REALLLL

GOOD LORDDDD.... LOVED THIS <333

──miguel o'hara nsfw headcanons. ୨୧ part two.

ʚ 🗯 ɞ 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꓹ 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏 .ᐟ 𓏧 463 wc. afab!reader. sub!miguel. soft, service!dom miguel. praise. marking ( bites , hickies ). mild possessive behavior. oral ( r!receiving ). size k. titty sucking. face sitting. breeding k. fingering. daddy k.

꒰ 𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒚 ୨୧ ── goshhh .. 'm soso in love with this man !!! the obsession has been rotting mye brain u_u submissive miggy , my beloved 💭🐑 send asks to fuel mye insane obsession ( > < 🦑 ) 〜 ♡ ( please reblog mwy work if yuu enjoy it ! )

𔘓 miguel is a surprisingly submissive. he folds instantly the moment you show any hint of dominance. the man is so eager to please, so eager to be good and give you anything you want.

𔘓 he makes sure you're constantly marked up. hickies and bites constantly litter your neck. very rarely do you leave the house without his possessive claim.

𔘓 miguel is a pussy eating champ. he eats you out like a man starved, growling and humping the bed while devouring your sopping cunt. he's messy about it too ; slobbering and spitting. if he could, he'd definitely eat you out 24/7.

𔘓 when he is more dominant, he's more of a soft service dom. he's not one for degrading you, instead getting off on praising every little thing about you. he'll fuck you hard while mumbling how much he loves you, how pretty and perfect you are. sometimes in english, sometimes in spanish.

𔘓 he's an absolute sucker for your size difference, especially if you're significantly smaller than him. loves gently manhandling you, moving your body into all sorts of positions.

𔘓 major titty sucker. small titties? big titties? doesn't matter, miguel is gonna suck on them.

𔘓 he has a preference for slow, passionate sex. holding you close, grinding into you, kissing you and telling you just how precious you are to him.

𔘓 sit. on. his. face. suffocate him, ride his face with no care for his ability to breathe. he wants to be absolutely smothered by your throbbing cunt.

𔘓 you already know this man is packing. both long and thick, pretty veins all over. he has quite thick hair down there, but he keeps it neatly trimmed.

𔘓 miguel cums like crazy and loves cumming inside of you. you're always left dripping his release from your puffy, used cunt.

𔘓 he loves to finger you. he could spend hours with you sat between his legs, fingering you through multiple orgasms. miguel really likes to thoroughly stretch you around his fingers before he fucks you.

𔘓 praise him !!! it makes his eyes flutter and gets him so needy for you. he'd really do anything just for a second of praise.

𔘓 pull his hair and you'll have him seeing stars. pull it while he eats you out or while riding him and he'll cum almost instantly.

𔘓 he has a major daddy kink. he goes absolutely feral whenever you call him it. whether it be during sex or in an everyday setting, it never fails to get the man thrumming with the desire to breed you.

𔘓 miguel can be pretty vocal. growls and groans ; sometimes moans, whines, and whimpers when he's really worked up. he makes sure you know just how good you're making him feel.

　 　 　 　 　 ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪

© 𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒖𝒓 ｡

USDFDHEFHDG THIS GOT ME GIGGLINF AND EVERYTHING i loveeeddd it <33

𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — (𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘)

— language, just two flustered dorks & a ton of fluff, sort of love at first sight (?), friends to lovers, brief fake relationship, eventual jealous!neteyam, kissing, heavy angst & character death.

just this once. you were supposed to help tsireya out just this once. but how are you supposed to help out your best friend when it involves distracting one of the most sought-after warriors from their clan? how are you supposed to distract him for a single day without catching feelings for him? you find yourself in a position where you realize it's impossible for you to meet neteyam "just this once".

a/n: this is just a prologue to the actual story, so i don't expect it to do well lol (please don't let the general fluff deceive you, this story doesn't have a happy ending !!)

"hellooo, earth to na’vi?" tsireya called, waving her hand in front of your distracted gaze.

it was early in the morning when she managed to find you tending to the ilus by the reef, her unannounced visit catching you off guard. you only sighed at her words as you turned to face her.

"you should stop spending so much time with that forest boy, you're starting to sound like him." you muse, prompting a soft laugh from your best friend.

the moment you got up and started your descent back into the village, tsireya trailed closely behind. you narrowed your eyes as she followed you silently. she was up to something.

"what is it?" you sighed. despite your attention focused on what was in front of you, you could sense her growing smile from behind.

"about that forest boy.." she grinned, already sensing your intrigue.

"i’m listening." you hummed, exchanging quick greetings with the passerby clan members.

"i need you to distract his brother." she whispered, her words only making you quirk a brow.

it had been two weeks since the sullys first arrived. like tsireya, you were happy to welcome them into the clan. the only difference, however, was that you had no time to be around them.

as awa'atlu's hidden jewel, you had spent an ample amount of your time practicing your dance choreography for the clan's future celebrations instead.

today's duties would be no different.

"you know i'm far too busy with rehearsals to waste time with some boy." you sighed, noticing her disappointed frown.

"it’s not like you have a choice! my father requested you teach them the history of our upcoming dance festival." she pouted.

in all honesty, you weren't surprised—coming from a family whose legacy is known for passing down the title of being the clan’s sole principal dancer, you would be the most suitable for the task.

"so you're trying to sneak off with your crush while i’m at work?" you jokingly scoffed.

"and what if i am?" she grinned.

"you’ve become shameless, tsireya." you laughed, nudging your elbow into hers.

"come on, do it for me! you’ve already been ordered to meet with them today." she insisted, tugging at your arm. you only stared into her doe eyes as she silently waited for you to give in—which of course, worked.

"if it's my duty, i suppose i don't have a choice. but you owe me for this." you sighed before shortly erupting in giggles as she pulled you by the hand to the sully’s pod.

