#actual photos of this sweater to come!

[crampedfingers]

safe as houses

[wearysparrows]

Couldn't Keep Them to Myself if I Tried

ao3/masterlist

Summary: You invite Sylus over for a simple movie night -- but he has other ideas of the definition of "casual."

CW(18+): Alcohol usage, Vaginal Fingering, Hand Jobs, Porn Without Plot, Not Beta Read, fem reader (afab), female terms are used towards the reader, reader is mc but it's not pertinent, alt title: you and Sylus have a normal one. 4.6K

This night had been your idea, and you were already beginning to regret it before Sylus had even arrived on your doorstep. Rather than go to an upscale restaurant like Sylus had initially suggested, you had instead invited him over to your apartment for a movie night – whatever that meant. It wasn’t that you had anything against the concept of restaurant dates, (could you call them dates?) but rather that you wanted something more relaxed on occasion. The frequency of your attendance to restaurants that did not have prices on the menu was becoming alarming.  Sylus was wholly unbothered by this. Any time spent with Sylus was a good time, though, to be fair. You were surprised when he agreed so readily to your comparatively low-brow idea of spending time together. You checked your phone at the thought. 

Sylus:

Be there soon. Got what you wanted on the way

10:07PM

You didn’t bother to respond, knowing he was likely coming on his bike, anyway. Just looking at the text made your heart rate increase and your stomach flip in on itself. You took a loud, steadying breath, and examined yourself in the full length mirror in your bedroom. You had originally tried not to agonize too deeply about what to wear for the occasion (it was your house, after all), but had failed in that regard. After much deliberation (and sending a million example photos to Tara for feedback) you had settled on what you thought was the best compromise between cute and comfortable. It wasn’t as if Sylus had never seen you in your house clothes before, but this occasion was intentional – and you wanted your look to reflect that. 

Thus, you had decided on an off the shoulder sweater – it was an ivory color, with an oversized cable knit that kept the cold of the night air at bay. A gift from Sylus, as it were. He had given it to you rather nonchalantly, but you felt anything but nonchalant after cross checking the price online. You tugged at it, and your collar bone poked out from the side that fell from your shoulder. Under this you had a pair of cotton sleep shorts, which were appropriately adorned with images of small teddy bears. Fabric content was important for health and comfort, after all. Though you had hated to admit it, you had agonized over your panties for the longest – not that you expected anything to happen tonight. Your relationship with Sylus definitely recently escalated on the physical level, but you had yet to actually go all the way with him. To that end, you had settled for something that was comfortable, but appropriate if things did go that direction. A simple ivory pair with navy blue stripes, with a cotton lace trim. They matched the sweater. A happy coincidence. 

Your phone dinged with the sound of a message notification, reminding you of its forgotten presence in your hand as you were scrutinizing yourself. You unlocked it, swiping down on Sylus’s text.

Sylus:

Here

10:16PM

Your stomach again attempted to cave in on itself, and made a valiant attempt to crawl out of your throat. You couldn’t pinpoint at what point exactly seeing Sylus had made your body have such a reaction, but it had only worsened recently. You were nervous. You quickly made your way from the bedroom to your front door. After you had chastised Sylus for one too many breaking-and-entering fiascos, he had changed tactics to simply texting you when he arrived (as opposed to knocking like a normal person). You adjusted your sweater and hair before opening the door, taking one of many deep breaths that night.

On the other side of the door he stood, illuminated from behind by the porch light. It made the white of his hair glow softly in a small halo. His casual dress reflected yours – which came as a surprise to you, even though you should have expected as much. It was just a movie night. He had opted for a tight fitting black tee which left nothing to your imagination, and a pair of gray sweatpants. Because of course he had. You didn’t let this thought go any further in your mind, lest it run away with it. He was holding a grocery bag, the contents of which you were certain to contain the shitty alcohol you had requested. You looked up at him. Why was he so fucking tall?

Sylus was looking back down at you. He was kindly ignoring how you had been ogling his clothing choices, but did look amused. You felt like you would never get used to the intense carmine red of his eyes. He had a knowing glint there, like usual. You felt that he saw right through you.

“May I come in? I’ve brought the goods.” He held up the bag as evidence to support his statement. You opened the door for him, stepping aside so that he could enter.

“What are you, a vampire who needs permission to enter?” You rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face. Sylus was in your apartment. At night. And you were going to relax. Together. At night, alone. He clacked his teeth together at you in response playfully.

Shit.

Sylus had taken your words as an invitation to entry (if you hadn’t seen him eat and drink so many times, you would have wondered if he really was a vampire), and had busied himself unpacking the bag onto your coffee table neatly. You were still standing by the open door, and you closed it, locking up hurriedly. You approached him, standing behind the coach and leaning on it, eyeballing what Sylus had brought for you to share. 

“Low quality soju, per request.” 

He had arranged three flavors on the table – original, peach, and plum. Two identical silver cups sat ready and waiting next to the bottles. You nodded your approval, keeping your expression stately. 

“It tastes like juice. Don’t knock it till you try it.” You responded, wagging a finger at him. You knew he probably would have preferred an expensive wine (which he had offered to bring from his personal collection), but you had rejected this motion in favor of forcing him to do something under the umbrella of what you considered to be normalcy. Not that he seemed particularly upset by it, minus a few grumblings about your tastes.

Sylus chuckled at your words, shaking his head. He was smiling. 

“I haven’t knocked it. Yet.” 

You felt yourself flush at his words. You were certain he hadn’t meant it to be any kind of innuendo, but you felt a twinge between your thighs, anyway. You cursed yourself mentally. Sylus gestured to the couch. 

“Sit.”

The command of a man who was used to getting his way from other people. In your own home, no less. You were hoping the relative darkness of the room would hide the redness of your face. With no reason to argue, you made your way to the other side of the couch. Sylus sat down before you had a chance to, on the far right of the furniture. He motioned to the space next to him. You filled it with your body, unsure of how close in proximity he wanted you to be. Or how close you wanted to be. You settled for a respectful two inches or so of space, and drew your bare legs up next to you. Sylus had his legs spread open, as he usually did. Despite his casual attire, you thought his striking beauty looked out of place in your simple apartment. His knee tapped your thigh gently. Your eyes snapped to his face, breaking you from your thoughts on his looks.

“Did you have a movie in mind? I’ll pour our ‘juice.’” 

He reached for the cups and alcohol as he said so. You tried not to openly admire his bare arms, and promptly failed. The muscles in his forearms rippled under his skin as he reached for the cups. How often was he working out? 

You scrabbled quickly for the remote, taking it from the coffee table and turning on the TV. You did, in fact, have something in mind. You had decided on something that wasn’t too serious, and would allow for conversation – if it happened. You figured that you wouldn’t be at one-hundred percent focus after a few cups, anyway. You quickly opened the movie on your streaming service.

“One-thousand and One Vampire Knights?” Came Sylus’s quizzical voice from beside you. It nearly made you jump in your focus to find the film. You turned to him as you hit play on the movie. He handed you a cool silver glass, full of the clear liquid. His fingers were so large that it was nearly a struggle to neatly take the cup from him. You kept making contact with the sides of his index finger and thumb with your own. He was incredibly warm, despite the coolness of the cup. You managed to take it, after a short struggle.

“Don’t complain,” You poked his bicep with your fingertip as you spoke. 

“You agreed to this. You can handle a corny vampire flick, right?” Sylus flexed his bicep ��� just the tiniest amount – under your touch. He drank the contents of his cup swiftly. You watched the bob of his Adam's apple – the flexion of his tendons in his neck as he did so.

His lips were a touch wet as he spoke.

“Not complaining. There isn’t much I wouldn’t handle in the name of monopolizing your time.”

You needed to drink after that comment. You immediately downed the contents of your own glass.

Yeah. Like juice.

Sylus had poured you the peach flavor. You licked the residual off wetness from your lips. You felt more than saw Sylus’s gaze on you. Even in the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the movie, his eyes were piercing. They reflected what little light there was like a predator illuminated in the night. He was already refilling your glasses. You were certain you had yet to turn your attention to the film at all, yet. You turned from him hurriedly. Sylus, who had his arm that was free from soju duty on the back of the touch, took the opportunity to wrap it gently around your shoulders. He pressed you to his side, moving your whole weight easily with just one arm. The movement made your drink nearly spill, and you quickly drank it before it could go anywhere besides the inside of your mouth. 

Sylus always had a way of making you feel small, especially like this. Pressed against his side, you were curled up like a cat against his thigh and chest. Your heart was beating so loudly that you weren’t certain he couldn’t hear it as well. His warmth seeped into the bare skin of your legs and shoulder. You hadn’t realized how cold you had felt until you had felt his body against yours. You could smell his aftershave. It was something sort of sweet but spiced at the same time. You couldn’t quite place it.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes still focused on the movie, but his voice was close to your ear. 

