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shadowdaddies · 1 year ago

Note

Could you write some A/B/O smut for the batboys (x reader or just among themselves)

I love how much you write in response to recs so I’m super excited xx love your writing style so much

hi! thank you so much for the kind words💜 I thought about just doing the batboys but tbh I'm not sure what their dynamic would be so I went with batboys alphas and omega reader. I tried to do my research on this, so I'm sorry if this isn't really accurate to the omegaverse but I hope you enjoy it💜

Spontaneity

poly!batboys x f!reader omegaverse AU

WARNINGS: smut, truly this is pwp, a/b/o dynamics, oral m!receiving, p in v sex, anal sex, dp, breeding kink obvi, minors dni, not proofread

Your boots crunched against the white snow, pressing it down as you walked down a street in Windhaven with Emerie. The small talk you were holding with your friend was quickly interrupted when the heads of nearly every male on the street turned towards you, nostrils flaring as they tracked you with predatory gazes.

You and Emerie both clocked their looks instantly, realization dawning as you began to feel the symptoms of spontaneous heat. Your scent was growing stronger by the minute, the sweet pheromones drawing every beta in the camp towards your path.

You knew there was limited time for you to reach your nest before your desire turned blinding, turning to Emerie as you frantically explained the plan.

“I need you to get a healer until my mates can get here. Send them to the cabin, please,” you pleaded, anxiously backing away as you prepared to run for it. Emerie nodded, turning back as she went in search of your alphas’ healer, Madja.

Fleeing through the snow, you fought the urges threatening to take over as your body’s cravings intensified. You managed to stumble through the door to the warded cabin, calling out helplessly to the empty home as your vision blurred.

Your clothes were too restrictive, burning hot against your skin as you clawed desperately to remove them. You shed your coat, untying your boots as you scrambled up the staircase to your nested bedroom.

The moment you opened the door, the lingering scents of your alphas greeted you, slick already dripping down your legs as you moaned at the smell. Crawling over the edge of the mattress, your head fell back against the pillows as you struggled to get your pants down.

A plea echoed in your mind - relief, relief, relief - as you shimmied your pants down to your ankles. A scream of frustration left your lips as you brought your fingers to your clit, the wetness pooling between your legs uncomfortable. Rubbing your clit was getting you nowhere - you needed to be filled, needed a healer, an alpha, anything.

Your frustrated cries drowned out the sound of the door opening, your small fingers curled inside of you doing little to ease the desire burning within.

“Fuck, baby,” Rhys breathed, violet eyes wide as he took in the sight of you, sprawled and sweating on the bed.

“Rhys, Alpha, please. I need a heat suppress... A healer. Emerie-“ you fumbled for the words, unable to even ask for what you needed to take the edge off as tears welled in your eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay sweet girl. I’m here to take care of you. What do you want, little one?” Rhys cooed, eyes filled with adoration as his fingers gripped your chin, directing your focus to him.

Your tongue instinctively darted out, licking his thumb in silent request. He growled, slipping the digit into your mouth as you mewled, sucking as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“I need you inside of me,” you mumbled around his finger. Your words weren’t clear, but your alpha knew exactly what you needed as his clothes were spirited away. The sound of his hard cock slapping against his lower abdomen drew a pathetic mewl from you, slick somehow building further as you struggled for breath.

Rhys pulled his thumb from your mouth, circling around to the edge of the bed, where your ankles were still trapped in the confines of your pants. Instead of undressing you, Rhys gripped your ankles, pulling them over his head as he locked himself within your legs. A guttural groan escaped him, eyes rolling back as your scent filled his senses.

“Rhys, please. I need you now,” you pleaded, tears brimming as you clenched around nothing. Your alpha did not keep you waiting, pulling your hips down to the edge of the bed as he guided his cock inside of you, the both of you releasing lewd moans at the feeling of his swelled cock fully seated. “Move,” you whispered, wriggling as much as you could in his restrictive hold.

Rhys loved having you at his mercy like this, smugness filling him at being the only alpha here as he drew his hips back, slamming into you. Relief flooded through you, feeling euphoric as your cravings were finally sated. Your head lolled to the side, shifting up and down against the mattress with Rhys’s thrusts as you registered Cassian walking through the door.

“Oh, my sweet girl. I heard about your heat,” he crooned, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. You nodded helplessly, still bouncing on Rhys’s dick as your mouth began to water, your need for Cassian building with each inhale you took of his scent.

Your eyes flicked to his face, Cassian’s hazel eyes watching your mouth fly open in a moan as Rhys hit deep inside of you. “Please, please,” you breathed, hand fumbling in a weak attempt to palm your alpha’s cock through his pants. “I need to suck you,” you begged, earning a moan from both Rhys and Cassian as the latter quickly stripped himself of his clothing.

Cassian climbed to the top of the mattress, legs spreading as his scent filled the air, cock proudly on display. Rhys flipped you over, your ass in the air as he shoved your pants the rest of the way off. Practically drooling, you leaned down and took Cassian in your mouth, moaning at the taste of his precum on your lips as you looked at him through your lashes.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he praised, his words spurring you on as you took him as deep as you could. Rhys thrust back inside of you without warning, eliciting a muffled scream as you gagged around Cassian’s cock. His hand found your hair, wrapping it around his wrist as you bounced like a rag doll between him and Rhys.

“Fuck,” Rhys murmured, landing a smack to your ass as his knot grew inside of you, locking you in place as you felt his warm seed fill you up. Cassian groaned as he watched your face, your jaw going slack around him as you reveled in the feeling of Rhys’s release.

“Gods, I’m going-“ Cassian pulled away just in time, his knot shrinking back as he held your mouth away from him. Rhys pulled out, long fingers pushing his cum back inside of you, a moan leaving him at the sight.

“Where- where is Az?” You breathed, suddenly feeling the intensity of your heat at the realization of your missing alpha. Cassian and Rhys exchanged a quick glance before you heard movement downstairs, boots thudding against the wood before Azriel appeared in the doorway, sweat dripping from his brow.

“I was in Velaris. I’m here now baby, I’ve got you,” he cooed, leaning down to bring you in for a searing kiss. “What do you want from me, sweet girl?”

“I need you both. Now,” you commanded breathlessly, looking between him and Cassian. With a nod, Azriel removed his clothing, Rhys gently flipping you back on your back where Cassian pulled you against his chest. His cock brushed against your core, collecting the mix of your slick and Rhys’s cum as he lined himself up with your rear entrance.

With a nod from you, Cassian pushed inside, his large cock stretching your asshole deliciously. A mewl escaped you as you felt Azriel’s hand on your clit, thumb rubbing circles as he teased.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re doing so good for us,” Rhys murmured, settling next to you on the bed as he peppered kisses down your neck and chest. He smiled with pride when your jaw dropped, the sensation of Azriel pushing into your cunt, rubbing against Cassian’s cock through your thin walls almost too much for you.

Vision fading in and out, you heard vague and muffled praises as Cassian and Azriel took alternating thrusts inside of you, Rhys’s hands and mouth licking and tugging your nipples as every part of your body was stimulated.

With a scream, you clawed at the sheets as Cassian’s knot swelled inside of you, his release warm in your ass as Azriel continued pounding into you. Someone’s fingers found your clit, a chuckle sounding in your ear as you whimpered at the overstimulation.

Your mind reeled as what might have been another orgasm crashed through you, the constant intense pleasure too much for you to register as you felt Azriel’s knot grow inside of you. Cassian leaned down to press kisses on your shoulder, Rhys continuing his words of praise as your final alpha’s seed filled you.

The heat which had consumed you now faded away, deep contentment and sleepiness overwhelming your senses as you struggled to stay awake. You were vaguely aware of Azriel crawling up the bed, several sets of hands wrapping around your waist as you laid back against a muscled chest.

“Sleep, little one. We’ll be here,” Rhys murmured in your ear as you drifted off, deeply sated and peaceful in your mates’ arms.

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yourcupbearer · 1 month ago

Text

‧₊ 𐔌 Transdevotee Tips & Ideas <3 ˚｡⋆୨୧

Tips for how to devote yourself, from a fellow transdevotee! <3 For those with and without deities to devote themselves to! These are all just ideas though, and none of it is mandatory; you're still a devotee even if you don't do any of these things!

I. Finding the object of your devotion!

⊹˖ ⤑ If you do not have something or someone to devote yourself to, there are still plenty of things you can worship!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ What about popular deities? Be it Greek, Roman, Egyptian, or Abrahamic, there are plenty of deities that you could research in-depth!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Concepts are another good stand-in! Try to sum it up in a single word for the entity (ex. Justice, Chaos, Eternity, Beauty). You can decide what this means to you, how you worship them, etc.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Not a popular choice, but you can also always worship yourself in some way! Be it your future self, your ideal self, etc; this will of course focus moreso on what you personally find important in your worship, but it can be very good for your mental and physical wellbeing (or very bad, if that's what you want).

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Most popular though is searching for an individual of some kind, usually a deity within the transid space. However, while you're waiting, why don't you try to think about what you're looking for in your object of worship? Worship them even if you do not know them intimately yet; do your best to be your best self for them, to make yourself into what you believe they would want, to worship them before they even know it! Essentially, skip to the worship steps <3

II. Acts of Worship!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Altars are a big one! This can be done in any way; either physically creating an altar in your space, or a digital one within Minecraft, Roblox, or any other building/sandbox game!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Journal important experiences that you have with your object of devotion! Detail which rituals you do, how they go, any dreams or thoughts you have about them, any signs that you receive from them. This is not only devotion, but can help to look back on later when you're struggling <3

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Create a playlist for your object of devotion! Include music that reminds you of them, of your relationship, of their divinity, etc; this one is very personal and up to your own interpretation!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Create things with your object of devotion in mind; moodboards, stimboards, artwork, pinterest boards, anything you're good at! Include themes and symbols that represent or remind you of them, try to think about what they like. It's important to focus on what their preferences are rather than your own; you are devoted to them, after all!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Wear their favorite colors or colors that symbolize them often, to constantly remind yourself of them! If you have items or scents that remind you of them, wear or carry those with you as well! You can anoint yourself with any body spray/perfume/cologne/oils that may remind you of them. If they have any symbols, draw them on your skin or on paper and carry it with you!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Speak/write in a way that makes your devotion clear! You can give them titles (ex. my God, my Lord, your Eternity, your Divinity), and use these whenever possible. If you have a more superior/inferior dynamic, then when discussing your object of devotion, capitalize their name, titles, and pronouns! It shows your respect and their importance in your life <3 I'm also a big sucker for using metaphors whenever possible, however this is up to you

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Write poems, love letters, or prayers for them! This is probably the most common one I see, but it's because it's incredibly effective; tell them how wonderful they are, how often you think of them, tell them about anything and everything!

