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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months

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Wintery

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!vigilante!reader

Summary: Gotham winters are brutal, but your best friend Jason Todd and work friend Red Hood know how to combat the cold. Unfortunately, you're falling in love with both of them.

Warnings: reader and Jason don't know the other is a vigilante, fluff, brotherly teasing, kissing, more fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I have no idea where this idea came from but it wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it. I hope it's okay and feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

Picture from Pinterest

Gotham winters are cold, windy, and relentless. There are few places to find refuge from the harsh bite of the chilling wind and fewer remedies to the wind-burned skin and seemingly permanent chapped lips.

Jason Todd, however, is a Gotham boy, born and raised, so he knows the importance of staying moisturized and protected in the winter. So, it's no surprise that he keeps lip balm in his pocket all winter.

No, it isn’t intimidating to see Red Hood putting Chapstick on, but having cracked lips is far more frightening. He finds quiet alleys, tipping his helmet up to combat dry lips before returning to his vigilante duties. Nightwing has only caught him once, and Jason is intent on never experiencing that level of brotherly torture (teasing) again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Since joining the small group of vigilantes, Red Hood has captured and kept your attention. Never saying more than a few words to you, he always seems nearby and eager to help you out of trouble, but you can’t get past that point.

Nightwing and Robin occasionally tell you their ideas to get him to open up to you, convinced there’s something between you, but you brush it off and admire the man in red from a distance.

The night wind is blowing hard enough you’re comfortable standing on such a high roof. You tuck yourself behind anything stationary, including Red Hood.

Under the hood, Jason smiles to himself. He knows why you’re standing close to him, your concern for the wind mixing with an irrational idea that he will allow anything to happen to you. But, if you want to use him to block the wind from your pretty face, he’s happy to stay perfectly still. However, his gaze keeps dropping to your lips.

Jason watches you; he has been since you first stumbled upon them in a less than satisfactory suit. You were bleeding from a run-in with several muggers but smiling through your pain because you managed to make someone feel safe in Gotham; a rare feat unless you’re Batman. Instantly drawn to you, Red Hood has let himself get close enough to consider you a friend but not close enough to talk to you or worry incessantly about where you are through the day.

You say something, and Jason shakes his head to escape his memories of you, focusing on you and your dry-lipped smile. The winds are blowing up the building and into your face even as he blocks the worst of it, and your rosy cheeks amplify Jason’s growing concern. He wants to offer his jacket to you, even his chapstick – an unwelcome idea of kissing you to share it enters his mind, but he shoves it away. Or tries to; the imagined feeling of your lips on his is hard to shake.

After your question goes unanswered the second time, you wonder if Red Hood fell asleep under the helmet. He jerks sideways when you slide your hand into his pocket. His grip falls away from the holster on his thigh when he realizes it’s just you. (Though he’d never think 'just you' about anything.) You pull your hand out of the worn leather jacket, a small white tube in your grasp. Keeping your eyes on the small eye slits of the mask, you uncap the balm and put it directly on your lips.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling as you place it back in his pocket before turning away.

Anyone else, and he’d throw it away, unwilling to share such a personal item, but since he just thought about sharing it in a much different way, he doesn’t mind the idea of you doing it again. He’ll have to remember which pocket he put it in and leave it there for you, he decides.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s freezing,” you groan, rubbing your arms as you walk inside the warm apartment. “Why can’t we move to Metropolis?”

Jason laughs at you, his best friend. Since he developed what Dick refuses to call anything but “a crush” on his vigilante partner, he’s wondered what this thing with you is. You are his friend, of course, but there is something more there. Jason has never been good with feelings, and he’s in a strange spot between two women who affect him, similar yet completely different in how he responds.

“Because we can’t afford it,” Jason hums, welcoming you onto the couch beside him.

You slide your cold feet under his sweatpants-clad legs, sighing when he lays his arm over your shoulders.

“We who, Mr. Trust Fund Wayne?” you tease, leaning your head against his upper arm. “Thanks for inviting me over, though, even if I did get frostbite on the way.”

Jason chuckles, stopping short when he remembers something someone else said after fighting Mr. Freeze during a riot at Arkham. Shaking his head, he determines that he has a type.

“I’m stealing this,” you interrupt his reading, pulling a hoodie from the back of his couch.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, watching you pull it over your head. You feel warmer beside him after a few minutes, and when you dig a small tub of lip balm out of your pocket, Jason wonders if he should move to Metropolis.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where did it go?” Jason says to himself, barely audible through the voice modifier of the mask.

“Whatcha looking for?” you ask, dropping to the fire escape beside Red Hood. He doesn’t answer, but when you realize all his attention is focused on one pocket, you know. “Really? I need it again, too,” you lament.

Red Hood sighs, turning toward you. Your lips still look fine, with no sign of chapping in sight. Deciding he needs it more than you do, Jason seizes the opportunity.

Pushing his helmet up, he grabs your face between his warm, gloved hands. Pulling you against him, Jason presses his lips to yours, moving with you as the moisturizing gloss spreads across his lips.

“Better?” he asks, smirking before his face is hidden behind his helmet again.

Your face is still in his hands as you nod. “Nightwing took it,” you whisper.

Jason rolls his eyes and leans forward, whispering, “Who needs it when I have you?”

“You do,” you reply, dumbfounded and breathless from the kiss you’ve admittedly been daydreaming about. “I got mine from you.”

Red Hood laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. You think for a moment you’ve heard that laugh before, but then the idea disappears.

✯✯✯✯✯

The next day, you beat Jason back to his apartment after leaving the manor. Letting yourself in, you walk to his bookshelf to see if he’s gotten any new books. A leather jacket is lying on the floor beside the shelf, and when you pick it up, something falls out of the pocket.

“Hey,” Jason greets, closing the door behind him.

Turning, you hold the chapstick up, looking at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“Yeah?”

He comes to your side, his brows pinched.

“Are you-“

You drop everything in your hands before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to you. As you kiss him, everything clicks into place.

Falling in love with Jason and Red Hood simultaneously wasn’t some cruel trick of fate or a mistake… you’d been with the same guy all along.

Pulling back, Jason takes a moment before opening his eyes. He blinks at you several times, trying to speak and failing.

“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “I see that made a much bigger impact on me than it did on you.”

Jason still can’t answer, his mind going over each similarity that he should have caught on to, each mirrored movement or similar response. Your kiss, though… your kiss is unmistakable. He believed his lies about the touches and the words, but nothing can compete with your affection.

“Thank you,” Jason whispers, pulling you close again.

“For what?” you ask, brushing your fingers through the white streak in his hair. “It took me way too long to realize.”

“For everything,” he answers before kissing you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your first patrol after learning not just Red Hood but everyone’s true identities is interesting. Bringing your own protection against the current blizzard, you're grateful for the foresight after you get separated from Jason.

Waiting near Arkham and shivering in the cold, you don’t hear the crunch of boots on snow until Red Hood grabs your waist and spins you around. Without his helmet, only a domino mask to protect his identity (pointless in the dark storm), he doesn’t wait before pressing his lips to yours, eager to try a new flavor and get more of you. After waiting so long and being tortured by his tragic decision to love two women at once, Jason deserves to show you how much he cares for you twice as often as he wishes. And if you start buying crazy lip balm flavors to mess with him, he’ll love you even more for it.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd

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vinceaddams · 1 year

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Top 5 historic clothing items we should bring back into style (stockings on men, big cuffs on coats etc.)

Well I am very biased, because my everyday clothes are mostly 18th century menswear inspired, but for a list as short as 5 it's good to narrow it down!

1. 18th century shirts. Big puffy soft linen shirts. Best shirts. Comfiest shirts. Though tragically, since they get softer with more washing, they're at their absolute most comfortable right before they wear out.

(This one's from the post where I copied the tiddy-out violinist painting.) Besides being the nicest softest comfiest, they're also the most economical, being made entirely from rectangles. And they're versatile, they look good with lots of different garments! Someday I will do a very detailed youtube tutorial for my machine sewn shirt method. I've done so many now that I think I've finally got it down.

2. Adjustable waistbands. Why did this ever stop being a thing? 18th century breeches have lacing at the back, then in the 19th century trousers have a buckle tab. Now they do not, even though we're all still humans with bodies that change. (These are my orange silk breeches)

Do you know how many hours of my life I've spent taking in or letting out the waist seams of modern trousers? I don't know either, but I've been an alterations tailor since 2019, so it's got to be a fair amount.

