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umadosedepascal · 9 months

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HIGH MILES CLUB | Pedro Pascal x f!reader | PART I

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner: @ithedevilsbaby

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: After partying hard at Met Gala making out with you in the bathroom and later taking you to his hotel room in NY, he finds something inside his red overcoat pocket in the middle of the airport. But it doesn’t stop, more unexpected and hot things happens during his flight back home.

wc: 3.6k

rating/warnings: [Smut] [unprotected PiV] [Semi public sex][Sex on the plane][Pedro out of control][Pedro dom][Masturbation m][Bites][Suck/kiss with cum][Drugs][Do not make noise]

Exactly 7:00 a.m., his phone alarm goes on. Unfortunately the only and most annoying way not to miss his flight.

Pedro takes a few seconds to assimilate that he is no longer sleeping and that loud sound is not part of a nightmare.

With a grunt, he runs his hand over his face and opens his eyes.

_Damn hangover_

He gets up going to the bathroom with heavy head and eyes throbbing.

He just wanted to take a quick shower and catch his flight back home. It was a simple thing, he just wanted to rest until that discomfort went away.

When he came out of the drowsiness, while watching the hot shower water run in front of him, he remembered the events of last night and immediately felt a twinge, a sudden horniness that came along with images of the previous night.

The way you frowned your eyebrow, suffering of pleasure for him.

_Damn, was she feeling that horny? _

Pedro's hand is already holding his cock, which was already hard, pre cum shining on top of light pink head, veins all apparent pulsating as he squeezed while the hot water now hit his neck and went down his back. His muscles were relaxing with the heat while his cock only got harder and harder, he felt the constant throbbing, the way when his hand went up to the tip of the cock, thick drops of pre cum accumulated, Pedro passed his thumb around the head spreading his horniness, sliding his hand until he almost touched his balls.

Biting his lips with his eyes closed, some highlights of you in the bathroom, totally surrendered to what he well wanted to do, obviously in a state that would never tell him "no", makes him feel his cock pulsating desperately. Breathing failing between your teeth, making your toes squirm.

It doesn't take long. Releasing a low moan, he cums on the bathtub floor. He straightens his body, not getting carried away by the feeling of relaxation, and decides that finishing that quick bath would be the best thing to do. Despite the effort, he does not realize that he spent good minutes staring at the mirror, the towel wrapped around his waist, drops of water dripping from his hair, going down his neck until they accumulate in the towel on his hips. Still lost in memories.

“Fuck!” He goes from one side to the other in the room, picking up clothes throwning here and there, sticking everything in the suitcase anyway. He hates being late, so it would have to be like that. So rushes sticking all clothes inside the suitcase including the red overcoat..

Arriving at the airport, he orders a 6 shots coffee and a something to eat, however, he realizes that his suitcase is badly closed, deciding to open and tidy up properly before boarding.. he takes the red coat and sees a black tip in its pocket and pulls out.

Taking off slowly, looking at the delicate black lace on his fingers, coming out of the pocket of his red overcoat, it was inevitable not to remember the night before that he was still so vivid in his memory. He grabs those panties and in a quick thought puts it in the pocket of his jeans while closing the suitcase quickly.

A wave of excitement begins to rise all over his body, he can remember exactly the moment he took it out of your body to feel your pussy swallowing his cock inside that bathroom. Damn, he was in the middle of the airport having a coffee and the only thought that comes to his mind is: did these damn panties have to show up right here? He then finishes his coffee and goes to the boarding gate, his flight is next, but his thoughts are too far away, he is still in the hotel, in that bed, and now, with panties inside his pocket, which seems to burn his skin.

It's strange the feeling of dissociating for a few minutes. That's how Pedro felt, his legs leading him towards boarding, because only what he saw before his eyes were those sheets, the feeling of your hands scratching him, his legs trembling, his mouth half open while looking into your eyes asking for more. Full of desire, but indescribable. What was going on in your head while he touched you? Why was that suddenly in his head?

