#Blazer with inner jacket

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[lacy-oh-lacy]

*cough* agatha with a controversially young lover *cough*

✧₊⁺ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟

𝐀/𝐍: I'm combining this with another request for Agatha and a virgin reader because it seemed like a very natural fit. I hope that's okay.

𝐂𝐖: Age gap (reader's in their 20s), Virgin!Reader, Dom!Agatha, Oral (Agatha receiving), fingering, accidental exposure, slightly mean domming

Agatha called you out for eyefucking her the first time you met. Reveling in the flustered panic that followed.

“What? No, no, I um- I didn't mean to-”

“Oh, relax twerp, it takes more than a horny Zoomer to make me clutch my pearls.”

As unimpressed as she seemed with you though, that wasn't the last time she sought you out.

Because apparently, despite your age you made the best potions of anyone in the state, and her need for one drove her right up the grungy stairwell to your apartment.

Dressed to the nines in her expensive blazer and fancy updo, she looked almost comical outside your door, glaring through the threshold. “I'm here for the potion.”

“Shhh.” You ushered her inside, glancing over your shoulder. “My roommates don't know… about my extracurriculars.”

“Of course you have roommates.”

Of course that was the only part of your statement she addressed.

“It’s finished, come in.”

She followed you to your bedroom, a sad little thing, half taken up by your desk alone.

Your college textbooks were pushed precariously to the side to make way for your supplies, from which you plucked a vial and handed it to her.

“Here you go.”

Agatha held it to the light, examining the dark liquid inside with something like approval sparkling in her eyes… At least until you opened your mouth.

“That'll be 500 dollars.” You said, wincing as her inspecting gaze turned to wide, fiery eyes. “...Mam.”

“500 dollars? Are you joking?”

“Sorry. College is expensive.”

You wisely didn't mention that most of your customers were a lot less magically experienced than her and easier to gouge.

“I didn't even bring 500 dollars.”

You sighed. You could -as was evident- really use the money but you weren't going to pick a fight with The Agatha Harkness over it, that was for sure.

“Fine. 100.”

She huffed but reached into a pocket and handed you the bill.

“Great. Just great. Ya know, if you think I'm wound tight now you should see me on a budget.”

“Uh huh.” You couldn't muster sympathy for her if you tried, you doubted you could even brew a potion to. “I'd think at your level you could just magic-up whatever you want... I'm not even sure why you need me.”

Nerve struck, her only reply was a withering glare as she tucked the potion away in an inner pocket of her jacket.

Talking just to fill the silence, shooting your shot because you figured you weren't going to make her any more pissed off, you continued,

“If stress relief is what you're after there are other ways. Free ones.”

You didn't know if she'd catch your meaning, you thought it might be better if she didn't, but oh, she did.

Suddenly, you were the center of Agatha Harkness’ attention, a gleam in her eye and a smirk twisting her face.

“You offering one?”

Your stomach lurched. Did that actually work?

You clawed inwards for any shreds of confidence, enough to get out, “I, well, I could be-”

“That what the discount was for? You wanted a different kind of payment?”

And that threw you off completely.

“What? No, no I-”

“Careful.” She teased. “A sweet little thing like you really shouldn't be offering up what you're not willing to part with.”

She was fucking with you.

And you stumbled right into her trap with no thoughts of getting out.

“I'm not, I mean, I am, I'm willing, if you…”

As much as she clearly enjoyed chewing on your embarrassment, you could tell her patience was thinning by the straining look on her face. She wasn't going to stand there all day waiting for you to get a sentence out.

Fuck it.

Agatha Harkness respects bravery you rationalized, seconds before your lips hit hers.

The terror of free-falling only faded as her lips pushed back against your own, returning your kiss with one more domineering, more violent. So heated your brain was almost melting.

Agatha pulled back, but with swelling lips you hardly felt the difference.

“You sure you know what you're getting yourself into?”

You nodded dumbly, “I’m really into you.”

“Oh, I know you are, Hon, that's not what I'm asking.” Her tone was dark and steady, as soft as a caress. “Do you honestly think you can handle me?”

You swallowed, eyes locked on hers against every instinct to avert them.

“I-I’ll try my best.”

She laughed, a breathy kind of cackle that left a wicked grin on her face.

“Prove it.”

Her hands on your shoulders turned heavy and almost thoughtlessly you sank to your knees under their strength.

“You want me to…?”

She gave you that same look again, like she was waiting for you to catch up and running low on patience.

“Okay… wow, um…”

Your hands, so steady and precise an hour ago while you worked, shook as you reached for Agatha's zipper.

This couldn't have been real, you waited with bated breath for her to slap your hands away.

For someone to jump out of your closet laughing.

For her to pull out a dagger and slit your throat in some kind of virgin sacrifice ritual, because, hey, what was more likely, Agatha Harkness fucking you or killing you?

But her zipper went down, and with a huff Agatha pushed her pants and panties down right along with it.

Holy fuck.

You nearly moaned at the sight of the most perfect cunt you had ever seen in your life. Which was redundant, but it was the only thought your fritzed, virgin brain would supply.

But with white-hot lust came a knot in your stomach as it dawned on you that hundreds of years of experience was staring you down.

How could you possibly live up to that? Be adequate even?

“This is where you lick it.”

You startled at her gravelly voice.

Right. Try now, wallow in your inevitable failure later.

“Should we lock the door first?” you asked, glancing at your crudely installed cheap lock.

“I don't know, should we?” She asked rhetorically, looking like she was seconds away from pushing your head where she wanted it herself.

“Right, nevermind.”

You dove forward, licking straight up her slit and earning a catch in the older woman's breath.

Was she surprised? Expecting you to back out just as much as you expected her to?

Wetness gathered on your tongue, a taste of pure sex that made your head spin. You heard yourself moan. Go figure you’d be the first one to.

You lapped greedily at her cunt, a sloppy exploration that you could've spent an eternity on, but Agatha wasn't having that.

“More.” She exclaimed, halfway between a moan and a growl.

You weren't too inexperienced to know what that meant.

You dragged your tongue up and prodded around for her clit, barely making out the little bud.

Okay. Now what?

You wracked your brain for sex tips. The alphabet trick? Did that even work in real life?

Testing the waters, you used your tongue to spell out your name on her clit, and in a flood of relief and liquid heat you heard a breathy, little moan above you.

Her bundle of nerves swelled under your tongue, hardening into something defined, something easy to play with.

“Oh! That's it! That's a good girl.”

God, she was gonna make you cum on the spot talking like that.

Lust caving in your brain, your licks dissolved to messy, thoughtless circles and crosses. Not that Agatha seemed to mind.

You glanced up at her with hazy vision. Her arm was pressed to her forehead, fist closed as tightly as her eyes. She was already so close.

Possessed by a desperate need to give her that final push over the edge you brought your fingers to her pussy, sliding two inside of her in a gentle thrust.

Agatha moaned through gritted teeth, clenching hard around you while you curled inside her, grazing her g-spot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Saliva and Agatha’s own wetness dripped down her legs, down your hand, down your chin. She trembled beneath you, breath hitching and coming back a choked sob.

Violent flutters errupted beneath your tongue and around your fingers, but you didn't dare ease up without her command, you didn't until she broke off panting.

“Easy, Tiger, what are you doing? Going for two?” She all but gasped out.

“Sorry.” You said, no more composed yourself. “So, um, was that okay?”

She laughed, “yeah, you did good.” As if remembering that she was the wicked witch of Westview she twisted her features into something meaner. “But don't get too cocky, it's been a long time for me.”

Before you could be proud of the praise or offended by it being cut down you jolted -nearly out of your skin- with the click of your door opening.

“Woah! Ever heard of a sock on the door?”

Oh fuck.

You couldn't even look at your roommate. Wide, apologetic eyes on a groaning Agatha pulling her pants up. Annoyed but not quite embarrassed about this stranger getting an eyeful of her ass.

With her own scolding gaze burning into yours you could only cringe deeply, watching as any chance of Agatha returning the favor faded into the abyss.

“I gotta say, I think this warrants a refund.”

[joocomics]

inspired by this look

18+ mdni

for a few hours of the night he was just the guy who crashed your birthday party…

you learn his name is yangyang. nice build, impressive hairstyle, enticing smile and even more captivating voice. even in this overcrowded stuffy club with blasting music you feel shivers on your skin just from the way his voice sounds close to your earlobe, you can only imagine the effects it will have if you go outside where it’s quiet.

he narrows his lips to your ear, wishing you happy birthday and to apologise for coming like this, but your mutual friend insisted that he joins the party, and you assure him that you’re happy to meet him.

you’re both sober in comparison to most of your friends. you’re not a big drinker while yangyang on the other hand had one drink so far and probably feels uncomfortable to order more because he wasn’t invited in the first place.

“what was the best gift you received for your birthday?” he asks in the middle of your conversation.

“money.” you reply with a hand on his shoulder.

his appeares on your thigh and your eyes smile as if they’ve been waiting all night to see it there. his fingers caress your bare skin and when his gaze captures yours the lustful sparks he sees tell him everything he needs to know.

your dazed eyes still hold the same glow as he thrusts into you, pushing himself as deeply as possible, causing your arousal to drip down your inner thighs. his fingers grip your jaw in order to maintain the eye contact at all times while his cock bumps against the desired spot. he loves how you flutter weakly with curled lashes, trying so hard to keep blinking; how your red eyes beg for more; and last but not least, the washed off look that’s contorting your pretty face.

the sounds echo in the bathroom. lewd and alluring to anyone who may walk in and hear some of them seep through the door of the miniature cabin you’re in. if that happens, you wouldn’t mind it. he sounds so hot and it’s all because of you.

“no, gorgeous, look at me.” yangyang utters. his voice is breathy, a bit tense from the rush, as he keeps your body steady in the small space. “keep those pretty eyes open for me, baby, i want to see you.”

it doesn’t take long for you to cum around him after hearing that. with a voice like his it’s impossible for your body not to react.

yangyang swallows your pleasant sounds by smashing his lips onto yours, colouring them with your sweet lipstick. his cock twitches one last time against your sensitive walls just before he drags it out. turn around for me birthday girl, he says.

you feel the presence of his hand on your lower back as he grips the fabric of your dress with his fist. all you can think about in those few seconds he’s jerking off is how you don’t want this to be the last time you hear him like this.

“fuck—“ his fingertips tighten intensely as he’s seconds away from spilling all over your ass.

one last groan spreads in the air until all you can hear is his panting heating up your skin even more as he leaves lazy kisses on your neck.

after you clean yourself up with tissues you notice your reflection. apart from your flushed lightheaded face, your dress has visible stains and messy spots where yangyang’s hands have been.

he takes off his black blazer jacket and helps you out putting it on. it’s much bigger on you and it perfectly hides your ruined dress.

nobody will be able to tell what you and yangyang did after you walk out the bathroom. you will go back to your seat, pretending you spilled your drink by being clumsy and yangyang was nice enough to help you cover it up. except, it’s written all over your face, and they will.

they will also see that you leave the club together.

[kentosbabes]

Jealous Nanami!

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ Rating: Mature Word count: 1,346 words Content: You go out with some friends and Nanami gets a little jealous after seeing you with a male co-worker who liked you. v smutty near the end <;33

Although he would hate to admit it to you, Nanami can get absurdly jealous when it comes to matters of the heart. He isn’t a particularly controlling person nor a possessive one, however when it comes to you? He becomes a different man.

You go out with some colleagues and friends, texting him the night of to make sure he doesn't get worried about coming home to an empty apartment. He tells you to have fun and enjoy yourself. However, you sent him a picture of yourself, a beautiful short dress, amazing hair and makeup and strappy heels to finish off. He was astounded, texting you about how amazing you looked and how he was upset he wouldn't be there to see the look.

You ask him to pick you up as your friend who drove there drank and you didn't feel comfortable driving her car as you drank as well. He quickly responds telling you that he's on his way.

You step back into the bar, swaying your hips to the music playing and are dragged to the dance floor by your work colleague. One of your more handsy co-workers grabs your waist and pushes the hair out of your face. You feel uncomfortable and but the booze and atmosphere are making everything feel hazy. He leans in to ask you for a smoke but you tell him that you don't smoke, he nods and follows up asking whether you would want to step outside.

You reason that you need to call Nanami and see where he's at anyways so you agree, stepping back out it is noticeably cooler and your co-worker noticed you shiver, he places his blazer on your shoulder and you murmur thanks.

You call up Nanami and he tells you that he's just arrived, but what greets him is you in another man's jacket. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath and walked towards you. You smile, excited that he's here, and ran up to greet him but the tension that you could feel from him was suffocating. He gives you a strained smile, one that is reserved for people annoying him and awkward situations. You can only hope that it's neither and he has just had a tough day at work.

He grunts a greeting to your co-worker and holds out his hand expectantly. You smile pleasantly at your colleague, thanking him again for the jacket and handing it back. You both make your way to Nanami's car, and your attempts at small talk are halted by the sheer silence he was exhibiting. He, ever the gentleman, opened the door for you and put your bag in the trunk. He looked over at you, and you finally ask him what was up with his attitude.

He gave you a sneer and drawled, "I knew that fucker liked you from the moment I met him last year." Nanami never used profanities so hearing him say the word "fuckers" was jarring, to say the least. You looked up at him, confused as to where this was coming from and when you voiced this, he only responded with, "You should've seen the look he was giving you doll, it was like he wanted to fuck you right then and there."

You stutter out, "n-no, we just work together." as if the idea was unfathomable. like someone would want to do you apart from Nanami. "Although," she paused. "He was acting super weird when we were all dancing." His hands travelled from the steering wheel to your inner thigh, "what do you mean weird?" it was strange, his voice usually so monotone and calm was tense and his hand on your thigh stilled.

You begin to explain why you felt weird with your co-worker's energy, Nanami getting increasingly more stoic, "well, did you like it?" he finally says. "Like what?" "His hands all over you." You roll your eyes, looking out of the parked car's window "Obviously not, I can't believe I would have to say this. Nanami, you are mine, my boyfriend."

Nanami makes eye contact with you and moves his hand further up your thigh, his fingers feeling the fabric of her lacy underwear. He presses down on the wet patch that was forming, "I'm yours? Good, it's not like he would be able to touch you like this." You let out a whine, as he starts to draw circles with your clit, "Never, he could never, please, please Nanami."

"Please who?"

