles as he decided he simply had to save his angel. Not to mention see if he knew how to drive out this so called “possession”:

A Tickle Monster.

Gabriel would.

--Day 23--

“I hate you so much right now.” Sam snickered. The card he’d found today naturally had only one word. And it was “Sweater”.

Gabriel had stuck him in something that felt less like a sweater and more like he’d been lost in the Christmas decorations for 20 years. The sweater was bright reds, silvers, and greens, and fluffy like tinsel. Lights—yes, a string of lights—crisscrossed between the stitches, and each bulb blinked out of sync with every other. There were ornaments hooked all over him and a star stuck firmly on his chest.

“You look adorable, Sammy!” Gabriel said simply, conjuring his own sweater that was equally ugly, but nowhere near as embarrassing.

Sam stuck his tongue out and pouted, allowing Gabriel to push him out by the shoulders.

He commiserated with Castiel in the living room while everyone else was picking the first movie of the day.

He also didn’t see the fun in purposefully wearing the worst sweater imaginable…

But the puppy sweater did suit him somehow.

--Day 24--

“Only one more sleep ‘til Christmas!” Gabriel laughed, throwing himself into Sam’s arms and hugging him tight. Sam chuckled softly and buried his face into his angel’s neck.

“So, do I actually get a present tomorrow, or was this little project of yours the gift?”

Gabriel scoffed, almost leaning away from him. “You really are greedy, aren’t you?” He teased. “Maybe this might be just what you need~”

A card appeared with a flair of Gabriel’s hand, but he hesitated to hand it over.

“Y’know, I have been wondering.” Sam hummed, playfully grabbing at the card as Gabriel dodged him. “I haven’t seen the actual tree in a while, have I?”

“You might see it.” Gabriel hummed, squeaking when the card was snatched from his fingers. He smiled warily as Sam’s face fell at the sight of the card: “All Out”

“Gabriel…” His voice came like a warning. That could mean a few things, after all.

“Yeah… Remember how we had that cuddle session when you were feeling down?” The angel explained. He snapped his fingers as he did, and Sam found himself unable to control himself. He sat down on the bed, and Gabriel followed him as his arms shifted him backwards up to the pillows. “I swapped the cards around since you needed that break early.”

Sam shivered nervously as Gabriel perched on his lap, and he was allowed to move his head to watch Gabriel summon handfuls of feathers and brushes to sort through.

“Unfortunately for you, that was the only break I planned.” He snickered, leaning close to peck his nose. The air shifted as his wings suddenly filled the space. “Good News, though, you’ definitely be tired when we’re done.”

--Day 25--

True to Gabriel’s promise, Sam slept like the dead that night. Awareness returned to him in the form of gentle jingle bells and the soft blinking of the lights around his room. The jingling came from a cute little Christmas clock on his bedside table, and it disappeared with a jangly noise when Sam reached for it.

He chuckled to himself and moved to sit up when he heard something crinkle.

A paper star, with all the awkward creases and imperfections of actually being folded by hand, had been set on his chest, and the number ’25’ was written on it in bold red sharpie. He handled it gently, afraid to crush it the wrong way; he found a gap that he could pull without risking tears, and it led to the star unfolding into a big square card.

“Christmas”

Sam smiled, forcing himself out of bed. His body still ached a little from their little session the night before, even though Gabriel “went easy” on him after an hour. A blatant lie, considering the phantom tingles he could still feel across his stomach.

The hallway was still quiet; it was around seven in the morning, but Sam could barely hear things clinking in the kitchen as he started to pass it.

“Sam?��� That was Gabriel’s voice. “Hey, wait—”

Sam had sped up a little just to tease him, but he found himself pausing as he came to the common area.

Right against the staircase—practically making it inaccessible with the way it poked through the railings—stood a massive Christmas tree. There were dozens of different ornaments, lights of every color, and pieces of candy and chocolate bars wrapped around the branches on long strings.

“Hey, big guy!” Garth said brightly, looking up from where he was sorting the presents by name and stacking them into shapes. He stepped over the little toy train that was lapping the present pile to give Sam a hug. “I’ve missed you guys so much!”

Sam would never get used to the werewolf strength, but he hugged him back as tight as he could. “You told us you were busy!”

“Uh, yeah, he told you guys he was busy.” Gabriel stepped up beside him with a grin, and Benny followed behind him while licking strawberry jam off his fingers.

“Are you serious?” Sam laughed in disbelief. “This whole time, you—”

“It’s shockingly easy to fake some calls and emails to and from hardware stores, Sam. You underestimate me.”

“A tree that fills up the staircase… Y’know, I had a feeling at the beginning, but it looks better than I thought it would.”

“Aw, stop…” Gabriel practically glowed under the praise. “Let’s not keep everyone else in the dark, then. We need everyone up if we’re doing presents before breakfast!”

“You’d better rush them anyway.” Benny huffed with a smirk. “Those tarts don’t need that long to bake.”

Garth and Gabriel disappeared in their own ways, and it wouldn’t be long before the room was filled with noise as everyone was brought in.

Sam sat on the couch and just stared up at the tree for the length of the quiet. He breathed in the scent of the pine, and on the bright yellow star at the top, he could see the number 25 whenever the light blinked.

#supernatural #squealing santa #sam winchester #dean winchester #gabriel #castiel #squealing santa 2k22 #tickling #a panda writes a thing

[bubblydalya]

Chapter 4 - strange behavior

Memories

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2010 - Dalia - 10 years

I was sitting in a chair, my hands and legs were tightly tied up. I didn't know what was happening at the time, they injected some shiny blue liquid into my body and that's how it started....the Mutation.