III. Extra!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Devotion doesn't always mean losing yourself; you can mold yourself into the picture-perfect devotee, but you're no lesser for keeping your own perspectives, ideals, etc. You are being a part of something larger. Let your identity shift shape in service of your devotion as you wish; you should strive to be a better version of yourself, but never someone else entirely (the way I see it, anyway)!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤑ Using mantras can work wonders to train your psyche! Some of my favorites include "I was born to serve my God," "I devote myself without shame," "I serve with joy," etc; write your own, personalize them, and try to use them often!

#Divine Intervention 𓂃 Mine <3 #transdevotee #transdeity #transid community #transx please interact #transx community #transids please interact #transid please interact #transid #transid tips #transid transition #mad apologies to people who turned off the long posts being cut. tbf thats your fault <3

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alizalayne · 4 months ago

Note

Your colors are always so dynamic and vibrant, as someone who struggles a lot with picking energetic color palettes and takes a lot of inspiration from yours, how do you do it if you don’t mind me asking? Is it just intuition?

Thank you! I'm self taught and I wish there was a very easy overall trick I could teach you, but the real answer was that I ran a webcomic for many years. It was 98% fully digital, but for a significant chunk of that webcomic I didn't allow myself to directly color pick from the previous page I'd colored before-- I forced myself to select every color by eye instead. This tuned my color perception dramatically so that if I see a color in front of me I can use a digital color wheel to find it by eye. It's a lot of work, but I'm glad I did it in the same way I'm glad that I finished a full length novel and a novella in high school. (No one but me has ever read these.) It forced me to learn by doing, which is usually best for me.

I think studying stills and, in the case of animation, color keys from movies you like would be a good way to get a grasp on color and especially on chiaroscuro; I usually think in terms of light/darkness and atmosphere rather than in terms of a strict color palette. Getting hung up on choosing a palette ahead of time and sticking to it can be limiting.

For vividness, also study subsurface scattering.

A quick improvement can be achieved by painting light by making the color beside the shadow the most saturated. Here’s an example stripped down to its most basic elements:

Do you see what I mean? If I were painting this for real it would be a little more subtle, but placing a more saturated area of color beside your shadow makes light more dimensional and shadows more deep. The overall effect is vibrancy.

The most important thing to do imo is paint what you want to paint, what you are excited to paint, and to research and study those subjects. If you love color and working in it satisfies you, then you will love studying color and light and the more you do it the more you will crave it. You will start to see light hitting the wood on a table and you will crave the chance to set one color against another. Light and darkness become delicious and painting becomes play. I don’t like going too long without painting or too long without testing myself by trying something new. Follow the lure of that fun wherever it takes you!! ☀️

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luckhound · 3 months ago

Text

like a carnivorous flower.

↻ pairing ✦ elias/reader

↻ summary ✦ You are approached by Elias in the Institute’s break room, after the confrontation in his office. It does not go well.

↻ word count ✦ 3.9k

↻ tags ✦ gender neutral reader, elias being elias, toxic dynamic, mind games galore

note: can you tell i got to #106 and felt a certain way about it? after reading all 3k words of this, probably. the sloppiest of kisses to sierra for her suggestions and encouragement + liya for keeping me sane while i agonized over this fic.

“Damn, look at the time. I should go, my break’s nearly over,” Hannah informs you, waving as she heads out. “See you! Don’t be a stranger!”

You wave back anemically, hoping your expression resembles more of a grin than a grimace. With the last straggler gone, you are finally alone in the break room of the Magnus Institute, London. The pressure that had settled over you dissipates.

You had never been a social butterfly to begin with, but neither had you been a total recluse. Yet nowadays, you vastly prefer solitude over interacting with the Institute staff. Their gripes and concerns are so far removed from your own that it’s almost grating. You have to stop yourself from scowling the entire time you’re around them.

You feel a little guilty for being such a curmudgeon, but they’re so... chipper. Oblivious.

Ignorant.

Like you once were.

Sighing, you shuffle deeper into the kitchenette and swing open a cabinet. Now that you’re on your own, you want to finish what you came here for and leave. Before you have to make more small talk with your colleagues.

The kettle whistles all of a sudden, piercing the quiet of the break room. Though you’d anticipated it, you still flinch. Your fingers squeeze tighter around the handle of a ceramic mug; you force them to relax, loosen one digit at a time.

With your free hand, you reach over and take the kettle off the stove. It stops screeching almost immediately. You should feel relief, but the abrupt absence of sound puts you further on edge. Given recent developments, you’re more aware than ever of how heavy silence can be.

Though the Magnus Institute hosts over a hundred people a day, from staff to researchers to visitors, the same cannot be said of the Archives, nestled like a secret—or grave—underground, beneath layers of concrete. Only the Head Archivist and his archival assistants, with the occasional statement giver, stalk those corridors.

You had not minded the seclusion. In the past, it could be quiet in the Archives, but you seldom felt isolated or uncomfortable. Sure, Jon sequestered himself in his office for much of the work day; your fellow archival assistants, however, tended to be nearby, thanks to the open office floor plan. If you needed advice or wanted to chat, you merely had to crane your neck. It would even irritate you, sometimes, how often Tim would pipe up with a comment when at his desk.

Now you’d gladly welcome his familiar chatter in your ear.

An oppressive silence has fallen over the Archives. That had been the case for some time, but now there is a sense of hopelessness to it. A sense of despair.

It’s rare for the archival staff to be at their desks. Most prefer going out for drinks or conducting personal research elsewhere. You on the other hand have elected to bury yourself in work. Though you spend time with the assistants now and then, you can’t stay away from the Archives for long.

It feels strange to shirk your responsibilities. Even now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, pushing the offending thoughts far into the dark recesses of your mind. You don’t want to contemplate your new normal. You’ve done enough of that in the last few months, over stacks of case files or in the middle of the night, when sleep eluded you.

At this moment in time, you just want to brew some tea.

You set the mug in your hand on the counter. Then you grab another from the cabinet. Martin was in the basement, last you checked; he had been preparing to record a statement. He’d appreciate a hot drink once he’s done.

As you go through the motions of making tea, you try to empty your mind. Focus on adding the teabags to the mugs, then pouring in boiling water. The sharp, earthy fragrance of chamomile wafts up soon after. The taut line of your shoulders loosens.

You fix your cup the way you like it, then begin to do the same for Martin. Milk and one sugar. Makes the chamomile too sweet, you think, but he prefers it that way.

You stiffen when the unmistakable sound of footsteps on linoleum reaches your ears. Oh, great. Time to field yet another coworker’s questions and comments. Irked, you go to peer over your shoulder at the interloper.

Only to freeze in your tracks when a familiar voice calls out to you.

“Ah, so you’re here. On your lunch break, I take it?”

It takes a minute for your limbs to thaw. Gaze trained on the mug in front of you, you mechanically stir in the sugar with a teaspoon. “Yeah.”

He hums. “I assume Tim, Basira, and Melanie are out.”

“Probably.”

“Martin is still in the Archives, isn’t he? I wanted to have a word with him about the, ah, recent changes around here.”

You clench your jaw. Stir the spoon for longer than necessary. “I’ll let him know.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. I’ll head down with you. He is nearly finished recording the statement.”

The certainty in his voice, the knowing in it, makes your skin erupt in goosebumps.

The spoon clangs against the side of the mug. You toss it in the sink, resolving to wash it later, despite the cheery note from management taped to the fridge reminding staff to clean and put away any dirty dishes. Someone might spot it before you can, but you could care less.

Grab the tea, keep your head down, get out. That’s what your mind is more preoccupied with. If you walk a little faster than normal, you might be able to lose him in the winding corridors of the Institute. He can make his way to the basement on his own.

You pick up the mugs, square your shoulders, and turn around.

Your plan falls apart quickly. You have taken all of two strides before you realize that your escape route is blocked. At some point during your plotting, he must have moved closer, with you being none the wiser.

Instinctively, your head lifts. Your startled eyes meet cool grey.

Elias looks the same as ever. He’s dressed in a tweed three-piece suit, an emerald green tie knotted at his throat. His black hair, greying at the temples, is perfectly coiffed save for an errant lock that falls over his forehead. The corners of his lips are raised, his features soft. As if he’s actually pleased to see you.

Once, not long ago, you would’ve smiled at him. Greeted him warmly. Asked him to join you if he had the time. You would’ve offered to make him a cup of tea. You know exactly how he likes it: black with no sugar.

You do none of those things. You flinch and stumble backwards.

Then you recall, much too late, that you’re holding cups of hot liquid in both of your hands.

The pain is instant. There is no time to brace yourself. Thankfully, only the tea from Martin’s mug scalds your palm; yours managed not to spill over. Still, you hiss out a pained breath, wincing.

As you struggle to maintain a tight grip on the drinks, Elias sighs. “Really,” he says. “There was no need to overreact so severely.” The mild reprimand in his tone would have made you bristle had you not been distracted.

Then he reaches out a long-fingered hand and wraps it around your own, over the ceramic handle. You restrain the impulse to rip your hand out of his gentle grip. Instead, you let him take the mug from you. He sets it aside before taking the other one as well. It joins its twin on the counter.

When you don’t move or say anything, he looks down at your injury. “You should run that under some cold water. It’ll only get worse.”

You curl your fingers into a fist. Do your best to ignore the throbbing pain. “It’s fine. I... I need to get back to work. My break must be over by now.” You’re not sure if it is, to be honest, but your priority has not changed. You want to be as far away from him as possible.

To your dismay, Elias doesn’t step aside. Your back is to the counter, and he stands between you and the sole exit.

These past few weeks, he would never linger long in your company. When you made an excuse, he’d dismiss you immediately. Nothing like how it used to be, when you’d hang back in his office or he’d loiter near your desk, chatting about whatever came to mind. Stolen little moments that you tried to make last for as long as you could.

He must have realized—with or without his powers of omniscience—that you were avoiding him.

This is the first time he has stopped you from beating a hasty retreat. You feel a sense of foreboding, like a cold finger running down your spine.

Elias folds his arms behind his back, his stance widening. Each movement precise and economical. “I have been giving you space to come to terms with the situation. I understand that you’re upset. You think I deceived you.”

His words are so baffling that you can’t bite back a scoff in time. “I don’t think, I know. You’ve been lying to all of us—for years.”

“That’s not what I was referring to.”

“This whole time, you’ve been keeping the truth from us. About the Institute, the paranormal, everything. What more is there to be pissed off about?”

You have difficulty discerning what Elias is feeling or thinking at any given moment. It used to perplex you. Captivate you. You’d spend countless minutes puzzling out what a particular word or glance had meant, only to come to no proper conclusion.

That penchant for observation, coupled with your current proximity, may be why you’re able to catch the subtle reaction. One of his eyebrows twitches, the lines around his mouth tightening before smoothing out. From irritation, possibly. But at what?

“You know,” he begins, his tone as sedate as ever, “I find your dedication to your work commendable. I’ve felt that way from the start. But you have been especially diligent as of late.”

“Learning you could literally die if you try to quit your job can do that.”