"Please sir," your hips begin to jut into his palm, wanting more friction, more of him, more of this. Pulling your panties to the side he starts to insert his fingers in you, starting out slow, the pace staying rhythmic, but becoming faster and harder. "m' coming, N-Nanami m' coming," he suddenly stops the onslaught of pleasure, leaving you feeling empty and needy. "Fuck, why'd you stop?"

"You need to watch your mouth darlin' and it's not Nanami tonight, is it?" "Sorry, sir. Just, please. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" He unbuckles his belt and unzips his bespoke suit trousers. You smile and watch as the tent unfolded in his pants and you could see him, all of him.

You never get tired of seeing his dick, you move your head towards the member and open your mouth letting your tongue give him kitty licks underneath. You are instantly rewarded by his groans of approval, his head falling back and his eyes closing in pleasure. As you moved your head up and down his length, he tucked your hair behind your ears and tangled his hands in your hair.

Nanami decided that you deserved a reward whilst you gave him head, he reached across your body and seat to get to your panties, he pulled them down and started to rub you.

He loved your mouth but what he loved more was your pussy, he didn't want to come in your mouth, well not today at least. he wanted to come in you. tugging your hair lightly, he used one hand to lift your chin up, wiping the saliva off your face with his large hand. "You have been such a good girl, but I need one more thing, can you do that for me?" "Yes sir," you nod "anything."

He pulled you over one-handed and before you have the chance to think about how very strong he is, you find yourself rubbing against his dick. You whimper as he pushes into you, feeling pain and pleasure entwined, he let you set the pace, allowing you to get adjusted to his larger-than-average size, and you were rewarded with further groans of pure bliss escaping his lips.

You grew weaker as your climax was building, he took control. Your body was getting more sensitive as Nanami continued to thrust, it felt like you'd cum again and again, and you wrapped your legs around his waist tighter- pulling him in deeper. he started to go after, leaning down and nuzzling you, kissing your neck. hips snapping upwards into you he ground his teeth into the over-sensitive neck of yours.

You cursed as you felt his large hands travel from your hair and waist to your abdomen to feel just how large he was in you, how much he was wrecking you, how full you were from him. "C'mon doll, you can do this."

"You're so pretty," he couldn't help but smile as you nuzzle against his hand as he cups your cheek, "you're gonna make me cum. want it inside?" You were too fucked out to even coherently respond so a simple nod worked for you. He moaned in your ear, warm air fanning your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Now that's a good girl, I get you all to myself whilst what's his name is fucking his fist in his bedroom to the idea of you"

You roll your eyes at your envious partner and lay your head to rest on his chest, "I needed that, thanks for the ride, pun intended." Nanami smirks, "alright, round two at home?"

Masterlist

[wutheringcaterpillar]

one shot request about the Tommy head canon where he gets jealous that the reader has imaginary friends? could be technically considered voyeurism because he makes the friends “watch”? thank youuu

Thank you for the request! Had a lot of fun with this one!

Warnings: daddy!kink, voyeurism (kinda), oral (f!receiving), p in v, fingering, pet names, jealous!Tommy, creampie, age gap (not specified)

The long day had come to a hault, Tommy’s mind spinning from all the business and finance bullshit that comes with the job. Now here he was a grown man that people found to be intimidating and powerful sitting on a small white cushioned chair, sipping tea out of a petite porcelain, pink pastel cup with his baby girl sitting across from him with her ribboned pigtails, looking adorable as always.

She was always a fragile, bashful little thing but loved Tommy for whom he was.

His typically frigid, void heart warmed immensely whenever he was in the presence of his little girl. She was his soft spot, and smelt of daydreams and berries, completely enchanting and he would go to the end of the earth to protect you from any harm.

Folding your legs, flashing your baby blue knee socks, a sliver of your thigh was exposed, causing Tommy to shift in his seat, readjusting himself.

“How was your day my love?” His large, older calloused hand brushed over yours, squeezing it gently and caringly.

“Missed you, I’ve been stuck with Alfred all day, the rest of my friends left to go color without me. He says he thinks I have a pretty smile, and that I’m far too cute be coloring alone.”

Tommy’s top lip quirked up, slightly annoyed by Alfred’s confidence of saying such an inappropriate compliment to his girl. Glancing at the empty chair, Tommy set the cup down onto it’s plastic decorated plate, raising his eyebrows with a fierce hint of jealousy glowing in his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Is that so Alfred, eh?” 

Standing up and removing his jacket, the heat built in between your thighs, warming your insides when he revealed revealed his long white shirt and blazer with the dazzling gold chain wrapped subtly around his bicep.

Kicking the chair to face the bed, you fiddled with your thumbs anxiously, knowing what this would lead to.

Lifting you up from small pink seat, you gasped when his hands latched beneath your delicate thighs and carried you over to the bed, plopping you down making your small butt bounce on the mattress. 

“I think Alfred needs to learn his place, don’t you darling?” Biting down on your bottom lip, you nodded as Tommy swung open your legs effortlessly, revealing the visible wet spot, painting your pink frilled panties.

Your cheeks burned a rosy shade of pink, gasping when you heard the sound of your panties ripping in half followed by the smooth exterior of his tongue lapping, delectably between your soaked folds.

Smooching seductive kisses into your desperate mound.

His sapphire eyes glanced up, connecting with yours. Seeing your chest rising and falling slowly, lips parted in pure ecstasy always sent shivers up your spine, you were wonderous, perfect in every way.

His digits skimmed at the your tight slippery opening, breathing in the fumes of your freshly shaved, showered heat. The tips of his fingers entering and exiting you playfully.

His princess was always so impatient, so desperate for his cock when they were alone.

 “Daddy, please…More.” You whined, fists curling in the sheets while his plump, velvet lips sucked at your throbbing clit, one finger pumping in and out of your warmth.

Smirking, he stood back up, flipping you over onto your tummy before you heard the movement of his zipper, feeling his cock pop out slapping against your inner thigh spontaneously.

Pulling your tender cheeks apart he examined how your sweet slick was dripping from your antsy cunt, making a wet spot form on the bed.

“Eh, see that Alfred? Something you’re never gonna get. My pretty pussy, isn’t that right sweetheart?” 

“Yes, yes! All yours, only yours daddy!” Hearing the excitement, and the overwhelming tone of desperation was like music to Tommy’s ears. His precious little baby.

Lining his cock up, you felt the large tip swipe over your gaping hole with precum, causing your body to grind down, needing him to stuff you full and fuck you hard.

“Patience, princess.” His hand combed through the strands of your hair, pulling your head back by the baby blue bows of your pigtails, causing you to release a loud, lustful whine.

Planting a passionate kiss to your neck, making you moan in pleasure, he dipped his cock in. The sudden feeling of being so full nearly taking the breath out of your little lungs.

“Dadddyyyy….” Such a beautiful serenade your voice was. He started at a slow pace wanting to take his time with his princess. The soft fabric of your knee socks grazed against his thighs, making Tommy all the more eager to pick up the pace, but he wanted to see his baby girl ride him, wanted to see a full view of your pussy devouring his cock so well.

“Bounce back baby. Wanna see that little ass clap against me.” He striked your bare cheek, a bright red handprint forming immediately, marking his territory

Without needing any guidance, your hips rolled back, the head of his thick shaft stuffing your little pussy full without any shame.

Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the fluffy bedding, focusing on the sound of his deep, growling moans. Feeling the way his hands grazed seductively down your thighs, stopping at the fabric of your knee socks and picking you up slightly so he could slide in deeper, able to hit your cervix.

“Fuck! Daddy! Fe-feels so good mm..” Your words faltered from the enthralling, profound feeling of pleasure.

He fucked into his tight cunt, craving to please his baby girl and hear her screams, the screams he caused.

Turning your head, he forced you to look at the chair your friend sat in as he slammed into you relentlessly. Your tits bouncing against the soft padding of the mattress while you released whimsical, high pitched moans.

“Bet Alfred can’t make you feel this good can he sweetheart?” The thick shaft of his cock was overwhelmingly pleasurable, sliding in and out between your tight wet folds delectably. Your teeth bit down onto the plump bottom of your lip as he drilled into your tight cunt.

His balls slapped against your bare sex, when in one powerful thrust, waves of pleasure were building up your spine, making you whine out in ecstasy.

“Mm- ungh, no, no. Just you daddy!” Tears sprang at the brim of your eyelids from the overstimulation and the stuffed feeling of his cock throbbing in your cunt.

“Daddy, I-I’m going to cum, ca-can I-fuck! Can I please cum!” Tommy would always allow his darling dove to cum first as a gentleman should, you’ve earned it.

“Go on love, release.” The sizzling, euphoric sensation took over every detrimental part of your body. The rising pleasure settling like a pit of fiery, building euphoria as your aching walls squeezed his long, thick cock. Your flood gates budding open like a watered flower, oozing out onto Tommy’s shaft, your sweet nectar coating his unshaved mound white.

“I’m cumming, I-oh daddyy! Ohhh….” Tommy was seconds behind you, collapsing onto your back as he arched, bottoming out in you filling his little princess with his swimming seeds, releasing an exasperated, deep, groan, moaning out “Oh Baby..” In the process.

He lay there for a moment before pulling out and seeing his cream pie gushing out of your overstimulated cunt. Such a breathtaking sight.

Taking a seat on the bed beside you, when you goanced over at him he could see the tears from your dreary, tired eyes. Beads of sweat forming by your now messy hair.

“My little cry baby aren’t yuh, eh?” Tommy pulled you closer, his large calloused hands hovering over the little goosebumps on the smoothe skin of your arms, holding you warmly and close feeling your little heart thumping rapidly against him.

“I brought a gift along with me since you’re always such a good girl.” Your eyebrows suddenly perked up, wanting to lean over the bed and see but he stopped you. Patience and surprise being a thing he was still working on with you. Always such a eager girl you were.

Pulling out a stuffed pink rabbit, Tommy’s heart melted when he heard your little gasp of surprise. Instantly you grabbed hold of the fluffy stuffed toy, hugging it whole heartedly and adoringly.

“Oh daddy, I love it! I love you! How did you know?” Tommy wasn’t oblivious, he always paid close attention to things you stared at longingly out in public through store windows and that had been what you were eyeing for weeks now.

Shrugging, he walked over to your closet, picking out a frilly short, flowered dress that he hadn’t seen you in yet and tossed it on the bed along with a pair of white shoes.

“I love you more sweetheart. I know with work being busy we haven’t had many date nights and I insist on treating my princess to a night out.” A wide smiled spread across. Feeong from the bed you ran up to Tommy and he caught you in his arms, placing a giddy kiss to your delicate, inviting lips.

Upon getting ready, Tommy watched you adoringly in that short little dress twirl happily, and cutely in the mirror, grabbing the new bag he had bought you just last week.

“I think you scared Alfred away for good daddy. I hope you know I’ll only ever have eyes for my protector, my love.”

“Yeah fuck you Alfred.” Kicking the chair over, Tommy pulled you close to his side before spitting at the floor, making Alfred learn his place. Rendering the boy speechless as you watched him run out the door completely scarred making you giggle.

“What do you think love? Ready for dinner at the chateau?” You nodded gleefully, holding onto the older man’s arm in deep devotion as he guided you out to the car, ready to enjoy the rest of the night with his baby girl.

[irregularcollapse]

you’ve got this strange effect on me (and i like it)

a Buck/Bucky agent vs. assassin AU, heavily and blatantly inspired by Killing Eve

2.8k words | frottage, knifeplay, references to canonical character death and other killings

read on ao3 (or in full below)

It fits well. The fact of that has Gale grinding his molars into the raw inner flesh of his cheek, but it’s undeniable: it fits well. It fits well, which means that Gale has never worn a single piece of clothing in his entire life which was actually the right size. There’s copper on his tongue; he works his teeth until there is the slightest tag of meat between them, and keeps on grinding so his mouth is nothing but sting.

Gale looks at himself in the mirror, wearing a suit delivered to him by an internationally-wanted assassin-for-hire, and is consciously aware of the emptiness and heat cleaving out his gut.

He’s never had an occasion to wear a cummerbund, and likely never will, but the rise of it over his abdomen is secure in a familiar way: the posture that settles across his shoulders and down his spine carries the muscle-memory of wearing his holster. There hadn’t been a shirt wrapped with the suit in the luggage, and so Gale had foregone anything under the jacket, and seeing it now he thinks that’s the intention. It’s severed at the hem, shorter than a man’s blazer is supposed to be, grazing the line of where the cummerbund reaches over the waistband of the pants. When Gale turns in the mirror and cranes over his shoulder, the garments gape and his lower back is bared. He pauses. He swallows. Grinds out, “Get a grip” for no-one to hear but himself.

There are boots in the case as well, oil-shiny and sharp-toed with a heel height that forces a sound like tchah from Gale’s throat, a derisive “Jesus” and roll of his eyes. Hands curling with an urge for collision, he hooks the boots with rough fingers and tugs them on over his bulk-bought socks. The double stomp is to settle his heels, a louder burst of what’s tightening his tendons. The heat in his gut is an angry fizz now, and it’s spreading. Hands at hips, fingers drumming, Gale looks to the mirror again.

“Jesus,” he curses once more, glaring at himself fractionally taller and grossly flashy and draped in blood money. He sucks his teeth, and forces back the acrid taste seeping over his tongue. Curt’s dead, and Gale has this suit. He should wear it, when he wins the hunt. When he puts a goddamn bullet between the Major’s eyes.

Gale flexes his shoulders under the sharp lines of the jacket; none of the coil in his body loosens. His hip juts, pointed into his palm. The neckline of the blazer shifts, yawns over more of his skin. He chews at his cheek anew, and the lean of his hips leads him into turning again. It’s a marinated movement, this time.

The lifted heels of the boots have changed the angle of his body, the flow of the pants. Noticeably, they hug. The tailoring doesn’t feel tight, but the fabric is cupping him in a way none of his other pants do. Gale is staring at his own ass in the mirror, and his brain is only giving him one thought: “Huh.”

There’s a bubble sitting at his uvula where it could make him gag, which might be a laugh or a surge of vomit. Either way, it floods his mouth with saliva. His fingers run themselves over the fabric, the curve of himself, and what escapes his mouth isn’t laughter or bile, but a low hum with much too much air in it. Gale can feel his own pulse, throbbing in his neck and wetly in his chest. It fits well.

The Major never touched him. Never stood in close enough proximity to be able to, and certainly never measured him. Gale has never had a suit tailored, but there should be a process to it: measurements, and fittings, and adjustments. His hands smooth over the seams at his hips, sight tracking too as he traces the band of the cummerbund where it meets his own skin—a sway he hadn’t noticed before, a certain camber accentuated by the high rise and the crop of the jacket—and he feels the clothing caressing as closely and precisely as the Major’s eyes must have, for it to all fit this well. Gale licks his lips.