“You looked cold with all that bare skin.” He was whispering, as if not to interrupt the characters on screen. You still hadn’t actually paid any attention to the film. He took your cup from you, and set both his and yours back on the table. With his other hand now free, he pulled your knees and thighs into his lap. He rubbed his hand over your bare calves repeatedly, and squeezed the tops of your cold feet. His hand was so warm. You had been so focused on acting normal that you really hadn’t taken notice of how cold you were. Your feet felt like ice, even with Sylus’s proximity. You had an inkling this wouldn’t last for long, though, because his relatively innocent ministrations were making your body have a reaction. Even just touching your legs and feet was enough to rile you up. He just had that effect on you.

You bit your lip and tried to actually watch the movie. You really did – but it was near impossible with Sylus’s hands running up and down your legs, rubbing your calves and feet idly. His eyes rarely seemed to stray from the screen, but his grip kept you pressed firmly against him. 

Someone on screen was being sucked dry by an innumerable number of vampires. You hardly registered this, as you were thinking about what would happen if you were to sit squarely in Sylus’s lap and tell him clearly what you wanted from him. You did not act on these thoughts. Instead, you reached for the alcohol and glasses from the table. Sylus let you leave his grip for a moment �� though he seemed reluctant to do so. He had a hand on the inside of your knee, making sure you didn’t fall as you leaned from the couch to pour the drinks. Something about it felt even more intimate than his earlier touches. When was the last time anyone else had touched the back of your knee ? Maybe never. 

You poured the drinks, shoving one into Sylus’s hand. You needed less of a clear head for this situation.

“Drink.” You commanded.

Sylus bowed his head at you, going along with your desires.

“Yes, ma’am.” You heard rather than saw the smile in his voice as his lips pressed against the glass. You mirrored him, and quickly poured more. You both drank again. This repeated itself two more times before Sylus halted your pouring with his index finger on the lip of the bottle.

“What’s the rush, baby? We have all the time in the world.”

This always happened with Sylus. Even though you were certain he had a ridiculously high tolerance, he switched into even more intimate pet names for you when you drank together. You flexed your ankles, stretching, nervous energy having nowhere else to go. You could feel the dilation of your veins even in your fingertips.

“No rush. I just like this stuff.” A half-truth. It was good. Bad for your health, but good for lowering your inhibitions and anxiety levels around him.

You set the drinks back down reluctantly. You hesitated for a moment about what position you should return to in relation to Sylus – but he answered your unspoken question for you. Your knees were drawn up over his lap, resting against his abdomen, your feet on the couch on the other side of him. Your torso was still pressed into the grip of his arm. It was almost like he had you in a princess-style carry, but while seated. 

You could feel the easy rise and fall of his chest, the movement enough to move your knees up and down. His fingers were grazing along the backs of your thighs now. The movement was so gentle, it almost seemed absent minded. Just when you thought they were straying close to where you wanted him, they were going the other direction. You were definitely wet, now. You put a hand on his chest, and scrunched up his shirt there. An attempt to ground yourself, lest your soul leave your body because of the situation. He seemed to take this as encouragement. His voice tickled your ear, breath warm against it.

“You’re so soft here.” He cupped the back of your thigh, petting it. His voice sounded almost like he was making a comment on the nature of a piece of art, rather than the current state of your skin. You suppressed a small shudder. You willed him with your mind to just stick his fingers inside you already. He was nearly cupping your ass, anyway.

“And you’re very warm. And you smell good.” You said instead. The alcohol had you feeling a lot more honest, suddenly, and a touch more relaxed. Sylus’s hand paused for a moment, before it resumed its movements. He peered at you, blinking. A smile graced over his features. It made your heart twist up in knots. You hoped you were the only one who saw this side of him.

“I’m happy to warm you up any time you’d like.” He turned his gaze back to the movie, but his fingers were dragging over the space of your inner thighs now, just above your sex. Never actually touching it, save for the briefest ghosting of knuckles. You could feel the rate of your breath quicken. If he moved down the slightest bit, he would be touching you there. You tried with all your willpower to focus on the movie. You hadn’t a clue what was happening. A great many people dined at a banquet on screen. 

Sylus’s fingers finally found their way under your shorts. He pressed in between your cunt through your panties with his index and middle fingers. Just brushing there, up and down through the fabric barrier. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you – you weren’t entirely sure that he was actually going to do anything of the sort. You were already so wet that you knew he could feel it through the fabric. Even with just the gentle touch, there was a slick sound. His other arm kept you pressed tightly to him, still. 

He hadn’t even taken his eyes off of the movie.

You glared at him, half-heartedly. It was hard to be mad when he was giving you exactly what you wanted from him – no matter how much you disliked admitting it. While you were attempting to burn a hole in his face with your gaze, he had pressed your panties to the side, and was stroking you lightly with two fingers, just the same as before. You squeezed your thighs together involuntarily. As if in response, he began slowly pressing a finger inside of you – slowly . Despite how easy it would have been to slip right in with how wet you were – he took it knuckle by knuckle, curling it inside of you as it bottomed out. You put a hand over your mouth to stifle any sounds that threatened to escape. You felt that if you alerted him to your pleasure, he might stop altogether. He put another finger inside you, much more roughly this time. You keened into his touch.

His gaze did meet yours now – finally leaving the screen. He was watching you intently, looking down at you. You felt yourself relaxing into his domination of the situation – cradled in his arms, fingers inside you. His thumb found your clit, circling it there. You hadn’t had much time to get off recently, so you were feeling extra sensitive – especially under his touch. He seemed to sense this, and doubled his efforts, fingers curling inside you as he did so. You spoke from behind your hand. 

“Sylus,” you breathed. “ ‘m gonna cum quick.” 

“Don’t cover your mouth. I want to hear you.” His voice was a low command. As he spoke, his thumb worked harder at your clit. The fingers inside you alternated – one pressing in, the other pressing out. He was trying to stretch you. You took your hand from your mouth. Your moans echoed in the small space.

“Sylus –” You choked out. 

He had put a third finger in. The pleasure was already too much – your head felt hazy and hot from the attention and the alcohol. Your orgasm found you suddenly, white hot and mind-emptying. Your body arched into his touch. He worked you through it, fingers still stretching you out. You twitched under him, much too sensitive for him to continue. You pulled your bottom half away from his lap, which removed his fingers from you unceremoniously. There was a lewd sound as you did so. Instead, you flipped yourself around so that your head was nearly in his lap, laying on your stomach. You supported your weight with your forearms. 

Because of the nature of your previous position, you hadn’t been able to feel his arousal at all – but you could see it squarely in front of your face now. It was straining against his sweats, the outline overwhelmingly visible, a wet spot just at the tip. He was looking down at you, and carded a hand through your hair. The cool air hit the parts of your scalp that were free from the weight of your hair under his touch. You tugged at his waistband impatiently, which elicited a rumbling laugh from him.

“Do you see how hard you get me? Look.” 

 He helped you pull his waistband down, freeing his length. It bounced out against his abdomen, visibly leaking precum from the tip. It left a mark on his expensive black shirt. The sight had you newly wet. 

You did look. Technically, you had seen it before – but not in real life. Only over text. Per your request, of course. Somehow, it managed to look significantly larger in person. A thick vein pulsed on the underside. He was sporting girth and length. You swallowed thickly. He twitched under your gaze, clearly enjoying being admired from this angle.

You gripped it, experimentally. It was hot and hard under your touch. Your fingertips could hardly wrap around – they didn’t even touch each other on the other side. 

Fuck.

You gave him a few experimental strokes. You heard him exhale in response through his teeth. You sat up, crossing your legs underneath you while facing him on the couch in order to give your hands better leverage to touch him. You spat on them before continuing. Sylus’s eyes were hot on your skin. Your palm, slick with saliva, rolled over the head of his cock. He groaned lowly in his throat. Even in the low light, you could see the flush gracing the skin of his face. The combination of the sight and the ingestion of alcohol had you feeling like you wanted to tease him – just a little. You paused your movements.

“Show me how you do it yourself. So I can do it how you like it.” The confidence in your own voice surprised even you. A little knowing smile came over Sylus’s features, and his hand replaced yours for a moment, the movement gentle in its own right. You put your hands in your lap, feeling a little empty with the loss of him.

“Watch closely, then.”

You watched him intently as he stroked himself leisurely under your observance. His confidence even while jerking off in front of you only reminded you why you liked him so much. His breath had increased, and you could see the quickening rise and fall of his taut abdomen and chest. He licked his lips as he focused on his own pleasure. You resisted the urge to kiss him, as you were busy studying other things. He started with a tug at the base that turned into a clockwise movement of his hand around the shaft, curling around himself to get in contact with more surface area. He was still wet with your spit.

“You’re looking so intently. Do you like watching me like this?” 

Even while he was getting off in front of you at your command, he was teasing you. You huffed, shooing his hands away again. He set them aside with a quickness that he didn’t bother masking. It was clear, even with his earlier words, that he wanted your touch in place of his own. You replaced your hands around his cock, attempting to replicate the motions he had done on himself. His hips bucked up involuntarily into your hand. You wet him with more spit.