All that waist altering wouldn't be necessary if they still made them adjustable! Waistlines fluctuate, so too should waistbands!!

3. Shoulder capes attached to coats. This was a thing in the late 18th century, and in the 19th, and I think into the early 20th too. It adds extra protection from the rain and snow, and it looks cool.

(c. 1812, The Met.)

(c. 1840-60, MFA Boston. The cape on this one is detachable)

You can make them long or short, and stack them up like pancakes or just have one. I've got 2 small ones on my corduroy coat, and one on my dark blue wool. Both cut from almost the same 1790's-ish pattern.

I also want to give a shoutout to fitted sleeves! I love me some two piece sleeves with a distinct elbow! And the coat pockets were bigger back then.

4. Indoor caps. I don't care what era or how fancy you go with it, I just want people to wear caps indoors when it's cold! This one's super simple, it's just a tube of linen tied with a ribbon.

(Detail from Le Marchand d’Orviétan ou l’opérateur Barri by Etienne Jeaurat, 1743.)

If it's cold in your apartment you need slippers for the feets and a cap for the head. Speaking of which.

5. Medieval hoods. This one is wayyy outside my usual era, but the wintery below-freezing weather has just started here and the knit hat I've been wearing isn't quite long enough to cover my ears. I want to make a simple hat with ear flaps, but I also wouldn't be opposed to trying to work something vaguely similar to this into my wardrobe. It looks so warm!

(Image source. Also she has a printable pattern available!) I actually made one of these once, an entire decade ago. But it was scratchy blanket wool and I've since given it away.

That's some of the main things I think we should bring back! There are lots of other things too, like men's nightgowns, and waistcoats with little scenes embroidered on them, but for this list I tried to be mostly practical.

#ask #ask meme #clothing #fashion #18th century

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allywthsr · 5 months

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CHRISTMAS MOVIES | (l.norris)

summary: you and Lando watch Christmas movies

wordcount: 1k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: none!

notes: what are we thinking?

advent calendar

”Lando, come on!“

You were sitting on the couch, waiting for Lando to come and join you. You planned a Christmas movie marathon for tonight, Lando finally had less stuff to do for McLaren and could relax from the stress he had over the year.

The day had been eventful with buying presents and getting ready for Christmas, you counted down the minutes until the evening would start and Lando and you would sit on the couch.

”I‘m coming babe, you can start Netflix already.“

So you did just that, grabbing the remote control and starting the TV, opening Netflix. Clicking through the different movies that Netflix had to offer, you wanted something romantic but funny and knew you had to make it sound cool or Lando wouldn’t watch it.

He came into the room with two mugs in his hands, he made cacao for the both of you, and he even added little marshmallows. You took the mug from his hand and took a small sip after blowing on it, so it would cool down a little.

”The aftertaste is different, it’s fucking good, what did you do with it?“

Now he sat down next to you and clinked your mugs together, putting his hand on your thigh and stroking it softly.

”I added some of your candy canes, I hope that’s okay I stole some.“

”Of course! It tastes tucking delicious.“

”Have you found something to watch yet?“

”No, I’m torn between this film and that one. What do you think?“

”I like the first one better, I know you love that film.“

You looked at him and pouted.

”Why, what’s wrong?“

”You’re so cute!“

You put your mug on the table and grabbed Lando’s mug from his hands to also set it on the table, now you threw yourself at him and hugged him tightly.

”You’re the best boyfriend ever.“

”Because I said we can watch a film that you love?“, his slight chuckle made you smile.

”No, you’re always the sweetest, and look at you, making me hot chocolate because I’m freezing.“

”You’re always freezing, so obviously I want you to be warm.“

”Whatever reason, I love you.“

”I love you too.“

Now you two lay on the couch and no one moved to press start on the movie.

”Y/N, will you get up and press play?“

”But I‘m so cozy right now.“

”Then we’re not going to watch the film.“

”Ugh, fine.“

You moved off of him and pressed play, drinking another sip of your drink, and laid back down on Lando. He put his hand on your back under your hoodie and started to slightly scratch the skin, while your hands found themselves in his hair to pull lightly on his strands. You both needed an evening with cuddles and movies, needing to be close to each other.

The wintery scene on the TV looked beautiful, you couldn’t wait for the weekend in the snow you had planned soon.

The hot chocolate on the table was now empty, and you were craving for more, you kindly asked Lando to make you a new one, because you could never make it as good as he could.

You paused the film and he got up to walk to the kitchen, while he was prepping another round of cocoa, you opened the metal box with the self-baked cookies and placed some cookies on a plate to take with you to the couch. If you placed the box on the the table, it would be empty before the movie was finished, and Lando and you would have stomach pain for the rest of the night.

While you two waited for the milk to warm up, you sat on the counter and he stood in between your legs, rubbing his hands over your thigh. You enjoyed the silence, and before you could say anything, the milk was ready and Lando was mixing cocoa powder and a half candy cane into the mugs, not forgetting little marshmallows.

Together you walked back to the couch where you resumed in your old position, on top of each other and with the hands somewhere on the body of the other. Your hands were on his neck now, you loved gripping and caressing it, the strong muscles moving underneath your grip.

The movie was playing, and you knew Lando wasn’t that into it, but he was content just holding you, he told you that multiple times when you caught him staring at your face. When the romantic kiss came, Lando pulled on your chin and pressed a kiss to your lips, starting to move them carefully against your lips. Quickly the kiss got more heated and Lando sat up, pulling you on his lap, you could feel him getting excited, he was squeezing your ass, grinding your lower half against his. You had to stop this.

”I‘m sorry baby, my period is due soon and I’m already leaking some weird liquid.“

”It’s extra lube.“

You slapped his chest playfully and kissed his cheek.

”I‘m not in the mood, I’m sorry.“

”That’s nothing you have to apologize for, my love. I was just joking.“

”Do you want me to help you?“

”I‘m good, it’ll go down in a second, you know how excited I get while kissing you.“

You smiled against his lips and pecked them quickly.

”You want to watch another movie? You can choose. Are you okay by the way? Do you need any pain meds or a hot water bottle?“

”I just need you to hold me, I can endure it for now.“

You pressed another kiss to his lips and he settled back on the couch, laying you next to him, so he could put a hand on your lower belly, caressing the skin slowly.

You took the remote control and chose the next film, another Christmas romance, but it was what you craved right now, and Lando would never deny your requests, as long as he got to spend time together.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #formula 1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando norris one shot #lando imagine #christmas #movies

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undercoverpena · 5 months

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cold, biting

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

Painting you in it, all varying shades, a masterpiece he thinks he’s came across, but really just became the first to admire.

wc: 1.3k warnings: smut (18+). mentions of smut. keeping warm. jo writing. my spelling. notes: I wrote this on limited sleep, cold, and very much wanting to have some form of body heat next to me. so maybe I should warn about spelling too.

It’s cold, biting.

All wintery breath trying to pierce through, bleed over memories of warmer months.

It makes your skin practically weep if it slithers from under the thick duvet, it trying to kiss you, the air tinged only with bitterness. It’s crawling, climbing—sliding up over surfaces, its icy touch desperate to create steam by meeting something warm.

Seeking, hunting—it wants to wrap its claws around flesh, seep into bone. It wants to nestle down deep inside of you so you carry that chill around all day.

It isn’t able to, because of him.

Him and his broad shoulders, loose curls, summer-kind smile and wiry hair that doesn’t grow in full places along his beard—a little space you trace, pretend it’s a heart. It’s where I kissed you all those years ago, wasn’t it? You would tease. Remembering a time when you were more cowardly than confident, more afraid than unforgiving. You’re thankful that isn’t you now

Yeah, he always says, left a mark on me. It’s always said with warmth, all comforting. Usually, his arms come around your waist, a kiss on your forehead.

You hope he’s aware he’s left marks of his own. Little things imprinted on you, carved in you, perfect places for his favourite colour to go, his favourite song, the things which make a bad day a little easier to get through.

You’d let him in during the spring, what feels like a thousand years ago. The flowers opening, the air warm and the sun shining. But, you fell for him in the summer over a year ago—BBQ smoke and little lanterns, fingers finding the softness of his skin and liking the way brick felt on your bare shoulders when the two of you stole a moment.

In the fall just gone, his things found themselves with yours, merged, a house becoming a home. Surfaces no longer innocent, but a playground, nails scratching, leaving marks of your own against things as he made your eyes head fill with stars and your body thrum with nothing but pleasure.

Winter brings something else.