Nestled next to the tissue-wrapped suit was the velvet-lined box containing the aftershave that had been lab-tested for anything malicious and found to be innocuous: the feeling that Gale got when he even looked at the bottle couldn’t be blamed on any poison or drug or biochemical agent. He picks it up, uncaps the nozzle, and sprays a light mist of it over where his jugular is pulsing. One more, on the other side of his neck. He leaves the bottle on his nightstand, and breathes out slowly as he presses his wrists to the damp spots of fragrance. Cuff pulled back and inner arm presented, he inhales against his own skin. Smoky, thick with musk. Heady spice. Gale breathes in once more, slower. Deeper. A bright knife of citrus. His gut twists, and his lips part and drag as he breathes out. The coil is tighter; the urge is hotter. Gale lowers his arm, and clears his throat deliberately. It isn’t right.

He’s nervy, and all blood, and riddled with edges as he strides his way to the kitchen, not contemplating the decision as he takes the half-drunk bottle of wine from the fridge. Marge said she’d come by later in the week to polish it off, but he can always buy her another. If there was ever a time to drink, it’s when he doesn’t have control over what his brain’s doing anyway. He’s alone, no one to see it, and he can just tell Marge he put it in a meal. She won’t call him on it, despite intimate knowledge of his culinary failures.

The wine is dry, and crisp, and slakes some of Gale’s thirst on the first sip. He leans against the countertop, and takes another. His eyes are closed as he breathes through his nose, tries to savor it, tries to let it go down easily and do what it’s supposed to do to calm him, when a rough voice says, “You didn’t have to get dressed up for me, babydoll.” Gale’s eyes snap open.

The Major is standing in his kitchen, smiling crookedly. Gale throws the glass of wine at him.

“Hey,” the Major protests, sounding indignant more than anything, and the impromptu missile never connects because he slaps it out of the air—crack and smash as it hits the wall instead—but Gale has time to dart past him, toward the hallway, the coat rack by the doorway where his holster is hanging, improper storage but he’d been tired and irritated and wound up when he got home with the suitcase—

The hemline of his jacket jerks like a seat belt under his ribs, and the slick heels of his boots slip on the tiling, his feet scrabbling for purchase as he’s dragged back into the kitchen by an assertive hold. The Major has him leashed by the belt encircling the bottom of the blazer, and he’s cooing little shush noises as he reins Gale in, and for all Gale’s thrashing and flailing he still ends up thrown down onto his own kitchen floor.

Gale scrambles, boots scraping as they grind glass into the tiles, pants wet at the hip from the spilled wine, straining for a hold on the counter’s edge to drag himself to standing, launching himself toward the knife block—birthday present, “Maybe you’ll take better care of yourself with the right tools,” Marge had said—but barely has the chef’s knife in hand before his wrist is cuffed by an uncompromising grip and he’s spun, sick imitation of a dance, and pinned into the cabinets. The Major’s hips are an anchor against Gale’s own, and he slams Gale’s hand on the granite once, twice, a third time that makes his grip loosen and flex as the pain smarts, and it’s just as quick then that the point of the chef’s knife is pricking at the hollow of Gale’s throat. He stops moving, at that.

The Major’s still smiling. “You got me wet,” he says. His chest is heaving, just like Gale’s is, and his white t-shirt is blotched translucent with wine. The knife indents Gale’s skin; he can feel it in his collarbones.

“Do it,” Gale grunts. “Do it, because if you don’t, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“You won’t.”

“Give me back the knife, then.” The Major huffs a short laugh, and the tip of the knife twists and presses as he shifts his grip.

“You won’t,” he repeats. “You like me too much.” He leans in, heavy, hips grinding into Gale’s and the blade digging hard enough that it seems about to burst the skin. His lips are incongruously soft at Gale’s ear, brushing and breathing with delicacy. “I get you wet.”

Gale’s lungs wrench out a noise, rough with rage. “You killed Curt.” The image of it rises, dark and hazy, club lights through smoke: the way their bodies had been entwined. The way the Major had held Curt close, as he drove the knife in. The way Curt had shuddered and it looked to Gale a lot like pleasure.

“It was always going to be just you and me, Gale. He was gettin’ in your way.” His nose traces a near-gentle path from Gale’s temple to the corner of his jaw. It’s a nuzzle, where his vein is beating. “He was nice. Good kid. You’re not nice, sweetheart.” He breathes in, measured, and his cheek grows into Gale’s with the broadening of his smile. “You’re wearing it.”

“Jesus,” Gale says, and this time he can’t deny that it’s a moan. His back is the sweep of a bow, arched by the way he’s caught against the counter, bent by the Major and how he’s got Gale snared. They’re flush from thighs to chests, hips to hips and lungs to lungs, and from the prick of the knife to the roll of his breathing to the hardening of his cock, Gale can feel the Major’s every inch.

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” he whispers, and it’s low like a plea. “He didn’t think about you, he—He didn’t hate you. You were just a perp to him.”

“Not worth my time, huh? That what you’re getting at?” The words are coming harsher, just like his breaths hot on Gale’s skin, spelled out too in the movement of his hips, rubbing himself against Gale like a scratching post.

“He was nice. Not the one you wanted. Not—oh, Christ.” Gale doesn’t know what he’s saying, but it breaks off in a groan anyway. He’s gripping the edge of the counter tight enough that he can feel his knuckles lock up and start to ache. The heat in his belly, the gape of fire and frustration, is flaring and sparking.

“Go on. Say it. Say what you were goin’ to say.” The Major’s other hand, the one not holding the knife poised at Gale’s throat, is hunting and taking in its own way—along Gale’s side, up under the jacket, burning and ravening over his bare skin.

“Not like me. Should’ve taken me instead. Take—Take me.”

It’s the wine. There’s something in the aftershave. Something about the suit. Something done to Gale one of the times they crossed paths—or something done by the Major’s steel blue eyes, in the moment they met and Gale didn’t know who he was, a hypnotism wrought by a rakish crinkled smile and the audacity of the pet-name “Dollface” said to a stranger. Any of it, Gale grasps for any lifeline that will excuse it, the sour-sweet want coursing through him and how since he learned it, the Major’s face has been coming to him each and every night and all his waking minutes too.

“You want me to kill you?” He growls it, arm a restraint snaked around Gale’s waist, and now it’s that hold keeping him up, not the bench. The Major doesn’t only have lips at Gale’s neck now, but his teeth as well, scraping and nipping as he ruts. His cock is hard, a blunt obvious line, and Gale’s is hard, rubbing and turning the inside of his trousers damp.

“No,” Gale groans. The knife digs in, and his skin splits—barely a sting, barely the tip, but it’s lush and alive and Gale’s cock twitches with it. “Yes. I want you to—Major.”

“Bucky, call me Bucky.”

He does: “Bucky,” in a long sighed-out moan, and he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. His life. The win. To come.

“Christ, you want it.” All of it. Gale can’t even refute that, not when his body is blazing with awakeness and his hips are rocking against the Major’s, Bucky’s, not when he can feel the thin rillet of blood wending its way between his clavicles, over the rungs of his breastbone, teasing and warm. This man’s hands on him, they have squeezed life from other people, beat and gutted and pulped, and Gale wants them in every inch of himself. When Bucky draws his face from Gale’s neck, teeth scraping over his jaw, and looks at him with eyes hungry and violent, Gale shudders from cock to throat: those eyes have witnessed so many others empty out. He wonders what Bucky will see in his when he comes, and if it’ll be anything like death.

“Too pretty to be a CIA agent,” Bucky is huffing, panting, close enough to put his hot breaths into Gale’s open mouth but not close enough to kiss, except for the blade at Gale’s throat. “This body, hidin’ it the way you do—this face, God, I think about you. Look at you, dolled up for me.” His big hand is a clamp at Gale’s waist; one of Gale’s own hands tears from the counter, fisting in the back of Bucky’s t-shirt. “I like you like this. I like you so much, Gale Cleven. You’re like me. We’re the same. We’re the same, aren’t we?”

“No,” Gale groans out, then, leg hooking behind Bucky’s of its own accord, leverage for his own humping, the way he’s trying to get at the hard hot friction in Bucky’s pants: “Yes.”

“What have you done to me?” Bucky grits, breathy, gasping. That should be Gale’s question. “There’s something about—Fuck, I feel—oh, fuck—” He moans without any real words then, shaking and slumping against Gale, mouth open and slack and loud and sweet as his hips buck through it, as his forehead finds Gale’s with surety.

He’s barely quiet, still panting, when he drags his grip from Gale’s waist and reaches back around to his crotch, directly at the zipper and shoving his hand inside. There’s frenzy in how he grips Gale’s cock, in how he tugs and twists, in how he murmurs, “You are wet for me, aren’t you?” The sound of it is obscene, decadent: in Prague, when Gale had found one of Bucky’s marks bleeding and dying (presence of Bucky still hot in the air) it had sounded wet like this, wet like the way Gale’s rattling and gasping, wet like the choke of Bucky’s hand on his dick and how much Gale is leaking.

Bucky’s hands are occupied, one holding the knife and the other holding Gale’s cock, so Gale is the one to clutch, to wrap: his hands clamor at shoulder and spine; his leg hitches. He’s already come, but Bucky groans, huffing and sighing, their heads still pressed together and his closeness making Gale’s mouth wet too. The pace, the vice, Bucky’s thumb—the feeling is a piston through Gale’s core, and he shudders, and the knife scrapes. The pain is a concentrated spike, clean and sharp, and Gale feels himself clench, shake, release. The orgasm comes with a drawn out cry, “oh, oh fuck,” and quieter, longer, “Bucky,” and when Gale’s body loses its tension he finds himself guided to lean back against his kitchen counter. The flat of the knife is laid against his cheek.

“You know, I just wanted to have dinner with you. Maybe watch a movie.”

Gale can’t open his eyes; he isn’t sure when he closed them. The dizziness isn’t only in his head. The knife grazes, delicate, over his skin and clatters when it’s set on the stone. Gale’s mouth is open, and invites Bucky’s tongue when it delves inside—quick, a savoring taste that comes with a suck to his loose bottom lip and a short, bitten moan. He’s still trying to locate his lungs when he hears the slam of a door. Gale opens his eyes, and his kitchen is empty. He lifts his wrist to his nose. Smoky, thick with musk. Heady spice. A bright knife of citrus. He feels his own teeth on his skin, as the smile comes.

[gloryofroses19]

They Can't Take That Away From Me

The men and women of Thorpe Abbots base called the hours between 0001 and 0200 the calm before the storm. Where the enlisted men, crew and planes were tucked safely in their beds and the airfields were the quietest.  Or they were meant to be, however, if someone were to listen closely, they’d hear the soft murmur of voices trying not to get caught and laughter that can’t be quelled.

Placing her hands in the pockets of her borrowed jacket, [y/n] giggled lightly as her fingers brushed the inner contents. 

“What's got you giggling over there? This is very serious business.” Coming around the side of the plane, Major John Egan stopped in front of Lieutenant [your full name].

“Yes, sneaking onto the airfield and into your plane is very serious business.”  [y/n] agreed in a grave tone before leaning towards the pilot. “However, what I’m wondering is why my missing lipstick is in your pocket. Any comments?” 

“You’re gonna have to wait until Interrogation, ma’am.” Although the light from Bucky's flashlight offered little, [y/n] caught the blush overtaking the brunette's ears. She had lost it last week when they unexpectedly hid under a desk in the Control Tower after sneaking in to watch the stars. Peering at her companion, [y/n] considered when he could have found it. Between returning back from Africa hours ago, going to interrogation, an Upper Brass meeting, dinner, and drinks at the club, there was little if any time for John to return to his billet to retrieve her lipstick…Unless he had it with him the entire trip to Africa. 

“So…the back is open so we can go in there.” The attempt to change topics and refusal to make eye contact, gave [y/n] the confirmation she needed. How sentimental of him, [y/n] mused as her fingers danced along his wrist. Drawing his attention to hers, [y/n] pressed closer to the pilot.  The relationship wasn’t new, they had been an unofficial pair since early on. But the kissing was new and it was too easy to get lost in the feeling of John Egan. Grounding herself by holding onto the lapels of his uniform blazer, she let John kiss her, sweet and raw, until her breath ran out. 

“No,” [y/n] gasped when they finally parted.  “I was promised the full experience”.  

With a final swipe of her finger against his swollen lips, [y/n] attempted to catch her breath. However, she all but lost it again at the look of adoration reflected in John’s eyes. 

He should have known to expect nothing less from her, his girl was always capable and courageous. Placing a kiss to her forehead before wrapping an arm around her shoulders, the pilot led the way to the front hatch. “Alright sweetheart, it’s all yours.” Shooting her a cocky grin, he motioned towards the hatch, “You said you wanted the full experience so here it is.” 

The height difference between them had always been a point of attraction for them both. However, staring at the distance to the front hatch, she knew his attraction was turning into amusement at this very moment. "Need a boost, doll?"

Following multiple attempts, unhelpful laughter, teasing remarks, heated kisses and a risque hand placement on her bottom, the woman found herself inside a dark B17. When John had offered the idea, many missions and compliments ago, it had seemed like a tantalizing idea. An enclosed space with the handsome pilot who basked in her attention, why wouldn’t she want it? But running her fingers over the bullet holes lining the wall of the plane, she felt a shiver run down her spine at her naivety. 

Turning towards the noise, she watched the pilot join her. As a natural showman, John Egan swung himself into the plane with ease and grace.  

“Show off.” [y/n] remarked as the pilot pecked her on the lips. [y/n] didn’t mind the limited space between them. She had already stolen his sheepskin jacket, she wouldn’t mind stealing more from him; body heat or kisses, she wasn’t picky. 

Offering a smirk in reply, John started moving toward the cockpit. “Watch your head, doll.”

Shining the light at his receding backside, [y/n] followed. “I hope you say that to all your men.”

“Only the prettiest ones.”

“It’s a good thing you and Gale don’t copilot then or else I’d be jealous.” The deep rumble of his laughter felt like a nice reprieve to the stagnant darkness in the plane. Since meeting John, [y/n] had always been thankful for the brevity he had offered her, no more than now inside the plane which felt suffocatingly like a tomb. 

“Left or right?” Entering the cockpit, John paused before placing the flashlight on the center console. 

“You always sit on the right.” She answered matter of factly as she brushed past him to take the left seat. 