“I like watching. But I’d prefer to do it myself. Is this…good?” You peered into his eyes for a response. Despite the confidence in your words, the concern that you wouldn’t be able to finish him off with just your hands was there. His pupils were blown wide. He nodded his assent, eager.

“You’re making me feel so good, sweetheart. You make me feel – ah – good.” His words were momentarily interrupted by you palming the head of his cock while he spoke. His hips kept stuttering into your hands. He was leaking so much now that you no longer needed spit to lubricate him. You doubled your efforts, and felt him get impossibly harder in your grip. You couldn’t believe you had him falling apart in your hands like this. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Where..” He had to start again, breathing heavily through his nose.

“Fuck – where should I cum?”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but you weren’t entirely sure why he was even asking. You squeezed him harder.

“Cum in my hands.” You replied simply. You could tell he was right on the edge. 

Something about your words must have done it for him, because he did, without much warning other than reaching his hands around yours as you stroked him. He squeezed his around yours, and came in thick ropes over your fingers. You stroked him through it until he chuckled  in a stuttering sort of way that sounded overstimulated – but he didn’t complain. He laid his head on the back of the couch, chest heaving. Your hands were covered in his cum. There was a lot. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were struggling with the fact that you had just given Sylus a casual handjob on your couch. You saw him looking at you in your periphery for only a moment before you suddenly felt his lips crash into yours. It was rough – one of his rough palms pressed the back of your head to him, and your teeth clicked together at his insistence. Your hands were still covered in him, having nowhere to go. The kiss made you feel hot all over again after just having had a moment to cool down, and you ignored the urge to stroke Sylus back to life and ride him on your couch.

You had to brace him with your forearm. He was looking into your face, wondering why you had pushed him off.

“I need to clean up.” You showed him your cum covered hands. He followed your gaze, as if he had forgotten. His eyes widened. He had the good grace to look a bit sheepish.

“Shit. Sorry, love. Let me help.”

At some point during his insistent kissing, he must have put himself back into his pants, because he stood, and scooped you up from the couch. He could have thrown you if he wanted. You yelped involuntarily, but he was already on his way to your bathroom. Your hands still had nowhere to go – you couldn’t even hang on to him. Still, you knew he wouldn't let you fall. He set you gingerly to your feet on the bathroom floor, and turned on the faucet for you, guiding your hands to the stream. He pumped soap on them. He was leaning against your back, practically eclipsing your form while you washed. You could smell the arousal still coming off of him. His hands moved over yours in the sink – helping you clean yourself. The movement felt so absurdly intimate that it almost made you laugh nervously. He turned off the faucet for you, and you dried your hands on the hand towel beside the sink. Before you could even get a word in, he had you back in his arms, and was returning the two of you to the couch. Instead of returning you to your seat, however, he kept you in his lap. 

“I think we may have missed the movie,” He said, deadpan. You smacked his bicep lightly. 

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine.” He grinned, looking very pleased with himself. You couldn’t have gotten away from his grip, even if you had wanted to. You settled for laying your head on his shoulder. He put his nose in your hair, and inhaled deeply. You had never felt a peace quite like the one in this moment.

[notrobinsomethingworse]

Okay hear me out. Batfamily, ugly Christmas sweater addition.

Bruce Wayne:

No doubt in my mind his children forced him into it. As soon as Dick mentioned wearing ugly sweaters on Christmas Day he found this monstrosity sitting in his closet. He chucked it out. He forgot about it. The next week it was back. He threw it out again. Two days passed. It was back. He tried shredding it, burning it, burying it in the backyard. It reappeared each time. Needless to say, it was still there on Christmas and he reluctantly wore it to the delight of everybody.

Jason Todd:

He wanted absolutely nothing to do with what Dick had planned… at first. Then he realised it was a great opportunity to piss Bruce off. Funny enough, it didn’t work as he hoped as Bruce was just happy he was there.

Tim Drake:

Wanted nothing to do with it and still wants nothing to do with it. Chose the first thing on the rack. Would’ve given Young Justice the chance to chose he sweater but he doesn’t trust them to NOT get him something horrendous.

Dick Grayson:

Planned this whole thing just to wear this monstrosity he found while doom scrolling on Instagram reels (he has adhd and is a millennial, he sure as hell isn’t on TikTok BUT dopamine go brrr). His siblings hate him. He loves it.

Damian Wayne:

This boy FOUGHT like one of those cats being forced into a costume. He clawed and begged and weaponised crying. Dick cackled at him until he had it on. He stayed on Dicks shoulders for the rest of the night. They did not talk for a month after.

He will stab anyone who brings it up.

Stephanie Brown:

Okay picture this in hot pink. She immediately locks onto some sort of meme when Dick mentions ugly sweaters. She finds this ugly ass sweater and steals Bruce’s credit card to get it.

Cassandra Cain:

Stephanie immediately calls Cass with plans. She happily agrees. She helps Steph steal Bruce’s credit card and proudly pulls Steph around to show the whole family their matching sweaters. A photo of them recreating the meme with their matching sweaters spreads around the web for at least a week.

Barbra Gordon:

Along with this sweater, Barbs places a USB stick containing a compilation of epic patrol failures in each of the Bat’s Christmas stockings. She wants to keep them on their toes (and adequately afraid of her). It is effective.

Duke Thomas:

Same vain as Steph. Instantly clocked in on memes and found this bad boy. Shows up with yellow temporary dye on his hair and old-lady sunglasses from the dollar store. Whenever he faces the slightest inconvenience he asks to speak to the manager. It becomes a bit where the manager changes each time and becomes crazier than the last.

Alfred Pennyworth:

Motherfucker would not wear a ugly sweater no matter how much the children begged. And the children did beg (Damian had to pull out the puppy dog eyes for this one). Jason was actually the fucker who made him cave pulling out all the stops, “it’s my first Christmas with everyone since I… you know.”, “it would be nice to have something special to remember it you know?”, “I remember my first Christmas in the manor. I just want to feel that happy again.”

Jason comes prepared with the sweater and Alfred knows he’s lost (but he doesn’t really seem to mind when he sees all the smiling faces on Christmas Day).

[world-of-aus]

Hot Shot

Pairing: NHL!Photographer!Reader x Hockey Player!Bucky

Warnings: Bucky being a heartthrob.

A/N: I've been reading one to many hockey romances and well here we are scratching an itch. I know I would like to eventually come out with a bigger story for these two but for now this is just the start a taste if you will. I'd like to leave this open to suggestion of what y'all would like to see or know about these two if anything.. Hope you enjoy the first taste.

You barely had a chance to unlock your screen to reply to her message before her caller ID

was taking up your screen, a recent photo of her and Steve that she had made as her contact picture pulling a smile onto your lips.

“Tasha.” you answer.

“Y/n, listen I know you were just planning on watching the game from the comfort of your living room but I mean talk about an upgrade! From a television screen to being at the actual game on the floor behind the safety of the glass getting some wicked shots, and no one captures action shots like you do - I promise I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” she tacks on her voice pleading.

You chuckle, you know had the circumstances been different she’d be one of the first ones at the arena, she hadn’t missed one of Steve’s games yet, not since you had been signed on. “Natasha relax, you know you don’t have to pull out the stops on me, I'll go - do you want me to send you the photos?”

The redhead turned blonde breathes a heavy sigh of relief, “oh god thank you! and if you don’t mind, but take your time, I’m sure a certain bruin's player is going to be demanding your attention after the game especially if they bag a win.” she teases seemingly mentioning the man in your DM’s.

Your cheeks warm, the unread notification from the player she speaks of appearing in your mind, “please Tasha,” you deflect, “it’s the game of the season he’ll have plenty of attention with all the puck bunnies sporting his name on their jersey throwing themselves at him for an inkling of his attention.” you murmur picking at an invisible speck of lint on your sweater as you stand from the couch, intent on getting your things packed to head out.

“And yet he only seems to want yours,” she sings, “you should totally wear the jersey I got you for your birthday.”

You roll your eyes smile pulling at your lips, “is your flight really delayed, do I have to text Steve?”

Your friend laughs, “unfortunately it is and hey thank you again for this, I owe you, love you, oh and send me a picture of Steve, one of you and Bucky too!”

You shake your head as your friend rushes out her farewell your screen now gone black as you look down at it “looks like pjs are out of the question for tonight” you murmur continuing on through your apartment to grab your things Bucky’s text still sitting in your messages unanswered.

He’d have his answer soon enough.

🏒🖤

The cool of the arena’s backstage floor seeps through your jeans, your tripod sitting off to the side, your camera nestled in your hands as you wait for the first few players of the bruins to make their arrival.

Your camera goes up; the first of the team to come through the backdoors is the Bruins coach Fury, he spots you smile on his face his hand coming up in a greeting as you get your first arrival shot of the day. Slowly players begin to trickle in, most of them spot you posing for you as they stride by, others walk by with a simple wave their heads already in the game.