It brings softer declarations whispered against the soap-sud glass. It brings the hungry look from him when he sees you in his clothes, even handing you a pair of socks just because. It brings longing when the bed feels too big, hand stroking out where he’s supposed to be—his voice down the phone doing nothing to fill the void.

He’s always wanted, practically a necessity, but in the colder months, it’s a demand. There’s room for complaint in the warmer months when his skin is clammy, legs far too desperate to slide themselves around yours. Body letting heat escape, it all rolling out, washing over the room.

But, it’s welcomed in the winter.

Pull me a little closer, you think. Lashes fluttering, smile half-sleepy. And he does, arm coming out, palm on your back, pushing and guiding until you’re more him than you are you. No clear line where the two of you part, just one singular soul.

There’s frost on the outside, and condensation on the inside glass. But the yellowing of the morning is still persevering in blanketing you in natural warmth. You look so beautiful, he whispers—and when he says it you believe him. Staring into his eyes, unwilling to find a single fabrication. Your stomach pooling with heat, a hunger awakening in you—one you have more often than not around him—as you lift your eyes to the incoming morning.

The window has popped, need to fix that, he continues, barely above a whisper, following your eye line, lingering on it.

So, you kiss him. Icy lips against his, feeling warmth bloom in your throat, descend down to your lungs. You lick into his mouth, tasting fire, hoping it fills your stomach, and forces heat to bathe your bones. Smother me, you want to ask, but instead, he makes flames lick up your spine. Pushing fabric to the side, fingers tracing, finding your seam—teasing, taunting. Making toes curl under sheets and fabric, little whispered pleas coat the skin close to his ear. Is this all for me?

Yes.

Always yes.

Frankie is precise, and knows just what to do. Listening to you, trained in doing so, even when words don’t leave your lips. It’s a gift, he smirked once, mouth coated in your slick, tongue flicking out against your core.

You couldn’t argue, he was a treat.

At some stage you’d wondered, practically suspected he’d found a manual for you. Figured out each zone that made you putty—thank fuck he did. He never leaves you wanting, never lets you beg for too long. Too eager to please, too happy to give.

You want my cock, yeah? Your response comes out breathless, more air punched from your lungs when he finally answers himself. So thick, so long—all compact, all you can think about as he stills, as he rubs two circles on your hip in that way he does until you relax around him, allow him to move. So tight, baby.

There are worse things to be than full of Frankie. You’ve experienced a portion of time before it, it doesn't hold a candle to the time that came when he rested his arm on the doorframe, and told you (in the most asking, polite way) that he was going to kiss you. You want to be full of him always, in all the ways it counts—like this, and in your heart, and in your soul.

A need for waffles on Sundays where At Last plays, and Wednesdays when he brings home a bag of takeout and the two of you see how long you’ll make it through the show before you’re on his lap. Insatiable, some would say, but it’s hard not to be when you’re happy.

His hand fans out over your lower back, skating over your skin—murmurs of softness, of perfection. Painting you in it, all varying shades, a masterpiece he thinks he’s came across, but really just became the first to admire.

Never stop.

You’d told him that then when his mouth—chapped and salty from pretzels—slanted over yours that first time. You repeat it now as his hips move, as he slides his hand up and across your shoulder blades.

And it’s not long until you’re panting, until his name forms part of your unconscious narrative. Repeating it, interspersing it with expletives and moans, each he takes, captures, bottles and keeps.

He’s a collector like that, a person who has a drawer solely of things which don’t make up anything on their own—screws, bolts, plugs and cables. You often wonder if he has a drawer for you inside his head, an array of Polaroids, made up from moments like this where he tells you how good you look, how beautiful you are, how perfect you feel hugging his cock, how good your pussy feels—

The room is filled with sinful sounds, wet, skin slapping. Music to the ears.

More, you shout only in the void in your head. Nails gripping, body tense, taunt and coiled.

Then you’re shuddering, blissfully turning to warm lava—spreading out, relaxing, unspooling. Held in place, mouth finding his, writing poetry on his tongue before his movements twitch, break their pattern, and your throat is coated in a moan of your name.

You swallow it, the way he says it. Makes you hate it a little less, and makes you want to hear it over and over—because in the day you prefer the nicknames, but at night you prefer the one on your certificates.

Breath caught, little wisps of air leaving both of you with each pant, he brushes your cheek—skin like a blaze, keeping the shiver from ever gracing you.

Let’s not go anywhere today, you say, sleep-filled and soft. Okay, he responds, sliding against you.

It’s less cold, and less biting.

But that’s because of him, your nose buried into his neck, heart hammering against your side. Then you hear the heating click on—but you still prefer him to keep you warm.

— for @secretelephanttattoo because it’s cold, I adore her and I want to make her smile.

#Frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #Frankie morales x you #Francisco morales fanfiction #Frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales one shot #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut

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boyfriendstevie · 4 months

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Holiday requests!! Yay!! I have still not recovered from sturdy, but I'm coming in hot with a request for naughty 😏

I would love something with Steve, and from wintery prompt list #2, number 27 (getting tipsy on eggnog and mulled wine) and smut prompt list #3 , number 18 (you.me.bed.clothes.off.now)

- @superblysubpar 💛

hehe thank you taylor!! combining this with another ask that also had #27 on it, as well as the prompt "Baby—shit—I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the bed like this.” | oral (steve receiving), gn!reader, 18+ only!! mdni!!

Steve giggles — literally full-on giggles — as he closes and locks the front door behind him when the last of your friends leave. The eggnog and mulled wine you’ve had over the course of the evening leaves both of you in a weird state of tipsy. Not drunk, but definitely not sober, mostly just giggly and clumsy. And horny.

Even in his stupid, ugly Christmas sweater he looks handsome. You always want him, but it’s turned up to an 11 when you’re tipsy and finally alone.

“Steeeevie,” you call his name in a sing-song voice, pointing to the air above his head, “Look!”

His head whips up and he giggles again when he realizes he’s standing directly under the mistletoe you’d insisted on hanging earlier. “O-oh shit!” he hiccups, and holds his hands out to you, making a grabbing motion in your direction, “C’mere, honey. Need a smooch.”

You gladly oblige, setting the drink in your hand down on the coffee table before making your way to him, “I knew the mistletoe would come in handy!” Your hands slide around his torso, front pressing against his as you pucker your lips and lean up on your toes.

He meets you halfway, arm curling around your waist as his lips meet yours. Steve fully intends for it to be a quick, soft kiss, but you really want him, and refuse to let go. It only takes a second for him to melt back into you and kiss you again, this time kissing you like he has something to prove. His lips are soft, and he tastes a hell of a lot like the alcohol in your drinks, mixed with a dash of peppermint. It’s festive, and it puts you in the mood for something other than the holiday spirit.

When you finally pull back to take a breath, both of you are panting. Between breaths, you steal another kiss and grin at your boyfriend as you say, “You. Me. Bed. Clothes off… Now.”

Steve’s eyes grow comically wide as he nods dutifully, “We can do that.” He grabs your hand in his and begins pulling you away from the front door, towards your bedroom.

It’s like a movie, though, the way you keep kissing as you walk, bumping into furniture, stopping to press each other into walls to keep making out. You’re nearly to the bedroom when you’ve got Steve’s back pressed against the wall as you kiss. Your hands wander, seemingly of their own volition, and slide underneath his sweater, fingers tucking under the waistband of his jeans.

A soft gasp escapes Steve when your cold hands touch his skin, and he nearly crumples, even though you haven’t properly touched him yet. Any amount of alcohol tends to turns Steve’s senses up times a million, and it doesn’t take much for him to become putty in your hands.

You don’t move your hands for a moment, opting instead to keep kissing him. He’s fervent about it, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, even as your hands push between his jeans and the fabric of his boxers. He only falters for a moment with a soft whimper when you cup his cock in your hand through his underwear.

Unsurprisingly, Steve’s half hard already with the alcohol in his system, and with the way you’d pressed up against him for a kiss and then stumbled around in the dark together. You rub your hand along the length of his cock, palming him gently as you kiss. It doesn’t take very long before he’s whining into your mouth, hips pushing into your touch.

Steve only breaks from the kiss to wrap a hand around your wrist and stutter, “Baby— shit— I don’t think ’m gonna make it to the bed like this.”

Even though you’d been the one to suggest taking it to the bedroom, you’re not against getting to it sooner, and peck Steve’s lips before sinking to your knees in front of him, “That’s okay, Stevie. I’ll take care of you right now.”