That's exactly why. Because he thought it would be a predictable situation, but there was you surpassing yourself once again. fucking panties in your pocket? He didn't expect such a surprise.

When he got on the plane, he was still in auto mode, greeting the flight attendants while looking at the number of seats, but barely understood what was written. By a miracle, he found his place. As he sat down, Pedro took a deep breath, with his hands on his face for a few seconds. "Just a couple hours... then I'm home. It's fine.", he thought.

He thought he would relax on this flight back home.

He couldn't be more mistaken.

Pedro stretches his legs and tries to relax as much as he can. After a few minutes, he no longer knew how much time had passed, he saw a person entering the plane's restroom.

"No. Fuck, no" He thought, as he felt his heart beat in his ears, the idea that went through his head. The fingers of his left hand that were resting on his leg flexed, scratching the jeans.

_Too late. _

He thinks too late, but his fingers think something else. He feels his cock harden little by little in his underwear "Fuck...not here, wait until you get home at least, you idiot"

But his body wants it and that's stronger than any thought. Pedro runs his fingers down his knee feeling the texture of the jeans, the feeling of the clothes too tight, everything bothered him, he just needed to get rid of these clothes and bury himself in a wet pussy.

He looks at the restroom door again and sees that is now free.

“Fuck it..”

He gets up, feeling these panties in his left pocket, it still looks wet, it looks crazy but he feels the moisture.

He enters the restroom, locks the door and looks at himself in the mirror

¿Qué hace un viejo como tú?

He leans on the wall in front of the mirror, his left hand squeezing your panties, taking it out of his pocket he raises almost the height of his eyes and thinks how you had the balls to sneak this inside his overcoat.

The right hand quickly opens the belt and buttons, slightly pulls the pants down leaving only his hardon out. He looks at himself in the mirror and sees the complete mess he is, messy hair, sweat accumulates on his forehead, crumpled shirt and low jeans with your panties in his hand.

Pedro touches himself, first squeezes his cock, feeling a shiver climb his spine, lowering his head with your panties in his hand, looking and watching some parts of his dry cum.. and thinks loudly "what a hell am I doing? ... shit...”

He starts to caress his cock while rubbing the black tiny panties in his nose, he begins to imagine that you were there.. squeezing his cock, spitting on it and making sudden up and down movements, he imagines that he is shoving it in your pussy. He's already a few minutes inside that restroom and someone knocks on the door.

He was already so immersed in pleasure that it takes a few seconds to notice the noise, and only then after the third knock he does come back to himself... "oh... fuck! Restroom is busy.." he replies panting, with his eyes closed, biting his lower lip while caressing his cock more slowly, his head thrown back, imagining that his sliding his hands on your lips and pussy, both so hot. Trying to control all the pleasure that consumes him, Pedro feels how dirty is what he is doing at this moment, dozens of people on this plane, but he can only focus on the smell of your panties, the smell mixed with yours, the smell of pleasure you both had the night before, and this only makes his cock throbbing even more on his fingers. He bites his lip hard and start stroking again while remembering how your pussy squeezed his cock every time he pushed hard, his fingers putting more presure as he slides hard down the cock, pre cum accumulating more and more he grabs the edge of the sink, with his head thrown back he lets out a low moan... "shit... how I want to fuck that pussy right now.."

His heart beating so fast, rubbing your panties tightly on his face, his eyes closing again, while in his mind it was inevitable the dilemma that was going on. He wanted to forget everything, he just wanted to focus on your face in his mind, but not when you said something indecent, or almost screamed, but on the low moans you let out sometimes, almost a trembling cry, showing how much you liked it when he went deeper. How hungry and thirsty you were for him, for his body.

He could only think about how much he wanted to be inside you again. Cumming inside you. And then run fingers in that pussy, soaked. He wanted you to see his cum dripping on his fingers, all mixed, with that hungry look. His mind was already going far, the knocks on the door already forgotten, everything getting far away.