—

making your way over, tsireya was first to knock. the sound of her sudden presence only caused lo’ak to stumble over his brother's wooden carving. peeking your head in, the two of you couldn't help but laugh as you witnessed neteyam scowl at his brother.

"tsireya! and.. tsireya’s friend? what’s up?" lo’ak greeted as his brother only turned his head at the mention of another face.

"lo’ak, this is my closest friend—the one who'll be joining us today at the reef." you silently waved as tsireya introduced your name.

"nice to meet you." he hummed, pausing for a brief moment. there was a sudden hint of hesitation in his eyes.

"you.. haven't heard anything about me from the others, have you? you can't trust a single thing ao'nung says." he jokes nervously.

"oh, trust me, i’ve already heard a lot of things about you from tsire—mmph!" your words were cut off the moment tsireya palmed her hand over your mouth, hissing.

fortunately, your banter was cut short the moment his elder brother made his way over to the three of you. slowly releasing her hand from your face, tsireya cleared her throat.

"ah—this is neteyam." she coughed. a few moments passed in silence before she noticed how you froze up.

“introduce yourself.” she whispered, nudging your arm with her elbow to speak. your back naturally straightened in response as heat rose to your cheeks.

“i’m—uh, nice to.. meet you?” you stuttered. shit. it was your first time meeting him and you’ve already embarrassed yourself, you mentally cursed.

“hey nice to meet you, i’m neteyam.” he silently mused.

nobody laughed but him.

neteyam only mouthed a small 'what?' as everyone stared at him for a few moments. you, however, couldn't hold back a chuckle.

it wasn't the joke itself that was funny—no, the joke was absolutely terrible. instead, it was the confused expression on his face, as if he hadn't just dropped the worst joke imaginable.

“bro, are you trying to win worldwide fame for unfunny jokes?” lo’ak sighed.

“i thought it was pretty funny.” he shrugged, his eyes silently searching for your reaction.

“yeah, funny.” you scoffed, meeting his gaze for a stilled moment.

his expression was serious, but you noticed the way it slightly softened when he looked at you. as if the way he looked at you just felt different from the way he looked at everyone else.

you can't quite put your finger on it, but there's just something that makes you think you might just get along with him.

tsireya only grinned as the two of you unknowingly locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity.

"well, if you don't want the day to pass us, i suggest the two of you join at us at the reef!" tsireya waved, grabbing lo’ak’s hand. as you watched their figures retreat, neteyam’s tail tapped your leg.

“shall we?” he hummed, slightly bowing down like a prince as he took a few steps before you.

“why of course, my liege.” you mocked whilst doing a slight curtsy. you couldn’t help but reciprocate his coy smile as you followed him to the edge of the docks.

you were the first of the four to dive into the water, submerging your entire body until your hair was completely soaked. you watched as neteyam stood over you from the dock while lo’ak and tsireya jumped in.

“you do swim, do you not?” you smiled, looking up at him from below. for a few moments, he didn't respond. you frowned at the fact that you couldn't read his expression.

what are you thinking? is what you wanted to ask him, but the two of you had just met, and you didn't think it would be appropriate to pry, no matter how curious you were.

what neteyam couldn't tell you, however, was that he couldn't get into the water because he was too focused on you.

what were the chances of the sun's horizon hitting your face the exact moment you were before him? the orange rays shined brightly onto your features.

golden hour looked beautiful on you.

"…what a ridiculous question." he scoffed, dismissing his thoughts. you only smiled as droplets of water splashed onto you the moment he dived in.

"you finally joined us." tsireya laughed, swimming further out with lo’ak on their ilus.

following their lead, you called for your ilu, diving underwater to grab onto the saddle and resurfacing shortly after. the moment you returned to neteyam’s side, he couldn't help but watch as your ilu nuzzled it's face against his.

"mine’s got quite the charm." he hummed, though you only snorted at his smug remark.

"what?" he questioned, eyeing your unimpressed reaction.

"these ilus are mated, neteyam." you laughed, watching as he mouthed a silent 'oh'. you were quick to swim further ahead, calling out to him as you turned back.

"come on, forest boy. we have places to explore!" you smiled, turning around to follow after tsireya and lo’ak. neteyam only shook his head, scoffing a laugh before following shortly behind.

—

a few minutes into the journey, you suddenly paused, sitting still atop your ilu for a brief moment. your eyes focused on the horizon as you basked in the warmth of the sun on your face.

"what’s wrong, tired already?" neteyam teased, making his way to your side.

"don’t get funny with me." you scoffed, playfully pushing him off his ilu with your leg. you erupted in laughter as you watched him slowly rise back up to the surface, glaring.

"very funny, now help me back up." he sighed.

you hummed and offered your hand as you waited for him to settle back atop his ilu, though your smile only faded as his next action caught you off guard.

the moment he grabbed onto your hand, he pulled you down with him. you could only yelp as you already felt yourself falling in. rising back up to the surface, you gasped for air, turning to face neteyam’s satisfied expression.

"you’re a pain." you scoff, running your fingers through your hair and out of your face as neteyam stole a glance while you weren't looking.

once again, neteyam watched as the orange hues clashed with your teal skin—sunkissed and glowing with shades of gold displayed naturally onto you.

he figured if anyone was the embodiment of the sun's beauty, it'd be you.

you eventually met back up with tsireya and lo’ak, spending the following hours swimming through the ocean till sunset. the four of you conversed on your ilus, floating still above the deep ocean. along the way, you taught the two brothers about the tradition of awa'atlu's celebrations.

"the clan continues to hold the festival annually to mark another year of living among the reefs. it’s a symbol of the clan's life and our peace." you remarked.