“Mm, no. I don’t believe that’s the reason.” His head tilts in a birdlike motion, his gaze intent on yours. You want to look away but you know it won’t help. You can’t hide from him. You’re starting to realize you never could. “You tend to use your duties and responsibilities as a shield against anything you find unpleasant. A way to avoid your parents’ inquiries into your life, your friends’ attempts to force you out of your shell, your own anxieties over how dull and threadbare you have become.”

You cross your arms over your chest, fighting hard not to react outwardly. “Is there a point to this, or do you just enjoy listening to yourself talk?”

“Of course,” he continues as if you hadn’t spoken, “no one has bothered with that for some time. Still, you find comfort in steady work. In routine. Though that has been tested since the day Jane Prentiss disturbed the peace, hasn’t it? Learning more about this place hasn’t helped matters either. You wonder if you should continue as you always have, or if you should follow Tim’s lead. Perhaps doing what the Institute wants, what I want, is wrong.” His lips spread into a small smile. “But you do so loathe to disappoint an authority figure.”

You become deathly still. “That’s not what this is about.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Elias agrees, to your surprise. “Though I must admit, when you were hired as an archival assistant, that’s what I thought it was. Surely the reason you went out of your way to speak with me, fetch me drinks, learn what I liked was because you wanted to ingratiate yourself with your employer. That’s how you saw it too. Then Tim and Sasha”—don’t bring her up, you want to snarl, leave her out of this, but your breath is caught in your throat—“teased you over it, called it a crush, and you knew it was different. And so did I.”

He takes a measured step closer. “It all came to a head at the annual Christmas party last year. You had a little too much to drink—to make conversations more bearable, especially after the Prentiss attack—and when we happened to find ourselves under the mistletoe, it was like fate... Except you couldn’t bring yourself to close the distance, and I didn’t make a move, so you convinced yourself it was a bad idea. A momentary lapse in judgement. Better to pretend it never happened.”

Another step. There are mere inches of space left between the two of you. “Then Tim insisted there was something strange about the Institute, something I must know about. You refused to entertain the idea. Though privately, you wondered.” His eyes remind you of smoke before a fire: the first sign of danger. “Which brings us to recent events. You were as shocked as the others when Jon reappeared out of nowhere, after being suspected of murder, and confronted me. When I finally revealed my hand. But that’s not all, is it?”

You shake your head, your arms dropping to your sides. “That’s enough, Elias.”

“You felt betrayed. I must have lied to you, encouraged your affections, for some nefarious purpose. Worse, you couldn’t unburden yourself to anyone. What would they think if they learned that you once held such tender feelings for me?”

“I mean it,” you say, voice low and warning. Your hands ball into fists, your injured palm twinging in protest, but it’s a distant feeling. “Stop.”

His gaze flays you. Cuts through flesh and sinew to your bone-white center. “Yet underneath all of that, what upsets you most is that you feel like a fool. You prize yourself on your intelligence, your diligence, your meticulousness. The very idea that someone may have been able to manipulate your thoughts and emotions... It infuriates you. Frightens—”

It happens so fast that not even your mind can keep up. One second, you’re standing across from Elias in the kitchenette of the break room. The next, you have him pinned against the opposite counter, your hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket.

You’re not sure what you meant to accomplish with this act of aggression. To make him stop talking. To see him lose his composure. To throw him off-balance for a change.

Except you’re the only one who seems affected. You’re panting for breath like you’ve run a marathon, the fists you’ve made around his lapels unable to disguise the trembling of your hands. Meanwhile Elias smiles at you, completely unruffled, looking almost indulgent. Like an adult allowing a child to throw a temper tantrum, content to wait until they’ve tired themselves out.

Is there anything you can do that he won’t already see coming?

“So you knew,” you say hoarsely. “That this entire time, I...” Your mouth is unable to form the words. “Which means you were going along with it. What I don’t get is what the point was.”

Elias sighs, the force of it causing his waistcoat to brush against your dress shirt. “You still have no idea, do you.”

You don’t like the sound of that. “Have no idea about what.”

“I have a finite amount of free time on my hands. Extremely finite. The reason I entertained your affections is simple.” He waits a beat, no doubt savouring the suspense, then says, “I wanted to.”

You blink at him, uncomprehending. He says nothing more.

“You wanted to.”

“Yes.”

You don’t ask what he means; you have a feeling you already know. The issue is that it makes no sense whatsoever.

You shake your head. “That’s not true. You never... But I thought...”

Elias adopts a puzzled mien. “Did you wish for me to announce my feelings? That would hardly be very appropriate. I am the Head of this Institute—your employer—for one. Not to mention that once you learned of my plans, it’s highly unlikely you would be receptive to pursuing a relationship. As does appear to be the case.”

He says all of it in such a calm manner. So matter-of-factly. As if he had considered the state of affairs between you and come to a conclusion about it long before.

His response should clear up your confusion, but you can’t bring yourself to believe it. Not completely, anyway. Suspicion continues to tug at you.

For years, he has kept secrets and misled everyone, for reasons you are not entirely privy to. Could this be another attempt at deception?

You had wondered whether he felt anything stronger for you than a boss does for their employee. Sometimes you got the inkling that he did. But when you had nearly kissed him at the Christmas party, he hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t smiled, or closed his eyes, or leaned in. He’d just stared. Watched as you had shifted nearer, before you lost your nerve and backed off.

Because it wasn’t appropriate. Or so he says.

Are you supposed to believe him without question? After everything he’s done?

You wish you had a way to check, to be certain.

An idea, half-formed, occurs to you.

You don’t let yourself consider it. You’re unsure how his power works, but you get the feeling that if you mull it over for too long, he may learn what you’re planning. So you move, pure instinct guiding you.

You shift closer to Elias, until your chest is pressed flush against his, and rest your injured hand on his cheek.

He hadn’t been moving much to begin with, but you feel him go unnaturally still at the sudden contact. The bone of his jaw tenses under your palm. His eyes widen a touch in what seems to be genuine surprise. For once, you don’t shy away from his gaze; you stare back.

You study him carefully, waiting for a twitch of the shoulders or twist in his features that will give him away. Prove his words false.

That doesn’t happen.

Instead, you watch as his pupils dilate. Black threatens to swallow grey whole. You don’t think you have ever seen his eyes look so charged, like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. All of that intensity, that emotion, remains fixed on you.

Neither of you move.

For a few heartbeats, all that you can hear is the sound of breathing. Yours and his.

Then slowly, deliberately, Elias leans into your touch.

“Well?” he asks, his voice a deep murmur. “Are your concerns assuaged?”

His facial hair is thick and neatly groomed, but his cheeks are clean-shaven. The skin there is smooth against your palm, and warm. It might have even felt nice, had you not burned yourself just moments ago.

The contact aggravates your inflamed skin, but that’s fine. Preferred, even. It shouldn’t be pleasant.

You swallow against a dry throat. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, I doubt the sincerity of my affections provides any comfort to you,” he answers. “But it is the truth. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

The question elicits a scowl from you.

“Not even close.”

Elias barely bats an eyelash when confronted with your ire. “As... riveting as this has been,” he says in a drawl, “we will be joined by other Institute staff within the next minute. I doubt you’d want your colleagues to walk in and see this.”

You furrow your brow at him, confused. His gaze falls to look meaningfully at something between the two of you. You follow it.

You still have him pinned against the counter, your front moulded to his and a knee parting his legs. Your hand is clutching his lapel, while your other cups his cheek, thumb resting just below the mole under his right eye. One of the buttons on his waistcoat has been digging uncomfortably into your stomach this entire time.

You had been so caught up in your thoughts, your emotions, that you hadn’t considered what this could look like to an outsider.

Should someone stumble upon you two right this second, their first impression wouldn’t be that you were physically accosting your boss over his duplicity. They would think that you were up to something far different.

Unconsciously, your attention is drawn to Elias’s mouth. His bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top. You wish you could say that you’d never realized it before, but it would be a lie. You have fantasized about how those lips would feel against yours more times than you can count.

During the Christmas party, you had almost found out.

You’re jolted out of your musings by Elias releasing a breath. You snap your head up, meeting his eyes once more. There’s a gleam in them that you can’t decipher.

“I see,” he says. Two words that you have come to dread hearing from him.

Your stomach drops.

“I was certain that your infatuation would end the moment you learned the truth about me. It appears I was wrong.”

You let go of him as if he, not the tea, had burned you. “What? No.”

He arches his brows. “No?” he parrots, a mocking edge in his tone. “Just now, you were considering—”

“Stay out of my head.” You only realize that you’ve been backing away when your hip meets the counter behind you.

He chuckles. “Rest assured, I didn’t use my abilities to deduce your intentions. It was practically written all over your face, my dear.”

You’re frozen. Caught off-guard by both his insinuation and the term of endearment. You want nothing more than to deny his absurd accusation. Of course you aren’t attracted to him, not after everything he has said and done. But something holds you back.

Perhaps the dawning horror that it might not sound very convincing.

You stare wordlessly, helplessly, as Elias adjusts his cuffs, then straightens his tweed jacket and fastens one of the buttons. Just in time for a small group of Institute staff to enter the break room, spot the two of you, and greet you cheerfully.

You somehow manage to muster a smile and return the greeting, before turning to the mugs of tea on the counter. They must be cold by now. It doesn’t matter. You’re no longer in the mood to drink anything. You empty them in the sink, then start to clean them.

Behind you, Elias exchanges pleasantries with his employees. He sounds like his usual self, the polite but distant Head of the Magnus Institute.

(Not like how he would speak with you. You had privately thought that his gaze was more keen, his tone warmer. Enough for you to notice, but be left wondering. Uncertain if you were seeing what was there or what you wanted.)

(When will you stop reminiscing about the past?)

You stiffen when you hear your name, spoken by that too-familiar voice. Though you don’t want to, you glance over your shoulder.

Elias lingers in the doorway of the break room. He smiles, a baring of teeth. “I enjoyed our discussion today. It was very enlightening. Let’s continue it another time.” He knocks twice on the doorframe, a parting sound.

Then he’s gone, and you’re left with the mess you made.

#the magnus archives x reader #tma x reader #elias bouchard x reader #finally.... the evil has been defeated once and for all #i say ignoring the 3 other elias fic ideas i have 👍#m writes

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muddyorbsblr · 2 years ago

Text

no resistance [kinktober 2023: fingering]

See the full Kinktober 2023 Collection here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: President Loki fires his assistant for booking an interview gone horribly sideways and hires you in her place.

Pairing: President Loki x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k [prepare drinkies and snacks accordingly]

Warnings: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, be gone. i won't ask again); fingering; dirty talk; most likely inaccurate depictions of what a day in the White House looks like; improper use of the Oval Office desk; a handful of cuss words [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: power dynamic (she's his assistant); mentions of Natasha, Bucky, Morgan, and Steve if you squint; bit of a makeover trope towards the middle of the story; Reader is mid to late 20s

Dick-tionary (aka smut guide): smut starts at "He worked his hand back under" and ends at "When he pulled his digits"

"I uhh…I think that's all the questions I have for this interview. Thank you so much for your time, President Loki, and I wish you the best of luck with your re-election campaign."