Following suit, he sat down in his usual seat.  “Yeah, but I’m a gentleman.”  He responded with an air of playful innocence. Though he didn’t feel that way inside, he hoped she didn’t notice it. When he suggested the idea, he wanted to offer another piece of himself to her. She had read the manuals, helped plan missions and sat in the Upper Brass meetings but he wanted her to understand why he flew. Why at one point, it had been something he loved before this damn war took that away along with his men. 

With a hand gently cupping his cheek, John titled his head to the left to kiss the palm holding him with such care. He knew it had been naive to think she would let him get away with the false sense of bravado. She knew, she always knew. 

“How do you do it?” Refusing to meet her eyes, he answered her question hanging in the air, “Wait for me, I mean.” The intimacy of the admission left him feeling raw. Neither of them joined the war effort thinking they’d find love but they did. 

“How does that Billie Holiday song go?” She considered, looking out the window. She knew he considered himself selfish in his love for her. Selfish because she offered him a place to call home amongst all the turbulence of war and in return he left her time and time again with no promise of a safe return. Selfish because he considered himself worthy when he was useful and leaving was never useful. 

Hoping to convey that he gave her so much, and was worth more than use, she spoke in a resolute tone.  “The way your smiles just beams. The way you sing off key. No, no, they can't take that away from me”. 

She watched the smile across his face. Music was his language of love after all. 

Meeting her in the middle, he left a narrow gap between them. One inch closer and he’d be able to steal another kiss. However, he wasn’t so easily bought. “Uh no, no way my girl doesn’t commit.” 

Shooting him a pout, [y/n] knew she had no choice. Gathering her breath, she repeated the lines with as much fervor and commitment she could muster, albeit horridly off key. 

“Ah, that’s my girl!” John beamed before closing the gap between them.  

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Discussing Isolde's new garment "And all that Jazz" as an evolution of her original and insight 2 Outfits

Consider this a continuation of an earlier post with greater focus on the similarities of Isolde's new garment to her previous two and how they tie to her character development in Ch. 6 (this is global friendly)

(spoilers for just Chapter Six )

In short her new garment in 2.1 can be considered the development of her character post the events of Ch.6.

The outfit we met Isolde in, the white one, signifies Isolde's previous repression of herself, her outfit similar to Trista in the Small Room story. While this sprite was used to depict young Isolde primarily, we can say that this more resembles Trista and how Isolde especially in her younger years was haunted and tormented by Trista. Isolde's boss the Mezzo takes a similar appearance to her original outfit than the insight 2 Tosca one, here again Isolde is repressed and allows Trista to possess her during the fight.

(Side note: Trista probably is the most powerful Dittasdorf in terms of the family's arcane powers, plus the fact that she died during a seance at a young age, became this relentless spirit that even years beyond her death continues to torment Isolde and as seen with her boss fight possess her)

Moving onto her insight 2 outfit this signifies the release of the repression, the inner self as Isolde peforms Tosca, kills Mr Karl, jumpstarts WW1 months earlier and proceeds to kill both Heinrich and Hoffman. Unlike the outfit she no longer has a veil obscuring half her face, a much smaller one signifying that loss of repression of desires.

Ignoring the green highlights and feathers clearly alluding to Kakania, the upper "jacket of the outfits does appear to mimic Kakania's jacket/ blazer or the ruffle on Isolde's first outfit, the overall sliver colour of the "And all that Jazz" garment calls back to her original outfit in being a darker shade, no longer is Isolde tied down by societal expectation of Vienna and acts freely (within the limitations of the Foundation ofc).

Both the low cut in her dress and the headpiece both reference to her insight 2 outfit, alongside her new voicelines signifies further this freedom from previous repression that Kakania (regardless of how much it did backfire) gave her. Yet despite this freedom was remains alone.

Additional note: in this new garment the knife is replaced with a cane that features very prominently. The cane has been historically seen as a overt status symbol of wealth and power, in comparison to a knife that would be easily concealed. We can speculate how Isolde in her younger years in the Small Room was thought to be meek and not stand out by Mr Karl, who eventually dies by Isolde's hand by a knife, no longer repressing any part of herself. What is noticable is that both Mr Karl and Isolde in her new garment dominantly hold the cane in their left (looks on the right to us and Mr Karl's is largely covered below) . We can speculate Isolde now possessing a cane reflects her increased power no longer under the repression of others (noteable ones being Mr Karl and Trista) instead able to act on their own, yet still cling to Kakania at the same time.

(Idk if it is the same cane Isolde is using as Mr Karl as I can't find a full spite of him but it would be interesting if it was, signifying her own triumph over the man who tormented her over the years to take his symbol of power)

Even her posture/ default stance is different: the previous outfits have a more reserved posture aiming to make herself the smallest in the room (does this count as a pun) whereas her new garment has her in a more confident and powerful pose, more open and empathises the cane again.

Summary - it is fascinating how her new garment doesn't seem like just an Opera Singer turned Jazz singer, instead a progression of her character following the events of Vienna as someone who while has escaped the torment and societal pressure is not truly free of that pain and trauma, but nevertheless no longer represses herself in the same way as before.

[vidavalor]

Ok but...

Crowley channeling his 1967/inner secret agent for this whole turtleneck look for the scene with Mr. Brown in The Dirty Donkey when tied to Aziraphale losing his damn mind and re-costuming everybody during The Ball is cracking me up.

To unnecessarily jog your memory lol, here's Crowley looking like a whole snack in the pub:

Turtleneck and the vest under the blazer, right? And here's Mr. Brown in the same scene, during which he was refusing to take Aziraphale's every damn hint of disinterest:

Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets is wearing-- *in theory* lol-- the same set of clothes as Crowley, furthering the comparison between them. He's wearing a shirt, a tie, a vest, and a jacket over pants. It's just that he's wearing a far less sexy version of what Crowley has on and the shirt is a different kind. Mr. Brown has on a burnt orange shirt that would look far better with a brown suit than the black he has on and a truly garish tie. (So, we're saying Mr. Brown's look-- and the life it suggests-- would improve if he'd just own his brown-ness instead of trying to wear too much black aka to try to take over Crowley's role in Aziraphale's life.) His blazer is black and brown and doesn't fit him well and doesn't really work with his vest, which is brown. When Crowley snaps Mr. Brown back after The Ball and puts him into line for coffee at Nina's, he is wearing this same outfit, implying that he probably wore this to the Whickber Street meeting. This means that the outfit Mr. Brown has on during The Ball is the one Aziraphale made for him.

Without diving into exactly how horrifying a thing it is that Aziraphale is exerting this much control over the neighbors at The Ball here, we know that the idea is that Aziraphale was changing clothes of people at The Ball to reflect what he thought they should be wearing. Maggie got that beautiful blue silk blouse, reflecting how Aziraphale thought she should vary her record shop wardrobe a bit to catch Nina's eye. Mrs. Sandwich got a whole glow up from her tracksuit into the fabulous madam that she is. Jim... yeah, that's another meta lol. Crowley's only wardrobe change is one that happens prior to The Ball and that he made himself and has been wearing for most of the afternoon already. He is wearing a collarless black dress shirt with a few buttons undone, dressing up a little for his husband's work party thing.

Crowley, as we all know, was exempted from Aziraphale's Jane Austen influence and that's because a) Aziraphale seems to understand the concept of consent when it comes to his partner at least here and doesn't ever try to influence him but also b) Aziraphale thinks Crowley is perfect as he is. Aziraphale's assessment of Crowley's whole situation here is 10/10 no notes hey baby you wanna dance?

So it's then even funnier when Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets gets Queer Angel Eye for the Schulbby Human Guy-d into a late 1960s-inspired outfit with a turtleneck and a fitted blazer that coordinates with his vest and so does what the whole vest-blazer situation is supposed to do for his body and that whole godawful tie is just gone and the burnt orange blended into his jacket. He looks much better-- I won't disagree with Aziraphale here lol-- but he does because Aziraphale just literally dressed him up in a brown & brown plaid version of Crowley's look in the pub scene when Mr. Brown couldn't take the hints Aziraphale was hurling at him that he's not interested and that Crowley is his partner. Mr. Brown is no longer wearing a shred of black-- just different shades of brown lol. The black is the sex that is Crowley while the brown is, well, the Mr. Brown that is of the Brown's World of Carpets.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

DEUCE SPADE BRAINROT

Masterlist

Warning: I write reader as female

Imagine Deuce Spade going grocery shopping and doing his best to suppress the flinch he feels coming when he passes the hair dye section

Imagine Deuce looking at the scars on his arms and remembering when he would wear his bruises like badges of honour, his nose scrunching in disgust when he recalls how foolhardy he’d been

Imagine Deuce finding his old leather jacket during winter break and questioning whether or not he should burn it to ashes before ultimately burying it deep in the corner of his closet

Imagine Deuce having to stop himself from cursing whenever he gets annoyed because that’s not what honour students do

Imagine Deuce embracing his new, softer image. Imagine him doodling eggs and baby chicks in the margin of his notebook, imagine him trying and failing to learn how to bake cupcakes or sew a rip in his blazer

Imagine him watching romance movies, listening to love songs and reading romantic poetry and suddenly every line reminds him of you

Imagine Deuce spending every night telling his mother how much he loves you and wants to marry you and spend his future with you

Imagine Deuce treating your stuffed animals with the same amount of respect that he gives you and telling them to do their best to protect you from your nightmares whenever he’s not there

Imagine Deuce spending half an hour before every date panicking over which flowers to get you because he knows that boyfriends usually get their girlfriends roses but that’s so ordinary and your so special to him and he wants to do this right and so he just stands there, looking at all of the floral arrangements with the most harrowed yet intensive expression. It doesn’t matter if you invited him over only to study or watch a movie or play a game. You’re the girl of his dreams and a true gentleman always gives a lovely lady the most beautiful flowers he can

Imagine Deuce spending every day carrying your bags and books, imagine him always walking on the side of the hallway or pavement that is closest to the traffic, imagine him scanning the cafeteria for the safest spot to sit before guiding you there with an arm around your waist and your body pressed close to his

Imagine Deuce’s face blooming an adorable pink as he blushes in embarrassment when you coo over a small injury on his body. Imagine his soft smile as he gazes lovingly at the childish pink plaster, which is decorated with baby bunnies, that you had tenderly wrapped onto the papercut on his index finger, knowing for sure that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing such a thing a year ago. Imagine him thinking in awe about how every time he thinks that he could never love you more, you do something and he falls even deeper

Imagine every day being a struggle to keep his savage side at bay, his delinquent switch teetering dangerously at every possible moment and he often finds out a second too late that his hands have already curled up into fists and it’s an effort to keep them still, it’s a battle to bite back the snarl that threatens to pull on his lips

Imagine Deuce still feeling awestruck after every kiss, still looking like he can’t believe that it just happened even if he’s been dating you for months. Imagine him growing bolder after the first one, though, and ultimately being the one to take the lead, letting his inner id out for a few seconds so he can have even more of the touch that he craves so much

Imagine Deuce being just as adrenaline hungry as he was back when he was a punk in middle school, yet whenever he sees you all of his unruly thoughts vanish into thin air and all he can think about is how you became his salvation

Imagine Deuce doing everything he can to atone for his past and being so thankful that he has you by his side, supporting him the whole time and giving him your full trust and loyalty even when his antics get you in trouble as well

Imagine Deuce wanting to be better not just to make his mother proud but also to make you proud - because you deserve so much better than some violent thug

But imagine all of that going to hell the second he sees you get hurt

Imagine some older students going too far with his taunts and insults and picking on just the wrong nerve. Maybe you even get nudged a little. He looks at you but you laugh it off and smile at him, telling him that you’re fine. But he sees how watery your eyes are, he hears the sniffle hiding behind your words, and the second he registers a stray tear rolling down your face - all he sees is red.

Imagine him coming to when Ace shakes him out of it. The red head’s voice is frantic. He looks down and sees his hands stained red and your tormentors are groaning in agony across the floor, their faces masterpieces of blue and indigo. You are nowhere to be seen.

Imagine the look of absolute regret on his face when you find him in the infirmary after getting his bleeding knuckles patched up, his head hung low and his eyes refusing to meet you. Imagine how he would have spent the entire time beating himself up, just knowing that you for sure were going to break up with him after witnessing just how brutal his aggressive side can be

Imagine his surprise when you gently take his bandaged hands and place loving kisses on every fingertip and knuckle, asking him if he was alright in the softest voice imaginable, your eyes shining with concern

Imagine his shock when you whole-heartedly thank him for sticking up for you, when you look at him so gratefully as you explain how safe you feel to have him by your side, how you know that he would never let you come to harm, how you left to get a teacher to explain your side of the story so that he doesn’t get in trouble for being so noble and how worried you were to hear from Ace that he was admitted to the infirmary.

Imagine him feeling so loved after learning that you still love him despite seeing that the part of him that was drawn to violence still existed - in fact, maybe you love him more after learning that.

Imagine Deuce thinking that maybe his shameful past isn’t as shameful as he thought it was since it gave him the skills he needed to protect you

(Imagine Deuce using his past to teach you self defence and how to fight and making sure that you always have a can of pepper spray on your person because he knows how dangerous the streets are and on the extremely off chance you find yourself in danger and he’s not there, at least he knows you’ll have some form of protection)

[canoetrends]

Buy Latest Formal Blazer For Men in India

[novoaa1writes]

day 0

image source

pairing(s): softdark!natasha romanoff x gnc!reader, natasha romanoff & tony stark (platonic)

summary:

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Or: Natasha wants a pet. Lucky for her, she knows a guy who can help with that.

contains: non-con dynamics, pet play, dehumanization

[cross-posted on ao3]

word count: ~3,300

rating: mature

warnings: non-con dynamics, forced pet play, dehumanization, non-con bathing, referenced non-con body modification, referenced non-con medical experimentation/surgery, referenced physical and psychological abuse, discussions of administering post-op painkillers (morphine, oxycodone, anti-inflammatories, etc.)

notes: reader’s gender is not specified here, and as with every reader-insert i write, the reader is intended to be ethnically ambiguous! also, no use of y/n... i don't personally mind it much, but i understand it's typically preferred without

translation for russian terms in the end notes!

(previously named “build-a-pet”)

— —

Natasha had been on mission when she received the call. 

Burner #1—professional access. A select handful of people had the means to call it. Phil, Clint, Nick, Maria. Pepper, too. 

Burner #2—a separate, off-books agenda. Personal in nature. Accessible to none save for one individual. 