The image of you sucking his fingers, feeling his taste, yours, biting slowly and soon after smiling as you stared at him, was enough.

"F-fuc..k... Fuck! Fuc-ki..ng hell...". He already knows that, as much as he wants, he couldn't last any longer, Pedro puts your panties on his cock head and cums hot. He stays there for a few seconds touching himself, feeling his balls, his breathing calming down.

Holding the panties firmly over his cock, in that tiny restroom, he leans his back against the wall. Stands there, staring at his messy reflection in the mirror, feeling the sweat on his back. "That filthy brat..." It's just what you think about at the moment.

He takes you panties with both hands, observes the new stain spots, and that makes him still pulsate. “Take a deep breath and get out of this place..”

He sighs, wraps it and tuck and keeps inside his pocket again. He arranges his pants and belt, his breath is still returning to normal. Pedro throws water on his face, washing his dirty hand with cum, but his mind imagining that you is the one who should clean his hand, licking every remaining drop. Paying for what he just did in public.

Pedro checks his look in the mirror again and hopes that no one notices the red face, the face of that guy who just came hot. He opens the door facing two people waiting in line, he smiles embarrassed and apologizes. He goes back to the hallway and to his seat, but a tou are standing nearby, you are picking up something in the luggage compartment facing back to him, he waits for you to pick up the bag helping lower the compartment door. You look up to thank the person, when you realize widen your eyes and giggles at him saying “no…Pedro? What you doing here? Same flight?”

He freezes for a second thinking that he just came in a pair of panties, that is yours.

Shy, he smiles and asks

“What are you doing here?”

He laughs, he feels his cheeks burn.

You say “Same as you, coming back home”

He is so nervous, thinking about what he just did in the restroom and seeing you in front of him. He scratches the back of his neck and passes by you sitting on his spot. You go to yours and wave to him trying not to disturb people going to their own seat.

He rests his head on the backrest and closing his eyes with his right hand scratching his nose, close to his eyebrow.

Pedro feels his cock pulsating in his boxers

“What the fuck is your problem?”

He's in 6A and you in 4D, just two rows away... the on-board service starts. He looks at the hallway and sees you picking up a glass of sparkling wine and thinks.. "huh.. I'll take the same..”

After the flight attendant passes with the cart through his row.. he gets up holding his glass, goes to you and asks..

“Can I sit by your side? You know.. sometimes I'm afraid of turbulence...”

You opens a huge smile and points to the seat next to you.

He gets anxious somehow and starting saying... "was good last night huh? And you blushing "yep, that piercing on your lips...how can I forget" trying not to talk dirty around people. He soon interrupts you by saying "that piercing? Ohhhhh I hated, btw I can't stop thinking about us last night.. I wish I could be doing sassy thing with you now...” grabbing your thigh discreetly and smiling without taking his eyes off yours.

You laughs as you drink the sparkling wine, feeling his soft and warm hand on your thigh. With just one touch you are automatically taken to that bed at that fancy hotel room. You looks at him, feeling the lust burn on his skin and asks "after yesterday, you must be all booked I believe.." putting your hand on his. He gives a smile from the corner of his mouth, takes a sip of the sparkling wine and approaching your ear saying "I cancel any appointments so I can fuck you again". Give you a soft kiss on your cheek and get back up to his spot. His words was enough to flood your pussy, reminding you of every inch of that room, the smell of him and the wine. You looks at the clock and realizes that there are only a few more minutes left for the plane to land. A few more minutes and you will be able to feel him again inside you, just a few more minutes...

Pilot announces "open time in Los Angeles with 20 degrees.. we are 15 minutes from LAX, please recline your seats and keep your belts fastened."

So Pedro thinks "15 minutes...and probably I won't meet her again soon..." he gets up and goes towards the restroom.. passing by your seat he says low "come, come with me right now, restroom is free.." and you laugh nervously and say “are you crazy?.." without an answer you are just pulled by the arm by him.

He walks behind you slowly down the hallway, without raising suspicions.