Speaking of head in the game center Steve Rogers makes his way in, his suit pressed, duffle thrown over his shoulder as he owns the floor. “Looking good Rogers, say you wouldn’t have Natasha tucked away in that duffle by chance?” you tease grinning behind your camera. You laugh at the grin that breaks his lips, a shake of his head as he directs his gaze at you, “can assure you Natasha wouldn’t be packed in my bag, she’d be hanging on my arm.” You coo at the bearded blonde, “you think you can say that again I didn’t have my phone out.”

The two of you laugh as you capture a few more shots, “Come on Rogers leave some love for the rest of us, you already have your face glued on billboards!”

Left defenseman Sam Wilson is striding in next million dollar smile painted on his lips like the suit he wears on his skin. “But no one has their face printed on as many shirts like you do Wilson, now give me something new to look out for will ya, want to make sure these etsy sellers get only the best!” Wilson eats your words up, feeding the fans through your film. He comes closer kneeling to your level to pull you in for a hug, “it’s good to see you hot shot, thought you weren’t coming out tonight with how Barnes was moping.”

Your heart beats like a wild drum in your chest, “Tasha’s flight got delayed, cashed in her IOU, so here I am and surely your version of Barnes moping is different from mine.”

“Oh man you should of seen him, had to smack the phone out of his hands with how often he was checking it, you’re gonna join us tonight after the win right?”

“You Bruins are so sure about that win,” you laugh.

“That’s because it’s in the bag, hot shot.” It takes everything in you not to snap your eyes to the broad shoulder right defenseman sauntering into the building. “Here comes your boy.” Sam chuckles patting your shoulder as you find said man with your camera lens. You wanted to eat him up like he was eating at your film.

Like Sam Bucky strolls till he’s standing above you, grin pulling at his pink lips as he offers you his hand. You set your camera down gently against your chest before taking his offer, warmth seeping though you at your hand wrapped in his. “Thought you weren’t gonna show.” He murmurs watching you.

“Well as enticing as staying in my pjs on my couch with a glass of wine watching the game tonight sounded IOUs are a serious thing to cash in.” you say struggling to keep his gaze, you were certain you’d turn into a puddle of goo soon.

“More enticing then upgrading your lock screen?”

You let out a groan reaching out to smack his chest, but his hand captures yours instead keeping it there a teasing smile playing at his lips. “You’re never going to let that go are you?” you question recalling the night at the bar that he discovered himself as your lock screen. To be fair it was one of your favorite shots you had captured at the beginning of the seasons. It didn’t hurt that he was your favorite Bruin player to follow on and off the ice.

“Never, though I’m hoping by the end of the night ill see a photo of me after the win.” He chuckles thumb running over your hand.

“You’d have to secure a win first Barnes.”

Your breath catches in your chest as he closes the distance between the two of you, “I’ve already won though.”

Your reply is caught on your tongue, Fury voice breaking through the haze, “Barnes you’ll have time to catch up with y/n later get your ass in the lockers now!”

Bucky let’s your hand falling, chuckle brewing in his chest as he steps back, “hope you’re not watching Wilson or Rogers to closely tonight hotshot because this wins for you, and I’m going to be the one bringing it home.”

You watch him walk away, his gaze lingering on you till he disappears through the locker room.

And God how you hoped he would.

[verstappen-cult]

GWEN’S RADIO MESSAGE. I saw the notification and ran to Instagram only to find these photos. And when I tell you that I couldn’t stop looking at them for at least five minutes. . . so, you know I had to write a silly little drabble.

You come home after your early pilates class to find Charles snuggling with a puppy on the carpet in the living room, cushions perfectly scattered around to simulate a comfortable bed. When Charles sees you standing there with a puzzled look on your face, he just pouts, hugging the little dog tightly against his chest, and looks at you from beneath his eyelashes.

“What is that?” You ask, eyebrows raised. You know what is is, you simply don’t know what is a dog doing in your apartment when you don’t have any pets.

Charles cheeks are colored a light pink when he says, “Remember that time you said how much you wanted a puppy?”

“That was ages ago!”

“But look at him!” Charles grabs the puppy with both hands and shows him to you just like that scene in The Lion King with Simba being presented to all the animals in the kingdom. “Look at those eyes! We can’t send him back to the shelter.”

The dog isn’t even looking at you, too busy licking your boyfriend’s hand.

But Charles is right.

You can’t send him back to the shelter when you can give him a better life. And is not like you are actually mad that he decided to adopt a dog without your consent, it’s more about the surprise to see him lying on the carpet in his $2,000 white designer sweater with a dog, when in the past he’s gotten angry when you haven’t hung it up how it is supposed to hung.

You drop your bag and take off your shoes to join him on the floor. The little guy jumps from his hand and walks over to you, sniffing your hands and giving you side eyes until he feels safe enough to climb in your lap and let you hold him.

“Aren’t you cute,” You say, giving his little head a kiss. “I guess we need to give him a name, no?”

“About that,” Charles plays with a dog toy to avoid looking at you. “I already named him.”

You huff, “Of course you did.” You can’t be mad, not when Charles looks so shy and happy with the cute puppy walking around and exploring his new home. “What is his name?”

“Leo Leclerc.” He says it so proud, the corners of his mouth curling up that you can’t help but smile too.

“It suits him.” You agree, leaning closer to Charles. He immediately opens his arms for you and you rest your head on his chest, looking at Leo trying to climb on the sofa. “You’re a dog dad now, Charlie.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t asked you before adopting him,” He turns his head to get a better look at you. “and I’m sorry I used you wanting a puppy as an excuse when in reality I feel in love with him the second I saw him through the window.” Leo walks back to you and finds comfort between Charles legs. “I don’t want him to be just mine. I want him to be ours.”

You sit up, eyes looking between Charles and, what is now, your puppy. Your boyfriend looks expectantly, waiting for an answer that comes in the form of a squeak and a kiss.

“I can’t believe you went to get groceries and ended up adopting a dog.”

“About that,” Charles scratches the back of his neck nervously and you know what he’s about to say. “I saw him and forgot about everything else! But I can go to the grocery store this afternoon. He needs more toys, after all.”

“Oh, he’s gonna be so spoiled!”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you're desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

Adrenaline buzzes in your ears and sears through your veins. You shouldn’t be here. Yet this place is no more treacherous than your home. Thing’s can’t get much worse so you may as well try to make them better. 

Or maybe you’re so desperate for it to end, that you don’t care how. 

You stand before the two men in their dark suits. They mutter as if you can’t hear them, “Warren’s girl.” 

“One of them,” the other intones. 

“Boss said not to bother.” 

You sway, your hands twined up behind your back. You expect to be turned away but you’re not ready for it. You chew the tip of your tongue. 

“I can wait,” you say. 

The don’t acknowledge you. They turn to block you out with their shoulders and lower their voices. One glances over his shoulder at you, Walker? Or something. 

“Your daddy send you?” He asks. 

You shake your head. You should probably lie but you’re no good at that. The throbbing in your swollen lip assures you of that. 

“So why should we let you in to see the boss? You out here at midnight looking like a tramp,” he challenges as he faces you again. 

“Hey, she looks like she’s had it bad enough. Don’t be a dick,” the other man reproaches. “Look, sweetheart,” he steps forward. “Man’s busy. With important business. Whatever you’re looking for, ask your daddy.” 

You could sob. Your father has no idea you’re there. If he did... if he knew why... 

Your shoulders slump and you hang your head in defeat. Why did you think this would work? It’s a fantasy. That same escapist wish you make every night when you cry yourself to sleep. 

You close your eyes and see Adrienne’s teary-eyes and Kitty’s helpless expression. You can’t let your sisters down. You can’t stand to see them suffer any longer. You can take it all, but it’s seeing him raise his hand to them that guts you. 

“I need to see him,” you raise your head. “I can wait.” 

You say you can but if your father realises you’re gone, if he finds out where you’ve gone, or even manages to guess why... 

Walker sighs. He elbows the other man. “Go tell him so can come back and tell her to scram on his orders.” 

The other man returns a dark look but goes inside. You hug yourself and shiver in the night air. You have only your quarter-zip sweater and a pair of silky pajama pants. You’re not surprised the men can barely keep from laughing at you. 

You wait. It takes longer than you expect. If anything, you would think they would only pretend to tell the boss. That’s what they all do. They lie. They ignore you. They just don’t care. So why are you here? Why would this go any other way? 

Before you can wave the white flag, the door opens. 

“In,” the man holds the door as he steps out.  

You flinch and Walker sneers at his partner in confusion. You’re just as surprised. The other man huffs. 

“Well, he said you got five minutes, so get.” 

You waver on your feet then scurry forward. You step inside the dark brick building, another man waiting just inside. He’s silent as he points you down the hall. He directs you with the terse gestures; upstairs, to the left, around another corner.  