"…and you dance for such a grand occasion?" lo’ak awed.

"mhm, so does ao'nung. our festival is to take place in the following weeks, your family arrived just in time." you hummed.

as the sun began to set, your conversation had gradually come to an end. you began to wonder when exactly tsireya would need your 'help', though your question was shortly answered.

"you know, i was actually hoping to assist a certain someone with their diving skills before the day ends." tsireya coughed, narrowing her eyes at lo’ak. anyone could see how smitten he was with her by the way his tail instantly swayed at her words.

"alright, let's get on with it then." neteyam hummed.

shit.

in that moment, you realized exactly what you needed to do, mentally cursing neteyam for being so blissfully ignorant. and if it wasn't clear enough already, tsireya’s glare spoke for itself. as she tilted her head at you, the question 'what are you waiting for?' was written all over her face.

"ah, wait—actually, neteyam!" you called, your words causing him to turn back.

"i was wondering if you could accompany me—back to the.. beach." you blurted, his questioned expression only made you gulp.

"there’s a certain spot that me and tsireya like to visit, it's beautiful past dusk."

"i’ll.. i’ll be busy, for the next few days—so today may be the only time in which i’ll get to show it to you." you reasoned.

as neteyam turned back to tsireya and lo’ak for their thoughts, he was met with his brother glaring at him to agree and tsireya smiling happily.

"it’s a very lovely place, neteyam. i’ll make sure to bring lo'ak there as well." she exclaimed.

"then.. if you're happy to have me, i’d like to come along." he smiled, waiting for your directions. you sighed at his words, feeling a giant weight lift off your chest as tsireya made her way to your side.

"well, i’ll meet back with you before eclipse! have fun." she smiled. you only sighed as she mouthed a quick 'thank you' before swimming off with lo’ak. you turned back to face neteyam, huffing quietly as you realized you wouldn't be returning home anytime soon.

—

the orange skies of pandora were slowly replaced with purple as the sun began to set. the two of you walked down the path that was dimly lit by torches as younger children ran past you giggling. a few were quick to run into your arms, calling out your name as they laughed.

"what are you all doing out this late? your mother is probably looking for you, hurry back!" you smiled, ruffling their hair.

"please show us your dancing again!" the youngest begged, tugging at your sash. the others eagerly nodded as they stood in front of your crouched figure.

"how about i let you all come by and watch me rehearse tomorrow morning instead?" you smiled, handing them a small seashell that you'd previously collected from the ocean.

despite your wager, the kids persisted, begging to stay. neteyam did nothing but watch in silence as you spoke to them. he couldn't help but smile, feeling feel his heart tighten at the sight of seeing qualities of his youngest sister in them.

soon after, the eldest child, perhaps around six or seven, showed up and saw you and neteyam with their siblings. their ears turned down in embarrassment as they completely misunderstood the situation.

"you guys! can’t you see they're on a date? come on, let's head home!" the eldest scolded, muttering apologies to both you and neteyam while you stood up.

"what? wait, we aren't—"

your words were cut short as neteyam took your hand and interlaced his fingers with yours. his hands were huge, his fingers were slender, and his touch was warm compared to your own.

"that’s right, you should all head home before your parents get worried." neteyam smiled, watching them all apologize before quickly running back home to their pod. you only narrowed your eyes at him the moment they left.

"what? they would've never left had i not gone along with it." he smiled.

the two of you carried on walking down the path, though you found yourself unable to muster up anything as you realized his hand was still holding yours.

neteyam, however, was quick to notice your silence. like the respectable son he was, he was quick to let go, apologizing.

"wait—sorry, i didn't realize—did i make you uncomfortable?" he stuttered, mumbling apologies.

"what? oh—no! no. i just.." you struggled to find the right words to say as he continued to stare down at you.

"sorry, your eyes make me shy." you weakly mumbled, covering your flustered face with your hands for a brief moment.

after what seemed like minutes, you slowly peeked through your fingers to see neteyam’s reaction as he continued to fall silent. safe to say, it was the complete opposite of what you were expecting.

"are you.. blushing?" you questioned.

"what? no." he retorted almost instantly. for some reason, seeing him in such a state brought back the casual expression you once had.

"don’t tell me.. i got the ever-stoic neteyam to blush?"

"no, it's.. the cold." he huffed, pointing out the fact that the sun had just completely fallen.

"the cold, and not what i just said?" as you watched him look away to the side, you hardly found the words to carry yourself casually.

"no."

he was blushing harder.

you took a deep breath in, eyeing back and forth between him and his hand. finally, you chose to take the latter, grabbing his hand into yours as you pulled him to the spot you and tsireya spoke of.

"wait, what are you—"

"does this answer your question?" you voiced, weakly smiling as you walked further towards the outskirts. watching your figure guide him forward, all neteyam could do was smile.

"yeah."

you let go of his hand once the two of you reached the spot. otuer than the shoreline leading to the reef, it was a secluded sandbank far from the village that was surrounded by enormous rocks. it had a view of the full moon right above the ocean in the center. neteyam only stood there in awe of the view.

"what do you think? was it worth the wait?" you smiled.

"definitely.” he sighed, walking toward the shore and stepping his feet into the water. his smile as he turned back to face you made your heart skip a beat. maybe once, twice, shit—maybe even three times.

there’s just something moon-soaked and dawn-flavored about him, something kissed by the stars and loved by the night. neteyam was a warrior who was your opposite in every way. and yet, in some ways, the two of you seemed to be the exact same.

you were only supposed to help tsireya distract him, just this once. but the damage was already done the moment your eyes met.

something began to spark.

the two of you continued to revel under the moonlight until tsireya finally returned with lo’ak. as neteyam showed his brother the view, tsireya was quick to pull you over.

"so, how was it?" she smiled.