Pedro locks the door with one hand, and with the other pulls you by the neck kissing you talking softly between pauses in the kiss "let's do it quick, babe"

The first impact of his lips is a surprise, but you take a deep breath and closes your eyes. That's really happening again and on a plane! The feeling of being attacked, in your mind, was better than any waiting or encounters within the normality. So the heat in your body took over quickly, and in seconds the kiss was already a mess of tongues, bites and panting breaths.

Desperate.

Pedro simply emptied his mind completely. Only desire existed, only extinct took care of his body. If the rational side came into play at any moment, it would be a disaster.

And that's exactly why he acts fast, turning you against the sink. He thinks "I bet you like the vision. Force you to watch yourself come apart like this...", like an animal, but dont you dare to scream out loud, using what is still left of self-control. Quickly Pedro bends down, getting on his knees lowering your skirt, your panties together, taking a bite of your ass. He gets up panting, his breath running down your spine, when he looks you in the eyes, what you sees is another Pedro, it was difficult to hide the horniness he was feeling. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to calculate anything.

You look at yourself in the mirror, your hair messy, gasping, while you hear the noise of his belt opening. That's enough to make you wet. The feeling of anticipation was always incredible, the cold air hitting the thighs, the exposed pussy. You bite your lip and closes your eyes again, just giving yourself to the moment, but soon after you are surprised. You let out a sigh, staring at him in the mirror, while you feel the tip of his cock rub your pussy lips while his left hand now holds your hip firmly.

"Are you ok?" Despite feeling like an animal, he still worried about you.

"Fuck, it's fine" you don’t even let him finish the question and moves his hip back and he can't hold the moan, quickly putting his lips on your shoulder, biting so that no one outside hears, his hand squeezing your hip even more.

With his free hand, he covers your lips, because as soon as he puts his whole cock inside your pussy you moan loudly, biting his middle finger. That just makes him feel more horny. The sight of you having his cock holding the edge of to the tiny sink, his hand covering your mouth, but wishing to squeeze your neck until you beg. But you don't have much time, he punches hard feeling your pussy squeeze his cock, the sounds are inevitable, you are so wet that he slides perfectly. The skin-to-skin feeling is suffocating.

You press your ass against him, feeling his cock go deeper. He moans softly biting and licking your shoulders, caring little about the marks that are appearing.

- “Cum on my cock baby girl, please”

You bite his finger more, sucking, and squeezes his cock with your pussy. He takes his hand off your hip and scratching your waist he reachs down to the middle of your legs, pressing your swollen clit. You moan rolling your eyes.

-“ I want to feel that hot pussy squeezing my cock..”

You enjoy biting and sucking his fingers hard, your hands holding the sink so hard.

Pedro removes his hand from your lips, and puts his hand in the middle of your back, causing you to bend more in the sink.

- “I'ma cum so hard in that pussy babe... Fuck so fucking tight..”

He cums releasing a long growl in your ear, looking at the reflection of the two in the mirror and you both giggles, thinking about the craziness they did.

Pedro licks your back going up and giving you a kiss on your neck, he helps you get dressed, turning you in front of him, but first Pedro slides his finger through your pussy sticking a finger inside you, leaving some of his cum and your cum, he presses on your lips and kiss you, licking it all.

“- You're dangerous Pascal, get me to your bed or we'll have another round here” you say.

Pedro says "you playing dirty calling me like that..."

And you.. “is that an invite?”

And he.. “two knocks on the door and you are mine..”

You get out first so he does right after, and when he passes by your seat, stares at you and gives a wink.

Plane lands, each one following his way as if you were strangers. he comes home exhausted but satisfied, thinking about how crazy this trip was, he sits on the couch and starts laughing alone thinking "what a week.." he stays awake for another couple hours.. but no one knocks at his door.

While putting an empty glass of whiskey in the sink, he smokes some weed while staring through the night out the window. Silence, the house empty, comfortable, the way he always liked it. But this time something bothers. He felt an immense sense of satisfaction after a week like this. Nothing was missing. He could do what he wanted, and so he did on this trip.