You stop before a door with another duo standing vigil by the door posts. The left one knocks, tilts his head to listen, the opens it. You’re pointed inside.  

Your nerves flurry and wrap you up in a billowing storm. What are you doing? That question doesn’t matter. It’s too late. 

You drag your feet inside. The door slams at your back. The room is dim, lit only by a lamp with a glass shade on the large desk across from you. Behind that, sit a man. The man. Bucky Barnes. The boss. The king. 

He sits with his elbow bent over the armrest of his chair. He watches you calmly. You stand in silence by the door. He beckons you closer with two fingers. 

“Can’t see you back there, doll.” He says. 

You hold your breath and come forward. You gulp as you stop within a foot of the carved desk. Your eyes scour the vintage print of the wallpaper and the wooden paneling. This place is steeped in history. 

He raises his hand, cradling his face as he brings to fingers to his lips. He watches you patiently. Waiting. You stare back at him. You’ve never seen him this close. You don’t even know if your father has. 

“Why are you here?” He asks at last. 

Your eyes narrow on the gold sheen on his pinky. It’s the only safe place to look. You feel like you’ll melt in the blaze of his oceanic irises. You exhale. 

“I need someone dead.” 

He doesn’t answer. Your words dangle in the air as he mulls them. You purse your lips and wince at the pain in the split along the swollen flesh. 

“A man. The one who did that to you?” He sits up straight and points at you. You follow the glint of his ring. You nod. “Low life. Let me guess, daddy doesn’t know you been sneaking around.” 

You shake your head, “he doesn’t know I’m here. Or that I’m asking.” You take another breath as your eyes water. You bring your hand up to your cheek as it pulses. Your father’s knuckles left a nasty welt. “Because it’s him. He’s the one who did this. And I want him dead.” 

He scoffs, more amused than disbelieving. 

“Warren’s a soldier of mine. You're asking me to off him?” 

“I’m begging,” you finally make yourself look him in the eye. His is formidable man. Dark hair, dark beard, a touch of grey here and there. Even at this hour, he wears a nice suit and sits with authority. “Please, my sisters--” 

“And how are you and your sisters going to make up for his cut. He brings in money. What can you give me?” 

“You can take everything. We just want to be free,” you say. 

He clucks, “what he has now is nothing compared to a lifetime of what he can get.” 

You lower your lashes. That’s it. At least he didn’t laugh because you almost did when you said it out loud. Your father isn’t going to die. He’s so rancid, even death doesn’t want him. He’s not human, he’s a curse. And this man you’re asking for mercy, he’s the same kind. 

“Sorry for the bother,” you eke out. “I was mistaken.” 

“So you were,” he agrees. “Go home. Put some ice on it.” 

It’s like another punch in the face. You nod, “thank you, sir.” 

“You can go,” he dismisses. 

“Yes, sir.” You put your head down and drag your foot back. 

“Ah,” he tuts. 

Your eyes flick up. He extends his hand across the desk. Right. He is still who he is. You step closer as he holds his hand steady. You bow down and kiss the sigil on his ring. An outdated and demeaning gesture. 

Before you can stand straight, his large hand frames your chin. He pushes your head up as your eyes round. You stare at him as his gaze drifts down to your neck. The bruises by the zipper of your sweater tingle. 

“You were never here,” he lets you go. 

“Understood,” you retreat, “sorry again for wasting your time.” 

[astonmartinii]

tight knit | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

spa 2021, where a knitting hobby comes in handy

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 401,874 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: hello spa !! one of my fave tracks and i'm so excited for this weekend AND for those who asked, here's my current project, it's a sweater :)))))))

view all comments

user1: oh to receive pics of charles like that

user2: i love how she's like here's my fine ass bf but more importantly here's my update on my knitting

danielricciardo: is the man on the second slide single?

yourusername: HE'S MINE BACK OFF (p.s. i love you dan, but don't joke about that shit i have approximately 200 teenagers in my dms threatening violence everyday over him)

charles_leclerc: cherie, i didn't know that :(

yourusername: i'd fight all of them and more for your hand

charles_leclerc: my knight in shining armour

danielricciardo: okay i was trying to make a joke, it was not an invitation to prove how in love you guys are we get it

user3: i too wish i had a bf rich enough that i could travel and knit full time

pierregasly: have a day off for once

yourusername: keep on like that and you'll never get that panda

pierregasly: but you promised !!!!!

yourusername: be nice then

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, yourusername and 1,208,760 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: calm before the storm at spa

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user4: now where does y/n get all of these cut head accessories?

yourusername: vinted babes

user5: we love a thrifty queen

user6: storm meaning driving the ferrari shit box

yourusername: wow you look great, banishing me to the row behind you just to take this photo was defo worth it

charles_leclerc: you were there for two mins max then you sat with me stop these false narratives

yourusername: lies it was five minutes cause you didn't like the angle

charles_leclerc: i want to look handsome is that too much to ask

yourusername: you're always pretty baby

user7: can they stop like i am so lonely i can't see this

carlossainz55: let it be known that the only way charles can beat me in chess is with y/n's help

yourusername: nooooooo i never helped i was knitting

charles_leclerc: i wasn't cheating !! y/n was just being nice to me

f1

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 708,954 others

tagged: yourusername

f1: well, that's one way to spend qualifying's red flag. y/n y/ln spent her time in the ferrari garage working on her knitwear.

view all comments

user10: she said in her spa post it's a jumper i hope it's for charles

yourusername: it is, lord knows that boy needs all the help he can get in the wardrobe department

charles_leclerc: rude !!!! you never say anything

yourusername: you're always so proud i can't tell you it's bad

charles_leclerc: life ruined

yourusername: but you're so pretty no one cares about your criminal trouser collection

charles_leclerc: back handed compliment, but a compliment nonetheless

user11: she's so unbothered i love her

alexalbon: okay but when is my jumper coming @yourusername i ordered it last month

yourusername: it's coming i swear !!!

alexalbon: you let charles skip the line again didn't you

yourusername: maybe ...

yourusername

liked by lilymunhe, charles_leclerc and 481,056 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: hoping for a drier sunday, drowned rat is definitely not my aesthetic

view all comments

user12: the first picture i am going to rip my skin off

charles_leclerc: is this the appropriate time to say save a horse ride a cowboy?

pierregasly: this is why ferrari is a red flag

yourusername: howdy

pierregasly: you people are gross

charles_leclerc: you talk about ur dick at any give opportunity

yourusername: and no one actually calls you tripod

user13: damn.... couples that drag together stay together

pierregasly: ok. i will refrain from talking about your sex life publicly.

user14: i love that y/n posts about knitting just as much as she posts about charles.

yourusername: charles is the side chick

charles_leclerc: it's true i've been told to roll over in bed to make more room for the yarn

f1wagsupdates

liked by user15, user16 and 2,304 others

tagged: yourusername

f1wagsupdates: appreciation post for my favourite wag !!

view all comments

user17: i want to be her when i grow up

user18: i need her hair care routine asap

user19: can we stop putting these women on a pedestal for like no good reason?

user20: usually i'd agree but y/n has nothing but kind and a good role model, so if you idolise one wag it might as well be her

user21: her style is so underrated

user22: i need the jacket in the third slide

scuderiaferrari

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 770,984 others

tagged: yourusername, charles_leclerc

scuderiaferrari: there's two types of people during a red flag at spa

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user23: they're so precious to me

charles_leclerc: i wish i could relax that much in the ferrari garage

yourusername: i am not relaxed, i am actually the most stressed, i just hide it well

charles_leclerc: maybe we'll confiscate the needles for the actual races

yourusername: probably the only wise strategy in that garage

user24: i love how y/n keeps going for ferrari's neck and charles just can't reply

carlossainz55: it's so cold can i get my christmas jumper order early @yourusername ?

yourusername: that's a big queue to skip chilli i'm not sure i can comply with that

carlossainz55: if i changed my name to charles would this change?

yourusername: maybe 🤔

user25: the sky camera is obsessed with her and i am exactly the same thank you for the content

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 508,673 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: it's a bit cold in spa so charlie's new jumper (just finished) is coming in handy straight away

view all comments

user26: LORD PLEASE I HAVE SEEN WHAT YOU HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS

user27: okay this is cute and all, but DAMN that jumper is so fucking cute y/n is so talented

charles_leclerc: i think the phrase is: came in clutch

yourusername: you're welcome baby

charles_leclerc: i retract my previous statement about confiscating the knitting needles and i will give up more space in bed for the yarn if this is what i get

yourusername: not us having a polyamorous relationship with KNITTING

user28: so like i need y/n to open up a shop

alexalbon: i hope mine comes next

yourusername: i'm on it already albono

lilymunhe: on his jumper or the one for me that he asked for

yourusername: yours obvs

alexalbon: mugged off again

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 1,409,874 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: words cannot describe how much i love you (and your knitting). as george would say i am snug as a bug in a rug and it's all thanks to you

view all comments

user29: SNUG AS A BUG IN A RUG CHARLES WHO ARE YOU

yourusername: can they start the race so we can go be snug as a bug in a rug back at the hotel?