"it wasn't as bad as i thought it'd be." you shrugged, your gaze fixed upon neteyam’s figure as his back faced you. tsireya, being the observant person she was, made note of this. there was nothing you could do that your best friend couldn't notice.

"then, i sense the two of you have gotten close?" she teased.

"don’t start, tsireya. i was just helping you for today." you sigh, your thoughts contradicting your words.

"whatever you say." she hummed.

"but just so you know.."

"you’re not very hard to read." she grinned, walking back towards the two brothers. you swore your felt your eye twitch at her words.

as tsireya pulled lo’ak over and continued to gaze up at the moon, you faced neteyam, one last time.

"i guess this is my cue to go." you hummed, watching his tail sway back and forth like a cat.

"yeah." he smiled hesitantly.

"…"

"will i.."

"will i see you again?" neteyam questioned. you paused for a brief moment, contemplating your next, careful words.

"i don't know." you responded, observing his slight frown.

"but i hope so." you whispered.

"yeah?" he smiled.

"i hope so too."

@ novarity / 6idgets — do not translate, repost, or copy my work to other sites.

pen pal simon - original post

every day after work, you found yourself sat at your desk attempting to write back a response to the soldier who referred to himself as ‘ghost’. crumpled up stationary surrounded your desk space, along with different types of pens as you obsessed over your handwriting. if one letter of your penmanship looked wrong, the paper would become another ball added to the collection of half written letters that contained slightly different, if not the same, wording in response to the thank you letter from ghost.

the simple questions he asked to get to know you suddenly felt like the hardest questions to answer, as if you were being graded on the facts about yourself. was he going to find your hobbies boring? maybe your hobbies were boring the more you read your response. the easiest question to answer was regarding how long you had been doing the care packages - a few years since one of your friends had a significant other that joined the military. stories often mixed with people who received packages and cards from family members frequently, but the ones where some received little to none are the ones that made you upset. so, you had decided to explain that to ghost and it was probably the easiest response of them all to write out. not single moment did the pen leave the paper for you to collect your thoughts or how to word your answer.

but then, you continued to answer the questions he asked you, and in return you asked him similar or different ones. again, you weren’t positive he would reply this time around, but you figured you’d still return the gesture of asking him questions as well. and when you finished writing it all, reading through it god only knows how many times for errors, you finally slipped it into an envelope. this time, no ‘treats’ were included, instead you had opted to ask him if he had any favorites, that way if he did end up writing you back then you could buy him what he preferred.

and after you mailed out the letter, you pushed the thought of it to the side to try and forget about it. but, you couldn’t deny every time you arrived home and checked the mail you were secretly hoping there was a response. but then a few weeks went by and there really was no response waiting mixed in with your other mail.

then after almost two months, after a shit day at work, you didn’t even think twice as you grabbed the mail and walked into your home. going through the motions of your routine - showering, cooking dinner and anything else you had to take care of, you finally sat at the counter towards the end of the night to sort through the mail. a small card was tucked between a bunch of other trash mail, your eyes immediately recognizing the handwriting. quickly, you opened up the envelope and sure enough, that same notebook paper was tucked into it, this time three pieces of paper unfolded in your hands. 

..it’s been quite hectic over where i’m currently at, so sorry for the lack of my responding…

...i’m a bit upset of the lack of treats, it definitely beats what we have to eat sometimes.

the reason you do the packages is quite sweet. is your friends’ partner still alive? you use the past tense when you speak of them. sorry if that is rude to ask.

you read every word of the letter, not once, but twice. and he didn’t just read your response to his, he took notice of the small details. you didn’t even realize you had used the past tense, but he wasn’t wrong in his assumption either when he thought they might have passed. it was like reading a full blown conversation he had to himself in his head; the way before or after some sentences, he would write out interjections. some sentences were followed by parentheses where he made his own little comment as well about what he had just written.

again, i hope you forgive my delayed response. hope it doesn’t stop you from writing back. don’t always have the time, but promise i’ll get back to you. maybe in your next letter you can send me a picture of yourself, i think it would be nice to put a face to the name that signs off on these. i can’t do the same, but i’ll find a way to make up for that. ‘til the next letter, ghost.

and while you didn’t get started writing your response that night, you did make your way to your room with a smile on your face. excitement was already brewing about what you would say in your response and the next anticipated response he would give back, even if he did take a bit to respond.

http://tegaki.pipa.jp/439153/index_0.html

cute small chicks hanging out with gentle big faceless dudes with romantic undertones is a hell of an aesthetic

i've never read anything like this before. love it!!! :)

Threadbare (1)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader (see series)

Summary: Steve gets to meet his favorite designer, and you get a surprise visitor at work.

Warnings: none. Maybe a bit of creepy behavior but not from Steve. Yes, I did just want to use the leather jacket gif for shiggles. What's it to ya? WC 3355

Steve Rogers hates stuffy functions. He hates the brown-nosing. He hates trying to convince people who have everything to give scraps to people with nothing. He hates watching the excess and indulgence, even when he knows it ends up giving something to those in need. He hates it. He hates the whole lot of these stupid, asinine—

Steve takes a breath and smooths his hand down the buttery fabric of a double-breasted jacket hanging next to his intended garment.

Ok, fine, he hates the functions, but he actually enjoys the dressing up part.

He didn’t used to. No. The only outfit outside of his Cap suit that ever truly fit him—before or after the serum—was his SSR uniform, and coming from a time of nothing, Steve accepted that as a huge win.

And then he woke up in this world of excess and—what do they call it? Fast-fashion?— realized that what should be easier to acquire was much, much harder to find: room to breathe.

Steve may roll his eyes at Tony’s custom everything, but he admits internally that at least Stark’s comfortable all the time. Steve would settle for being comfortable in his own skin.