Pressing another kiss to his hips right above his waistline, your fingers find the button of his jeans and then the zipper. “Oh... fuck,” Steve mutters a bit weakly as your hands pull at both his pants and his underwear, “Right here? In— in the hall?”

“Mhm,” you hum, a bit distracted by the sight in front of you. He’s so hard, leaking precum onto your fingers as your hand wraps around his length. You press the softest of kisses to the tip, tongue flicking out over his slit, and giggle when he twitches in your hand. Your eyes shoot up to his, meeting his heavy, half-lidded gaze, “’S that okay?”

“Oh, fuck,” he murmurs again, one hand reaching down to cup your cheek as you stroke him slowly, waiting for his answer, “y-yeah that— ’s okay.”

“Great,” you say softly, pushing your cheek into his hand for a moment before you turn back to the task at hand, giving him another kiss. It looks like he might say something, but you cut him off when you take him into your warm, wet mouth. Hollowing your cheeks around him for just a moment, just enough to tease, you pull back with a wet pop and glance back up at your boyfriend, "Gonna cum in mouth in the hallway before we even get to the bedroom, baby? Hope you'll have another in you..."

join the celebration!

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington fluff #stevie #steve thots #kit writes #kit answers #kits naughty & nice list

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flowerbloom-arts · 3 months

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AU where the Shifting Mound doesn't snatch the Damsel so soon and you have to deal with the repercussions of existing past "Happily Ever After" with a voluntarily undeveloped Sweet Love Interest™.

(also, yippee finally found a way to put my 2 interests together!!)

(absolutely incomprehensible ramble under the cut.)

Okay so I'm going to make this as understandable as possible for the uninitiated, whether it be for the Moomin comic strip or the franchise at large.

The plushie the Damsel is holding is that of the Snork Maiden (or just Snorkmaiden), the girlfriend/love interest for the main character, Moomintroll. Now, Snorkmaiden is an interesting and largely misunderstood character, especially when it comes to her comic version where she's a bit of a "promiscuous" character who oftentimes ditches Moomintroll for another man when she sees fit, this is where the misunderstanding lies.

Snorkmaiden haters will dismiss this (if they were to read the comics, because in all honesty they aren't that widely considered or even read in the fandom) as an addition to her general unlikeability as an "obstacle" to the fandom's main gay ship between Moomintroll and his best friend, Snorkmaiden sympathizers will leap to justify this with the good ol' It Was Heteronormativity All Along, which is a very... Honestly lazy reading/justification of her character which doesn't hold up under scrutiny. I, however, have an obviously superior reading of her character (/not serious)

Snorkmaiden simply has a very different definition of romance or at least wants to gain something different out of the concept of romance as opposed to the general public perception built up around it, one which even Moomintroll can't even begin to grasp.

What she gets out of romance, and where it begins and ends for her, is the adventurous fall and honeymoon of it, and each new man she gets into a relationship with is thematically appropriate to the adventure/problem of the week that she and her boyfriend's family are currently facing. When she goes to the French Riviera she starts dating a rich actor because it is a tourist shoreline city where all the celebrities go, when she finds herself in the wintery unknown (she and the Moomins usually hibernate through it, they're creatures like that) she catches a crush on a professional winter sportsman, when she decides to live a hedonist life because some self-proclaimed prophet came in and told everyone to she decides to start it by running away with someone new, when she gets a job as a secretary she falls in love with a coworker who is really interested in accounting, so on and so forth. Even with Moomintroll, they fell in love upon her introduction and Moomintroll signifies a new life in the valley in which they currently live in.

And in the end all of these new romances fall apart either due to unfortunate circumstances, Moomintroll's jealous intervention or her simply becoming disinterested eventually, and in the end of all of them she returns to Moomintroll, as per formulaic comic strip storytelling. (I must mention that Moomintroll also falls in love with other women based on their looks, and he also fell in love with Snorkmaiden because he thought she was pretty, so, he's not that much better really)

This is a repeating cycle, one that Snorkmaiden is simply incapable of breaking out of due to the conventions of her narrative. No matter what she tries, where she goes, who she gets with, she'll always end up back in Moomintroll's arms whether he "earns it back through chivalry" or she runs back to him much to her previous chagrin. It's a self-fulfilling cycle too, in one comic it's shown that she's so used to Moomintroll's behavior that it sours her current relationship with an already bad partner even further. If she was capable of Truly Leaving then she stopped being capable at that point. Snorkmaiden is stuck with a long-term boyfriend when she normally strives in a short-term relationship.

She's also deeply entrenched in romance tropes and loves to roleplay them with Moomintroll, and especially loves them when she thinks they're real, these tropes she fancies usually tend toward kidnapping (and not alot of rescuing) or romantic sacrifice such as dueling or... Romeo and Juliet. These things are extensions of her ideas on what romance is, more about the short-term thrill than the long-term contentment.

Of course, with most Moomin media having a child demographic as opposed to the adult newspaper readers of the comics, Snorkmaiden's character in adaptations of these stories get presented without the depth or the means for that depth, as she gets presented as either a somewhat boring playdate to Moomintroll with grand, childish ideas of romance or a naggy girlfriend whom the writers try to make feminist but ultimately fails to deliver on anything subversive or substantial.

How this ties into the Princess is the cyclical nature of it all, the choices with no branching ends, the new experiences with seemingly no development, the change and then the sudden stop. And with the Damsel in particular it is the reduction of such an interesting and intriguing person full of potential to a cutout of a simple Love Interest. All that anguish is suddenly washed away into something more palatable, a parody of a fairytale princess, a goodness so pure that it is sickening, no motivation behind the eyes except for one simple goal.

Now. Don't get me wrong, the Damsel is my favorite princess, between the Adversaries and the Towers and the Witches and Wilds, the Damsel is the one which captivated my singular interest, becaus I'm not immune to her trappings of adorable beauty and saccharine sweetness with no other motivation than to make her hero happy, I believe that it's a combination of the player's desire for her to be a normal princess they can have a happy ending with but also her willfully stripping herself out of guilt of what she's done to the player.

She stripped herself of any real personhood just to make us happy, and that is the purest motivation anyone can have, really, a terribly misguided one but the sentiment is immeasurable. I pity her and I love her and I want her to be so genuinely happy because of what she's gone through but I know very well that she's incapable of that because the decisions the player chose made her that way, she is made incapable of genuine happiness without total dependence on the player's feelings and that really breaks my heart.

It breaks my heart when she's reduced to a crappy middle school anime drawing when she's put through the pressure of getting interrogated or being told strange things about what would make the player happy.

It breaks my heart when she's finally free but then immediately met with the coldness of the Shifting Mound and thought that coldness was happiness.

It breaks my heart when she accepts her second death with tears in her eyes and a smile because she thinks that's what made the player happy, and yet somehow she couldn't accept it as a real decision the player made on their own because in the first time she was warned that they were possessed, so the only conclusion she could come up with was that the cabin was causing this pain and so as the Grey she decides to burn the whole place to the ground and stare at you lovingly until her face melts away.

It breaks my heart that the Grey is in a wedding dress, on top of that.

She's so desperate to cling onto the first person to show her kindness that she seems to have become broken over it. She's so terribly tragic that I can't help but keep thinking about her and the million heartbreaks knowing that she's so lovely and selfless but she wasn't Real anymore.

I want her to have a massive fairytale wedding like at the end of Disney's old Cinderella movie and live forever with some physical manifestation of Voice of the Smitten. I want her to come back to personhood and cry and not be snapped like a twig over it. I want the Damsel to be happy in any way she seems fit to be but I know that can never happy, both by the nature of the game but also in the very programming of her character.

She is trapped, whether it's in the cabin, her own circular mentality or as part of the Shifting Mound, she's incapable of of being really free as her own person unless you count the ending of us leaving with the no-blade blade starter princess.

... And that's why I think she should hold a massive Snorkmaiden fair prize won by her darling new butch knight girlfriend.