It was the second of the two that rang to signal an incoming call.  

Eyeing her target—Pavel Mikhailovich Novik, Bratyerstva head and prolific serial killer—intently through the tac scope, she brought the phone up to her ear and answered the call:

“Romanoff.”

“Gah! Always business with you, huh?” Tony Stark’s conversational—if not somewhat indignant—tone filtered through the speaker. “That’s no way to greet a friend.”

Were Natasha not otherwise occupied at the current moment, she might’ve scoffed. As it was: “A little busy, Shellhead,” she muttered, shifting her aim in time with Novik’s uneven stride as he made his way across a municipal street. “Why don’t we skip to the part where you tell me what you’ve got?”

“I’m doing just swell, thanks for asking.”

He was a short, stout man. Novik, that was. Flat-footed gait, the kind that had long since ruined the arches of his well-worn shoes. Broad shoulders; barrel-chested torso. Thick dark hair cut short on his scalp and, in the case of his square-shaped jaw, removed completely—but permitted to grow to damn near cat-whisker length everywhere else. 

A wheat-link chain hung loose around his short neck; the chunky watch on his hairy wrist gleamed when it caught the light. Both solid gold.

He was dressed nicely enough in a red button-down that looked soft as satin, and charcoal black trousers with a matching blazer to boot.  

Natasha had to bite back a disapproving hum as he strode into the establishment—a pub, no less—and hoisted himself up onto a barstool with little ceremony. 

He was armed, of course, but only barely; a pistol in one inner coat pocket, a switchblade in the other. He also wasn’t entirely clueless, as evidenced by his company: a pair of stern-looking men who stood flanking him on either side, the material of their cheap polyester suits straining to contain their hulking figures, jackets bulging with poorly-concealed semi-automatic weapons. They watched the bartender like hawks as he set a clear bottle—Dębowa—and an empty glass in front of Novik before promptly scurrying away.

They turned their matching glowers away from their boss as he began to drink, surveying the small, dimly-lit pub with heavy-browed suspicion.

It was a clear message. A bit garish for Natasha’s tastes; but clear nonetheless. 

As it was, she barely had to shift herself any further to catch him in her crosshairs through a series of high, rectangular windows lining the interior of the grimy pub. 

All bark, no bite. 

A far less jaded woman might have snorted. 

A far less jaded woman Natasha was not. 

“… Long story short, we’ve made some serious progress. I want to check in, though, if you could swing by for a quick visit. We’ve only got a short window before some of these alterations are irreversible. Plus, I figured you’d want to see them.”

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, her pulse thrumming wild and fast beneath her skin. “You figured right,” she managed to answer, her mouth dry. It was all she could do to keep Novik unharmed in her crosshairs, her finger from squeezing the trigger. 

“So, when can we expect you?”

Natasha flit her gaze to the clock face fastened atop a tall, spindly spire on the nearest street corner, then back to Novik. “Give me six hours.”

— —

“Boss, three reports intercepted from secure, heavily-encrypted channels. All high-profile killings, all on European soil.”

Tony Stark, though intrigued, did not look up from the task at hand: himself perched adroitly along the rim of the tub, lathering your naked body in sweet-smelling soaps; you, slumped uncouthly in the cradle of the bath, glaring up at him with defiant eyes and murder in the tick of your jaw. 

“Time window?” he questioned after a pause, lowering one sudsy hand to knead at your lower belly and grinning wolfishly when you couldn’t smother a quiet whine. 

“Six days.”

“Locales?”

“Qormi, Malta; Kutaisi, Georgia; and Gomel, Belarus.”

Stark hummed in lieu of answer, a vaguely preoccupied look in his narrowed gaze. His large, calloused fingers didn’t cease their humiliating ministrations over your quivering belly, making you pant in an effort to hold back a low, guttural trill. 

“In that order?”

“Yes, boss.”

You hated him. You fucking hated him. 

“Walks like Natasha, quacks like Natasha…” he trailed off, giving your belly one last squeeze before withdrawing slightly to cup your other hip with his palm. “Probably Natasha.”

You’d only just begun regaining your strength following the latest procedure, though not nearly enough to do anything other than glare.

Stark slanted his gaze back over to you. If he was at all cowed by the force of your glower, he did well not to show it. “You’re adorable when you’re plotting my demise, y’know that?”

It took everything within you not to roll your eyes.

— —

“So, how was White Russia? Eat any draniki?” Stark questioned as he settled bodily into an armchair, gesturing for Natasha to seat herself on the settee across from him. 

She did, her features calm and impassive. Her shrewd gaze flit to you once, but was quick to refocus. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“C’mon, give me something,” Stark carped, huffing petulantly. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, only the back of his head and a bit of bearded cheek, but you imagined he was probably pouting like a third grader. “For old times’ sake?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Guilty as charged,” Stark quipped. “Though, I suppose I can’t say the same for Novik. He didn’t even get a trial.” 

Natasha’s placid expression did not falter. “Who?”

“You know what, I’m just gonna give you this one—”

“Generous.”

“—but only because we’ve achieved a mind-blowing amount of progress within the past couple weeks. Like, seriously: mind-blowing.”

You felt yourself shudder at the reminder. Progress, indeed.

“Oh?” Natasha queried lightly, brows raised. Once more, her gaze dipped to you… and stayed there. 

You ducked your head and averted your eyes, cheeks aflame. You’d grown accustomed to being naked around Stark—mainly because you didn’t have a choice. But Natasha… 

For the first time in years, you found yourself missing your long hair, the way you could cower behind it at a moment’s notice. Now, you were exposed. Vulnerable. 

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Natasha’s lips twitched, though she remained silent. Then, after a beat or two— “Your progress?” she prompted.

“Right, so, here’s the run-down…”

— —

You’d tuned out for the most part as Stark began his long-winded, vainglorious speech to Natasha about his—your—successes since last they’d spoken. Much as you understood it was likely prudent to listen in, acquire a little more knowledge on what exactly he’d done to you, you’d also been there long enough to know that it probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyhow. 

Natasha would do with you as she pleased. Stark, too, provided Natasha was the one asking. 

In the beginning, that intrigued you. Made you want to learn more about them and their dynamic; to understand why it was what it was. You didn’t get why Stark would run, jump, and heel for the likes of her—intimidation factor notwithstanding. 

By this point, that intrigue had since dwindled, if not dissipated entirely. It was what it was; consequently, they were, too. 

You were still angry and strong-willed and a far cry from broken, but you weren’t stupid, either. Just because they treated you like a chained-up dog didn’t mean you had to gnaw off your own limbs in a desperate bid to escape like one. 

And, besides… it wasn’t often you got moments like these. Moments where you weren’t being poked and prodded and shot up with God knows what. You were collared, sure, your body riddled with all kinds of aches and pains, but none of it held a candle to the agony you’d known in days past. 

Lost in your head though you were, months’ worth of training ensured you didn’t miss the moment Natasha called you over. 

“Ко мне,” she spoke, pitching her voice just above appropriate speaking volume.

It was like someone lit a fire under your ass. The second you heard it, you shot up on all fours. Pain came fast on its heels, but you grit your teeth and bore it, swallowing down a cry as soreness shot through your hands—you flat-out refused to call them ‘paws’—like wildfire. Every heightened reflex stood on high alert. Your back, too, felt like it was on fire, spinal column alight with tenderness. 

Still, it wasn’t nearly so bad as it’d been a week back, when you awoke in observation all bandaged up and so acutely in pain, you feared it might kill you. You also knew better than to dawdle. Clenching your jaw tight, you shuffled forth on sore palms and bruised knees. Your muscles burned. 

You were grateful to feel the tip of your nose graze Natasha’s jean-clad knee, signaling a justifiable stopping point. 

“Молодец,” she praised, her voice pitched an octave (or two) higher, and you felt like singing. 

You even arched your poor, aching back in a shameless effort to attract… well, something, you supposed. Head pats, perhaps. An open-handed stroke down your spine, even.  

Damn that animal, desire-seeking hindbrain.

Fortunately, Natasha seemed to understand. Her palm met the nape of your neck, slender fingers curling their way into the mess of hair at the back of your scalp—God, but that felt divine. A mounting hum in the back of your throat was all the warning you got before—

Fuck. Immediately, you clamped your mouth shut, and the sound—along with the pleasurable vibrations—stopped altogether. 

Not again. 

“Ah-ah-ah, puppy,” Natasha tutted, her free hand descending to squeeze your nose tight—effectively cutting off your air supply. And still, the other remained; combing through freshly-washed hair at the base of your skull, occasionally scritching your scalp with the tips of her blunt nails until the insides of your throat quivered and your jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. It was all you could do to keep from opening right back up and giving her a nice long purr. (Which, you’d deduced, was exactly what she wanted.) “None of that.”

She was using English now, you noticed. 

And, just like that, the realization hit that she hadn’t been before. 

Now, you could… you could hear her words and understand them, and from that understanding know their meaning. Before, it was like… like hearing the words and knowing what they were supposed to mean, then acting accordingly. You couldn’t take apart the syllables, the letters in your head, not like you could with English. 

P-u-p-p-y. That spelled ‘puppy.’ When you tried to conjure the word she’d used to summon you over, there was just… nothing. A blank space. A short one, telling you you knew the approximate length of the word you were looking for, but… empty. 

Your gaze darted to Stark, who just slouched back in his cushy armchair looking immeasurably pleased with himself. At any other time, the mere sight would’ve been enough to spark some measure of annoyance within you. 

Now… Now, all you could feel was fear. 

He didn’t do that, did he? He… he couldn’t’ve. 

All the rest of it: the obedience, the meekness—that? That was conditioning, plain and simple. You weren’t exactly a PhD, but it didn’t take a genius to note down from the very start that some behaviors got you alone time in a small, dark room without food or water or sunlight for days on end, and others got you… well, not that. By a certain point, you would beg him to yell at you, choke you out, take you over his knee and spank your ass raw when you misbehaved; something, anything, so long as it wasn’t that. 2 times out of 10, he’d take you up on that. As for the other 8… well. 

But this—implanting knowledge in your subconscious, tuning it to mimic compulsory behavioral urges, all while you remained none the wiser? That was a hell of a lot more complicated than reworking your spine, or tweaking sensory receptors, or even altering your vocal tract to make that obnoxious purr. 

It was like he’d rewired your brain. 

You didn’t even notice that you’d since relented: gasped out what little breath remained and began wheezing, all doubled-over, sucking in new breaths of air like a half-drowned cat. Though, you sure as hell noticed how that rattling, restless, vibrating sensation arose in your throat with every shuddering inhale; how, on every exhale came exactly what you’d feared—that pathetic, trilling purr. The one that warmed your body from head to toe while simultaneously making you wish you had never been fucking born. 

God, but Natasha’s hands were like magic…

Your head still spun. Was it from the oxygen deprivation, or the realization that Stark had been inside your head? Probably both. 

Terrified, dazed, and overwhelmingly confused, it took you some time to re-center; tuning back into Stark and Natasha’s conversation, if only to posture yourself accordingly. You could figure out the rest later, you reasoned.

“… The spinal alterations don’t inhibit their ability to stand upright, by any means, which is the exciting thing,” Stark was saying, damn near perched at the edge of his seat—almost vibrating with renewed vigor. Weirdo. “They just enhance their natural capacity to remain down on all fours and go about their day for extended periods of time: a day, a week… hell, indefinitely! Which, for humans, would be pretty much unthinkable. I mean, can you imagine?”

Without allowing a moment’s pause for Natasha to respond (which you’d come to understand was quite typical), Stark wasted no time in steamrolling on. “‘Course, the process of transplanting new bones was rather tricky, and we had to do a couple of them more than once. Dr. Cho estimates a week—at most—before they’ve healed enough to allow for more… strenuous physical activity.”

Natasha snorted. Her hand had long stilled its pleasant ministrations in favor of resting inert at the base of your skull, slender fingers curled loosely around your nape. You felt how they twitched and tightened their grip ever-so-slightly when Stark spoke of what he’d done to your spine. “Are they in pain?” 

Funny. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought she cared. 

Stark raised a brow. “Ballpark?”

Natasha must’ve nodded, or dipped her chin in confirmation, because a beat later, Stark spoke again.

“Imagine you got ripped open, rearranged, then stitched back up,” he summed up. “Twice.”

Dimly, it registered within you to be struck by his forthrightness, though you did not dare mistake it for empathy. 

Natasha was quiet for a beat. “Sounds about right,” she said eventually. 

“It doesn’t have to be this bad,” Stark offered, though there was a curious shift in his intonation, this time; a knowing and almost resigned look in his eye that made you wonder if he and Natasha had had this conversation before.

The way Natasha’s hand twitched, blunt nails digging into the skin of your nape, was answer enough. 

“Were I their doctor, I’d be prescribing some serious pain meds,” Stark continued on dryly, making a show of tilting his head and gazing off into the distance as though he was deep in thought. “Morphine, oxycodone—“

“No.”

“—maybe a local anesthetic or two,” he mused, beginning to count them out on his fingers. “Anti-inflammatories. Anticonvulsants. Something for the anxiety, even—”

“I wanted a pet, not a vegetable.”

Stark’s lips twitched—though with exasperation or humor, you could not tell. “Do you realize how quickly even the most powerful anesthetics will metabolize through their system? They’re not human anymore, Red. At least, not entirely.”

Now, that piqued your interest. 

“Neither am I.”

“It’s different for them. You know that. You got Erskine’s serum. Some unrefined bootleg variant, granted, but that man was nothing if not brilliant. Everything he touched, he turned to gold.” Stark spoke of him—this ‘Erskine’—as though he put the very stars in the sky. You wondered if he was truly brilliant, or just insane. You wondered if for Stark, there was any difference. “As for them… well.” He gestured vaguely towards you. “They got some anthropomorphic whack job’s bone marrow.”

You blinked. You got what now?

“He has a name, you know,” Natasha commented archly, the earlier indignation having dissipated from her tone. 

“Point being—I’ve met the guy. He’s seriously unhinged.” He paused there, as if expecting Natasha to argue. When she didn’t, he steamrolled on: “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. scavenge some digitized medical reports and psych evals from his time at the facility, along with anything else they could piece together after he escaped. Violently, I might add.”

“I won’t say he’s devoid of empathy, or a moral compass, because we both know that that’s not true,” Stark explained, then muttered under his breath: “Even if his senses of both concepts are seriously skewed.”

“Tony,” Natasha interjected, a note of warning in her voice. 