This helps though, this gloriously draped, stiff in a supportive way, heavy in a grounding way, and shapely button down. He doesn’t need a whole suit tonight; it’s not that kind of event. In fact, Steve wasn’t specifically invited. He heard Tony talking about the new collection by the designer of this shirt—which happens to be the label for 90% of Steve’s dressier clothing at this point—and Steve outright volunteered himself to go with Tony.

See, Steve Rogers is now a big, broad guy, and it’s been an adjustment, as well as plain difficult, to gather a wardrobe that isn’t custom tailored due to his sheer size and proportions. The team jokes about his tight shirts, but if he buys things large enough for his shoulders, his waist swims in fabric. Steve had to live off of stretchy clothing for the first three years he was out of the ice. He wasn’t out of his Cap suit long enough for the investment to be worthwhile. Then it took another several years before he discovered Tovarich.

The man must know what it’s like to be big and broad, that’s for sure. Steve may not be much for high fashion, but he’s genuinely gotten so much comfort and enjoyment out of Mr. Tovarich’s work that Steve wants to thank him personally. For once, being Captain America is a good card to play to ensure he gets to meet the designer.

Steve adjusts his rolled sleeves a bit in the mirror, smirking at himself for being a bit of a dandy concerning his look right now, but he’s determined to have a good time out with Tony. It’s just a fashion show. How difficult can it be?

Really damn difficult, that’s what it is.

Steve isn’t prepared for the bizarre press interest in who is there instead of what is being shown. He’s used to cameras flashing at him—especially because the bright and loud pops of flashes were much worse in the ‘40s—but Steve’s in awe of the models’ complete indifference while walking a straight line with a straight face in some of the simplest, most magnificent men’s wear he’s ever seen.

If all he had to do was tick boxes on a list to order things, Steve would be in big trouble with a full bingo card and an empty wallet. It’d be worth it though.

Tony tries to talk to him every so often, but the music is outrageously loud. Steve can’t hear a thing.

He gets tapped on the shoulder by some women sitting behind him, and they try to say some more things he can’t hear.

Everyone rises to clap, and Steve joins in, overwhelmed by the fast pace of all the outfits on repeat, when the man on his other side accidentally elbows Steve and drops his program. The paper flutters to land in front of Tony’s feet, so Steve picks it up, hands it back, and the man makes an appreciative face before gesturing vaguely at the runway and mouthing his admiration. Steve nods and smiles, happy he’s not the only one fanboying over clothes.

The lights change in the venue. The photography and clapping stop. Tony starts yammering on about an after party, but Steve wants to meet the designer.

“Oh, Cap, that walk-and-wave was as close as you’re getting today. Tovarich is a hot commodity. I’ll just get you a fitting sometime.” He clamps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and tilts his head toward the refreshments. “Shall we?”

Darn. Steve should have done more research on how fashion shows work, but he hates how invasive online snooping feels. It was fine when he was catching up on history and historical figures. However, most of the ‘news’ now is not news at all, so he avoids searching for information that way. He doesn’t ask question about Mr. Tovarich because, in theory, it’s none of Steve’s business and Steve may or may not be slightly ashamed at how obsessed he is with something as trivial as clothing.

Fashion is not something he thought about until very, very recently. The most time he’s spent worried about what he puts on is his tac suit, and the main features of that are being blade resistant and bullet proof. Those things don’t exactly interest him so much as they are in his best interest.

So Steve is rather disappointed by the outcome of the evening, but he’ll manage. For once, he’s got a tiny bright light of something to look forward to in the form of a few more dress shirts and a very sharp vest.

He goes on with life as usual.

Months later and they’re doing this thing.

It’s called the Hellfire Gala, and apparently, it’s a big, big deal. Steve’s told everyone goes all out, that he’ll need to be dressed to the nines, and he realizes this is his opportunity.

Tony’s elated to make the arrangements for him with the Tovarich Atélier and plans to go with him. He wouldn’t stop grumbling about how awkward Steve might be, raving that he can’t have Steve getting a bad rap under his clout, so Steve shows up nervous.

Tony sends a text saying he’s running late. Of course he is, today of all days.

Steve shuts his eyes and lowers his head in gratitude that there are only two seamstresses when he first arrives. The ladies—one older and one younger—offer refreshments and ask a few questions about the event and what styles he might be interested in. He explains the getup needs to highlight the ‘Cap’ persona since the gala is a celebration of their work as Avengers, but other than that, it’s the-sky’s-the-limit for Tovarich.

The younger seamstress smiles at that and calls it ‘fun.’

Sure. That’s one word for it. Steve would also call it daunting.

As instructed, he stands on a small platform while the ladies bustle about speaking quietly to each other. Steve hears Tony ring the reception bell before any measurements have started, and he heaves out a sigh of relief.

“In time for the good stuff, am I?” Stark winks.

“Always perfectly welcome, Mr. Stark,” you, the younger woman, say politely. “Would you care for anything to drink?”

“Uh,” Tony smooths his hand down his current suit front, eyes flickering to Steve, “have you met me?”

Your smile widens. “Dominica, please,” you signal to your coworker.

Between your fingers, you’ve folded a scrap of paper, something you scribbled while Steve stood awkwardly on the pedestal (which isn’t to say he has stopped standing awkwardly), and Tony snatches the paper from your grasp, unfolding it to make a challenging, inquisitive face.

Steve huffs and glares, praying his friend doesn’t start hitting on Tovarich’s employee before the man even shows up. Steve isn’t the one to be worried about.

Stark takes Dominica’s proffered tumbler of brown liquor, saying nothing.

You are a ninja with the tape measure, gentle hands sliding over his chest and waist and—Steve swallows—his hips, all while rattling off numbers…which no one writes down. Steve moves his arms and legs when told. When you’re kneeling on the edge of the platform, eye level with his crotch, Steve decides to distract himself and get some answers.