What was the problem then?

He crosses the hallways of his house singing softly, weed in hands, wearing only gray sweatpants with bare feet sliding on the floor with laziness.

It was already late, there was no place to wait for more than such an intense day.

"Nobody's gonna show up, your fuckin' moron..."

He throws himself in bed still messy the last time he was at home. Releasing smoke through his nose, he looks at his phone. Many notifications, but none interesting.

He thinks he's too old for such nonsense. After all, what did you expect? More adventures, as if you were 20 years old?

One more drag, looking at the ceiling, he stretches his hand filling the ashtray on the bedside table, puts out the weed. Nestling in the bed between the duvets, that's how Pedro falls asleep. It wasn't always that he slept like this, but after everything that happened, the tension always present in his body decreased considerably. Self-esteem screaming. All this with the feeling of being high. He quickly forgot that he was anxious about a possible visit, plus a one night stand. He was feeling too fucked up.

3:00 AM. While sleeping peacefully, his phone vibrates with a notification.

Pedro didn't catch it.

—————————————

Thanks for being here and read our delusional fics, likes are appreciate, comments even more. If you want to ask anything, blast it!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedrohub #javier peña #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

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vinelark · 1 year

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bart thinks kon is maybe stupid for not realizing tim is robin, but kon just respects robin so much that subconsciously he can't allow himself to make that connection until robin tells him himself

yeah! also kon initially met tim (as a civilian) in a situation that made him perceive tim through a certain lens—tim was one of a few rich kids kidnapped for ransom, and at that point, if asked, kon probably wouldn’t be able to imagine robin getting successfully kidnapped by a non-supervillain. like he knows robin is human/not a meta (and understands what this means for robin specifically more and more as time goes on) but the bats still have this carefully cultivated vibe/reputation that masks their vulnerabilities. so when kon interacts with tim after that initial kidnapping, he’s already framed tim as someone normal/vulnerable in a way that he doesn’t see robin. also, he’s extrapolated his idea of tim as a rich kid who does rich kid things with his time (yacht parties, hiring whole actors, living in a penthouse, getting fostered by a gazillionaire) and not vigilante things with his time. like he thinks tim is weird and funny and intriguing and surprisingly kind but he also imagines tim hanging out in expensive boarding school libraries and fancy galas and stuff. and while he’s vein_guy_meme.jpg trying to respect robin’s privacy, when he does idly imagine robin as a civilian he still pictures rob on, like, a roof or in a cave or napping on top of the tower fridge or something. so it’s not like he’s Seeing It and then rationalizing his way out of realizing, but rather that he’s pre-rationalized both tim and robin in a way that already separates them in his mind.

tl;dr kon's a smart guy and could totally put it together with the right prompting, so the watsonian reason he hasn't is all of the above; the doylist reason is because i as the author am having fun and also want the reveal to drop at a certain moment.

meanwhile bart met tim without any of those preconceived notions, and caught on as soon as tim said names (robin's shorthand for "no names in the field") because bart was like, huh, that's a very robin thing to say, and also this guy is having a weird reaction to fear gas so now i'm thinking about gotham, and also we're on a roof, and also his hair looks kinda windblown and spiky, all of which reminds me of ohhhhh shit omg okay that's why robin wasn't answering his messages got it

#kon is thinking too hard and bart is thinking just the right amount. i love them #also bart knows how good robin is at being a cryptid so he assumes there's a reason kon hasn't put it together #whether that reason is extra deliberate on robin's end or just circumstance #but boy will bart be ready when the penny does drop #timkon #bart allen #kon-el #my fic #asks

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throwbackgaylor · 5 months

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may 3, 2014 | ten years ago today

taylor and karlie kloss attended harry josh’s pre-met gala party together in nyc

#may 3 2014 #may 3 #2014 #karlie kloss #kaylor #party #gaylor throwbacks #gaylor #gaylor swift #lgbetty

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aaron-hotch · 1 year

Photo

PHOEBE TONKIN.