The journalist, if she could even be called that, fidgeted the slightest in her seat, her discomfort evident from both the motion and the expression on her face. As if she knew that the god-president was now quite cross with her, and much deservedly so.

As if she knew she spoke out of turn in this interview that was so graciously granted to her.

"My security will see you off the premises. Good day, madam."

He exited the room with a slight swish of his coattails, striding down the halls with a fury now directed at his assistant rather than the would-be journalist. Once the offending individual had been located, there was a meek, fearful look on her face as well.

"Boss," her voice wavered. "Your forehead vein's making an appearance again…"

"Clear your desk. Today is your final day on my team." His voice rang out and echoed all over the floor of the campaign headquarters, most of the staff raising their heads and peering from awkward angles to have a view of the commotion.

"But Boss, you said you wanted to connect with the younger adult audience and capture their votes. Miss Lewis has an audience right smack in that demographic, her videos get millions of views, I don't understand--" She let out a frustrated huff. "An interview with her could secure you a good few million votes in your re-election. From fresh voters who've just registered and are undecided. She could bridge the gap that makes you seem so unrelatable with the digital age--"

"That woman that should never dare call herself a journalist asked me to confirm the measurements of my phallus because it appears that that is the dominating question her audience had for me," he snapped, rendering the former assistant quiet.

"I--I'm sorry, Boss. I didn't know--"

"No. No you did not. It is clear that you did not do ample research on how this Miss Lewis conducted her behavior and what type of a strategy she would likely use to bridge this so called gap of relatability. I have let a good few shortcomings of yours slide since the beginning of this campaign season in hopes that you simply needed to find your footing. But time is running short and frankly so is my patience. I no longer have leniency to spare for incompetence, especially from people that work too closely with me. Pack your belongings, I expect you out within the hour. Security will triple check for any information you may try to smuggle out of the premises, so I suggest you do not even attempt it."

She let out a sound of utter disbelief. "And how exactly do you expect to replace me on such short notice? The press will see when I'm not in your entourage at the briefing tomorrow morning."

"I assure you, it will not be such an impossible feat to replace the likes of you. Now if I were in your shoes, I'd hasten my movements. The hour will tick by before you know it."

Members of Loki's security kept a close watch on her to ensure that she only vacated her desk of her personal belongings. Checking every item she placed into her purse if there were scribbled secrets or supporters' contact information that might give the opposition some sort of an advantage over him.

Once they were positive that there was nothing she held on her person that could even remotely sabotage his re-election campaign, he had her escorted out of the building.

Now on to finding his new assistant. Preferably someone with a sensible enough head on their shoulders that they would at least do a rudimentary background check on who would be conducting the interview before writing them a gate pass and allowing them into such a private space.

Loki took a glance at the small pile of papers that his former assistant left behind. One had numerous strikethroughs and comments scratched on so harshly there were indents on the paper from whoever was wielding the bright fuchsia-inked pen.

Boring as all fuck, this isn't the aesthetic that we're going for. Try again, Y/N, the feedback read. The suggestion held the name of a creator whose content focused on documentaries centered on powerful individuals that have leveraged their platform in a negative manner. That perhaps this journalist could interview him and ask questions that touched on his past before he arrived on Earth and even some of the myths that surrounded his time on Asgard.

The president snapped his fingers at the nearest staff member, beckoning him over with an impatient flick of his fingers. "Which one of your colleagues is Y/N? Point her out to me."

The staff member raised a shaking hand, pointing in the direction of your desk. "O-Over there, Mi--Mister President, Sir," he stammered, mentioning your full name before Loki motioned for him to return to his seat. He took a good look at you, phone clipped between your ear and shoulder while you wrote something down on paper, the concentration written all over your face as you proceeded with your work.

"Yes I'll be sure to keep your contact information on file and forward your request for interview. You'll hear from us soon about schedules and logistics," you told the other person on the line with a smile stretched across your face that was so obviously strained, he could imagine your cheeks were beginning to smart from holding it.

He watched you work for a few more moments, your side of the conversation giving enough away for him to figure out you were speaking with a representative from Stark Industries. Something about a partnership to provide free sustainable energy to the impoverished communities throughout the country.

"We're very much looking forward to speaking with you in more detail about your proposals, Miss Stark. Thank you so so much for taking the time to answer my call, we'll be in touch soon." You took your little pencil and used it to twist your hair out of your face, your strained smile finally dropping. "Sorry I probably won't be able to call though because the president's PA is a complete ditz that'll reject my request because it doesn't go with the aesthetic," you grumbled, imitating his former assistant's tone toward the end and bringing an amused smile to the god's face.

"Miss Y/L/N," he called out to you, his tone uncharacteristically soft. Despite it, however, the sound of his voice still caused you to start in your seat.

Your expression morphed into a grimace, sucking in air between your teeth, looking defeated. "Good afternoon, Sir," you spoke, your words shaking with obvious fear. "You…heard me mocking your assistant, I apologize nobody was meant to hear that. I'll uhm…I'll clear my desk, it was an honor getting to work--"

"Hold on a moment there, darling, you're not in any trouble." He approached you with his hands held out and open in an attempt to tell you you had nothing to fear. "It was…quite an accurate depiction, if we're being honest. Hardly a mockery. I've erm…I've actually come here to speak with you about some of the interview requests you'd sent in prior to today."

He held up some of the scraps of paper in his hand, each of them containing your handwriting and his previous assistant's caustic feedback in the obnoxious fuchsia ink she insisted on using. "They were all rejected," you offered lamely, grimacing again as you squirmed in your seat.

"They're also quite clever. Intelligent, even." Your head snapped up at the compliment, a mixture of shock and satisfaction on your face as you looked at him. Your grimace had given way to a tiny endearing smile, a tinge of pink now in your cheeks. "Had my itinerary been comprised of these instead, today might have turned out to be more productive."

Your eyes widened to the point he worried they might pop out of your head. "The Lewis interview pushed through today?" He nodded once, a look of pity now painting your features. "I am so terribly sorry I sent over my research on her content but--"

"My former assistant likely shredded your findings," he finished, sitting slightly at the edge of your desk. "It's alright, Y/N, I don't hold you responsible for any of today's shortcomings. I see the efforts you've taken to enrich this campaign. Shamefully quite late, but I see them now. Hopefully moving forward we could work together to correct your predecessor's oversights."

"Wait, hold on…former assistant? Predecessor? Sir what--"

"I'd like to offer you a promotion of sorts. I'm in need of a new assistant, seeing as I fired the last one today for organizing an interview so brazenly invasive I might as well have taken the meeting completely nude."

"Well I'm sure Ms Lewis' audience would've loved that--" You stopped your words short, looking as if you'd bit your tongue. "Sorry I shouldn't have--"

"I'm sure they would have," he chuckled, leaning in the slightest to get a better look at you, finding himself surprisingly looking forward to what the next few days would bring, seeing your face more often as well as the potential of a better workflow considering that you seemed to be more focused on substance over appearance. "Take the rest of the day to familiarize yourself with the new workflow, as well as my itinerary. I'll defer to your judgment to rearrange or outright cancel any upcoming interviews as you see fit. I'll meet with you a half-hour before breakfast for a debrief on any changes you've decided on."

He barely gave you any time to nod your head in agreement before he reached for your hand, raising it to his lips and placing a delicate kiss on the back of your hand.

"I look forward to working with you, Y/N."

Your first few days working for President Loki had passed in a blur, working tirelessly to rearrange his schedule and maintaining a correspondence with the content creators that your predecessor had arranged interviews for. Spinning tales of how hectic the president's schedule had become on such short notice and therefore their appointments with him would have to be rescheduled at a later date.

A later date that probably would never come, considering that most if not all of the planned interviews conducted their business similarly to the one that effectively got his former assistant fired within the hour. You made a small note in your own binder that perhaps when he'd secured his re-election, they could be granted access among the crowd of reporters during larger press conferences.

"Maybe if you're among hoards of other reporters, you can keep your thirst in check and actually act like respective, decent human beings. Not asking about dick measurements like you're asking about the weather today. Thirsty idiots…" you grumbled, writing another name into the list.

"If that list gets any longer, you may need to have a rotation schedule, sweetling." You jumped at the sound of the president's voice coming from so close behind you, peering over your shoulder to find that he stood near enough that you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. "Are these all the ones you'd rescheduled from the prior calendar?"

You mutely nodded, swallowing your nerves before speaking. "All the ones so far," you clarified, clicking away at your computer to show him the packed and borderline overbooked schedule that was formerly planned for him. "I made sure to go for the ones planned in the next few weeks first so that they at least have enough time to reallocate their time somewhat. There's about six more weeks worth to sort out."

"Excellent work," he told you, his voice even closer to your ear now that he was leaning over your shoulder to peer at the schedule on your monitor. "And what does my schedule look like for today, Y/N?"

You clicked to this week's view, taking a cursory look at the calendar. "After the press briefing, you have a lunch meeting with the Department of Defense along with one of the directors of R & B Weaponries, a Mr Barnes, to discuss about a new ammo supplier for the Navy forces and your own personal security detail."

He nodded along with your summary, the citrusy leathery scent of him wafting into your space and making you a touch dizzy from his onslaught of your senses. You just had to smell immaculate on top of looking like sex on legs, you hissed inwardly, biting down hard at the inside of your lip to keep you from saying a word aloud.

"And will you be joining me in this luncheon?"

Your eyes widened at his question. Of course you wouldn't be. The information to be divulged in such meetings should be something heard only by the president or those he deems closest to him. You were his assistant, nothing more. All you needed to know were names, dates, and overall points of discussion.

"I uhm…no. I don't--I don't believe I will be," you stammered, your breath hitching when he turned his head to look at you and suddenly you could feel his warm breath on your cheek. "Personal assistants aren't usually included in the guest list for these events," you offered in a lame attempt at explaining a question he didn't even ask.

"You are now. We'll leave at a quarter to noon." He began to walk out of the office, only halting to look at you over his shoulder when you let out a tiny squeak like you were about to protest. "Are you opposed to this new arrangement, sweet mortal?"

"Uhh--" You took a breath, composing yourself. "No, Sir. I'll call the restaurant to update the head count."

President Loki smirked at you, jerking his head toward the door. "Excellent. Now we should get going. I believe the briefing will commence in a few moments."

While you were on your way to the briefing room, you sent a haphazard text to a stylist friend, a Hail Mary to hopefully get you looking somewhat presentable.

Tasha, massive SOS. I need an outfit to not look like a total clown show next to the President for a lunch thing.

You followed a few steps behind the president, taking a quick look at your watch when you got notified of a reply from your friend, Natasha Romanoff. Is "lunch thing" your way of downplaying "date"? He finally made his move on you after making googly eyes at you all week long?

Her text had you fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you stepped into the briefing room, cameras at the ready and reporters sitting straight and alert, waiting to pounce with their questions once President Loki was situated at his podium.