“I’ve been looking forward to my first meeting with Mr. Tovarich. When might he arrive?”

Tony clears his throat, wincing. “Not possible, buddy.”

Steve tenses.

“I thought that—“

“You can’t meet him for the the first time.” Tony holds up a hand before Steve can move. “You already did. She’s measuring the distance between your balls and the floor.”

Steve startles out a ‘what,’ snapping his legs shut with your hand between his thighs.

“Captain Steve Rogers, please meet your favorite designer,” Tony beams, shoving his tongue against the inside of his cheek and hiking up his eyebrows.

Steve shrinks, face burning.

“Hello, Captain Rogers,” you introduce yourself with a lovely smile, “I will…need my hand to make your suit, sir.”

His open-mouthed impression of a fish is cut short by standing at attention, releasing the seal of his thighs. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“Very polite,” you mutter before turning to Tony. “Mr. Stark, was that entirely necessary?”

“For the look alone, yes. My god, I’ll pay you again just to watch now that he knows.”

You push off the platform and practically skip over to Tony, reading over his shoulder. “How did I do?”

Tony looks at the piece of paper. “Damn it. Spot on,” Tony grunts.

“And that means…?”

“That I leave you alone for the rest of the consult,” Tony whines. “Fine, but make it worth it, buddy. Lady gets paid by the hour.” He snaps his fingers playfully. “Dominica, let’s take room two, my dear.”

Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands and mistakenly remains up high on the pedestal while you pull out a notebook and sit at a small table.

“Oh!” You look up at him with tender, lively eyes. “You may step down now.”

He feet seem to thunder to the floor even against the carpet. “I didn’t mean to—I just assumed that—I’m sorry, Misses—”

“It’s Miss,” you correct him. “And don’t worry. You are not the first, and you won’t be the last. Have a seat, Captain.”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” you correct yourself this time. “I’ll tell you a secret. I prefer that most people assume a man runs this business. You get to see people’s true colors when they finally find out.”

That doesn’t help Steve’s hot flush of embarrassment.

“You are one of the good ones. I can tell,” you add, adjusting to a fresh page in the notebook and marking the top corner.

In the silence Steve asks, “so you already knew my size?”

“You aren’t so different from my standard cut.”

“No,” he allows. Of course, he should have known that seeing as everything he buys from your label fits him so well. He kicks himself internally while trying not to frown at his slip up. It is, however, easy to keep a smile while basking in the glow of yours.

You pop your shoulder up into a shrug, lips morphing into a wry tease. “And I’m pretty good at what I do.”

Amazing, Steve thinks to himself. You’re amazing…at what you do.

Your elbow rests against the table, hand cupping your jaw as you hold Steve’s gaze.

“Some even call me a master of the male form.”

His swallow is deafening, which only makes you happier, and he looks down at his knee, rubbing his pant leg while his face heats.

“But for today’s purposes—“ you lean back in your chair, twirling your pencil playfully, a magic wand in your brilliant hands “—why don’t you tell me what makes me your favorite designer so I can make you my favorite client?”

Why’d you have to be so pretty? Why do you need him for so few fittings?

Steve has to stop himself from spending a Tony Stark-sized fortune on clothing for the pleasure of walking into your store and seeing you alone—well, in the hope of seeing you at all. Dominica is very sweet, sassy in a hard ass mom kind of way, and she’s one of four total assistants you have at the shop. Steve’s met three of them.

There’s just only one of you, and you’re busy.

Between his duties with the Avengers, actually sleeping, and debating with himself about what constitutes looking desperate, Steve is lucky to have caught you in-house only half the times he visits.

And then he tore a shirt. In fact, he tore three shirts, and to his credit, two of them were by accident. The third…uh, there’s a chance that when Steve exclaimed “oh shoot, I didn’t see that nail poking out” that he 100% saw that nail and deliberately brushed himself against that wall. He also may or may not have deliberately done it in front of Tony, faking that it was no big deal, because now he has the excuse that Tony is the one who told him to go see you.

Yeah, Steve agrees, if you say so.

He’s all excitement and nerves again when he rounds the corner of your street, but then the adrenaline shoots through Steve’s veins for a different reason.

A squad car has jumped the curb in front of your shop, lights flashing, doors left open, and Steve can hear lots of tense voices.

It’s a stressful enough day without the uninvited guest. Not many people—who know how you work and are not assholes—would dare to show up within a month of the Spring Show, without an appointment, and demand a rush job.

A rush job on a custom suit that you explicitly said could not be rushed before its scheduled time, mind you, but the surprise visitor doesn’t care.

Richard Fisk is broad. He has dirty blond hair that falls in front of his eyes when he tilts his head to smile. He often travels with a whole team of other imposing men.

The son of Wilson ‘Kingpin’ Fisk, however, is a prime example of personality souring good looks. Where it’s bashful and adorable that Steve Rogers hides his smile, Richard barely bridles his menacing entitlement.

You hate him, but he’s not a person you can outright refuse. He makes all of your assistants uncomfortable. Fisk is needlessly hostile to Tarik, who is thankfully not here today; he’s a creepy dick to Abby, who you insist stays in the fitting room with Anja, your longtime client who trusts you to push the envelope tastefully for a redheaded woman in her sixties; and he almost made Jules quit because he couldn’t follow instructions during a consult. Dominica stands in as the perfect buffer when she’s here, but the eldest of the Tovarich Atélier employees is currently on the other side of the city for a VIP delivery.

Your busy, busy day just got much harder.

His trio of beefy entourage flanks Fisk at the front of your shop.

“Here for my suit, sugar,” he drawls, flicking his used toothpick into a corner on the floor.