“Just listen, alright? I’m getting there.” Stark huffed out a sigh, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “My point is that he wasn’t like that, at the start. He was no saint, to be sure, but he wasn’t like that. It wasn’t until they started a particularly ill-inspired series of ‘tests’—though I’d argue a better term would be ‘torture sessions’—to assess his healing capabilities that he really started losing his marbles.”

You head was beginning to spin. Your jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Who were they talking about? 

“See, because his capabilities—extraordinary as they were—weren’t superhuman. They didn’t transcend healing itself, let alone make it any less painful to endure. In fact, I think they actually concluded that it was made more painful by his body’s ability to undertake those processes at such an expeditious rate.” Stark breathed out another heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he could feel a headache brewing. 

He wasn’t the only one. 

“He nearly went insane, Natasha. Joking aside, it almost beggars belief that he’s as high-functioning as he is,” Stark asserted, no longer pulling his punches. “I know you don’t want that for them.”

It was silent for a beat… Then two. 

“Fine.”

Stark promptly quieted, renewed interest sparking itself alight in his gaze. “What was that now?”

“I said, ‘Fine.’”

A slow grin spread across his clean-shaven features. 

“No opioids,” Natasha was quick to amend. “Nothing addictive. Just… anything that’ll help more than it’ll hurt.”

Silence for a beat. Then two. 

Stark squinted at her. “You sure you and that bleeding heart of yours are up for this?”

Natasha’s grip around your nape tightened even further. “Shellhead,” she gritted out, her tone hard as weathered steel. Even the sound of it was enough to send chills down your spine. 

Stark, in contrast, was not at all similarly affected. He simply tilted his head to one side and made a show of continuing to appraise her with shrewd, assessing eyes. Then, finally: “You should try yoga.”

— —

end notes: L O fucking L

also the anthropomorphic whack job they’re talking about is logan (wolverine) from x-men, in case you’re wondering 

edit: i’ve since written a continuation of this, linked below!

translation of russian terms (with stresses bolded):

ко мне | ko mnye | “come”

молодец | molodyets | excellent, good

sources:

“organized crime in eastern europe” | to be so clear, i just made up “bratyerstva” from the term “братство” (bratstvo) which means “brotherhood” or “fraternity” in bulgarian, macedonian, russian, and serbo-croatian dialects. it is also the name of a ukrainian political party (ukrainian: братство, romanized: bratstvo), but it is not an actual belarusian word. it also bears some resemblance to братва, a slang term used to refer to criminal gangs in russia and other ex-ussr states. honestly, the closest you’d probably get to an actual word with this would be the polish “braterstwo” (brahterstvo) which also means “brotherhood” or “fraternity.” (however, in some informal contexts, the term “братерство” has been used in ukrainian dialects to convey synonymous meanings.) anyway, this is a brief snippet (~10 pages) from an academic article about organized crime in eastern europe, if the precedent behind all that intrigues you. i thought it was pretty informative!

white russia | another name for belarus, though there’s some controversy/nuance to that (and big surprise, it’s got everything to do with russia). this links to an article from euronews talking about... all of that

draniki | an immensely popular dish in belarus. they’re basically potato pancakes. several other european countries have close equivalents. 

— —

next part: come, sit, stay

link to masterlist

[mostmouse]

Late Night Treat

Baxter gets home later after a work function to find you already took your nighttime medication and have passed out. However, that won't stop him from a little late night indulgence.

Baxter Ward x f!reader (mild spoilers for his DLC, 3,300 words, explicit)

You sighed heavily, whining softly. Baxter had texted you that he wasn’t able to make it home until late tonight - some event happening in the office that he had committed to going to. With his resolve to stop weasel out of things, you had encouraged him to attend and spend time with his coworkers and forge some connections. Although, you had to admit you were disappointed it would be going so late into the night.

Stretching out, you made your way to the bathroom, winding down for the night and sleeping the time apart from Baxter away. Stripping down, you put on a joint playlist the two of you had made and washed the stress of the day away. You were relieved it was a Friday night, you and Baxter could sleep in in the morning without a care in the world. 

Humming along and dancing slightly, you moved the bizarre mix of songs that came over the shower speaker. Eyeing your boyfriend’s body wash, you sighed contentedly as you opened it and inhaled the subtle manly scent of it. Holding the bottle to your chest, you giggled bashfully. Everything that reminded you of Baxter made you feel as giddy as a school girl. You were still in awe of finally ending up together again. 

It had been well over a year now that you two were together, and you were pleased to say the two of you lived together harmoniously the last couple months. Living a few towns apart wasn’t so bad, but it couldn’t compare to living together. Getting good night and good morning - and a lot of good afternoon - kisses couldn’t be beat, they were incredibly preferred to texts. 

Turning off the water, you toweled yourself off. Pursing your lips, you looked around suspiciously, as if your boyfriend would suddenly appear. Stealthily moving out of the bathroom without partaking in your usual shared skin care routine, you felt as if you were breaking the law. Laughing softly, you moved to the bedroom, turning down the sheets, and crawling in nude. 

You hoped Baxter would be home soon, and maybe wake you up for a quick midnight romp. Giggling to yourself, you moved to grab your nighttime medication, and with a quick drink of water, you settled down to pass out for the night, dreamily happily of your beloved.

Pulling into the apartment parking lot, Baxter sighed heavily, relaxing into the seat before hauling himself out of the car. Grabbing his blazer, he slowly made his way into the building, past the expansive fireplace, and into the elevator, pressing the little floor eleven button. Resting back against the wall, he looked up into the mirrored ceiling. 

You had sent him a goodnight text, so he wasn’t expecting you to be awake, but he couldn’t deny that a part of him hoped you were. Rubbing the back of his head, he made his way down the hall, unlocking the door and flicking on the entryway lights. Stretching his arms high above his head, he hung up the jacket by the door before making his way to the master bedroom.

Flicking the flights back off as he entered the hallway, he gently opened the door. Seeing all the lights out, he sighed, smiling softly. There you were, bundled up under the sheets and sleeping soundly, the soft sound of the fan joining the white noise machine on your bedside. 

Moving about as quietly as he could, he let his mind drift as he listened to the automated ocean sounds. The apartment was too inner city to hear the ocean properly, and while the white noise machine wasn’t the same, you had said it was close enough.

Stripping down completely, he rubbed his face with his palms. He didn’t feel up to showering, the socialization burning his motivational candle down. Messing up his perfectly swooped hair, he made his way to the bed, sliding into the sheets and immediately seeking out your warmth. However, he couldn’t help but grin as his hands met your soft bare skin. 

Licking his lips, he pulled the two of you closer to the center of the bed, gently turning you over. Seeing the serene look on your face almost had him feeling guilty, however, he knew you were very much okay with him waking you up for quality time together. He leaned down, kissing you softly, wanting to see how far he could go before you awoke. 

His eyes stayed half lidded, watching for your facial expression to change or for your beautiful eyes to flutter open. When you didn’t so much as make a peep, his warm brown eyes searched your nightstand. Grinning wolfishly, he saw your medication container empty for Friday night. Biting his lip, he tried to keep his newfound enthusiasm under check. Oh, he would most certainly be having his fun with you tonight, whether or not you woke up. 

Part of him hoped you didn’t wake up. That you’d sleep through him taking advantage of you while you were asleep, only to awaken in the morning leaking his cum and feeling sore. Kissing you once again, Baxter moaned as his hand came up to hold your cheek, easing your mouth open and petting your warm tongue with his. 

Sighing, he pressed tighter against you, hand leaving your face as they both slipped down to spread your legs open to fit him. Basking in the heat of your cunt against his somewhat hard shaft, his hands drifted along again, groping and pawing at your chest. Breaking from your kiss, he nibbled and bit your bottom lip instead, the skin flushing with warmth at his stimulation. 

Rocking his hips against yours slightly, he grinned as he heard your breath pick up. Soft sounds leaving your kissable lips as he pulled gently at your nipples. Dipping down, he continued the soft grinding of your hips together as he licked and sucked one of your sensitive nipples. Moaning softly, he swirled his tongue around before giving steady flat licks. 

You remained generally unresponsive, the only real reactions being the soft sounds and occasional panting as he worked you quickly just to drop back down again. Popping off one breast, he moved to the other, giving it the same soft treatment. However, as his eyes flicked up to your face, turned to the side with a warm flush across your cheeks, he sucked tighter and pulled up on your chest, teeth dragging along your nipple before it fell from his mouth. 

Your brows knitted together, a soft moan spilling from your now parted lips. He smirked to himself, turning his attention to your breasts once more. After your split that one summer, he found himself fantasizing about your body more often than he’d like to admit. Every time he had the utmost pleasure to see you in your swimsuit was another cherished memory he would unpack when he was hard and pining for you. 

One hand groped your opposite breast while he licked and sucked your nipples back and forth. Biting around your soft skin, he made sure to leave marks all across your chest. If you weren’t sore from how he planned on pounding you, then you’d have all his sweet marks to show you his nighttime activities as well. 

Leaning back, he admired his work in the low light of the bedroom. Your arms were tossed up by your head, hair messy around your pillow, and your perfect nude body spread out beneath him. Licking his lips, he openly leered at your snoozing form, hand stroking his fully hard cock. 

Biting his lip, he grabbed for his phone blindly on his nightstand, changing the setting to low light as he snapped a few pictures of you. Leaning in close, he took closer shots of your bitten and marked chest, groping you for a few of the pictures. Grinning, he tossed it aside to grab for later once he was finished with you. 

Letting his hands slide over your belly, they drifted down to hold your inner thighs. Rubbing his thumbs across your skin, he massaged your plump legs as he admired your shining cunt. You weren’t nearly as wet as he would like you to be, but it wouldn’t be a problem. Considering you had yet to even be roused from sleep, he’d take this little round of love making for his own pleasure. He’d make it up to you in the morning. 

One hand moved to cup you, fingers gently stroking you. He watched your expression closely, brown eyes half lidded as he slipped a digit inside. Moaning softly to himself, his gaze dipped down, admiring how he fit so well inside, the familiar feeling of your hot cunt wrapped around his fingers. 

Feeling how slick you were, he slipped another digit inside, the pace slow and methodical. Gaze once again admiring you, he used his other hand to push your thigh open, spreading your cunt and letting him push his fingers deeper inside. He watched as your brows pinched together, breath coming out in pants as you whined slightly. 

Using his knee to keep your leg spread, he leaned down to rest on his forearm next to your head. Kissing your forehead, he moved his hand faster. “That’s my good girl, can you hear me, darling? You’re being so wonderful for me.” You whimpered in your sleep, hand loosely curling into a fist, with no strength behind your movements. 

Baxter grinned, dark hair falling to rest on your forehead. Biting your bottom lip, he tugged slightly, your mouth opening once more and basking in your moans. Readjusting his wrist, he slipped another finger inside, listening as you let out a low cry, hips moving just slightly. It was obvious you were trying to wake up, but your sleeping medication was keeping you sedated. 

He pressed a kiss to your open mouth, slipping his tongue inside and touching yours as it moved restlessly against his. Hooking his fingers, he pressed up towards your gspot. Breaking away, he watched as you choked on a gasp of air, his thumb teasing your shy clit. It wasn’t enough teasing for either to become swollen enough to have you screaming, but he was content with that. Afterall, he wanted to use you for his own pleasure tonight. 

Slipping his fingers out of you, he licked them clean idly as he watched your body calm back down. His cock was flushed and throbbing, and he knew if you were awake and coherent, you’d be begging him to let you suck him off. He moaned at the thought, cleaned digits wrapping around himself as he so clearly could hear you in his head begging to blow him. “You’re a naughty little minx, aren’t you, my love?” 

Lustful eyes traced over your features, his gaze hot and heavy as he admired you. Moving so he could grip both your legs, he propped them up on his hips, pinning one as he guided his shaft to your slick cunt. Once the tip slipped in, he tilted his head back and moaned. Your heat was incredible, it made his head fuzzy as soon as he felt it, warming up his chest and heart. 

Swallowing, he held your legs wide open, watching his cock as it slipped inside a bit deeper. Of course, you weren’t aroused enough for it to be an easy fit, but he was excited to see how tight you’d feel. Half lidded gaze watched your face as he pulled back a bit to sink into your heat once more. Releasing a shaky breath, he moved one leg to rest flat against his toned chest. Using his now free hand, he rested it next to your head on the pillow, watching you closely for any signs of pain as he freely used your body. 

Baxter rocked his hips easily against yours, content with the slow progress and your sleepy body. He took the time to admire you, watching as your chest bounced with every subtle move of his hips, how your brows knitted together, moaning softly but not waking up. His hand fisted the fabric. He couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to wake you up, to shove himself inside and wait for you to adjust that way. 

But he wanted you to stay asleep. There hadn’t yet been a time where you either stayed fully asleep or just as quickly fell back asleep, he wanted to make your dreamy fantasy a reality, and so far it looked like tonight would be that night.

Hissing slightly, he felt your muscles tighten around him, groaning as his hips bucked deeper inside you instinctively. Freezing in place, he panted, watching as you writhed gently. “‘ax... ahh.” Your voice was soft and low, rough with sleep. Smirking, he smugly wondered what you were dreaming about, you were positively ravishing enough, but hearing you try to say his name as you were fully unconscious while he was fucking you made him eager to know what was happening in your dreams. 

As if answering his inner monologue, he felt your tight cunt unfurl around him slightly, a wave of heat and wetness washing over him as he shuddered. Licking his lips, he propped the leg in his hand a bit higher, moving his hips just a bit faster. 

Pulling out slightly, he pushed in deeper. Your broken moans and small cries encouraging him further. He couldn’t help but pant slightly, your impossibly tight cunt and burning heat working him up. “Fuck, you feel so good. Too bad you’re not awake, darling, I just know how you’d love to see me fuck you.” 

Biting his now sore lip once more, he leaned back, spreading your legs wide open, wincing as your hips popped, he pushed inside. You squeezed him tight, like the vice grip you had when you were in the throes of pleasure and climaxing. Wincing, he focused on moving slowly but forcefully, pressing himself deep inside until he felt himself pressed to the hilt. 

Opening his mouth, he let himself pant heavily, peering down at your joined bodies, and moaning hotly at the sight of his swollen cock pressed flush against you. Swallowing thickly, he moved your legs to rest on either side of his narrow hips, groping the sheets for his phone. 

Grabbing it, he sat back on his heels, the position forcing your legs to spread wide open, displaying your perfect cunt with his lengthy cock shoved fully inside you. Taking a few pictures, he played idly with your clit, recording how you fluttered around him, your muscles pulsing around his shaft. Groaning, he rocked into you slowly and gently. 