#moomins #moominvalley #art #moomin snorkmaiden #the snorkmaiden #snorkmaiden #slay the princess #stp fanart #stp princess #stp protagonist #stp damsel #the damsel #voice of the hero #voice of the smitten #I like to think the Princess (kind of in general but maybe not?) has freckles but since she's never been exposed to the sun in-game #she doesn't develop them there. BUT. Since in this AU the Damsel actually goes outside and there's a sun..... :)#stp spoilers

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iheartmysun · 4 months

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Christmas with George Weasley (headcanons)

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

• so so incredibly keen to have you stay over at the burrow

• would ask if it was alright to invite you over for christmas the day halloween ended

• he'd insist that you help put some extra decorations up with him

• would sneak warm, delicate kisses up your neck and onto your cheek while you were focused doing so

• laughs at the expression on your face when you realise that he's put mistletoe up when you weren't paying attention

• being the cheeky man that he is, he would definitely tease you about it

• but not without you teasing him in return (which would certainly make him more flustered than he might be willing to admit)

• absolutely takes advantage of the cold weather and uses it as an excuse to curl up in his bed with you

• and you can't forget his love of seeing you in his jumpers/sweaters either

• would fuss about what clothes you were wearing when going out into the snow

• "Well, I can't let you catch a cold, now can I?" he'd say as he pulled a scarf up to cover your nose

• would kiss your nose through the scarf to 'seal in the warmth'

• dates in the village nearby

• anything from keeping you inside of a cozy café to get you a hot drink

• to outside in the wintery air to shove snow at you

• would then rush to your side to help you up, apologising for shoving snow at you too hard and making you fall over

• he's then pulled into the snow with you instead

• george can't help but let out the most melodious laugh that you've ever heard (making you feel sure that that sound could heal even the most painful of heartaches)

• loves baking things for you

• mainly pastries

• wants to treat you to all of the delicious foods that your heart desires

• gives his best effort with presents

• most likely puts his creative talents to use to give you something that he made himself

• obviously well thought out. only the best is allowed for the light of his life

• he still worries that it won't be enough as he can't buy many gifts (save perhaps a few sweets)

• you assure him that his gifts are as marvellous as he is

• he can't help but kiss you with that gorgeous grin of his plastered across his face

• the first few early hours of christmas morning are spent warm in his embrace

• he wakes up first

• a soft and sleepy smile makes its way to his lips once he looks at you

• can't help but adore every detail on your peaceful face as you lay your head on his chest

• "Only you could keep me this warm when it's this bloody cold."

• each other's very own personal heater

• he's sure that the holiday has somehow made him fall for you even more than he already has

#george weasley #george weasley fluff #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x reader #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley oneshot #george weasley imagine #george weasley headcanon #christmas fic

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justporo · 4 months

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From savoury to sweet

All your friends are invited for winter festivities and you're doing your best to prepare everything for a big reunion. But a certain vampire keeps testing your patience until it ultimately snaps...

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Written for the "Delicacies" prompt of the BG3 Winter Holiday challenge and since I'm running this challenge I'm cheating a bit and also fill the "Holiday spirit" with this - because I guess everyone knows the feeling of feeling stretched thin when the end of the year comes around with all the joy and stress it has to offer... And sadly I don't have a sassy vampire to pull me through it *sighs* Happy holidays to you all!

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: none Wordcount: 1,5k ~~~

The little townhouse in Baldur’s Gate you and Astarion lived in was filled throughout with delicious smells: mulled wine, freshly baked pastries, simmering gravy. Together with everything being neatly decorated with holly, candles and more wintery decor it made for a very cosy and festive atmosphere.

Unfortunately, the comfy mood was disrupted by smells of burning and colourful curses being spat.

Gale and you had been bustling around the kitchen cooking, baking and making preparations, meanwhile Astarion sat at the long table there - one leg lazily dragged up onto the bench. He was reading something and kept stealing brandy infused cherries out of a bowl that always seemed to magically find its way back into his reach - no matter how often you moved the bowl away from him.

The wizard had come over to help you prepare a whole bunch of food. And of course there had been a very good reason behind all of this.

Somewhen when winter had rolled around and the Midwinter holidays had come closer, a thought had entered your mind and been stuck there ever since - and with that a wish.

It had been quite some time since you had seen all the other members of your little adventure group last - or friends rather because that was what they all had become. And you missed them all deeply. But fortunately there could be something done about that.

So, you had brought up the idea to Astarion to invite them over for the holiday to have a nice festive evening together.

Immediately, the vampire’s nose had scrunched up in distaste: “You’re not becoming all sappy all of a sudden, are you? I didn’t sign up for this.”

You had swatted his arm and pouted profusely, feeling a little hurt by his immediate rejection of your idea.

This had been a dream of yours for a long time: having a really fancy and enjoyable holiday festivity with someone to actually share it. Because you never had the chance to have that when you had grown up on the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

The closest you’d ever gotten to a holiday celebration had been sharing a stolen pie with some other urchins while you had huddled somewhere under tattered blankets, trying to escape the cold.

When you had painted that picture for Astarion (maybe purposefully laying it on thickly), his sassy attitude had immediately fallen. You had seen some of your past hurt mirrored in his red eyes. With a small sigh he had hooked his thumb on your chin and promised you to give you the holiday festivity you had always dreamt of.

“But”, he had immediately added when you had already started jumping up and down joyfully, “no one and I mean none of them will stay with us, darling. I had enough of sharing camp with all these buffoons for a lifetime - for all of immortality even.”

You had brushed off his sarcastic words quickly and had sent out letters to all your friends the following day. Answers had come in slow and sporadically since then - but that surely only meant that everyone was just very busy. Right?

But once you had started to think about what dishes you all wanted to prepare for this evening, how to get everything festive and whatnot, all these worries had quickly been forgotten. Gale had immediately been enlisted as your aid to tackle the massive task - obviously not taking no for an answer.

So there you were: a prodigy wizard and a former thief slaving away in the kitchen for almost a whole day in preparation for holiday dinner. Meanwhile a vampire was contributing nothing to the efforts - except if you counted his snide remarks (and of those he contributed many).

Every surface in the kitchen was filled with already finished dishes, loose ingredients or heaps of dirty pots, pans and utensils. Together with Gale you had prepared little filled pies as a starter, a variety of sides for the main course of different picks of meats and fish and sauces to compliment everything.

Almost all of it was done being prepped for dinner. Now only your baked dessert was missing. And of course that had been where things had went awry. Your nerves had been on edge already, stressing how everything would go. Gale had not been helping with his unhelpful-helpful commentary. And not even to mention your vampire just lounging there on the bench like a cat, making it a point to annoy you even more with his sassy manner.

And you had reached your breaking point when you had pulled a completely burnt cake from the oven, covering up the delicious other smells while a small smoke cloud had erupted in the middle of the kitchen and Astarion hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut about it.

“Oh love, I mean, I am no expert by any means, but I do think that’s a bit dark even for a dark chocolate cake,” he’d commented while he had barely even lifted his eyes from his book, one elbow propped up on the table and head placed on his hand while he popped another cherry into his mouth.

And that had also been the reason why he’d been hit with a small bun. Caused by your already thin stretched patience finally snapping you had grabbed the nearest throwable thing and had hurled it at the vampire’s head. That thing had happened to be a bunch of sweet rolls you had made as a side. Your impeccable aim had made sure that you hit your mark - and the screech you had let out had probably given it even more force.

Without even checking Astarion’s reaction you had sunk down on the bench opposite of the vampire and had buried your face in your hands while you tried to not let tears overwhelm you.

Astarion reflectively hissed and swatted the gnarly pastry away from him. But then he took in the scene and quickly realised that he had rightfully brought this onto himself.

Gale, who had taken a step back from you in caution with hands lifted defensively, threw the pale elf a sour look now while you suppressed sobs. “Incredibly supportive, Astarion, a job well done”, the wizard scolded the vampire who at least had the good grace to look ashamed of himself.

The wizard sat down beside you and started rubbing your back while he kept throwing Astarion looks. The vampire shuffled around awkwardly for a few moments, not being used to and not enjoying having to apologise.

With a sigh he finally got up and moved around the table and with a “shoo shoo” motion chased Gale out of the kitchen so he could be alone with you for a moment or two.

“Love, I’m sorry,” Astarion whispered as he sat down beside you and looped an arm around your shoulders. Immediately you let yourself fall into his touch. You really didn’t want to be mad at him. Under different circumstances you would have just laughed at his comment.

“I’m sorry I upset you with the stupid thing I said, forgive me?”, the vampire added and softly nuzzled his nose into your hair as you buried your face at his chest.

“I forgive you - sorry I threw baked goods at you”, you mumbled into his chest but you knew he had understood you when you felt the soft rumble of his laughter run through his whole body.

“It’s all good, my love. I got what I deserved and may I add: incredible aim. You’ve not lost your touch since the end of our grand adventure”, Astarion added and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You relaxed a little and just sat there with him for a few moments as you felt that your breathing slowly became normal again and some tension leaving your body. Astarion just held you.