He eyes Abby as she shuts herself and Anja away from his direct ire, and although this leaves you alone, it stops your worry for their safety in addition to your own.

“As it stipulates in the commission, we take at least—“

“Those little hands are free now, I see,” he spits, stepping within an few inches of your face. His breath is foul and hot.

The aggression has you stumbling back, smashing into a side table and knocking a box of supplies to the ground.

“How ‘bout you get to work.”

You take in a heavy, fortifying, and quiet gasp. “Per your order, the fabric is manufactured off-site because teal is not a standard color. It takes time to produce. This was made very clear when you signed.”

Fisk flashes that menacing smile. “We can wait. One of these fine men can…keep you focused till you do your job.”

The condescending tone and disrespect of your work ethic spark flames of rage in your gut. Even though terror still simmers beneath, it’s too easy to let an insult fly.

“You’re lucky I’m even making it. The all white one last summer was a stretch, but teal? On you? Not something you can pull off.”

He lunges forward again. “Keep up the cheek, and I’ll lock you in my basement until I get everything I—“

“Ma’am,” a cop bursts through the shop door, “we got a call…” The officer goes quiet after one look at Fisk.

Abby must have phoned after hearing you knock supplies down, and you’re grateful, yes, but police are of little help with this guy. Cops wouldn’t dare ruffle Kingpin’s feathers or his awful son’s by proxy, but if you roll over now, you’ll never get back out from under him.

The only way forward is to put your foot down.

“Mr. Fisk, I wouldn’t make you a black and white striped three-piece if you did chain me in a basement. You’re a spring, and I have standards.”

“Ma’am,” the officer warns, his partner standing nervously in the open doorway.

“What kind of professional would I be if I let you walk around looking like a mental asylum inmate? I’m doing you a favor!”

Richard brandishes another toothpick. “The customer is always right, sugar.”

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid to taunt him and yell. Being insulted and diminished doesn’t make you want to be smart though; it makes you want to be right.

Your hands ball into fists of fear and rage. “It’s my name on the label,” you bark, “and I could just refund you to get you the hell out!”

Now you’ve really done it.

The boy gangster’s face twists and his oral fixation goes limp in disbelief. No one talks to Richard Fisk that way, least of all women.

His men step between both the cops and their boss, leaving Fisk himself to grab a solid wood tie box from the nearest counter and fling it at your face.

Your arms fly up to block it, but nothing ever connects, nor is there a crash behind you.

An officer’s voice wavers from across the room. “Uh, I’m sure this can all be worked out. No need to…start anything.”

You’re ashamed to say that your hands are shaking when they return to your sides and reveal an entirely different bulky blond.

Steve Rogers casually holds the caught box in his hands, staring daggers as he shifts squarely in front of you to block Fisk.

“This doesn’t concern you, Captain,” the bully grunts. “Piss off.”

Steve strides forward to replace the box neatly and plants himself inches from Fisk’s face.

“Can’t do that. She’s expecting me.” He turns back to you. “Ready?” Steve asks with a tight smile.

You swallow down one iota of your alarm and clear your throat.

“Yes—” the word cracks but you hope familiarity will scare off Fisk for now “—thank you, Steve.”

That seems to be Captain America’s cue to handle everyone else at odds in the storefront. By the time you get control of your trembling limbs, Steve has shown Fisk the door and promised the officers that you’ll be looked after.

Abby peeks out of the fitting room, surprised to see only Steve.

“Did they send you instead?”

She opens the door wider for Anja to see.

The redhead quirks an eyebrow. “Call the police more often, honey. They’ve upped their game.”

The now bashful, broad blond tilts his head, rogue hair falling across his face. His blue eyes sparkle beneath long lashes while he apologizes for lying, but you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’d feel guilty.

“I…” Steve stumbles. “I don’t have an appointment. I just wanted to see you.”

Currently estimating four parts to this grumbling into the ether but who knows. I clearly cannot be trusted to estimate length anymore...

[Next Part]

You can find more to read on my Main Masterlist! For readers under 18, please see the Light Masterlist which contains all-age-friendly works.

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @femefetalelevelingup @darsynia

gaz and the wallflower. 'tis the season for self-indulgence. cw: alcohol

you're not sure why you agreed to come.

parties have never been your thing. the music's always too loud, and the number of strangers is always exhausting. tonight, everyone seems determined to find the holiday spirit at the bottom of a glass. you guess the alternative—sitting in bed with only your cat for company, scrolling aimlessly—would be worse. certainly more pathetic.

your flatmate had begged you. at first, she'd been casual. perched on the edge of the sink, curling her eyelashes, tossing out the invitation like it didn't matter either way. then, when you mentioned starting a new puzzle, she shifted. she lined her words up in a neat row. she had her reasons, and they came fast.

she couldn't go alone. she couldn't leave you alone, either. you'd know people there, she promised, it wouldn't be like the other times she dragged you out. john would be there, obviously, as would simon and soap. and kyle. you liked kyle, didn't you?

the first time you met him was another night at some pub. you'd nearly melted into the floor when she introduced you. "this is my flatmate. she's shy, so be nice." the words hit you squarely in the chest, singed your cheeks, and you'd thought briefly about slipping out the back door. the men barely glanced at you, their attention ricocheting back to their pints and conversation, except kyle. he stayed planted in your periphery, and when you risked looking up, you found him watching you, his mouth lifting in the corner.