It hurt's at first but by the time you get used to it, if it's not really a big physical change, it doesn't hurt much.but I was still a kid, my body was....so little and weak

"What did you do to me?!"

I shouted, not knowing why am I tied up to a chair, plus they put something into me something that's starting to feel like a fire under my skin.

"Don't worry little one, it's just a little medicine, you will be better in a moment"

I started to tear up crocodile tears and then I blacked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Now

' ... it's a warning. '

Since the incident with Lex, we haven't spoke to each other (if it wasn't something serious). Not that I care that much, I have better things to do....

Like finding out what's going on with Willow and why is Jasper so distance from me?

Willow came back from somewhere and he's like a whole new person, he was mostly kind person, talkative and caring.

Now, he is strange... I must say, he became cold to EVERYONE, even dr. Reese. That Mother fucker had a CRUSH on her! I tried to talk to him, but he wont even respond! I even tried to push his buttons but nothing happed.

His physical appearance changed too, not that much, but the little details..

He has dark circles under eyes, his veins are darker like he has frickin' dark blood or something, and every night he's going to the laboratory under school.

I at least got it together with Jasper, I think...

"Jasper, please open the door!"

I whispered/shouted, knocking on the door. "Please, I have to talk to you about Willow!" When I mentioned him she finally opened the door. "Dalia! What the hell do you want?" Jas. said still half sleeping. She eventually let me in after I told her my suspicions about Willows behavior.

We talked, almost all night, and not just one. We gathered all info about Willows strange behavior and new routine. This whole situation made us bond. Although I don't say it much....ever, I wouldn't know waht to do without her, she's my best and only friend in this miserable place.

Now we have a day-off school and laboratory things (dr. Reese suggested it to other Doctors to increase good mood, and they agreed) so we now hang out somewhere out off their sight planning what should we do about Willow, it has been over a month since we started to ehm take a closer look at his routine...

YES we were stalking him.. a little, for good cause of course!

We were talking behind a building where are our rooms.

"You know we can't stalk him from afar forever, we have to investigate further."

"I know Jas, but how? There are cameras everywhere!" I replied frustrated. Both of was were thinking for a couple of minutes then Jasper got an idea 💡.

"How about we knock down some doctor, I shapeshift to look like the doc and go after Willow?" "Hm...it would be difficult to find the right doctor that would go to same destination as Willow. And still it would be hard to be unseen by a camera. We know that at some time he goes to a lab and is there all night, they are gonna make me go to a lab tomorrow.. I could try to not black - out, sneak somehow out and hide until is Willows time to go to lab.... How does that sounds?"

Jasper took my idea in for a few seconds and answered: " You know.. it's extremely risky to do that?"

"Yep"

"You would be punished" Jas stammered out.

"Uhuh"

.

.

.

.

"Still wiling to do it" I mocked her with a smile on my face leaning closer to her. She just went from worried to annoyed.

" Are you clinically insane or incredibly annoying?"

"Don't know, probably both" I just smirked at her rolling eyes. Then in the evening we went to our rooms, Lex was already there. We still didn't talk, only when we needed to.

Now I'm after shower doing my routine in my pajama pants and bra, when I heard a knock on the bathroom door.

"What is it?" I responded loudly for Lex to hear me. Then I come out the bathroom to be greeted by Jasper in front of me ( and Lex on her bed sharpening her katana)

"Hey Jas what's going on?"

"I a..... Am I disturbing... something?"

I glanced at her confused, then it kinda hit me..... I'm only in my bra and pajama pants.

"No, not at all, I was just goin' out of the shower. Why are you here, I thought we discussed everything."

Jasper's face look so red, is she sick??

"I just wanted to do a recap.. but I think we got e-everything sorted. I should go now-"

Then we just stared to each others eyes, until Lex did that weird "uhm" 'cough'.

Our gaze went to her, she just gave me a look to eather go out the room with Jasper or that J. should go herself.

I just rolled my eyes at her and she escorted Jasper out the room.

" You can tell me that before breakfast, after that they're gonna escort me into lab-" she looked like she zoned out so I snapped my fingers in front of her eyes.

She blinked and.... Blushed???

"- you good??"

"Yea, I just.. um..you never had let me see you without a shirt so I was taken back my your fit posture, it's kinda hot ngl"

She mumbled the last part, but I still heard her. "I'll take that as a compliment then" Then she gave me that warm smile that even sun can't match. "You should"

I chuckled at her response "thanks" I smiled back "Bye tomorrow" "Bye"

I closed the door, wanted to go back to bathtoom, but Lex's word's stopped me.

"She seems to like you"

I raised an eyebrow while looking at her.

"What do you mean by that? And since when you decided to talk to me? She calmly put down her katana to it's place next to her bed. "I'm symply saying that she seems to like you and I talked to you when it was needed, so I don't know what's the problem"

"The problem is that I know nothing about you, you're my fuckin roomate, we share this room- this is our home."

"You call this place home?"

My offended ass came closer to her complaining "Hey! I had put ALOT of effort into this room, I practicality build it!"

There was a silence after my little speech. Lex was looking kinda confused about what I said...and then she replied with:

"I meant this whole place, they are keeping us in here making experiments on us, don't you understand? This place is not home, home is with your family not with doctors and guards."

My expression changed from offended to pale and maybe a little sad, but only a little.

"The only person that I got is Jasper, my friend. I have no family out there-"

"-don't bring this up again"

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #angry #fight for love #friends to lovers #masky and hoody #slenderman #ticci toby #woods #experimental #friends #our flag means death #t t #0036mark #writing #writers block #writeblr #story #tumbrl #its a hassle #love #love eyes lester