The hour went on mostly without a hitch, you taking your notes on near everything he'd mentioned in response to the reporters' queries. While your boss was speaking with a few people from Press Relations, your ears perked up at some small talk between two reporters, one of them having a few biting words to say about you.

"I mean at least his last assistant had some sense of fashion. I never thought I'd miss Little Miss looks like she got hired from the red light district, but at least she didn't look like some frumpy ass college student who just rolled out of bed. Honestly she's dragging the whole look down and that's saying so much because Mr President can make anything look hot."

"Except her, apparently," the other reporter shot back in a snippy tone. "Guarantee you he just hired her so that he has less of a distraction in the workplace. She's the kind people look at and they're doing the opposite of mentally undressing her."

"Mentally putting a paper bag over her head," the first reporter capped off with a witchy cackle.

You felt your fury bubbling just under the surface, wanting nothing more than to march over there and give them a piece of your mind for being so catty at someone that they didn't even know. To drag them over their impractical shoes that made their legs wobble if they so much as tried to stand straight or their two sizes too small shirts that had buttons fighting for their life trying to keep their tits covered.

Instead of doing any of that, however, you pulled out your phone to text Tasha. Firstly, no it's not a "date", when are you gonna drop that tin foil hat of yours. And secondly, scratch what I said earlier. You've wanted to give me a makeover since college? Now's your chance, Babes. Gimme the works.

You sidled past the president and his current company, asking one of your closer acquaintances from the staff to accompany him to any impromptu meetings until the lunch meeting later and to inform your boss that you had to attend to a personal matter, but that you would be back before he left for the restaurant.

As the clock kept on ticking closer half past noon, Loki could feel himself getting antsy waiting for your return. He'd noticed how jittery you seemed when you passed him on your way out of the press briefing, and the staff member you'd sent to keep him apprised in your stead gave no satisfactory explanation on what caused you to step out so abruptly.

"Where are you, Y/N…" he grumbled into the empty office, looking on at your desk that he'd moved inside so that calling on you would require less effort. Instead of stepping outside or phoning you, he'd simply have to call your name from wherever he was and you were already there.

And if he was being completely honest with himself, he'd also done it so you would be closer to him and he would see you at all times throughout the day. He found your presence calmed him, the competence you'd more than proven to have over the last few days already easing his day to day.

Just as he was about to reach for his phone and call you to check if you were alright, he heard your voice outside his office, speaking with your reliever in a tone he likened to one that he heard back on Asgard. Whenever Frigga would correct him on any missteps he had throughout his magic lessons.

"I totally get how you can get lost finding the meeting rooms, it's a goddamn maze in here. But if you make any of them lose unnecessary time because of it, not everyone will come at you with understanding. Just make sure that it doesn't happen for next time. I'll draw you up a map for the rooms that are most frequently used. Study it, live it, breathe it. See if someone from security can accompany you while you familiarize yourself with the place, and don't stop until you can navigate the floor with your eyes closed."

"Yes, ma'am," your reliever confirmed, his tone audibly less jittery than when he was speaking with Loki. "Thank you so much, Y/N. Honestly getting you to be in charge of the rest of us might be one of the best things the President ever did. The one before you was so--"

"Harpy?" you finished with a chuckle, the lightness in your tone feeling like a soothing balm to the nerves Loki had had since he saw you exit the White House so hastily earlier this morning. "Remember when I tried to suggest that we should reach out to Greta Thunberg's team?"

He could almost hear the other man shudder from the other side of the door. "Gah, she nearly ripped your throat out that day. Something something not shippable and we need to get 'hot people'. Really lost the plot, that one. Anyways, I'll go work on memorizing that map. Thanks again, Boss."

"Yikes, don't call me that," you shot back, your voice growing closer to the door, prompting Loki to walk back to his desk before you stepped into the office. "That's just for our boss, no one else." Your footsteps sounded different; there was considerably more of a click in each step, and the slightest stumble to them as if you were re-familiarizing yourself with your own legs.

There was a bizarre feeling of the air becoming easier to breathe once he heard the door open. "There you are, darling. I hope your personal matter's been sorted out and you're ready to--" His words halted dead in their tracks once he turned around and got a good look at you, quickly surmising that the 'personal matter' was a complete overhaul of your appearance.

There was an ethereal glow to your face and your hair that had his hands twitching to reach out and touch you, and in place of the slightly oversized sweater and denim you'd worn this morning was a blazer designed to be worn as a dress, set in a shade of green that matched his waistcoat perfectly. To top it all off, the buckle that cinched at your waist as well as the heels that brought your height up by a few inches were set in a gold that matched the horned helmet atop his head.

You looked like the personification of his most far-fetched fantasies whenever he thought of what he wanted in someone that would stand by his side. A confidant. A partner. A lover, even.

Someone radiantly beautiful, brilliant, and completely unafraid to declare themself as his by adorning his colors.

"Too much?" you spoke up, jostling him out of his thoughts. "I-I mean if it is I still have a change of clothes in my bag I can--"

"No, no. It's not too much, little mortal. Not at all." Mentally he was stabbing himself for stumbling over his words so clumsily; he was normally so much more composed than this. "You look…ravishing." Your eyes lit up at his words, betraying the neutral expression you tried to maintain. "Come. We should head to the restaurant."

He offered out his hand to you, confusion plaguing him when the rhythm of his heart stumbled just as his words did once you'd placed your hand in his. He found you such an anomaly, looking at you with utmost curiosity, wondering how someone could simultaneously calm the chaos all around him and yet incite an entirely different type of chaos in his heart. Not to mention his loins.

"You know, darling, had we been in Asgard, your wearing of my colors could be interpreted as a declaration of your allegiance to me," he spoke once you were both situated in the back of the car. You nodded your head slowly, as if ruminating over what he'd just said. He couldn't take his eyes off of you.

"That makes sense," you answered, seeming as if you were thinking aloud. "Seeing as I am your assistant, people should see within seconds that I'm associated with you. The color thing's probably the most tasteful way of doing it rather than a t-shirt with your face printed on it…"

"May I ask you something…a touch more personal, Miss Y/L/N?"

"O-Of course," you stammered, your nodding a touch unsteady, fingers laced together tightly as if you were trying to keep your nerves at bay.

"What made you decide to work for me?"

You blinked rapidly for a moment, seeming to be genuinely taken aback by the question, before composing your answer.

"All the people who held the position before you were horrid…evil men. All they cared about was finessing a kick back. Burying their constituents in debt. You stepped into office and…I was out of debt in less than half a year. My student loans were nowhere to be found. All because you prioritized our right to have an education. Of course I was going to try working on your re-election campaign."

Hearing you talk about his predecessors, describing them the way you did as if they were so starkly different from him, somehow didn't sit right with the god. "But darling, you do know that I, too, am what others would call a…horrid, evil man?"

You shook your head stubbornly, sitting up straighter as if you were about to deliver a lecture. "No. You're not. I've seen evil men. I've worked with them, I've--" The words caught in the back of your throat, making you clear your throat before pushing on. "I've suffered at the hands of evil men."

Your eyes met his, the sincerity in them knocking the air out of his lungs. Had he been up on his feet, he was sure that your next words would have knocked him down on his ass.

"I'm not looking at an evil man."

His next query escaped from his mouth so swiftly, he couldn't have stopped the words even if he wanted to. "Y/N, what prompted all this?" He made a motion from your hair to your feet. "Why the change?" You squirmed in your seat, as if holding the answer in was making you physically uncomfortable. "It's alright, darling, you can tell me."

There was a heaviness in your tone when you answered. Like you were holding back tears from just recounting the events. "This morning…in the briefing room. There were these reporters commenting on how I looked and how it kind of…cheapened the image. Your image. Ruined the aesthetic."

"What is it with these feeble-minded mortals and their absurd fascination about aesthetics?"

"I don't know," you blurted out. "But the thing is, Sir, I don't have to know. The only thing I have to understand is that there are people, voters, who assign a high value to the aesthetic of a candidate. And it won't sit right in my conscience if I have the knowledge that my appearance can jeopardize someone's decision to vote for you, and I do nothing about it. So…I called up a friend of mine and…told her to make me a new person. A pretty one."

You were already beautiful, he thought to himself. It mattered not how you presented yourself.

Before he could suppress the urge, he was reaching over to your side of the backseat, tucking a lock of your hair that fell loose, obstructing his view of your features. "You deserve so much better than this, sweet mortal," he said softly, stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers, his heart warming when he saw how you leaned into his touch. "You should be working for an honorable man. A decent man."

The next words to come out of your mouth had him just about ready to carve his heart out with his own dagger and serve it to you on a golden platter. "I am."

"Babes, noooooo," Tasha whined from her end of the video call. "Why are you putting your hair up? The whole fit goes better with your hair down."

You mumbled your answer as incoherently as you could, hoping she'd chalk it off to a bad connection as you fiddled with the half of your hair that was put up in a little gold claw clip.

"What was that, Babes? I didn't quite hear you."

Dammit. "Because he told me he likes it when my hair's not blocking my face, okay?" you answered her with an exaggerated sigh. "Now please tell me my makeup meets your standards because I really don't wanna explain that I lost motion in my right arm from blending my eyeshadow."

"Okay first, your makeup's fine. I'm so proud I'm about to quote that little red cartoon dragon. And second, I can't believe you had the audacity to tell me I had a tin foil hat on, I told you the first day you walked into that briefing room with him that that man couldn't stop himself from looking at you and looking like a heart-eyed emoji. Now you're telling me this? Babes, it's time you accept it. The President has it bad for you, and give it eight to ten months, and you're gonna become First Lady Y/N Laufeyson. In fact I'm so sure of it that 'if I'm wrong, I'll dye my hair puke green. Neon, glow in the dark, puke green."

You let out a frustrated sound that echoed throughout your apartment, stepping back from the phone and showing your friend your choice of clothing for the day, just like you had every morning for the last week. Today it was a dress with puff sleeves, a high neckline with a keyhole and ribbon bow detailing, and an a-line skirt. In President Loki's signature shade of green, of course.

"Looks great, Babes. He's gonna love it."

"Doesn't matter if he likes it, Tasha. The viewers just have to not think I'm ruining his look," you grumbled, stepping out of your phone camera's view to change into the dress.

"Mm hmm, keep telling yourself that, Y/N. Have a good day at work. Try not to ride your boss until after office hours, okay?" You waved her off, ending the call and putting your phone on Silent before you headed off to the White House.

When you got to President Loki's office, he was sat at the edge of his table, hands resting on the lux hardwood surface, and legs spread.

The posture put those unfairly sensual muscular thighs on sluttish display, made worse by the way the fabric of his at least one size too tight slacks stretched and strained over his skin. You had to look away before you dared look closer because you could've sworn you also clocked some tenting between his legs.

"Good morning, sweet little mortal," he greeted you, his voice even more gravelly than usual. Your knees nearly buckled from its effect on you, already feeling the familiar pooling between your legs.