charles_leclerc: omw to the fia hq rn

yourusername: thanks baby

georgerussell63: i thought this was my job but thanks charles i guess

charles_leclerc: man of the people and the cuddles

user30: lord i am so lonely

danielricciardo: y/n x enchante collab when?

yourusername: coming to mclaren rn

charles_leclerc: so my cuddles mean nothing?

yourusername: have you seen this man's pricing we'll be rich baby

charles_leclerc: we are rich baby

note: pls enjoy, requests may take a while cause your girl managed to break her finger lol

[exercise-of-trust]

oh hey one more really stupid sock construction before i go: tablet woven heel band! this pair is a christmas gift for a good friend so i'm not modeling them myself, but the water bottle works ok. (i am not immune to a non-knitter who appreciates and actually wears hand-knit items, and my friend, god love him, lacks the good sense to tell me to quit giving him weird stuff, so here we are.)

i can't find the post now, but i remember seeing someone on here tablet-weave a color transition for... a sweater? a shawl? i don't even remember anymore. anyway, the idea was still knocking around in my head when i found the squircle sock pattern, which starts with a cuff in the round, adds a very long and narrow heel flap (only 6 stitches wide!), and picks up stitches on either side of it to work in the round again. this monstrosity replaces the original garter stitch heel flap with a short tablet-woven band grafted onto the back of the cuff. to "pick up stitches" along the side, i wove each section with some slack in the weft, using a couple dpns to keep things even (looking back, i don't think i actually used the weft loops themselves as the "slipped stitches," because you can already see the warp twists kind of coming undone along the sides of the dpn-less section in the bottom photo? i think i ran another bit of scrap thread through those loops, tightened the slack out of the weft, used the scrap thread as the slipped stitches, and then tightened those loops out too once i'd gotten a couple rounds into the rest of the sock to get the knitted stitches flush with edges of the woven band.)

things i would do differently if i made these again: tablet weaving is a twined weaving style, so it's a bit thick, and it gets even thicker when you have to weave in the ends. this pattern uses 18 tablets with 4 threads each, for a total of 18 x 4 x 2 x 2 = 288 total ends that need weaving in, which as you can imagine is Deeply And Profoundly Unfun. i might do a missing-hole tablet woven pattern (which the "dublin dragons" motif is supposed to be anyway, but i wanted three colors to match the flag stripes), or i might do a baltic pickup band instead, which should reduce the bulk a bit.

[superfallingstars]

Jily circa 1977, for @moonstainn's marauders era 70s outfit challenge! I had sooo much fun with this - I think this is the first time that James has made an appearance on this account, and I actually based his shirt and jacket on a photo of my dad in the 70s, which was super fun. Love a contrast stitching moment!

The other reason this was so fun is that I'm like one of those annoying historical fashion people but only for like, the 70s thru 90s, lol. I think late 70s fashion can sometimes get lost in the shuffle between the groovy early 70s and the neon 80s, so I really wanted to showcase it here, since that's the era in which James and Lily come of age. From what I've seen, late 70s fashion is less bell bottoms and fringe, and more cuffed jeans, knee-high boots, and furry jackets with big shoulders (perhaps a precursor to the shoulder pads of the 80s...?).

I can't resist rambling on about this, but I'll do everyone a favor and put it (as well as all of my references/inspo!) under the cut:

These are street style pics from 1977 London, taken by Derek Ridgers, and they're such a big influence on how I imagine Lily. You can see that the styles are starting to shift from the hippie fashion of the late 60s/early 70s – at this point there were a lot of these huge fuzzy jackets, cowl neck sweaters, layered zip-ups, and knee-high boots under midi skirts.

A few photos of some women whose fashion specifically inspired me for this drawing. The top row is all Kate Bush – there are a ton of photos of her from around this time and she looks quite similar to how I imagine Lily – and she rocks those tall boots (+ midi skirt combo). The bottom row is Isabelle Huppert (who I have considered as a time-accurate Lily fancast lol, although I'm uncertain of the exact dates of these photos). Her jacket in the first pic definitely inspired me for Lily, and I don't think I've ever seen someone look so cool in a scarf before...!

The other big trend I noticed (from looking through a million pictures of bands I like from this time) is the proliferation of cuffed jeans! What was up with these giant cuffs? Once I started looking for them, I noticed them everywhere. Tbh they're a nice way to add a fun little extra detail to a character's outfit. And I must mention that in the second photo (featuring the Buzzcocks), the guy on the right (John Maher) is pretty much EXACTLY how I imagine James to look. There's like no other pictures of him in those glasses tho! So unfortunate.

Anyway! I adore 70s fashion, and even though there are definitely similarities throughout the whole decade, late 70s fashion has its own unique trends that I hoped to bring some attention to here. Especially because it's basically the golden age for Marauders fans lol. Of course this is not comprehensive (far from it!), but I wanted to share my thoughts, and I hope it was at least a little informative or inspiring. Thanks if you made it this far through my rambles :-)

[pinep-ne]

more charthur hcs...... modern(ish) and domestic

- They're both very picture shy. Every photo of them looks like a high-school couple at their first homecoming. The selfies always turn out better.

- They are so smiley around each other. Arthur especially. Beaming like an idiot more often than not and he won't even notice.

- Arthur has the wit of the two— Charles is actually a terrible flirt. Maybe the only exception is that he winks a lot and Arthur's a sucker for it. But the moment he tries to string together something all suave it just never comes out right. Arthur still finds it charming.

- Fond of brushing their teeth in front of the mirror together.

- Charles wears sweaters and plaid pants and fuzzy socks to lounge/nap. Arthur wears boxers. That's it.

- Charles loves board games and jigsaw puzzles. They will often have either of the two covering the entire dinner table at least once a week.

- Arthur loves game shows. They watch an hour or two almost every Friday evening and fall asleep before they can finish.

- I think they pick up on each other's mannerisms a lot. A LOT. Hosea ribs them both for it.

- They have a nightlight.

- Guys they're just old and married okay. Thanks. Bye.

[wilwheaton]

This is from Star Trek Wholesome Posting on Facebook.

And because it's a FAQ, here's the story of The Infamous Clown Sweater, as I told someone who asked there:

"I did this fundraiser for EFF in San Francisco in ... 2001? 2002? Something like that. It was at DNA Lounge, and after we were done, this person came up to me with this horrific sweater (jumper, for you non-Americans). They told me it was part of The Infamous Clown Sweater Project. What's that, I asked. They told me they are getting as many people as possible to wear it and pose for a photo, which they would then upload to their webpage -- not website, webpage, because it was 2001 or so -- for all to see.

"Of *course* I was down for it, and that face I'm making in the first photo is my very real reaction to the _awful_ stank that was just infused in the acrylic fibers.

"The second picture is from a con about ... 2014? Something like that, based on how I look. Someone actually made their own version of that horrible sweater for me. One arm is too long, on purpose, the neck is all stretched out, on purpose, and it fits poorly, on purpose. It's so damn funny to me, and it came along at a moment when we were doing this "then and now" thing on Twitter (before the fascists took over).

"I still have the second sweater. I have no idea what happened to the original. Last time I checked, the website that hosted all those pictures -- so old it was manually coded in html, predating even Flickr -- was lost to the sands of time.

"But it never fails to make me smile when this picture comes back around. It reminds me of a specific time, when there was just so much hope for the online future we were all building."

And for those of you who are too young to know what Riker giving Wesley his "fondest wish" is, well ...

Wesley wanted to grow up to be a blue-eyed blond who I'm pretty sure the costume designer wanted to fuck?

GEORDI! You're not helping!

Look. I love you, Commander Riker, but ... you're gonna want to try again. Wesley's fondest wish rhymes with "marathon betazoid orgy on risa".

[l0standn0tf0und]

Remus John Lupin headcanons, but it gets more angsty with each paragraph

pt.2

TW: mentions of chronic pain, self-harm, blood, grief, trauma, anger issues, smoking, sexual content.

Remus John Lupin, who loves and hates rings at the same time. He likes how they look, he likes the idea of them, he thinks it's the nicest type of jewelry but he can't stand the feeling of rings on his fingers. They shackle him even if they are a few sizes bigger and gonna fall off if he shakes his hand. Wearing a ring feels worse than a mosquito bite that constantly itches for him.

Remus John "the tallest Marauder" Lupin

Remus John Lupin, who wears meaningful rings on a simple chain around his neck. He genuinely wants to wear them like normal people do, but that's the only option that works for him. Remus John Lupin who reassures himself with the fact that this way the rings are closer to his heart after the thought of making another failed attempt has crossed his mind.

Remus John Lupin who picks at scabs of his unhealed wounds when he's nervous. And Remus John Lupin, who only realizes what he's doing when he feels the stickiness of blood on his fingers.