"lovely to meet you," he'd said, and you'd managed to eke something out before skittering to the bar to order. you'd stuck close to your flatmate the rest of the night, even as she and john dissolved into their usual nauseating couple routine. if you felt kyle's gaze from down the table, you ignored it.

one drink in, you'd muttered something about a headache, grabbed your coat, and left.

you liked kyle, didn't you?

well...

when you arrived, you floated, half-hidden behind your flatmate, letting her take the reins to usher you through the packed house. you felt more like a prized pony with the way she presented you to people while you mumbled polite hellos and imagined silent commentary. yes, that's right, i'm the mysterious recluse who shares her rent. oh, you know her from pilates? how fascinating. oh, you're old school friends? of course. she seemed to know everyone. why she needed you in attendance, you didn't know.

eventually, she left you on the edges, john having finally arrived. you glanced around and spotted one familiar face—kyle. but he was mid-laugh, mid-conversation, already folded into the room's warmth in a way you couldn't imagine being. 

you slipped away before he could spot you.

historically, you've never done well with the socially gifted. folks who thrive in crowds, extroverts who absorb energy from it all. your flatmate is the exception, and it's a helpful arrangement. she fields deliveries and visits with the landlady. she's good for company, and her occasional night in. she's a better gossip than the cat, who isn't much of a conversationalist, and you're not immune to loneliness.

still, there's an ache to it. you envy her sometimes. her affable nature, her ability to take up space without apology. you've always been quiet, someone who gets spoken over. perpetually torn between wanting to be noticed and dreading the moment someone actually looks too closely.

which is why it feels almost miraculous how kyle doesn't make a show of it. you wouldn't even notice him approaching if you weren't already scanning the room, rehearsing excuses to leave, plotting a french exit. but then he's there, sliding into your orbit. a drink in his hand, an easy smile on his face. like you've known each other for years, not just one brief introduction.

he doesn't ask if you're alright or why you're standing off to the side of things. he seems smart enough to know those questions tend to come off wrong. awkward. a little patronizing. instead, he glances at the empty glass dangling from your fingers.

"need a refill?"

he doesn't wait for more than a nod before taking it and braving the packed kitchen to fetch another.

"not your scene, is it?" he asks, slotting the drink into your hand upon his return.

you laugh nervously, though it's more air than sound. up close, he's almost too much. undeniably handsome, with that easy confidence that feels like it should come with a catch. you half expect someone to slip him cash or for him to crack a joke at your expense, something to break the spell. but he doesn't. he just leans an elbow on the wall beside you and cozies up. god, he even smells good.

"that obvious?"

"since you walked in."your cheeks heat.

"i hoped you'd be here, actually. she's always going on about you."

that's news to you, but it seems sincere. you drum your fingers on your glass and shrug. play it cool. "she tends to exaggerate." you have no idea what she would even say about you. that you like puzzles and single-player games? that you have what's probably an unhealthy codependent relationship with your cat?

he grins. "i don't know, don't think she has. at least not this time. she said you're shy."

"don't remind me."

"a tough nut to crack."

"well, i wouldn't say that." he laughs at that, and you take a sip of your wine, the warmth in your cheeks spreading down to your chest.

it's stupid, the little knot of petulance tightening in your stomach. you want to be annoyed. the music is too loud, the crowd unbearable, the lights too harsh. even the wine tastes off, tart and acidic. there's a dozen reasons to leave, all of them ready to go in your head. but then here's kyle, tilting that all on its head, making your carefully constructed exit strategy feel flimsy and ridiculous.

before you know it, he reels you into an actual conversation. he pokes fun at the music. the way john keeps dragging your friend under the mistletoe. how simon glares daggers at anyone who even looks at soap.

and he makes you smile and laugh properly this time.

"you've got a great smile." he pays the compliment so softly, offhand like it's a simple fact, you almost look around to check again to ensure no one's put him up to it. then he continues, finishing his anecdote, and you realize you're actually enjoying yourself.

it's new. it's…nice. really nice.

you learn more about him—about his mums, how they're in greece for the holidays, and he won't see them until the new year. he tells you he wants to adopt a pet, but he can't, not with his job. you assume, maybe a little too quickly, that he means a dog, but he shakes his head. no, he wants a cat. ideally one that's lazy and less fussy. good for a night in. his life's chaotic enough as it is.

by the time it circles back to you, you're a little stunned. smitten, maybe. and from across the room, you catch your flatmate's eye. over john's shoulder, she gives you a sly thumbs-up and a big, dramatic wink.

oh. that sneak.

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

IM CRYJFNNFFNNGNG I LOVEDD THIS UGH

Soft Spot

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 3k

Synopsis: Azriel is very particular about his lovers; typically hard-hearted women chosen so they don’t develop an emotional attachment. Reader is one of these lovers, except she’s the sweetest and cheeriest on his roster. This causes Az to begin breaking his rules about intimacy, especially when she unwittingly ends up at his home for work one evening and spends the night.  

Warnings: Smut

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel Shadowsinger. Methodical, efficient, focused. Rigid dietary habits, discipline in training, unwavering proficiency in espionage. The spies he trained were held to that level of diligence—hell, even the priestesses he oversaw knew he expected order even in his absence.

That detail orientation carried over to his sex life. The lovers he sought were deliberately chosen to allow him to maintain the level of control he desired. Women that understood what he wanted—how he wanted them. Women that didn’t grow emotionally attached, that understood it was purely a physical transaction. Women that he could keep from his busybody family, situated in parts of Velaris that weren’t in their usual line of frequenting.

Azriel found a positive correlation between softer, sweeter women, and their likelihood to form emotional attachment, and an equally positive correlation between women who fucked rougher, who were colder, more jaded, and their ability to remain unattached. Those who didn’t demand he slept over after, that he take them to dinner.

You were the closest thing to an exception, being the cheeriest on the roster, yet you never displayed any attachment to him. Never looked disappointed when he left without eating breakfast. That was one of the things he liked most about you; you were lively—more than any of his other lovers—so he could enjoy the more girlishly charming, satiating parts you offered, but you stayed within the limit of his preferred emotional detachment. It was like a controlled dosage of indulgence.

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