"Good morning, Sir," you answered, already feeling flushed, your breathing a bit deeper and causing an uncomfortable pinch from how bra was pinching against your breasts. "You're up early today…"

"I'm still up, darling. I couldn't sleep. Something was…plaguing my mind."

"Oh?"

He gave you a single nod before raising his hand forward, curling his fingers in a motion that had your feet moving of their own accord toward him. Had you not known any better it was like he cast a spell that summoned you to his side.

But you did know better. He didn't need to cast a spell.

"Closer," he breathed when you were standing two feet in front of him, flicking his gaze down at the space between his legs.

Your heart caught in your throat, your pulse thundering in your ears and pounding so hard you could swear you felt it even at the tips of your toes. Regardless, you obeyed, stepping closer until you stood less than a foot away from him.

"I want you to know you're free to tell me if you wish for me to stop." His words came out strained, like it hurt to say them. "I would never hold it against you. If you do not feel the same I can drop it and we can both simply pretend this never happened."

There's no way, you kept on stubbornly repeating to yourself. Even as he placed his sinfully large hands at your sides, bringing you even closer, so close that you could feel his breath warming your face.

Even as he reached up to remove the clip holding your hair up, weaving his fingers into your hair to hold you in place while his eyes roamed your features, constantly returning to stare at your lips.

The stubborn voice in the back of your head only got silenced once he closed the remaining distance between you, soft lips pressing against your own in a kiss so delicate it was like he thought you were made of porcelain and you would crack at even the slightest touch.

"You can stop me if you feel I've overstepped," he whispered, still close enough that the movement of his lips still faintly ghosted over your own. "I just simply couldn't go another day without telling you--"

You felt the slightest thrill up your spine at the surprised sound that caught in the back of his throat, when you cut him off by giving him a fleeting kiss of your own.

You barely registered the heavy sound of his helmet hitting the tabletop before he pulled you closer, one hand tugging lightly at your hair, the other roaming down your body and working its way under your dress. He grasped at your thigh, letting out a sinful moan when you parted your lips for him and your tongues met in a frantic tangle.

"Do you trust me?" he rasped, catching his breath. He let out a sharp exhale, sounding relieved when you simply nodded your head. He wrapped his hand around the inside of your knee, his other arm wrapping around your waist to lift you up to straddle his lap, knees resting on the edge of the tabletop.

The precarious position had you grasping at his shoulders, leaning into him to keep yourself from keeling over.

He splayed his hand across your back, holding you steady. "I have you, sweet girl." He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, kissing his way down your neck until you let out a strangled moan once he'd reached a spot between your neck and shoulder.

You had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation for this. You slept in and you were still in your apartment and now you were about to be late for work. Yup, that was it. You tried to dig your nail into your palm, wincing at the sharp pinch you felt but nothing came of it.

"Agh--" Your nail broke skin, a tiny spot of blood blooming on your palm.

"Darling Y/N, what in the Nine are you doing?" He wrapped his hand around your wrist, running his thumb across your palm, seeing the minuscule wound.

"This is a dream," you mumbled, more to yourself. "I have to wake up."

"Little mortal," he cooed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "You think this a dream?" You whimpered at the smirk he gave you when you nodded. "So you've dreamed of this before? Of my kiss? My touch?"

Ah what the hell I'm dreaming anyway. "I have. Every night."

"Oh my sweet little mortal." He pressed a kiss to your palm, the pinprick wound suddenly nowhere to be found when he pulled away. "I can assure you…if this is a dream, it is one we share. The things I've wanted to do to you. With you. Now that I know you've wanted this, too, there is very little that can stop me from turning those dreams into reality."

He worked his hand back under your dress, between your legs, fingertips teasingly trailing up the inside of your thigh. He let out a staggering breath when he met the fabric of your panties, drenched with your arousal.

When you began to whimper from his fingers tracing along your slit he pulled you in for another kiss, effectively muffling your moans when he began to circle your clit over your panties. You started to roll your hips into his touch in response, your body already aching for more.

"So deliciously eager," he purred, kissing his way to your ear. "But I'll be needing you to stay alert, darling." You let out a little squeak when his hold tightened around your waist, keeping you from grinding your hips and chasing your own pleasure. "Now tell me what will be on my itinerary for today."

The softly growled order had your mind scrambling, thoughts that usually easily stitched together to form whatever answer he needed suddenly becoming disjointed and lost to the recesses of your consciousness. "Wait what?"

"I'm sure you understand my need for those under my employ to be mentally sharp as a tack. Regardless of my desire and affection for you, sweet mortal, you are still among those people." You arched your back, pressing your chest against his when he moved the fabric of your panties aside, sliding a single finger inside you and moving in long, languid strokes. "However now we could perhaps make our little morning discussions a touch more…interesting."

"You have the p-press briefing at eight and--Ohh fuck!" Your grip on his shoulders tightened when he inserted a second finger and curled them upwards, brushing against a spot that had you letting out the most obscene moan that filled his office.

"Such vulgar words from your lucious lips," he panted, stealing another kiss from you, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulled away. "Like watching an angel in the midst of corruption. On her pretty little knees for her god." He brushed against the spot with firmer strokes, making you wetter and turning you into a whimpering mess. "Keep going. What comes after the briefing?"

Your mind was spinning trying to recall. You mentally smacked yourself for struggling to remember when you'd just been committing the schedule to memory on your Uber ride here.

"U-Uhm…You have a pre--a prefatory meeting with Morgan Stark at 9:30 to dis--Fucking hell--To discuss free sustainable e-energy to lower class communities." You kept on frantically combing through your memories of your ride over here to recall the rest of the schedule.

"And what else, sweetheart?" He stilled his fingers while pressed on that same spot, lightly ghosting the pad of his thumb over your clit. "You're already doing so well. Finish it so we may move on to more…pleasurable…activities."

He pressed his lips to the base of your throat, the feel of him sucking lightly on the skin driving you near incoherent. "You--You have a meeting with R & B at three. To fi--" You threw your head back and let out a howling moan, his hand tightening on your back to keep you from falling over. "To finalize the contracts for the Department of Defense. And your security detail."

"Not just my security," he grunted, starting to stroke his fingers again. "Yours, too."

That was enough to break through your pleasure-induced haze by a fraction. "Hold on. What? Sir, I don't need--Ohh!" The rest of your words died with an obscene moan when he started flicking his fingers rapidly inside you.

"You're far too valuable for me to not allocate resources to ensure your safety when I can't protect you myself," he explained, peppering kisses across your collarbone. "Is that all for my day, sweet girl?"

"Y-Yes!" you whined, trying desperately to move your hips for even the tiniest bit more friction. "That's everything."

"Excellent." He moved his hand up to hold you by the back of your neck, letting out a sinful groan when he licked into your mouth. "And you'll be joining me in all of those, won't you?"

"Do you want me to?"

"I always want you with me," he murmured against your slips, letting out a moan of his own when he kissed you again, starting to move his fingers faster and pressing his thumb firmly on your clit. "Now come for me, my sweet mortal. My corrupted little angel. Make a mess on your god's fingers."

Your orgasm overtook you as the god moved his hand to your lower back, guiding your movements as you rode out your high, coating his fingers with your release. Your mind was a haze, the sound of his raspy utterances of your name barely hitting your ears. His chest heaved against yours, lips pressing soft kisses to the side of your face while your breathing evened out.

When he pulled his digits out of you, you let out a whiney groan, already feeling the loss of him. The sight of the god placing his fingers in his mouth, his sinfully dexterous tongue lapping up every drop of your juices from his skin, had you squirming in his lap all over again.

"More already?" he teased, pulling you in for another kiss. You could faintly taste yourself on his tongue. "What a beautifully insatiable little mortal you are. It's as if the Norns had made you just for me." His hands freely roamed your back while he kissed his way down your neck, sucking a bruise onto your collarbone. "I've indulged myself in such fantasies of claiming you on every surface of this office. Of every room in this house. I want to lay you down on my desk without a stitch of clothing on you and get drunk on the taste of you."

You could only respond with a faint whimper, images of what he'd described taking up all the space in the forefront of your mind. "Please…"

"I promise you we'll have all the time to make every single one of those debauched fantasies come to life, sweet girl." He kissed you again, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the table, softly chuckling against your lips when you started to pout at your feet hitting the ground. "But I want our first night together somewhere more intimate. A moment that shouldn't be rushed and stolen between meetings, held in secrecy in my office."

He held your chin delicately between his fingers, keeping you from looking away at him. The mere sight of the near fully blacked out eyes shining with sincerity and held back words was enough to have your knees buckling again.

"Later tonight," he continued. "When everyone's day is over, then our night can begin. I'll bring you to my private quarters and there…" He took a deep breath, a brilliant smile stretching across his face, a real one so starkly different from the practiced smirks he gave the public. "There I will make love to you."

He guided you to take a step back from him, your heart fluttering when he placed a soft kiss to your forehead before conjuring a majestic golden mirror into the room with a flick of his wrist. The image of you visibly disheveled, paired with the smeared lipstick marks all over President Loki's face, had you biting your lip trying to hold back a smile of your own.

You held the undone ribbon of your dress between your fingers. "And here I spent a good ten minutes on this trying to look all perfect," you told him playfully, a fit of giggles finally escaping you when he took the straps from your hands and used them to pull you to him once again, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

"Much as I appreciate the effort and having you look as if you'd gift-wrapped yourself just for me with this lovely little flourish, may I say that it matters not how you dress. You were already perfect the day I first saw you on the campaign floor."

"I was wearing a ratty old sweater from college," you shot back, finding it hard to breathe.

"The color of the sky on a stormy day." He brushed his nose against yours, pressing a soft kiss to the tip. "Turn around. Face the reflection."

When you faced the mirror again, he redid the ribbon exactly as it was when you left your apartment with a wave of his hand, kissing along the side of your face as he put your clip back in your hair.

"There you are, sweetheart," he cooed, nipping at the shell of your ear. "Not a hair out of place." Another wave of his hand and he, too, had returned to his state before you walked into the office. "I'd very much like for you to join me for breakfast."

You answered only with a nod, reaching for his hand.

As he led you down the halls toward the dining room, you sent Tasha a quick text.

About what you said earlier…fingers don't count, right?

A/N: It's finally done! The initial 5 stories goal of Kinktober 2023 are all up and I'm finally going back to writing the series I haphazardly dropped when I decided to write these pieces over a month ago. And I finally have a President Loki story in my little library of works 😳👀

I swear I didn't expect to write such a mega chonker for the first President Loki story but I got all kinds of carried away…so much so that there are scenes that I cut from the final draft that might become drabbles somewhere down the line.