After a while the vampire dragged over the bowl of liquor drenched fruit he’d been stealing out of. “Cherry, my sweet?”, he asked and with that made you look up again. He was holding the sticky fruit between his thumb and index and winked at you.

And for some reason that made you laugh. But when you didn’t immediately answer, Astarion shrugged his shoulders and popped the little treat in his mouth. You whacked his hand.

“No, Astarion! And stop eating those, we still need them!”, you scolded him as your partner pouted at you for being told off.

“Alright, no more cherries, but only if you agree to come with me and get some fresh air”, Astarion proposed. You wanted to protest but the vampire hushed you. “I’m sure Gale can be trusted to not burn the house down for like half an hour alone”, he continued.

You looked at him with some suspicion: “Unlike you to trust Gale with anything but walking in a straight line.”

Astarion rolled his eyes while he already got up and made to drag you along.

“Well, unusual circumstances and the like - you know”, he went on and let his free hand draw circles in the air. You just shrugged, honestly being happy to be dragged outside for a while.

“Now come, love, get your cloak - you need a break from all the sweet and savoury dishes here”, Astarion said and patted your butt for some motivation.You grinned at him: “Alright, except for that one sweet snack, my dear.”

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #bg3holidayfluffle23 #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3

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coqxettee · 4 months

Text

How to romanticise January 🦢✩₊˚☁️⋆☾🌬₊✧

Happy first week of January completed!

I know January can be one of the dullest & hardest months, especially because Christmas is over, it’s still wintery & cold and it’s back to “normality” but here are some things you can do to make January a beautiful and cozy month ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Embrace the beauty of new beginning’s. Have an everything shower, create a new schedule, tidy your bedroom/space, organise your work, clean, plan a glow-up/plan for the new year. It’s a new year which means new beginnings so embrace these changes. Change can be scary but it is needed and can be beautiful ₊˚⊹♡

Invest in YOU. Save up money (or use money from Christmas) to get your hair done, a new manicure, buy a new item of clothing, invest in self care products i.e - A new robe/fluffy dressing gown, skincare products, new January pyjamas etc ₊˚⊹♡

Journal. Purchase a journal and practice journaling. You can do morning/night journalling, or write about what you did that day. There are loads of Journal prompts on Pinterest ₊˚⊹♡

Wear white’s, creams, beige’s, baby pink’s, grey’s & browns. Neutral colours look stunning this time of year, especially when there it’s frost on the ground or it’s raining outside. Perfect for outfit pictures ₊˚⊹♡

Bundle up in your nicest coat and scarf and go on a wintery walk. Take outfit pictures and listen to romantic music as you walk. Bring back dead leaves from the trees and press them to create a winter journal page ₊˚⊹♡

Bake - Bake anything. The new year is the perfect time to try new recipes, maybe try some healthy baking recipes. Take photos of them and write the recipes down in a notebook ₊˚⊹♡

Have cozy movie marathons, watch your favorite comfort films under huge blankets with hot cocoa, in a cute mug ₊˚⊹♡

Heal your inner child. Listen to classical music, ballet music and movie soundtracks, to take you far away to whimsical places. Light candles, watch nostalgic movies & tv shows, read your childhood favourite books ₊˚⊹♡

Eat warming, nourishing and comforting foods. January can be one of the coldest and hardest months for your body and mind, nourish your soul with warm soups, hot drinks etc ₊˚⊹♡

Start new habits/hobbies, Yoga, Pilates, (Working out in general) Painting, Crochet. Having a new hobby means you can always go back to it in the year ₊˚⊹♡

Read - Create a new TBR if you haven’t and start it at the top. Read new books and make your way through the list ₊˚⊹♡

Try frosty “Cold Girl” makeup with beige undertones for January. Try a new lip colour or put something shimmery on your eyelids. Also, give your makeup a clean (your brushes, palettes etc) ₊˚⊹♡

Take care of your skin babydoll. Use a moisturiser after showering, wear hand cream, use a good winter primer for your makeup, always take your makeup off in the evening and never miss a morning/evening of winter skincare. This is when your skin needs it the most ₊˚⊹♡

Get a new daily coffee order/go to coffee order at your local coffee shop. Try something new ₊˚⊹♡

Try going on daily walks ₊˚⊹♡

Self care nights at least once a week (working week) and set aside Sunday’s to have self care DAY’S ₊˚⊹♡

Start a new TV series ₊˚⊹♡

Limit screen time ₊˚⊹♡

Make lists of things you want to go that day ₊˚⊹♡

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biteofcherry · 1 year

Text

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings: dark!Steve Rogers; manipulation; threats; power imbalance;

word count: 4.4k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Chapter 2. Lava in the snow

~ * ~

Always a professional, you decided on setting hard boundaries with Mr Rogers, but in the privacy of your office.

It was never a good idea to have an audience for a type of a scolding, especially if a person considered themselves in a position of power compared to the people witnessing the scene. That escalated reactions, while meeting eye to eye gave the opportunity for both parties to still hold respect.

Taking a step back from Rogers’ towering posture, you stiffly motioned for him to walk inside your office.

You cast a pointed glare Natalie’s way as you closed the door. She was swift in her work against the unexpected circumstances, but you wanted to drive in the point of not doing favors for anyone.

The only favors you accepted in the center were those for the patients. For them you’d make things as flexible as needed.

You took a calming breath, fingers still resting on the door handle, before you pulled back your shoulders and turned around to face your guest.

He watched you curiously. At least you preferred to assess it as merely curiosity, as something told you it was best not to read the intensity in his eyes as actual, deeper interest.

The way his gaze slid up from your feet, taking in every inch of your body until it settled on your face, was bordering on inappropriate.

You met his gaze evenly, trying not to show that the vivid contrast between you two made you feel uneasy.

You were wearing a simple, pale blue pantsuit (the jacket currently hanging over the back of your office chair) and a white blouse; your heels not too high, a few jewelry pieces not overbearing your looks.

Appealing light tones to underline your professional approach.

He was an unpolished chunk of darkness. Clean, but heavy boots; jeans on which you tried not to focus, since they seemed so tight around his thighs and ass; a dark henley and a black leather jacket to match.

Each piece was basic, but pristine; and heavy compared to yours.

Light versus dark, to put it simply.

But there was more to the difference between the two of you. And you weren’t certain - not with the way he carried himself - that you’d easily maintain an upper hand even in your own office.

Rogers was like a nugget of volcanic rock that landed among the bright snow of your world, and the black heart of it sizzled with so much destroying force the innocent wintery landscape would have to melt for him.

“Please sit, Mr Rogers.” You tilted your chin up, adamant on not yielding.

You walked around him, noticing that he moved to sit down only as you took a seat in your own chair. He probably waited to assess your intentions. Or it could be a gentleman’s habit, though you wouldn’t assume he possessed such traits.

Not with the way he strolled into the center, like there was no risk of him being denied anything he demanded.

He was probably leading some old-money, family company, where the great grandsons of a slaver were so used to their wealth and spoiled with attention, they didn’t even bother to show simplest acts of courtesy.

“I’m sure you’re a busy man Mr Rogers,” you forced your jaw to relax, not to grit the words through your teeth. “So I assume your need to see me goes beyond simply wanting to meet the new director of the center.”

You knew there have been phone calls with invitations to lunches, or brunches, or other unches, with bored philanthropists and benefactors. Which Natalie skilfully dodged, placating the hungry for novelty elites with promises of you joining them for a meal in the future.

You didn’t suspect Rogers of that, but one could never be sure.

“It does, but you are a curiosity.” He leaned back in his chair.

“How so?” You raised an eyebrow.

Was it because your name hasn’t been on the list of celebrity doctors, with whom Stark-level elites were mingling with? To have an actual commoner become the head of a prospering health center could shake the boring world of snobs.

Then again, it didn’t seem that the center was interesting to any of them, since Howard made sure to not profit from it. Its main goal was to serve people, not his name.

“A pretty, shiny fish being dropped into a tank full of sharks and swimming through it all calm and confident.”

His voice carried hints of amusement and disbelief; and also a drop of fascination, which alerted your senses as something bad.

Still, you weren’t about to reveal uneasiness, nor uncertainty. That’s how people of his caliber learned they get to poke at weaker ones. You wouldn’t be weaker. So you crossed your palms in your lap, holding your back ramrod straight.