Moving to rest the camera by your face, he used his fingers to slide your mouth open, his digits resting on your tongue as you remained blissfully unaware. Locking his phone once more, he lifted your legs back up, pulling nearly all the way out before snapping his hips back into you. He smirked as you cried out, face twisting but not awaking. 

Smirk morphing into a wolfish grin, he slid both legs to be pressed against his chest. Anchoring his hands on either side of your head, right by where your own hands rested, he began to fuck you in earnest. Panting as he bucked his hips against you, he moaned loudly, wanton gaze watching you. 

You whimpered and groaned, soft pants and moans escaping you with every solid thrust. Soon, Baxter watched with smug satisfaction as your eyes cracked open, blearly gaze unable to meet his. Letting himself fall to his forearms, he kept his quick and deep pace as he watched you. 

It was obvious you weren’t awake, or coherent, but still he found himself talking with you. “Beautiful, absolute perfection- ah! You’re so- fuck, so amazing. Such a good girl, your body knows to take my cock, not even hard to fuck you while you’re-” He his his face in your shoulder, shuddering as you tighted around him. Were you able to comprehend his dirty talk? 

Biting you on your neck, you couldn’t help but cry out, your legs pinned between you and your salacious boyfriend. “B-Baxter-” He moaned loudly in your ear, making you clench down on him, as he heard you moan his name. 

“Ahh~ Is my little darling awake? Such a dirty girl, going to bed with no panties- fuck! You were begging me to fuck you once I got home, weren’t you?” Drool was pooling in his mouth as your heavy hands moved to rest on the back of his head and on his shoulder, nails biting into his skin. 

“Ahh!~ Baxter, p-please! Fuck!” You took the opportunity to bite him, leaving marks across his pale skin, bruises and red marks showing easily and quickly. “C-Can’t, damn it, I can’t- ahh~” His pace quickened as you felt the edges of sleep overtake you once more. 

Baxter leaned back, watching smugly as you tried to fight off sleep, your sedatives not allowing you to stay awake. Your hands slowly fell from his body, coming to rest on either side of your hips. Licking his lips, he anchored his feet into the sheets, pressing your hips higher with his own as he began to pound you harder. 

You continued to blearly watch him, eyes unseeing as you moaned and panted broken syllables of his name. He basked in your body and trust, letting your heat wash over him as he felt his body tense. “Fuck, so close, ahh! Don’t worry, my l-love, I’ll give you every bit of my cum, fuck! Gonna pump you full, ahhh~” He was wanton above you, cheeks flushed down his chest, body rosy as he felt his climax coming. 

His hips stuttered, the salacious sounds of your joined bodies echoing around him, the impossible heat of your cunt surrounding him, squeezing his cock and smothering him. Panting, he cried out your name as he felt himself lose his rhythm. Kissing you sloppily and wetly, he felt himself cum inside your perfectly tight cunt. Jerking his hips, he dumped every bit inside of you, willing strength in his arms as he hovered above you. 

Your face was pinched as you felt him inside you, unable to burst through the heavy fog of sleep as you vaguely heard Baxter speak to you. You could feel his warm hands on your face and body, and as he touched you, you felt yourself fall into a deep slumber once more. 

Baxter watched as your face relaxed completely, smiling as you fell back into a deep sleep. Rolling his shoulders, he groaned as your hips moved against him. Licking his lips and swallowing his mouthful of drool, he slowly and gently moved your legs down, rubbing your thighs as he did so. Settling his weight on his knees, he gently eased himself from your burning body. 

He couldn’t help but moan as his cock slipped from you completely, a bit of cum leaking out of you down your slit. Grinning wolfishly, he used his fingers to swipe it up and press it back inside of you. Moaning at the sight, he grabbed his phone once more, taking a handful of photos with his cum leaking out and his fingers pushing it back in. He readjusted his wrist, holding your slit open as thick cum slowly leaked from your pulsing cunt. 

Tossing his phone aside for the last time for the night - early morning? - he moved you to rest on your side, grabbed the blankets he had kicked down, and settled in right next to you. Deep brown eyes watched your face softly, love blossoming inside him euphorically. He brought you close, one arm wrapped around you, letting the other slip under the pillow, and tangling his legs with yours.

Sighing contentedly, Baxter allowed himself to relax with you in his arms. Feeling the exhaustion of the night catch up with him, he felt himself go limp before falling asleep beside you. 

[littlebluentebook]

Alastor x Sewing!Reader pt.2

Chapter 3

You and Alastor crossed the threshold of the door and as soon as the blanket of darkness took you both over, you shivered.

"You must be freezing Y/N!" Alastor said pulling away.

"Huh? Oh no I am quite alright. It is just a couple of blocks to my place." You countered to the best of your abilities but your actions put no truth into your words. You brought your arms around you in a hug as an involuntary shiver spread throughout your body.

"Well," Alastor chuckled, "if it is just a couple of blocks my dear then I suppose I will be 'quite alright' as well." Alastor reached over his shoulders bending down slightly to wrap you in his coat.

"Thank you," you said going back to his arm.

"Anything for you" he said with a satisfied grin on his face.

You two walked back to your shop in a comfortable silence. You owned the building on top of your shop and lived there. It worked well because you saved time from the commute and were not paying for two separate areas in town. Walking together, you took notice of Alastor's coat around you. Different seams were tearing and there were plenty of holes in the lining. Safety pins that proved the illusion of a well fitting jacket poked at you with each step. 'How on earth is this comfortable' you thought to yourself. The shoulder pads shifted slightly with each step as they weren't stitched down.

"I broadcast at the end of this road." Alastor broke the silence recognizing where you both were as the sewing store came into view. Why didn't he ever take notice of your shop?

"Do you now? Who would have guessed we worked so close to one another and have never crossed paths" you chimed knowing its because you liked the comfort of your home.

"Thank you for walking me home Alastor" you continued incredibly grateful for the gesture.

"Of course darling. Do you need anything else from me tonight?"

"Just for you to get home safe"

"I will. Only because you were pleasant company tonight and I look forward to seeing you again." He ended the night the way it began, a simple gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

"Why thank you doll, you're just as charming as your voice on the broadcast. Safe travels- I'll see you again." With that you waved him goodbye, a smile plastered on your face. He was just the sweetest thing to you!

Alastor made it halfway home realizing you still had his coat. 'No worries' he thought. He would just pick it up Monday on his way home from work. He was content with the night, happy a nice person such as yourself was home safe and likely tucked away sleeping.

However, as soon as Alastor was out of your view, you got to work. Sure you had the next two days to get the coat returned to Alastor but you were excited for the project. Immediately you went to your sewing tables and flipped the blazer inside out. This made it easier to see what you were working with. There was a large tear in the lining in the back middle seam. The waist was pinched by bent safety pins on both the left and right sides as well as the back to create a tailored appearance. There were rips in the armpits causing the lining to tear away and multiple inner seams were torn.

It must have been difficult for Alastor to find properly fitting clothes with how tall and lean he was. If he sized down things would be too short on his long body so sizing up and altering the appearance was his only option.

The best way to fix his coat would be to tear out and replace the lining. It needed to be taken in at the waist and armpits and the sleeves needed to be hemmed a slight amount. Getting to work, you took your supply of old flour bags and started to trace a pattern. Cheap fabric could be difficult to come by so you offered discounts to anyone who would bring you the fabric for flour bags.

The new lining was made out of a heavier duty material rather than the cheap fabric already in the suit that could hardly hold a stitch without ripping. It took a while between all the cutting and stitching but you had the lining fit and sewed into the suit. Getting ready to hem and tailor the the coat, the sun started to peer through your blinds clearly curious about your work. Being focused in your work wasn't anything new, often times you were unable to sleep when you got a new project idea in your head.

Deciding to take a break, you headed upstairs. While getting ready; changing your clothes and washing your face, just doing the daily fixings you put a cup of coffee on the burner and set some breakfast in the oven to warm up. Once finished you headed down the stairs to open your shop and get started for the day.

You had Alastor's coat to finish- which now would take half an hour at most now that the hard part was out of the way. The blanket needed to be done this weekend and a few pants and dresses to hem. Next week you would start preparing for Mimzy's dress order.

A/N Hi everyone! Sorry this is short. I have been writing out all the parts to this story and then typing them all! I intend for this story to get pretty long and will be asking for some opinions soon! Thank you for reading!!

[cyclegrooversbabies]

devious content - cyclegroover

summary : you and your best friend’s brother make content for his tiktok, but it takes a devious turn

warnings : swearing, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, public sex, daddy kink

a/n : he hasn’t name revealed, so we’re gonna call him aiden. enjoy :)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

your day has been long and boring, and your night has been even longer and more boring. you had plans with your best friend, audrey, but she canceled at the last minute. unfortunately, her boyfriend tends to be more of a priority sometimes.

so, instead of drinking, eating junk food, and dancing to your favorite music, you’re lying alone in bed. it wasn’t how you planned to spend your night, but it’s not the worst.

“slow down here. i don’t know my way around here.” you mumble the lyrics to the song playing on your tv.

your phone lay beside you, lighting up with different notifications, causing you to turn your head toward it. the green messages icon pops up, showcasing a few messages from aiden, your best friend’s brother.

despite your confusion and amusement, you crawl out of bed and head to your closet. it's not at all unlike aiden to hit you up about filming at late hours. however, telling you to wear a dress? completely unlike him.

yet, you find yourself rummaging through your clothes, flicking hanger after hanger to find something formal. you scrunch your face up, having no idea what to wear. puffing out a breath, you dig deeper into the closet, crossing from casual wear to fancy. your fingers graze over a black silk dress and you pause, tugging the fabric out to examine it.

surely, this isn't what he has in mind.

your thoughts are cut off by the loud exhaust from the all too familiar kawasaki motorbike that aiden rides. your eyes widen and you quickly yank the dress from the hanger, hastily stripping from your clothes and pulling the dress over your body.

just as you pull your hair out of the back of the dress, your bedroom door opens, and in walks aiden, cladded in a full suit.

your jaw drops as you take him in in all of his delicious glory. the sleeves of his blazer fit snugly around his torso, hugging him in all the right places. his short curls dance gracefully across his forehead, showcasing his warm brown eyes. your mouth physically salivates at the sight of him in front of you.

"hey." he says, his gaze going up and down your figure.

you lick your lips and swallow, "hi."

"so," he clears his throat and raises his eyebrows. "you ready?"

amusement plasters across your face as you look at him, "am i ready? i don't even know what we're doing, and i look like an idiot."

his eyes linger on the thigh high slit of your dress, and he shakes his head. "i told you, we're gonna film. and you definitely don't look like an idiot."

your cheeks flush the slightest bit. "don't you think i need a bit more time to get ready?"

"all you need is your shoes and a jacket. i've got your helmet outside, and we can just put a pair of heels in my bag or something."

you bite your inner cheek and shrug after a moment of contemplation. aiden steps forward and pulls out a black jacket from your closet, holding it out for you to put it on. you grin to yourself and turn around, sliding your arms through the sleeves as he lays it over your shoulders.

“i saw your shoes by the front door. i’ll go grab them while you pick whatever heels you want.” he states, heading out of your room.

you do as he says, quickly gathering a pair of simple black stilettos. holding them by the straps, you follow him out to the living room where he’s got your tennis shoes in hand.

“thanks.” you say as he tosses them to you. slipping them on and tying them up, you look over at him, “so, what exactly are we doing?”

he gives you a look as if he’s already told you a million times — which he has, kind of — “we’re going out and we’re filming.”

you roll your eyes, “yeah, i gathered that.”

“just trust me.”

“trust you?” you snort.

he smirks, “when have i ever let you down, shorty?”

you can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face as you roll your eyes again. you toss your heels at him, not sparing a second glance as you head out the front door. he chuckles at you, slipping your shoes in his bag and following you out.

once the two of you are settled on the bike, his bag on your back and your arms around his waist, you’re off to whatever mysterious destination he has planned for you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

it doesn’t take long for the two of you to reach an empty parking lot lit up by street lights. as you come to a stop, you almost don’t want to let go, reveling in the warmth he provides as well as the mouth watering cologne he’s wearing. not to mention his body fits perfectly against yours, like you’re made for each other.

aiden shuts the engine off and kicks out the kickstand, placing his hands on your thighs. you ignore the tingling his touch leaves and take a deep breath.

“can you explain what we’re doing now?” you ask for what feels like the millionth time.

you can’t see his face, but you can hear the amusement in his voice as he speaks, “we’re filming a tiktok. a dancing tiktok. to pony.”

you pause your movement, one leg on the ground, the other hooked over the bike, “by ginuwine?”

“the one and only.”

you bite your tongue and climb off the bike, instantly removing his bag and pulling out your heels. the song’s very sexual, and just the thought of dancing to it with him makes your stomach clench.

aiden gets off the bike and ushers you to sit back down on it, facing him from the side. he unties your shoes and removes them, along with your socks. taking one heel in his hand, he begins to slip your foot in it and lace it up.

you stare down at him, only catching his eyes through the open visor. he looks concentrated. for some reason, the gesture feels oddly intimate, and you’re not sure what to make of it. but you know how it makes you feel.

you’ve always found him incredibly sexy, from the way he talks to the way he acts and dresses. sometimes you want to jump his bones, but his sister being your best friend prevents you from crossing that line.

“thank you.” you whisper in appreciation after he gets both of your heels on.

he clears his throat, “yeah, no problem.”

he helps you off the bike, keeping his hands on your waist to make sure you’re steady. once he pulls away, you remove your jacket and set it with your sneakers. you step aside as he begins to get his phone set up and ready.

he walks backwards a bit and adjusts his jacket, smoothing down the sides before turning to you. “how do i look?” he questions, holding his arms out.

“hot.” the word slips from your mouth before you can catch yourself, causing your face to burn a bright ride. choosing not to dwell on it, you do a spin and ask, “how about me?”

“edible.” he answers.

his response halts your movement. you can feel your core practically throbbing from the one word he used to describe you. your stomach twists up with desire and uncertainty, wanting nothing more than to fuck him right then and there, but also knowing that probably isn’t the best idea.