For now though…back to the blorbos of 'one look & they'll know', 'relinquish the crown', 'the final Lady Sharpe', 'let me hear you', 'rules of conduct', 'feels like mine'…and some other not-so-secret projects 😳👀

Ohh…and that bit in the end where he pulls on the ribbons of her dress? This was fully the vibe:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

Kinktober taglist: @azula-karai-27

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki smut #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #president loki x reader #president loki x female reader #president loki smut #muddyorbs writes #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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catalystcorvid · 5 months ago

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Where to Find Free, Legal Books

If you have access to a public library and/or have college credentials;

Libby - Ebooks, digital audiobooks, and magazines from your public library. Free, but requires a library card. Materials aren't infinite, so popular titles will often have a several week long waitlist. If you're in the US (or sufficiently crafty) you can sign up for a free card from the Queer Liberation Library.

Hoopla - Another service often bundled with a library card. The selection is smaller than Libby, but you have a limited number of instant borrows per month to cash in.

EBSCOhost Research - Ebooks and research materials, usually offered through a college. Where I do most of my reading lately, TBH.

Worldcat - Browse the world’s libraries from one search box. Easiest way to find out where to go to check out a book if you can't find it at your usual spot.

US residents will likely have a public library near them, but if you cannot go in person and sign up, there are a number of public libraries that don't require anything but a local address to get an Ecard. The libraries that offer this change frequently, so ask around.

Also keep in mind that US public libraries don't typically purchase self published material. If you're looking for your favorite tumblr author's book, you might want to try the links below instead.

If you can't get a library card (or couldn't find what you're looking for)

Open Library - Large collection of ebooks. Some materials may not be available currently due to ongoing legal issues.

Project Gutenburg - Another huge collection of ebooks, probably the most well-known option on this list.

Standard Ebooks - Professionally formatted public domain ebooks (sourced from places like Project Gutenburg but then turned into dynamic epubs)

LibriVox - Public Domain Audiobooks. Extremely limited library, but provides a rare service.

Audible Free Trial - Amazon offers a free trial of their service, with one free title on signup. You need a viable payment method to get access, but you keep the book even after you cancel. Don't give Amazon your money, folks.

I'd also recommend trawling youtube and soundcloud for user-made audiobooks. The quality varies, but I've been surprised at the results.

Other cool resources

StoryGraph - A non-Amazon GoodReads alternative, for those who like to challenge themselves to read more or enjoy writing book reviews.

Banned books list - Around since 1994 and currently still updated weekly, this site showcases books that are either banned or have been attempted to have been banned somewhere in the US. Some are available to read for free on site.

#bookblr #reading #writing resources #writeblr

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glowettee · 4 months ago

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Hey Girl, I need help right now, how can I build my wardrobe because right now all I wear to school is a hoodie and flare jeans/sweatpants, I like the pants but I don’t wanna seem basic and just wear a hoodie with sweatpants or jeans. Cause I’m low-key in the middle of masc and fem so it’s just strange and I don’t know how to dress. 😭💗

how to build your wardrobe | starting with the "downtown girl" aesthetic

hey girl!! tysm for reaching out and trusting me with your style journey 🤍 i totally get that feeling of being stuck in a hoodie + flare jeans loop, especially when you know you deserve a wardrobe that shows off both your masc + fem sides. i remember when my closet felt like a jumble of basic pieces until i started curating it with intention, and now my outfits reflect a confident coquette, downtown girl aesthetic with just the right amount of edge + softness. so, let’s dive into building

little note before we start

i was in the same situation as you, trying to find a way to embrace my masc + fem fashion, i naturally gravitated towards to "downtown girl aesthetic" since it was closest to my comfort zone, now i've branched out to a lot of coquette pieces, my fashion style is amazing now, and really reflects me perfectly. however, i still would define my fashion as downtown girl aesthetic, that's why in this post i'll be giving you a guide since i think it'll fit perfectly for you especially with you being in the middle of masc + fem fashion. hopefully this helps you, feel free to research more about the aesthetic + fashion style, i think it's a great fashion sense that isn't too uncomfortable for first trying out to build your fashion sense. - love from mindy <3

~ discovering your style identity ~

first of all, take a little time to reflect on what you truly love about your style. do you gravitate towards minimalist silhouettes, or do you adore a bit of playful edge? for a downtown girl vibe, think urban chic combined with touches of romance and practicality. jot down a few adjectives that vibe with you. words like “modern,” “gritty,” “romantic,” or even “vintage downtown” can help create your style compass. i like to create digital mood boards on tumblr or pinterest, collecting images of outfits that spark joy. it’s literally a fun, visual way to consolidate your style ideas before letting them influence your wardrobe choices.

~ detailed downtown girl aesthetic tips ~

a downtown girl aesthetic is all about blending practical urban style with a hint of romance and vintage charm. here are some tips to nail this vibe:

color palette:

stick with neutral tones like black, white, navy, + grey as your base.

add pops of color through accessories or a statement piece like a bold red bag or mustard yellow scarf.

muted pastels can also work wonderfully to soften the look while keeping it edgy.

layering techniques:

downtown style is often about layering. try combining a fitted turtleneck with a slip dress, then topping it with a blazer or leather jacket.

experiment with different lengths. for instance, wear a cropped sweater over a longer button-down for a dynamic, urban silhouette.

footwear:

invest in a couple of key pairs of shoes. sleek ankle boots or minimalist sneakers are perfect for walking through the city.

consider converses, boots, and any type of sneakers are literally your best friend

also a pair of combat boots can add a cool, grunge element to your wardrobe.

accessories:

accessories can really pull your look together. a cute necklace or a standout ring adds subtle elegance.

don’t shy away from statement bags. i love structured crossbodies or chic totes.

a stylish hat, like a beret or a fedora, can transform a basic outfit into something that screams downtown chic. omg and headphones literally could be considered as a hat in this aesthetic <3

prints + textures:

mix structured fabrics like denim, leather, or cotton with softer textures like silk or cashmere.

subtle prints such as pinstripes or small polka dots can add visual interest without overwhelming the overall look.

~ mixing masc + fem in a downtown setting ~

if you find yourself balancing between masc and fem, remember that fashion is all about contrast. here’s how to blend the two effortlessly:

combine structured, masculine pieces with more delicate, feminine items. for example, pair a sharply tailored blazer with a soft, lace-trimmed blouse or a flowy midi skirt.

try androgynous cuts like oversized shirts or well-fitted trousers, then add a touch of femininity with accessories. maybe a charming belt or minimalist jewelry.

experiment with layering a unisex tee under a feminine dress, then finishing the look with a sleek jacket or ankle boots that have a modern edge.

balance textures: mix a masculine fabric like denim with a more fragile, silky scarf to bring out both aspects of your style.

~ practical pro tips for wardrobe evolution ~

building a wardrobe that feels authentically you takes time + experimentation. here are some extra pro tips i swear by:

start with what you already love:

take a look at your current wardrobe and identify pieces that feel true to you.

use these as a baseline to decide what new items can mix well with them. this way, you’re expanding rather than completely overhauling your style.

2. shop mindfully:

whenever you’re shopping, think about versatility. ask yourself, “can i see this piece paired with at least three other items i own?”

if possible, try to shop at stores or online shops that offer timeless, well-made pieces rather than fast-fashion for a sustainable approach.

3. don’t be afraid to experiment:

style is a journey, and it’s totally okay to try something new even if it feels a bit out of your comfort zone.

consider having a “fashion day” where you experiment with mixing different textures, layers, and accessories. take photos of your outfits so you can look back and see what works best.

3. remember the power of personal touches:

add items that tell your story. a vintage scarf, a piece of jewelry with sentimental value, or even a custom-painted jacket.

these pieces not only elevate your look but also make your outfit uniquely yours.

~ my personal journey & final thoughts ~

i remember when i first started experimenting with my wardrobe. i was always tethered to the same basic pieces until i decided one day to step out of my comfort zone. i went to a little vintage store downtown and found a structured coat that changed everything. pairing it with a crisp button-down and sleek trousers created a look that was so different from my usual style but felt incredibly empowering. the process was filled with trial + error, but each piece i added felt like a tiny victory. an expression of my evolving self.

i currently have a mix of downtown girl aesthetic, coquette, and just a lotttt of pink clothing lol <3. however, when i first started experimenting with a style i personally love and own now, i started with the downtown girl aesthetic, and it helped me so much. this is why i recommend starting with this aesthetic first if you're trying to discover your personal style and especially if you want to express your masc and fem side.

building a wardrobe is literally a form of self-expression, and it should be fun rather than stressful. let each outfit be a mini celebration of who you are. remember, there’s no “right” way to dress. your style should grow with you. even if you’re headed to school or exploring the city streets, your wardrobe should be a canvas that reflects your creative spirit.

I have a pinterest board here specifically with downtown girl outfit ideas: https://pin.it/1d0IdGrNL

sending you the biggest virtual hug + all the good vibes! i hope these detailed tips help you start with building your wardrobe. remember to take it one step at a time, enjoy the process, and always embrace what makes you uniquely you.

p.s. if you ever need more advice or a pep talk to boost your style confidence, feel free to send more asks!! keep shining, and always take care of yourself.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

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seikkoi · 1 year ago

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ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ | t. stark & s. strange x f!reader

Step one: Work at one of the most successful research laboratories in the country. Step two: Don't fuck it up. Step two and a half: Do not fuck it up.

content/warnings: mildly dubious consent (sooo uncharacteristic of me), degradation, power dynamics, voyeurism, shy reader, org*sm denial, v*ginal fingering word count: 2.6k a/n: im having a small fixation on our favorite witchy doctor dont worry abt it

Shitshitshit!

You chastised yourself mentally over and over again, watching the bright blue numbers tick downwards. It might make sense to get up, scramble across the lab, fling your hand around the incubator and pull the plug. That’s what an amateur would do, but you’re an expert and know that will do fuck all for you now. Then again, an expert would have set the goddamned temperature correctly.

You’d fallen asleep at your desk–a natural consequence of several late nights collecting data (or drowning in term papers and reports). In your half-awake state, right before your head hits the table, you set the temperature twenty degrees lower than it should be. Dreamland gave no clues to the impending doom awaiting you. Instead, you dreamt of a tropical paradise. Your sunny fantasia was inevitably interrupted by the persistent beep that echoed the labs walls.

The digits keep trickling down, and you rest your head in your heads. All you can do is wait for it to hit zero. Thousands of synthetic cultures–gone. That was two months of work down the drain, and your bosses expected a very long report, printed and neatly stapled by the end of this week.

You were so fucking fired.

The numbers finally stop, the computer beeping tauntingly as if you needed verbal confirmation on how screwed you were. You could not even begin to imagine how you would explain this. You worked at one of the best laboratories in the world, there wasn’t room for rookies errors here. Especially not when they come from supposed wannabe professionals like you (and cost millions of dollars). Your first week some larger-than-life MIT grad used the wrong inventory system and was gone by noon. You weren’t any better, just some Ph.D candidate trying to boost her resume.

The computer stops, and in its absence you pick up on the slight tick of the clock on the desk. The red analog reads 9:57 PM. Late, but not too late for your bosses to still be around. You’re nauseous with guilt, but you can’t imagine carrying it through the night, working with nothing through the rest of week just to get canned on Friday.