Remus John Lupin, who needs a cane. Not all the time, but after particularly tough moons. It's just for a couple of days, and he knows it. Remus John Lupin, who, each time, looks at this piece of wood with a special kind of hate in his eyes and sighs heavily before taking it and starting his day.

Remus John Lupin, who limped through the Hogwarts corridors, gritting his teeth in pain because he refused to use a cane. Too ashamed to admit his weakness and the extent of the damage he had done to himself.

Remus John Lupin, who limped through the Hogwarts corridors, gritting his teeth in pain until James got knocked off his broom in the dying minutes of one of the matches. Which led to his broken leg, several weeks of proud stag gait on crutches, and even more stag-like attempts to persuade Remus into the "high speed" race through the corridors. And also led to Remus coming to terms with using a cane.

Remus John Lupin, who you look at and can't figure out what he's like. Is he a shy nerdy guy who reads books voraciously? Or is he a thug who's gonna break your nose if you look at him the wrong way?

Remus John Lupin, who can't figure out himself what he's like.

Remus John Lupin, who hates the cane even more now. Remus John Lupin who looks at this piece of wood with a new kind of rage in his eyes and sighs hopelessly because each and every time he hears the echo of James's laughter after he finally agreed to the race and recalls as amusement gave way to confusion and then back to unbridled joy on Prongs' face when they almost crashed into Minnie on their way.

Remus John Lupin, who's gonna actually break your nose if you make him angry.

Remus John Lupin, who actually reads books voraciously.

Remus John Lupin, who has anger issues.

Remus John Lupin, who wears the coziest "grandpa's" sweaters.

Remus John Lupin, who genuinely wants to quit smoking.

Remus John Lupin who burned his couch once because he fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand.

Remus John Lupin, who throws the most punk leather jacket over his cozy "grandpa's" sweater.

Remus John Lupin, who lit up a cigarette right after extinguishing the fire. Because his biggest regret in this burned couch situation is the ashes, that got on the photo, leaving a burnt hole instead of the month, in the " September 1st at Hogwarts, 1976" in Sirius' neat handwriting.

Remus John Lupin, who questions himself if he was born with uncontrollable anger or if it's his "fluffy problem." And in general, what of his character belongs to him, and what to the wolf?

Remus John Lupin, who hates to call it the "fluffy problem." Because why for fucks sake use the word "fluffy"? Fluffy, it's something nice, sweet, and comforting. The wolf inside him is far from being nice, sweet, and comforting.

Remus, who cried himself to sleep because a random ginger girl knocked on his door, trick or treating.

Remus John Lupin, who gets extremely needy and horny before each full moon.

Remus John Lupin, who regrets that he didn't tear himself apart completely after each full moon.

Remus John Lupin, who can't stand to see anyone during the first few days after the full moon. Because it makes him think about Peter, who used to sneak chocolate past Madam Pomfrey to cheer him up during these first few days in the hospital wing.

Remus John Lupin who tries to hold back his tears and fails each time he hears "Happy Xmas" by John & Yoko.

Remus John Lupin, whose war was not over until he took his last breath.

And Remus John Lupin, who had known since childhood that his war would not be over until he took his last breath.

masterpost

[verycoolusername1]

More Than Me

Summary: Luke is blind to your feelings for him, hopefully this holiday season he'll notice.

Track 3 of fruitcake - santa doesn't know you like i do

A/N: there's a little frozen reference in here(kristoff and anna are like so cute) and it's so cold over here(39 degrees Fahrenheit/3.8 degrees celsius) idk how I've been walking to school in the morning-

You huffed as you tried to wrap a present for your cousin, the corners never meeting the way you want it to.

You then heard the door knock and the present was long forgotten.

You brushed your sweater as you ran to the door, opening it with rapid speed. Luke stood on the other size, grin appearing on his face.

"You gonna let me in or am I gonna stand out here all night?" Luke chuckled.

"Cmon you know I'll always let you in." You shook your head bashfully as you let him come through the door.

"You've been busy huh?" Luke looked back at you.

"It's hard wrapping presents for so many family members, don't even want to think about putting all of them in a car." You groaned.

"You can always ask me for help, what are friends for." Luke mumbled besides you. "Is the hot chocolate done?"

You shook your head. "Just put it on, we can sit by the fireplace and warm up."

Luke nods. "As long as we're watching home alone."

You laughed. "Of course, I'm not a menace."

You sat down on the couch, your hand brushes past Luke's, you look away so he doesn't see your flushed face.

"Do you have my present somewhere around here?" Luke asked, looking around.

"I do." You hummed. "But I'm not telling you where it is."

Luke pouts as he looks at you. "Cmon please! I'm not gonna open it."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his face. "That's what you said last year then I caught you snooping!"

"It was an honest mistake! I thought it was a present for you." Luke grumbles.

You laughed aloud, Luke rolled his eyes at you.

"Cut it out it's not that funny." Luke told you, making you laugh harder.

"Okay, okay," You said between breaths.

You have only noticed how close the two of you were, noses mere inches away from each other. You don't know who moved first, you guessed Luke did while you were laughing.

You looked solely in his eyes, the green in them never ending. It made your breath hitch with just how beautiful he seemed close up.

Luke's eyes flicked from yours to your lips and licked his lips while doing so. The two of you leaned in subconsciously.

The kettle rang signaling the hot chocolate was done, the two of you jumped apart. You immediately got up and headed towards the kitchen while Luke looked away and all of a sudden seemly focused on the movie in front of him.

You fixed the cups and headed back to the couch, sitting not as close as before.

"Be careful, it's hot." You handed him his cup.

Luke's hands were fidgeting before you even handed him the cup, he immediately sipped it wanting warmth. It burnt his tongue, making him hiss.

"I told you it was hot Luke." You grinned.

"It's hot chocolate can you blame me?" Luke chuckled.

"You're actually insufferable." You laughed.

"Yeah but you love me for it." Luke smiled widely as he teased you which led to him getting a smack on the head.

"Wait stay here." You went to your room. "Be right back!"

Luke waited silently as he waited for you to come back. His eyes lighting up when he saw you and... a present? You handed it to him as he looked in curiosity.

"What's this?" He looked up at you.

"You wanted to know what your present was so I'm giving it to you early." You shrugged.

"Y-you know I was kidding right?" He asked, you nodded and urged him to open it anyways, waiting for his reaction.

He opened the present slowly and grew shocked at what it was... a scrapbook of the two of you this past year.

"Wow." Luke mumbles as he flips through the photos, from being at the lake house last summer to just this past Halloween party two months ago. "This is amazing."

"Oh please it's nothing, just wanted to make the present special." You explained.

"It's just not nothing Y/N, this is so thoughtful." Luke says, unfazed. "I could kiss you right now."

Your heart skips a beat to his words. You not saying anything made Luke realize what he had just said.

"I'm so sorry that just slipped out, I-" You cut him off with a kiss, his hands finding your waist as the kiss deepened.

You broke the kiss with a heavy sigh. "I like you, if that wasn't clear from the kiss."

Luke chuckled slightly. "You like me? Had no idea, thought the kiss was just for fun." He teases.

"Maybe you need a reminder of how serious I am about this?" You played along in his game as your arms loop around his neck.

Luke cocked his head to the side, pretending to think. "I think you're right, I tend to forget things."

You rolled your eyes at his playfulness and kissed him softly, him immediately reciprocating.

"I like you too you know." Luke mumbles between kisses.

"I know baby, I know." You ran your hands through his curls as you kissed him again.

[kxnkprxncess]

Dreaming of my perfect day-

I wake up early and put on the outfit my husband picked out the night before. (It’s always some variation of his favorite look- a short lacy dress that barely covers my ass or my tits and a matching collar.) while my husband sleeps in, I begin making our breakfast. He keeps me on a strict diet so while I make up his eggs and bacon, I make myself one of my approved breakfasts of a green smoothie.

Once done, I get to wake my husband up like I do every morning- sucking off his morning wood. I always start lightly so I can have more time with his cock in my mouth. If I take too long, he’ll punish me by thrusting himself down my throat. But this morning I must have been doing a good job because he rewards me by pulling my dress down and fucking my huge tits he paid for. He’s told me that for his next birthday he’s going to get himself even bigger tits to fuck.

When he’s finished with me, he begins to get ready and I begin my chores. Making the bed, laying out his suit, and dusting. I serve him breakfast and tells me what I need to accomplish for the day.

He has an assistant for any of the actually hard stuff he needed to do through the day, tasking me with the chores he does every day like going to the gym, picking up the new clothes he ordered for me from the lingerie shop on the mall, and cooking, all while keeping my phone handy so he can keep track of me during the day. Every few hours he needs me to stop what I’m doing and send him photos or videos of whatever he needs at the moment.

I begin at the gym, my personal trainer really working my thighs and glutes. My husband has told him to really work my ass, he needs it much bigger and as an incentive, my husband lets my trainer use it after each session. He’s worked me so hard over the last three hours I don’t even feel him as he fucks into my hole, my legs shaking the whole time.