“If you mean dealing with health care system moguls, I assure you I have experience in that. Managing donations for a privately based center won’t be much different than wrapping pharmaceutical companies around a finger.” You shrugged, quite confident in your abilities.

Rogers, in turn, grinned darkly.

“That’s not what I mean at all.” He replied, entertained with your attempts to cover a shiver which clearly shook your body.

Becoming even more annoyed, you huffed and placed your hands on your desk.

“What is it that you mean, then?” You asked, your patience thinning.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” Rogers tilted his head to the side, previously shown amusement dimming down.

The air around him seemed to hum with power as his features settled into sharp seriousness. You were starting to suspect it wasn’t a usual business meeting. Nothing about this man was usual. Not in your standards, anyway.

“One of Howard’s benefactors?” You swallowed nervously, while still trying to remain calm on the outside.

You wanted to believe that initial assumption, even though you now suspected it to be a lie. Not only from the course of the conversation, but also the way Steve Rogers sat in a basic office chair as if it was a throne.

His ringed fingers resting loosely over the armrests added to that aura.

Thick, dark silver bands; some simple, some twisted in more intricate shape, a few even had colorful stones submerged into heavy metal.

Vines of black ink stretched over one of his hands, a shape of bare roots that twisted into a thicker pattern over his wrists, but the tattoo disappeared under the sleeve of his jacket and you were unable to decipher it.

You should’ve noticed earlier that he wasn’t a spoiled heir to an old fortune, but someone who probably reaped his riches with brute force.

“Of sort.” Rogers quirked his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth tilting in a smirk for a brief second. It was all gone in a blink of an eye.

“I’m someone who has all of those benefactors under my thumb.” He stated simply. “As well as other people.”

He wasn’t boasting. Rather laying down the law he expected you to take into consideration and abide by.

“What do you want exactly?” Earlier you were careful not to irritate (too much) a potential donor, now you needed to stay cautious of danger that lurked beneath the surface of Rogers’ handsome face.

“A lot of things,” his grin was sharp and threatening, “but now, from you? I want this place.”

That actually surprised you. Having watched too many movies, you half expected to hear something about paying for protection, or else your place will accidentally burn down to the ground.

Instead, Steve Rogers wanted to own the whole place. For what reason? It made absolutely no sense. It wasn’t a company that gained money, you weren’t producing, or selling anything worthy. It was a health center founded on charities, basic contracts with the ministry, taking care of people who couldn’t afford private help.

“You want to run a health center?” You asked slowly, still not comprehending his words.

“Not at all.” Steve shook his head, his grin not disappearing. “The grounds it stands on are of value to me.”

At that you felt a surge of anger. Justified, in your opinion.

A cocky bastard, who potentially could kill you with his bare hands, was attempting to deprive dozens of people in need of medical and mental help they needed, just because he wanted to own some valuable land.

“There are plenty of available plots all over the city and outside of it.” You rose to your feet in a rush, ready to throw him out of your office (though you weren’t sure how exactly you would manage to do that).

“I am not going to hand over this place, robbing people in need of the help they only recently received, just because you wish to broaden your show-off territory.” You circled your desk in swift steps, standing in front of Rogers with your hands on your hips.

“I won’t ever sell it. Or hand it over. No!”

As you nearly screamed the last word, it dawned on you what you’ve done. How reckless was your outburst, considering the man you were speaking to.

You still had no idea who he was exactly, how deep under the ground he buried his enemies - or maybe, quite the contrary, he displayed them for all to see, so no one else would go against him. But you sensed it was stupid to go for his throat so boldly.

“You haven’t yet heard my offer.” Rogers remained seated, though you noticed his fingers clenching on the armrests of his chair.

His rings scraped against the metal and you almost felt the cold pressure of them against your own throat. He’d undoubtedly leave red dents in your skin if he clenched his large hand around your neck.

“I’m not interested in it.” This time your reply came out softer; as if his fingers were already circling the front of your neck, threatening to squeeze.

You weren’t going to change your decision, but you had enough working brain left to control yourself to not antagonize Rogers further.

“You should be.” Steve slowly stood up.

As he did, you instinctively took a step back, bumping into your own desk. Which was a bad move, you knew. Not only you sort of blocked your own way of escape, but showed a sign of fear, which the predator before you undoubtedly noticed.

“See, I’m not the only one who will show interest in this place.” Rogers rolled his shoulders back, in a move similar to fighters readying to throw a punch.

With how big he was, how strong his fingers alone looked, you suspected that if he punched you, your teeth wouldn’t only rattle in your mouth, but fall out.

Though maybe he wouldn’t hit you, just break your neck in one quick snap.

“Word goes around, especially in this city. Others will reach out to you, too, when they find out I’ve shown interest.” He took a step forward. “Sooner or later. For your sake, I hope it’s too late for them.”

When his gaze slid up the length of your body, it felt like a scrape of a blade against your skin.

His eyes were so cold, irises a shade of rising sunlight caught in mountain ice, that running a sharp knife along your skin might feel a warmer caress than standing his gaze.

A chill crept up your spine.

A different kind of zing surged downward at the unexpected image of Rogers' blue eyes studying your responses as he runs an actual blade over your body.

Still, you tilted your chin up defiantly, arms crossing over your chest.

"If it's so desired by many, as you claim, why should I take your offer instead of others?" You asked, stubbornly refusing to bend to Steve Rogers' will.

Not that you planned on taking anyone’s offer, but perhaps you could play a sneaky game and lead them all in circles with false declarations of selling to the others. Though you doubted they’d believe it for long. Rogers sure didn’t look stupid enough to fall for it.

He cocked his head to the side, a glimmer of curiosity reigniting in his eyes; like a glint at the tip of an ice pick about to pierce right through you.

"Because-" his voice was so deceivingly warm and deep- "I can protect you from them. But no one can protect you from me, Princess."

First obvious threat striked you, forcing the air out of your lungs in a gasp. Your arms fell to your sides, fingers slightly trembling.

You wanted to accuse him of a big ego, laugh that any petty criminal would say how dangerous they are and no one else could protect you from them. But somehow you believed Rogers. You believed he’s as scary and untouchable as he painted himself to be.

“There’s no need for condescending names,” you blurted out instead, needing to direct your shaken feelings at something.

“Condescending?” Steve inched even closer, his feet bracketing yours as his hands slipped between your arms and your body to rest on the edge of the desk.

He had you truly trapped. Caged between the desk and his powerful body, which radiated warmth that was so tempting to lean into.

Further temptation was his perfume. A warm spicy scent, notes of cedar and cardamom, with a splash of something awakening, something tart and fresh to pull you from the lulling haze of the first notes.

His perfume was just like him - a lethal slice of acid hidden beneath a warm, comforting veneer.

“A Princess is a title of a royal family’s member,” Rogers’ eyes bore into yours, “You may not be connected by blood, but you are now an heiress to Stark, who has been treated like royalty for decades.”

“A Princess-” one of his hands brushed your hip- “is also a girl deserving to be spoiled.”

You couldn’t help glancing at his lips when he licked them. Or maybe you wanted any excuse not to be looking into his ice cold eyes.

“Seize the opportunity while I still consider you deserving of it.” He pulled back; the comforting softness of his voice transformed into coarse bidding.

“You can keep your center, I don’t need it locked down. But you will sign the property over to my name.” There was finality to his tone which you didn’t dare object at this very moment. “You have twenty four hours to consider. This time tomorrow, I’ll come to hear you say yes to me, Princess.”

Don’t hold your breath, itched to roll out on your tongue.

You kept silent, however. Twenty four hours wasn’t long enough to wage your options, but perhaps it’ll be enough to contact law enforcement or other institutions and gain yourself help.

You watched Rogers leave your office, your fingers clenching on the edge of the desk as you allowed tremors to shake you now that he wasn’t watching.

A few heartbeats, three deep breaths, and you were straightening.

You walked to the door with purpose, telling yourself you wouldn't shake if Rogers was still behind them. Yet you sighed in relief when you saw his shadow disappearing far around the corner.

Your gaze shifted from the end of the corridor to the two people still standing nearby. Natalie was typing away on her phone, seemingly unperturbed by what just occurred. Felix wasn’t shaking as much as before, but his forehead was still dewy with sweat.

“In my office, n o w.” You ordered, though your anger didn’t scare them as much as Rogers calmth did.

Maybe you needed to start wearing darker clothes?

You shook your head to rid away the idiotic thought, reminding yourself that you did not want to be anything like Steve Rogers. Your goal wasn’t to terrify people, it was to provide help and safety.