BY ANDIE JANE. © | VOGUE PRE MET GALA PARTY, 29TH APRIL 2023.

#phoebe tonkin #phoebedit #phoebetonkinedit #ptonkinedit #flawlesscelebs #flawlessbeautyqueens #breathtakingqueens #glamorousource #femaledaily #dailywomen #dailyactresses #dailycinema #dailytelevision #raphael little things

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virgo-mess · 3 months

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Can you make a terry silver x fem reader smutshot based off the song "one of the girls" by the weeknd?

Thanks for the Request!

And I've finally got the first part of this request done! Aiming for two parts but it could end up being three depending on how the next part goes! This request ended up CK Terry adjacent I hope that's okay. I've also taken some creative liberties with this song, but I will do my best to incorporate most of the pre chorus in the next part or parts ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Broken Spirit: Chapter 1

TW: Stalking mostly, Terry being hotly deranged, its implied reader is also lowkey deranged though a match made in heaven essentially, and that's mostly it for this part. I know it's short, but I hope you enjoy!

😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉

Terry’s POV

A haze of purple hues, pulsating strobe lights, and wispy lines of thin gray smoke swirl around the crowded dance floor of the Hollywood bar, Warwick. The thrum of wavey synths filled Terry Silver’s ears while his incisive blue eyes surveyed the room in languid motions from his spot against the bar wall having just ventured from the classier, more adult lounge upstairs. He gazed at the drunk, strung-out LA clubbers with a certain degree of distained apathy. He hadn’t been inside a club or had a line of coke since the 80s, a rather contentious phase in the older billionaire’s life. To be quite honest he didn’t enjoy the hubs of the LA youth’s night life anymore now, in his graying age, then he did back then. Now a club like this only served as a bitter reminder of the days John Kreese raged through Terry’s lavish LA life like a tornado. Only to leave it in shambles just as suddenly, even all these years later the thought left a bitter lump forming in the back of his throat.

What’s passed has past, of course, as far as Terry was concerned John Kreese no longer existed. John was as much a ghost of lifetimes past as the cocaine fueled daze of Terry’s dim, but still flickering empires of addiction. Once an addict, always an addict is what they say after all. It only took Terry over a decade to replace that ghostly powder with something else, something corporeal, in all its lovely delight and there it was now. Terry couldn’t help the delighted somewhat bashful way his lips curled upwards when his eyes finally spotted you. There you stood, glittering in a hazy sea of strung-out blurs adorned in the black miniskirt and silver halter top. He’d been moving that outfit to the front of your cluttered closet during his routine visits to your empty condo while you sunbathed next to the complex’s pool in the most conservative one-piece swimsuit you had. Terry swiped all the tiny bikinis you owned on his first inconspicuous venture into your empty bedroom, the evidence of which now lay neatly folded in his dresser drawer. Normally he’d work his way up to petty thievery, but it was a necessary risk to take. How else could he ensure outside eyes didn’t linger on what he silently declared was his, the moment he’d laid eyes on it…

Terry met you exactly a year ago last week at some trendy art gala in Beverly Hills. He’d stumbled upon you, sitting on the terrace rail in a fetching cream gown almost as if you were contemplating flying off into the starry night sky like an enchanting swan. But in one hasty conversation Terry came to realize you were more akin to a black mare, a free spirit immune to his charm. A beautiful yet fully untamable party girl with a captivating aura of intrigue surrounding you. How you ended up at a sophisticated gala was beyond him in the last year he’d learn night clubs and house parties in the Hills was your prerogative at least when you weren’t holed up in your swanky corner office. You kept a surprising balance between work and play, a balance Terry wouldn’t quite achieve till his early to mid-forties and here you were mastering it just shy of thirty. That steely ambition was all it really took for Terry Silver to become infatuated with you. Though the conversation you gave him that evening was equal in measure to the passive niceties one would share with a cashier at the grocery store. Thus began a yearlong game of cat and mouse.