No, you’d accept your fate now.

If you were lucky, you’d only have to talk to one of them.

You don’t have a preference for either. Stark had no issue showing dissatisfaction through his words, often sternly and without grace. The good part was that he was the same way with praise, although you rarely managed to earn that. Strange on the other hand was, well, strange. You barely interacted with him, but when you did you always left the conversation not sure if he despised you or merely tolerated your presence. It changed your working attitude from focusing on the science to scrambling for perfection to gain even the faintest ounce of approval.

Obviously, not well enough if you were making Alaska-sized mistakes like this. Both were equally arrogant (unfortunately, well deserved) and you knew neither of them well enough to plead for your job.

You make your way down the dim hallway, passing the empty offices and labs. More than one mental pep talk passes through your mind. The end of the hallway held your demise, a cracked open door holding an illuminating light and a pair of voices.

All you could do was hope they weren’t too harsh.

Beyond the wooden door, you listen to two voices argue indiscriminately.

“I suppose you think we should just give it away.” one says exasperatedly, and you figure this is Stark by the sarcasm laced in each syllable.

“No,” the other sighs, “but our shareholders will never agree to this price point.”

“The shareholders will agree to whatever we tell them to.”

“You’re right, to a point. Still, we need to be realistic in our expectation of returns.”

“We haven’t done all this work for realism. We did it for profit and you want to sell our hard work to the lowest bidder.”

You tapped your knuckles against the oak door, heart beating in your chest. You went through a couple of opening lines–promises about how this would never happen again and pleas for understanding. Logically, you knew neither were likely to be granted. The voices on the other side grant you entrance that you take nervously. Inside, Stark sits at the large desk in the middle of the room. Strange stands beside him, peering over papers that you presume sparked their conversation.

At the sight of you, both men seem to soften their hardened expressions. Whatever nonsense flared their words a moment ago is gone, replaced by confusion by their junior researcher at their door this late. Strange glances at the timepiece on his wrist before you can say anything, scoffing and shaking his head.

“Yes, [y/n]?”

The annoyance drips, clearly not amused by your poorly timed visit. You wring your fingers in front of your body.

“Firstly, sirs, I want to apologize, there was a mistake with the incubator, and the cultures were destroyed.”

You wish you sounded more confident, but instead your eyes dart between the men and the floor. Your omission tumbles out in a whiny tone, waiting on every syllable for their faces to turn and tell you how stupid you were and how much you cost them in time and resources. That’s not how it goes, however.

Stark leans back in the leather desk chair, metal creaking as his arms are crossed in front of his body. He makes an annoyed face, sure, but not the angry scowl you were dreading.

Strange’s reaction is even more peculiar, chuckling slightly and glancing back at Tony.

“Did the incubator make a mistake, or did you?” he says lightheartedly, a grin stretching on his face, yet the words create a swell in your throat.

Tony seems to find it amusing as well, watching Strange stalk towards you. He stops in the middle of the office. You’re less than two yards away, trying not to tremble under his gaze.

“I did, sir, I’m sorry. I’ll gather my things and leave.” you whispered, hanging your head in shame.

Your feet are on autopilot, turning for the door until Strange speaks again.

“Oh, there’s no need for that.” he chuckles. “Right, Tony?”

You turn back to see him looking towards Stark, who hums in approval. Even more confused, you watch as Strange beckons you closer, and you obey on instinct.

“I don’t think it’s a good look for a Ph.d candidate to have a termination from such a large company on her record.” Tony coos from his chair.

“No, not at all. That might just tarnish her future.” Strange adds.

Their eyes rake over you. Stephen beckons you forward again, and you comply once more. Clearly, they were mocking you before giving you the boot. The condescending drip in their voices leaves your skin hot with embarrassment.

“We wouldn’t want that for you, sweetheart.” Tony sits up as Strange guides you towards the desk, a large hand resting on your back.

“I-I don’t understand.” you stammer.

They both share another laugh at your confusion. Stephen stands behind you once you reach the desk. He nudges you forward until your hips are flush against the edge. There’s still separation, but not enough that you can’t sense his body right behind yours.

“I’m sure a smart girl like you knows how valuable you are to us,” Tony locks eyes with you as Strange twirls your hair in his fingers. The touch shocks you to turn back to him, only for Strange to push you back to face Tony.

“Everyone makes mistakes, after all.”

Your eyes widen when Stephen presses his body into yours, easily towering over you. Heavy hands trail down your jean-covered hips, hot enough to burn your skin through the denim.

“We’re very understanding, I’m sure we can work something out.” Stephen’s voice purrs in your ear, warm breath tickling your throat.

The glittering look in Stark’s eye is all too familiar, watching Stephen’s hands get acquainted with every inch of your form. You shudder under his touch. The blood in your veins runs cold as you catch a wink between the two men–and suddenly, you understand.

“Wouldn’t want your career to end before it even starts now would we?” Tony taunts.

Fingers tease along your side. Soon, they work their way under your shirt, grazing the skin of your midriff.

Any lingering uncertainty is snuffed when Stephen presses further into you. The desk digs into your hips, trapping you between it and the tall doctor.

“I can’t–we can’t–this isn’t–”

Each attempt at a full sentence fails under Tony's lustful gaze. It’s quite enjoyable watching you fail against Stephen. Recruitment always seemed to be just the prettiest research assistants. Who could blame them for finally getting an opportunity for a taste?

Not to mention you did just cost them a small fortune with your little mistake. Contrary to your beliefs, though, they liked your work ethic (and you, for that matter). Letting go of such a helpful piece of eye candy simply wouldn’t do. That doesn’t mean that kindness is a guarantee.

“No?” Tony hums. “Well, we could always let you go. We can give a shining recommendation, of course having to mention your little incompetencies.”

Being blacklisted would kill you. All you wanted was to work in this field. Years of late nights and term papers down the drain was a far greater loss than a few synthetic cultures.

“Please, you don’t have to do that.” you plead. Behind you, Strange’s beard scratches your throat. His hands travel further north, dancing on the hem of your bra. Goosebumps spread across your skin.

“Like I said, I’m sure we can all come to some sort of compromise.” Stephen’s voice drops low and heavy, enveloping on your covered breasts in his right hand. He squeezes gently, tweaking your nipple through the padded fabric.

“W-what if someone finds out–please, just–”

“Oh, don’t you worry, honey. We know how to be discreet.” Tony smirks.

Your eyes can never seem to leave Tony’s, watching his smile grow as your arousal does. It’s against your doing. Stephen completely surrounds you, touching any part of you he could reach. You gasp when the doctor’s idle hand finds your other nipple, rocking himself into you as you squirm.

“I think she wants to keep her job, don’t you, honey?” Stephen chimes in.

You nod nervously. If this would save your career, so be it. People have slept with their bosses for less, right? And you certainly weren’t blind, both men were attractive in their own rights, able to pander through a catalog of women much smarter and much more their style. It begs the question why they were doing this all–crossing such a boundary with a goddamned graduate student.

“Oh no, honey, we’ll need to hear you say it.”

You barely blink, nor breath, all brain power zeroing in on Strange’s heat pressed into you. Tony raises an impatient eyebrow and you manage to answer out of the need to appease him and keep your job.

“Yes, I’ll do whatever you want.”

The second the words leave you, Stephen’s hand disappears from your shirt to push you over the desk. You would’ve face planted straight into it had his palms not wrapped tightly around each of your wrists, yanking your arms. You try to sit up, uncomfortably pressed between Stephen Itchy wool suit pants and the wooden desk. Tony gleams down at you as the doctor keeps a firm hand splayed across your back, his right hand reaching around for the zipper of your jeans.

In the next moment, you feel cool air bend around your bare legs. Before you can have anything even remotely resembling second thoughts, your lace panties are quickly pulled to your ankles as well. Warmth flushes across your cheeks, feeling Stephen’s hungry eyes and fingers on your exposed cunt–all while Tony’s eyes stay locked onto you, smile growing wider as your shame does.

That became harder the second rough hands grab the supple flesh of your ass before a teasing finger slid across wet folds. You squirmed against Stephen’s hold on your wrists, trying desperately to look anywhere but at your boss as you bit back a soft gasp.

“I think our pretty little assistant is feeling a bit shy, Stephen.” Tony declares, reaching out to caress the side of your face not pressed into the surface. It sends butterflies up your spine at how gently he draws tight circles on the skin of your cheek, humming in satisfaction from how roughly Stephen roams over your body.

“Tsk, I hardly believe that, as wet as she is right now.” he murmurs, distracted by the mess you wish you weren’t making.

You kept your lips pierced tightly between your teeth, lids squeezing shut when a long digit pushes into your aching walls. A deep groan from Strange echoes behind you. You hardly had time to eat, let alone maintain a social life. This meant it had been almost months since you’d slept with anyone–leaving needy and aching from the simplest touch. Even if it was your boss.

You instinctively try to pull forward when a second finger is roughly added, and this time you can’t stop the whimper as you stretch around him.

“There it is–feels good doesn’t it? Don’t be shy, honey.” Tony’s voice sounds like smolding ice, freezing your nerves and setting your skin on fire.

You almost hate yourself for how good this feels, Stephen pistoning in and out of your cunt until the sounds of your arousal against his fingers flood the office walls. All while Tony strokes your face like you're made of fine china. It’s far more than your body can handle, stomach already tightening with each pulse of the doctor’s fingers.

“Go ahead, hon’, tell us how much you like it.”

Your face warms. From his touch or embarrassment, you’re not sure. You stammer under the heat, trying to look anywhere but Tony’s piercing eyes.

Stephen’s hand comes down strong on your exposed ass, earning a loud cry from you as you strain against his hold. It shouldn’t make your head spin as much as it does.

“That wasn’t a request, answer him.” the doctor commands, gripping your wrists even tighter. When you take a second too long to muster a response, another strike falls on your opposite cheek. Your nerves are nearly disintegrated, still relishing good his finger feel stretching your cunt.

“It–it’s good, it feels–” you cry out once more when he spanks you again, taunting you for being too quiet.

“It feels really good, sir.” you say louder, nearly shouting into the wood as your legs shake.

Tony laughs above you, only worsening your shame. It’s an easily forgotten feeling–Stephen’s fingers curl inside you, testing each angle until he finds the one that makes you squirm. Soon enough, you forget where you are entirely, barely able to tell where your skin and theirs begin. Your high is far too close to care about the way Tony watches you, or how bruised your wrists will be after Stephen’s done with you.

Just as your mind starts to split into two, it’s quickly interrupted. Stephen withdraws from your soaking cunt, leaning over you to press you impossibly further into the desk, unbuckling the leather belt at his waist. You jerk your head up at the ache between your legs, meeting Tony’s devilish smirk. Warm lips grace your ear, chuckling at your needy panting.

“Aw, poor thing. Don’t think we’d let you off that easy–you’ll need to earn it.” Stephen whispers.

As he sinks into you, you get the feeling this mistake will take quite some time to pay back.

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