Something Rogers was probably unfamiliar with as a concept.

Felix closed the door when both of them entered your office, choosing to stay behind and sit on a small chaise that served more decoration than a used seat. Natalie took the chair which Rogers not so long vacated, spreading her calendar open in her lap and looking at you with her usual readiness to follow the day’s agenda.

“Who. The. Fuck. Is Steve Rogers?” You paced the floor, needing to get rid of the last remnants of adrenaline his visit evoked.

“I swear, if one of you says influential-” you leveled them with a pointed glare- “I will throw a stapler at you.”

“He’s a mob boss.” Felix gulped, rubbing his hands against his thighs. “A very, very bad man.”

“Well, he’s good at running his branch.” Natalie rolled her eyes. “There are three major mafias in the region. Rogers is the head of one of them. Over the past few years, his power has grown enough to push back the other two families, leaving them only scraps.”

“A mob boss.” You said to yourself, nearly breathless.

You suspected it, but some naive, helpless side of you didn’t want to fully believe it.

Things like that happened in movies and books. Sure, you were aware the likes of him truly existed, but they never crossed paths with people like you. Hell, the only crime you ever committed was a speeding ticket half a year after passing your driver’s license exam.

“More like a king, to be fair.” Natalie looked at you seriously, a first flash of her taking the situation as heavy as it was. “He really has ties all over the city and far beyond that.”

“I’ve heard he has at least four senators in his pocket.” Felix piped in, calmer now that Rogers nor his men were anywhere near. “And quite a few big fishes on other continents, too.”

Rumors tended to be overblown. Those serving to cement someone’s big, scary reputations were probably deliberately maintained, so people wouldn’t fight him out of fear of consequences. As there were - to some - repercussions worse than death.

“I should assume he has sway over the police, then.” You nearly deflated as realization dawned on you.

If Rogers had even one third of the influence they said, it meant you wouldn’t do well going with this case to the police. He’d know about it right away, which could result in retaliation worse than what awaited you if you just stubbornly said no.

“I-” Felix opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “He was seen having dinner with the chief of police and some FBI person. Chatty and cozy, like old friends.”

Your eyebrows rose nearly to your hairline. Natalie turned her head, glancing at Felix over her shoulder with a genuinely surprised expression, too.

“And how do you know that?” She asked; perhaps a little offended that Felix knew more than her. Natalie liked to be the best at everything.

“You know me, I can’t help but live for the gossip columns and blogs.” He admitted, with an embarrassed sigh. “Even if that’s only gossip, I’m pretty sure it’s close to the truth.”

You suspected he was right. If some of the information about Rogers’ connections was exaggerated, still it was safe to assume it had basis in truth. There was no safe way to ensure your actions weren’t reported back to him.

“Fucking fantastic.” You muttered, closing your eyes and pressing your fingers against your temples.

If the whole ordeal resulted only in one big headache, you’d take it. Unfortunately for you, there were more problematic consequences awaiting, regardless of your choice.

“Can’t you just give him what he wants?” Natalie asked cautiously.

“No!” Felix’s protest sounded more vehement than yours.

His suddenly discovered moral spine surprised you. In a good way.

Natalie was calculating, you couldn’t blame her for that. If saying yes meant little trouble, you probably would choose it as the logical option. But Rogers owning the place meant he could decide its fate at any time. Promises of letting you run it could be revoked within months. Not to mention the reputation of the center would shatter, if the public learned who truly owns it.

“If Mr Rogers simply wanted me to admit someone into our program, cutting the waiting list, I’d give him that.” You’d still be pissed that some rich fucker wanted to screw over poor people who were also waiting, but it was something at least someone in need could actually gain from.

“What he wants isn't that simple.” To him it was; a simple yes or no. To you it could change your entire life.

Moreover, his insinuation suggested others would be coming with similar propositions. Perhaps worse propositions, leaving you no false hope of even running the health center as it was.

His wrath, if you took someone else’s offer, would probably be a very painful one, too.

Why did it all have to fall on your head? Couldn’t Rogers discover the worth of these grounds a few months ago, when it would have been Howard’s problem, not yours?

The rest of the day ticked away like mad. Meetings and smaller problems, with which you’d deal easily any other day, now seemed to gain in size and difficulty. Your head wasn��t clear; images of Rogers’ face flashed back before your eyes. The sound of his voice saying twenty four hours resounded with each strike of the clock.

Before you knew it, the sun was setting. Meaning you stayed at work longer than you first assumed you would.

It was dedication to what you did, but at this very moment also fear of having to fully face the truth of what was coming in the morning. Who was coming.

And you still had no idea what to do.

Felix and Natalie were long gone when you left the building, as were the rest of the employees. Only the night shift security guards remained. They escorted you to the parking entrance and locked the door behind you.

You nervously swayed your car keys in your hand as you walked toward your car, briefly entertaining the idea of driving far far away.

An escape would postpone making any decisions. But it wouldn’t solve the problem.

Quite the opposite, it could multiply it.

Plus, it wasn’t in your nature to just run. You always fought back against whatever life threw at you. Granted, often you fussed and whined, pitied yourself when you had to struggle with something, but you never ran.

You were a few steps away from your car when you heard a sound from somewhere behind you. Clutching your keys in your hand, you turned around.

There was no one.

Before you were able to let out a sigh of relief, a dark cloth was thrown over your head.

Arms wrapped around you, trapping your own arms to your sides. Your scream was muffled by the hood that covered your whole face and a hand pressing over your mouth.

You squirmed with all your might, trying to jerk your head backwards to maybe break the assailant’s nose. You managed to kick them, your pointy heel cutting into their leg.

He cursed, but his hold on you didn’t falter much. It was a man, judging by his voice. He called you a bitch when you began kicking back with all your effort, striking his legs a few more times.

Then another set of hands were grabbing your ankles, depriving you of this form of defense. They hoisted you up, despite you thrashing like a fish out of water.

Suddenly, your legs were dropped down. You didn’t know why, only heard a grunt and the sound of something heavy falling.

Your other captor cursed, pushing you down so hard your head hit the asphalt. Above you, something metallic clicked, then grunts and sounds of something crushing followed. You rolled on the ground, hoping to blindly get yourself from whatever was happening.

Buzzing noise filled your head as you propped yourself on your hands and knees. You really hoped you didn’t have a concussion.

With jerky moves, you ripped the hood off your head. Your vision was slightly foggy. It took you a long moment to realize it wasn’t dark because you had a severe head injury, but because it was very late in the evening.

You glanced toward the commotion. Someone was lying on the ground, unmoving. Perhaps it was the man who was holding your legs. The other one was fighting with someone. Futily. Despite his muscles and physical strength, he couldn’t block any of the fast punches from his much smaller opponent.

You weren’t interested in staying to see who would win. Your savior would have to do with self-pride, because you weren’t going to stay to say thank you. Oh no, you were going to drive the hell away from here.

As soon as you located your car keys, which had to fall out of your hand when you were tossed to the ground.

You were searching for them in panic, squinting your eyes to see better in the shadows, when a screeching sound of tires pierced the night.

A black car burst into the parking lot. It raced past you, smoothly wedging itself between you and your assailants, and halting.

Two pairs of heavy boots jumped out of the car, landing with a thud on the asphalt. One pair ran around the car toward the fighting strangers, the other pair turned your way.

“Get rid of them,” came someone’s cold, angry voice.

“Then find that fucking little rat.”

You almost crawled back on all fours when those boots stopped inches from you and a familiar face came into your line of vision when he crouched down.

Steve Rogers was here again.

And it hasn’t been twenty four hours yet.

You stared at him, both in fear and awe. He appeared to be your savior, but his eyes didn’t hold an ounce of pity or sympathy. A stormy ocean was locked in his irises. You couldn’t be sure if you weren’t also a part of the source of wrath shining in his eyes.

Steve reached his hand out, picking up your keys, which suddenly materialized so close to you. He tossed them up and caught them again, but didn’t offer them back to you.

“Come, Princess. Before midnight strikes and more trouble comes your way.”

“Worse trouble than you?” You huffed, wincing as you tried to stand up.

You weren’t that badly battered, but it still hurt to move. Dizziness took over your head as you clumsily stood up.

Rogers’ hand wrapped around your elbow, supporting you as you swayed a little. There was that smile again - half amusement, half threat - but the shadows distorted it into a wicked grin.

“Give us a chance,” he teased, not letting you go, but forcing you to walk along him toward his car, “you may like the kind of trouble I am.”

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