“how do you want to start?” you ask, attempting to sway your mind and its filthy thoughts.

after a couple of minutes of explaining what he wants to happen, the two of you are ready. he starts the recording and back tracks to his bike in the middle of the screen. you stand off to the side, out of view until your cue. the song begins playing, and aiden starts the dance.

you guys do a few takes, both of you having to stop at certain points because there’s no denying it’s getting hot and heavy between the two of you. you never would’ve guessed he’d have you soaked tonight, but you can feel the dampness between your legs. luckily for you, he’s also struggling to hold it together. though neither of you address it, the bulge in his slacks is proof that he’s turned on.

deciding to give it one more shot to get it right, the music starts again.

i’m just a bachelor, looking for a partner.

you slide into view of the camera, sauntering over to him in a sexy manner. he’s straddling his bike backwards, leaving room for you to climb on.

someone who knows how to ride, without even falling off.

you climb on the bike, your thighs straddling his to where you’re practically in his lap, and you roll your hips into his as if you’re riding him. his bulge presses directly into your core, eliciting a moan from you. a groan escapes his lips at the sweet sound you made and the feeling of you against him. both of you freeze, only for him to grab the bottom of your helmet and yank you closer to him.

“i think this is where we turn the camera off.” he speaks, his voice low and husky.

your breath catches in your throat, though you choose not to think too much into his comment. he slides you back, his grip tight on your thighs. the pressure goes straight to between your legs, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“or,” you start in a breathy tone, “we can leave it on.”

his fingers dig into your skin, surely leaving bruises. he caresses your legs for just a moment before pulling back and removing his helmet. his curls fall back into place along his forehead. his dark brows furrow, his eyes darkening as he looks at you. reaching forward, he grasps your helmet and softly pulls it from your head. setting both aside, you’re both left staring at each other with heaving chests.

“you have no idea how badly i wanna fuck you right now.” he croaks, tossing his head back just a bit.

your heart races in your chest, your stomach tightening as you take in his words. you bite your lip, pondering what to say. regardless of whether or not it’s a bad idea, you’ve never wanted anything more.

“what’s stopping you?” you whisper, tilting your head.

he catches your eye and stops for a moment. in just a split second, he’s yanking you back into him with his hand around your neck. his eyes roam your face, searching for any signs of hesitation. finding nothing but lust, he kisses your fiercely.

a small gasp erupts from your mouth as his lips meet yours. in an instant, he has you back on top of his lap, one of his hands tangled in your hair, the other gripping your neck. your hands trail up his arms and run down his torso, feeling the sculpted muscles beneath his suit.

the pressure of his kiss makes you dizzy, a subtle taste of mint lingers on his tongue as he makes his way into your mouth. your tongues dance, teeth clash, consuming one another's oxygen. your hands move frantically against him, wrapping around his shoulders to pull him impossibly closer. he tightens his grip on your hips, grinding you against him.

"if you wanna stop, i suggest we do it now. 'cause i'm like ten seconds away from bending you over my bike and filling you up with my cum." aiden groans against your mouth, breathless as he speaks.

you roll your hips against his once more, your core practically sobbing for stimulation. the feeling of his hard member pressed against you as you move makes your face scrunch in pleasure. you lick your kiss swollen lips and stare into his eyes. "aiden."

his eyes almost roll to the back of his head at the sound of your whiny voice moaning his name. he brings your face closer to his, pressing a few more wet kisses to your mouth, before pulling away to let you continue.

"please fuck me." you beg, grinding against him. "right here, right now."

his mouth slams back onto yours, his hands sliding down your legs. reaching the end of your dress, he slides it up to your waist, showcasing your little black panties. goosebumps litter your skin from the cool night air mixed with the warmth of his touch.

"you're so fucking sexy, baby." he mumbles into the kiss.

his fingers trail up your thighs, dipping into the waistband of your panties, teasingly running along the trim. you pull back in frustration, using one hand to brace yourself on his shoulder, and the other to remove your underwear yourself. before you can set them aside, he takes them from you and slides them in your mouth.

"god, i can't wait to feel your pussy around me." he moans, drinking in the sight of you. he repositions you until you're straddling one of his thighs and gives you a devilish grin. "until then, you’re gonna ride my thigh like a good girl.”

as soon as your bare heat comes in contact with the smooth material of his slacks, your lips part with a small gasp. he places his hands on your waist, guiding you back and forth over his leg. lewd moans fall from your mouth as your clit bushes against his leg. he flexes his leg, his muscles tightening beneath you, providing better friction.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a sloppy kiss as you try to keep your composure. your arousal seeps into his pants, creating a sticky lubricant. he slightly lifts his leg, bumping into your pussy, eliciting a loud moan from you.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he coos, peeking down at your sopping center as you chase your pleasure. “that’s it, make a mess all over daddy’s leg.”

your movement becomes frantic, your teeth biting down on your panties to try to contain your moans. your saliva soaks into them, making your arousal much more noticeable as it coats your tongue. the knot in your stomach tightens, indicating your incoming orgasm.

aiden pulls the underwear from your mouth, “aht, aht. i wanna hear how good i’m making you feel.”

one of his hands trail up from your waist, applying the perfect amount of pressure along your body. his hand grasps your neck, his thumb against your chin as he brings your face towards his. his eyes take in your face that’s contorted with pleasure, and he can’t help but admire how fucking good you look.

“all mine.” he mutters to himself as his thumb traces your parted lips.

“feels so good.” you whine, your hips bucking as the knot inside of you snaps, bringing you over the edge with a pornographic moan.

aiden holds you against him as your body convulses, kissing the side of your neck while encouraging you to let it all out. your juices drip onto his leg, soaking the material between the two of you. your breathing is heavy as your eyes flutter from the satisfying sensation.

“you’re so hot when you cum.” he smirks, “i bet you’re even hotter cumming on my dick.”

the thought alone sends a new wave of arousal through your body, leaving you clenching, your pussy desperate for more. you slowly slide off of his lap, using the bike for support as your body feels weak. after catching your breath, you glance up at him and take in his hungry gaze. licking your lips, you reach out for his belt buckle.

his mouth sports a devious grin as he watches you unbuckle his belt. his erection painfully strains against his pants, eager to be set free from its restrictions. after releasing the buckle, you immediately unbutton his slacks, yearning for the feeling of his hardened member.

"so desperate to be stuffed by my cock." he teases in a condescending tone.

"wanna feel you inside me." you mumble, your cheeks flushing at your own words.

he audibly groans at your comment and helps you in pulling out his length. your mouth waters at the sight; long and thick, a few veins running along the shaft, a pretty pink tip with dribbles of precum. your small hand wraps around him, barely able to enclose him with your fingers. a breathy sigh leaves his mouth when you make contact.

"such a pretty cock." you whisper, leaning forward to lick the tip.

his hips buck when your tongue grazes the head of his dick, his precum spread across your tongue. his hand tangles in your hair, swiftly pulling you up to his mouth and kissing you with everything he has.

he's never been so turned on in his life. you've always done something to him, and he can't believe he's finally getting you where he wants you. you're in the same exact boat. the thought of sneaking around with your best friend's brother is so wrong, but fuck, does it feel so right.

aiden kicks his leg over his bike, stepping off. he turns you to face him, taking your face in his hands and pressing his mouth to yours in a hungry kiss. his hands travel down your body and beneath you, squeezing your ass, pulling a moan from you.

he lifts you from the bike and gently sets you down on the ground, pressing a few more kisses to your lips. “turn around.”

you do as he says, turning around and bending over, using his bike for support. he softly kicks your legs apart, causing your heart to hammer with anticipation in your chest. you can feel the continuous arousal seep from your aching hole.

he very slowly lifts your dress. you take a sharp breath when the cool air hits your bare center. his hands knead your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to showcase your dripping heat.

“you’re so fucking wet, baby.” he moans.

he brings his hand between your thighs, ghosting over where you need him most. his fingers graze your pussy, pulling a soft whimper from you. spreading your juices around, his thumb massages your clit in soft circles, causing your legs to jerk. his middle digit circles around your entrance, teasing you.

before you can beg him to do something, his finger plunges into you. a loud yelp leaves your lips, and you’re instantly clenching around him. his finger so long and slender, rubbing against your rigid walls so delicately.

before you can even indulge in the feeling, he removes his hand. you whine and shake your hips, pressing your ass against him, needing to feel more. he tsks with a chuckle, bringing his hand down on your cheek with a sharp slap. you squeak and attempt to close your legs, but he places himself between them, preventing you from doing so.

he grabs his dick, pumping it a few times before sliding it up and down your slickness. your breath hitches and your body grows hot. in one deep thrust, he pushes into you, bottoming out inside of your gushing hole.

“oh my — fuck.” you squeal, involuntarily clenching around him.

“i know, baby.” he breathes through his nose, attempting to keep control and not completely ravage you on the spot.

his hands hold your hips as he pulls back, rutting forward to fill you back up. soft moans spill from you as he strokes you deep and slow. his fingertips dig into your skin as he brings you back to meet his thrusts. your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back as pleasure floods your veins. he bites down on his bottom lip, head tossed back from the pure bliss.

blowing out a breath, he refocuses on where you’re connected. what a sight. your pussy grips him so tightly, sucking him back in every time he pulls away. your fluid soaks his dick, leaving a creamy ring around the base. with every pump, your fleshy ass bounces off of his hips, waves rippling through it.

“fuck — you take me so fucking well.” he groans as you push against him.

your face scrunches up, tears welling in your eyes from the immense pleasure. you’re already so close to cumming again. aiden reaches up and wraps your hair around his hand, tugging your head back. your jaw falls open, heavy breaths and mewls leaving your mouth as he reaches around with his opposite hand and rubs your clit.

“god, you feel s-so good daddy.” you cry out, both of your hands gripping the seat below you.

his thrusts grow harder and faster, throaty moans emitting from his mouth. “dirty little whore, calling your best friend’s brother daddy. who knew you were such a slut? you like it that much, hm?”

sobs leave you mouth as the tightness in your stomach grows. you can’t help but meet his every movement, it hurts so good. your legs shake, and if it weren’t for the bike beneath you, they would’ve given out by now.

“fuck, aiden..” you moan loudly as he digs into your sweet spot. “don’t stop. please don’t stop.”

he groans as he feels you clenching around him. his thrusts grow erratic, “god, you’re everything. so fucking perfect.” his finger on your sensitive bud speeds up, pressing harder against the bundle of nerves. “you’re close, aren’t you? yeah. let it go, baby.”

your pussy clamps down at his words, squeezing his cock as the pressure inside your stomach grows unbearable. silent moans fall from your mouth as your hips buck. the way he’s fucking you so deliciously sends you over the edge, your essence saturating his cock as you cum.

“that’s it.” he coos, “that’s my good girl.”

his strokes become sloppy as he chases his own release. he wraps an arm around your neck, holding you flush against his chest. his other arm wraps around your waist to keep you upright as he drills into you.

“daddy.” you sob, “want you to cum inside me. please, want your cum so bad.”

“yeah? you want me to fill you up with my babies?” he grunts, shoving as deep as humanly possible. “you’re unreal. so fucking filthy.”

he holds you tight, keeping you against him as he cums with a raspy moan. his cock twitches inside you, releasing a hot, milky load inside of you. everything feels fuzzy as he empties himself deep in your pussy, and you can’t help but smile.

before he even pulls out, your phone starts ringing. you choose to ignore it, but he picks it up and smirks as he reads the contact name. audrey. he looks over at you, then presses answer and puts it on speaker, holding it out for you. your eyes widen as you look back and forth from him and the phone.

“hello?” you hear audrey ask from the other end.

“h-hello?” you reply in a pant.

“where are you?” she asks.

aiden pulls you back into him, shoving his cock deeper into you, catching you off guard. you gasp, eyes closing from the feeling.

“hello? what’s wrong?” audrey speaks up.

you clear your throat, shaking your head. “nothing. what?”

she groans, “where are you? ethan and i got into a fight and i just need a girls night.”

before you can catch yourself, you’re rolling your eyes. of course she wants to hangout now. she blew off your plans just to come crawling back when her and her boyfriend aren’t getting along.

you’re not complaining though. you just had the best orgasm of your life.

aiden pulls out of you, leaving you shuddering. he tucks himself back into his pants and pulls your dress down, covering you back up. he sends you a look, reminding you that you haven’t responded to his sister.

“um, okay. i can be home in like 15, just meet me there.” you say, hanging up before she can reply.

you look over at aiden, catching his eye. he’s got a panty dropping grin on his face as he watches you, admiring the way your skin is flushed, how your hair is tangled, and the dried tears on your cheeks. you look especially fucked out, and he can’t help but smile because he’s the one who’s got you like that.

“so.” he says.

“so..” you awkwardly repeat.

he quietly chuckles, “don’t make it weird now. i fucked you, and you liked it.”

your face turns bright red and you shove him, shaking your head at his words.

he tosses an arm around you, laughing as he pulls you into him. “hey, it’s okay. i loved it.” he leans down and kisses you hard. “and don’t think that’s the last time, you’re mine now.”

your stomach flutters with butterflies as you kiss him. this is definitely not something you’ll regret.

“now, let’s go. my sister needs a hug from you. so, that’s what you’re gonna do… with my kids dripping down your legs.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

a/n : first fic :))) he’s so sexy idc idc, need him to breed me!!!!!

[femmefatalevibe]

how do you get monica belluccis vibe (with short wavy hair)?

Use nourishing shampoo/conditioner with a leave-in, anti-frizz conditioner. Let your hair air-dry

Apply ultra-nourishing facial moisturizer to the skin with SPF

For makeup: Use a satin-finish foundation with medium to full concealer underneath to cover imperfections; apply a golden brown bronzer as a contour and a pearly-highlighter to the cheekbones& high points of your face if not oily (tip/bridge of nose, cupid's bow, chin, middle of forehead); Fill in your brows so they look full but natural with a match brow pencil/powder shade; Create a grey-brown smokey eye with a golden bronze/taupe eyeshadow as a base on the lid with a smokey grey in the crease and black shadow on the outer corner(if desired); Apply a thin layer of black liner to the top of the eye with a subtle, classic wing and to the water line/tight line (inner rim); FInish off the lips with a matte or satin finish pink-brown lipstick (or a "your lips but better" hue)

For clothing: Tailored black wardrobe staples in high-quality fabrics – sharp wool/leather/silk blazers, crisp moto jackets, Pima cotton tops or silk camis/blouses, cashmere/leather bodysuits, tailored straight-leg or bootcut black trousers/denim, black slip dress/bodycon knit or heavy-fabric dresses, long tailored black coats in wool, leather, or silk with accents of black lace/red/leopard print

For accessories: Statement crystal, pearl, or classic chunky necklaces with sleek black heeled boots or pumps with a pointed or almond-shaped toe, black tights & hosiery