Next, at the shop, I try on my new outfits. He gets them custom tailored to fit the extreme proportions he’s crafted for me. It’s getting cooler outside so my husband wants to make sure I stay warm. The newest outfit is a similar small dress but now with a cashmere sweater that was really just sleeves that tie under my tits. My husband wants an update and the tailor is nice enough to take a picture showing it off while his assistant held my tits up from behind, showing how much bigger they’ll be after the surgery. My husband replies immediately that he wants to see more and the assistant happily obliges. She takes my dress down and begins playing with my tits, bringing her mouth down to suck on my nipples. The tailor videos as we make out and rub our huge breasts together.

For dinner, I was told to make extra, my husband has his friends coming over after golf. I serve them and eat my salad in the kitchen until I’m called out for dessert. My husband strips me down and has me lay down on the table so his buddies can grope and eventually fuck me while they discuss things I can’t understand.

To go to sleep, my husband feeds me a handful of pills and fucks me until I pass out.

[physalian]

How to subtly show the passage of time in your narrative

For instances where actual concrete numbers would be either jarring or unrealistic for your characters to know, like if they’re castaways in a remote region, prisoners of war, under house arrest and unable to access technology, or any other situation where a character cannot ground themselves in a reliable timeline. Or simply in fantasy settings that don't tell time in concrete numbers.

Giving your readers actual numbers can be jarring, whether it’s explicit measurements of things that invites readers to do the math that you might not have (thus risking plot holes), looking out of place in your narrative style, or giving numbers your characters realistically wouldn’t know.

Things like a 60lb bag of dog food, or an 8ft ladder, or a 2 liter bottle are different. Those are common measurements most people come across in conversation or otherwise. Taking an aside to make sure your readers know that a kiddie wagon is 3.5 feet long is… weird. Unless the story demands that, for some reason, this measurement is critical knowledge.

Passage of time is the same, and even more prone to potential plot holes. If you’re writing a story where time is critical, like characters are on a mission and timing must be perfect, then lacking numbers would be strange.

Anything else, though, and in the real world, we estimate all the time. “It’ll take maybe 45 mins” we say, not “it’ll take maybe 36 mins”.

But if you’re in a situation where characters don’t have clocks and calendars, their estimates should be broader and broader and more hyperbolic. “Talking for hours” “sleeping for days” etc. Otherwise, how do they have an exact sense of how much time has passed, and why is a specific number important? Readers can tell when a character or narrator is being hyperbolic.

If you want to get even more vague and subtle, you can either have characters notice environmental details, or clue the reader in without characters even knowing.

I think I’ve mentioned this already, but my go-to here for cases that last months is characters commenting on how long their hair has gotten, or the narration saying something like, “their hair has grown out over their eyes”.

But there’s a bunch of others

How thick the dust is on their surroundings

If the leaves on the trees have changed colors, grown back in, or fallen off

How long their fingernails are

How chipped nail polish has become

How nasty bruises have faded and changed colors

How much weight they’ve lost or gained

How much mold is on bread, or how much food has been eaten or rotten

How many cobwebs/spiderwebs have appeared

How desiccated the corpses of frogs or lizards have become

How grey their hair is, or their dog’s fur

How many weeds are growing in the sidewalk or in the gutters of their house

How many leaves are covering the lawn

How faded paint has become

How far natural roots have grown out, or hair dye has faded

All of those tend to be a more negative passing of time so here’s some lighthearted ones

How full the refrigerator door has become with children’s drawings

How cluttered the dresser is now with family photos

How worn a favorite pair of jeans/shoes or sweater is

How big kittens or puppies have grown

How many baby clothes don’t fit anymore

How many gummy fingerprints are all over the sliding glass doors

How worn the couch cushions are

How the floor is all scratched from dog nails or toy wheels

How much fur is everywhere

No matter what, even if characters do have clocks and calendars at the ready, you can still be subtle about it. Yet another example of showing, instead of telling, in about the same amount of words.

[ilyrafe]

𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒏 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄. | 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆

pairing: hitman!rafe cameron x f!reader

warnings: domestic violence, murder

word count: 1k

a/n: this is loosely based on the movie hit man (actually based on a scene lol)

EDIT: nov 18th 2024 - literally just realized i started writing this in third person and for some reason i changed it to second person in the middle so i edited it to third person again, my apologies!!!

taglist: @starkeyvhs

unpretentiously, rafe enters the diner and sits at a table, facing the entrance, just so he can see who comes and goes. the young waitress takes his order - a cheeseburger with fries and a soda - and he waits.

strangely, he couldn’t find any pictures of y/n, the woman who contacted him. all he knew about her was her name, really. she only said the clothes she would be wearing - a pair of jeans and a large gray sweater, but anyone could be wearing that. she didn’t inform him about her physicality, and he couldn’t find anything about her online, which intrigued him a lot more.

she isn’t his first female client, but it’s still rare for him to have women wanting his services. 

his order comes and he keeps watching the entrance of the diner. all kinds of people come and go, young and older men, children, teenagers, and even some women, but none of them approach him.

when he’s taking the last sip of his soda, he sees a young looking woman walking towards him. she looks around, clearly nervous. she sits in front of him and rafe realizes it’s her.

“i contacted you yesterday.” she says, almost whispering.

she is visibly tense, probably her first time talking to a hitman.

“how can i help you, y/n?”

she sighs, contrasting with his own posture. she looks tired, the bags under her eyes are quite dark. her hair is lifeless, quite messy, as if she didn’t really have time to brush it or didn’t care to do it. her clothes aren’t new, and he notices a tiny stain that could be blood, but he’s not sure.

before she can say anything, she reaches for her bag and takes out a dark yellow package and slides it to him.

the cash.

“i need you to kill my husband.”

he could be wrong, but rafe is pretty sure there are tiny tears forming in her eyes. they look scared, devoid of any light or hope. to be honest, this woman is just existing.

“why?”

that seems to catch her by surprise. he doesn’t like the way she’s doing everything she can to look invisible. literally no one has noticed her presence there. the waitress hasn’t even come here to take her order.

“he… he’s awful.” she admits. “i don’t know what else to do. he won’t let me leave him. he… he gets drunk and then he…” she trails off, wiping away a few tears. “anything can set him off and i’m scared for my life. the police won’t do anything…”

the friction between the sleeve and the table causes the skin on her wrist to be exposed and he sees purple marks. if her wrist is that bad, he can’t even imagine the rest of her body.

rafe takes the cash in his hands and after two seconds of thought, he gives it back to her.

“do you have children?” she shakes her head. “then take this money and don’t go back home. go away and don’t look back. start over somewhere far away from here.”

“no, he’ll find me!”

the panic in her voice pains him so much.

“don’t worry about it. i’ll take care of him, but i need you to do what i say.”

“i don’t understand…”

“i don’t want your money. just give me a picture of him and his home address.”

after a few long seconds, she nods and takes a piece of torn photo, a piece of paper, and a pen from her purse. she writes down her home address and hands it over along with the picture of her husband.

she takes back the money and put it back in her purse. it’s all her life savings. the money she had to hide from her husband, so he wouldn’t spend on alcohol and drugs. rafe puts the items in his pocket and watches her leave the diner, hoping to god she listens to him and goes away. 

(...)

in his car, rafe watches the movement on the street outside her house.

ever since he left the diner, he has been monitoring her husband’s steps, and since then, he has not seen her coming home. hopefully she really did leave this place for good. 

rafe doesn’t know what possessed him to help her, he has never worked for free, and money is perhaps the most important thing in his life, but after seeing y/n, and understanding that hiring a hitman may have been her last option, he just wanted to do a good deed, since his job is only to kill people in exchange for money.

it is already dawn, two in the morning to be exact. all the neighbors seem to be asleep. when he is sure that he can act, rafe gets out of the car properly dressed for the killing - gloves, mask and a gun.

upon reaching the back door of the house, rafe notices that the door is unlocked, as are the windows.

strange.

prepared for any kind of situation, he enters the house silently. it is dark, so he turns on the kitchen light, and finds himself in a simple but messy kitchen, with food scraps in the sink. there are empty bottles of whiskey and beer everywhere, trash all over the place. just ahead, in the living room, lying on the floor, there is joshua, her husband, apparently passed out.

this will be easier than expected.

before doing anything to joshua, rafe searches their bedroom and sees that the closet is open and empty. well, there are just a few men’s clothes. all of her clothes are gone. y/n really is gone. she did go back home, but she's gone, and that’s what really matters.

a sense of relief washes over rafe, and it’s inexplicable. it’s like he really feels like he saved a life.

thinking about faking a suicide, he searches for a gun, and luckily finds one in the bathroom. after checking for ammo, he carefully places the gun in joshua’s hand and brings it to his temple. with his finger, he pulls the trigger.

let me know your thoughts & if you want to be tagged :)))