For months after the gala, you appeared uninterested in him despite all the “chance” run ins and “spontaneous” cocktail invites Terry meticulously sent your way. Terry tried to be “discreet” about his yearning for you at first, even as tedious as it was. That was way before he realized you were merely making a game out of the chase at his expense like the wild mare you were at heart. Terry caught on to your coy little game during one of his chance run ins with you on Rodeo Drive. Intrigued alarm bells were ringing his head when you suspiciously delighted him with trivial small talk over lunch for an entire afternoon, up until then you’d been incredibly frivolous. Terry considered it a win if he was fortunate enough to hold you up for an hour or so on your weekly trip to the grocery store. He had basically made it impossible for you to avoid him or sneak away anyway, he all but glued himself to your side as you rolled up and down routine aisles of produce. Never questioning why he’d strayed so far from Malibu to linger by your side amongst pints of Ben and Jerrys in west Hollywood. He had thought perhaps you hadn’t noticed but it was quite the contrary, you had noticed.

It struck him over lunch that day on Rodeo drive when you nonchalantly let it slip you and your friend Bea would be attending one of the four raves in LA that weekend. You had the gall to tack on a cute “You’re welcome to join us” with a coy smile etched on your plump lips and mischief swirling in your big eyes. Terry couldn’t help but smirk, taking in your thick fluttering lashes. He found your very first attempt at lying to him right through your pearly little teeth surprisingly endearing. He had already seen the phrase “Napa Valley with Bea” elegantly scribbled in pink ink on the calendar you had sitting on the desk in your home office. A million thoughts raced through his mind at that very moment.

Part of him wanted to call you out on your lie right then and use it as an excuse to “lure” you into the back his Ferrari, whisking you back to his Malibu mansion whether you wanted to or not was beyond the point. The image of you stripped bare and bound on your knees in front of his California king, begging for forgiveness and mercy among other things was quite tempting after all. But what would it get him in the end? He could fuck you hard and raw until you were incapable of forming coherent thoughts or words let alone, running away from him. You certainly wouldn’t be out roaming the droves of sordid LA raves you seemed most privy to into the early hours of the morning if he had. But breaking in a rouge mare was no easy feat. Regardless of whether you break a horse in hard or soft, it requires time, patience, good groundwork, and attention to detail. Luckily, Terry Silver was an expert at all of the above in his greying age…

So, after weighing his options he decided to take you up on your coy little game. He could play along and let his prized mare think she had the reigns for quite some time, and he had. Terry waited an entire day before coincidentally running into you and Bea on your oh so, “last minute “, Napa Valley getaway. Your aura was more aloof than usual that day, but your big eyes gave away your dumbfounded wonder when he strode into the hotel lobby like some aplomb show pony. And that dumbfounded, endearing sort of wonder swirled in those big eyes every night Terry managed to track down his unbroken little mare since. Surely tonight would be no different once you finally spotted him lingering coolly in the back of yet another lively LA bar for the hundredth time in the past few weeks. But, most unbeknownst to you, his prized untamed mare, tonight would be very different… It was finally time for, Terry Silver to finish breaking you in properly and he knew just how to do it. He’d been planning it meticulously for weeks now, the perfect corral for his free spirit was set, decked out quite lavishly and sat out on the Malibu beachfront. Now, all Terry had to do was get you there, which shouldn’t be too hard, he clocked your subtle jealous tendencies when you found him engaging Bea in polite albeit meaningless conversation at some bar in the Valley last week, when you’d finally found your way back from the bathroom. It was quick, a mere flicker in those big eyes of yours in the warm bar lighting but it was enough for Terry to perceive a degree of unspoken but requited loyalty on your part. That was all the proof he really needed that you were finally ready to let go of this frivolous game. To finally let him “ride you”, metaphorically speaking, whether you knew it consciously now or not. If you didn’t know it now, you’d know it by Friday evening Terry was sure. After all, if there was one thing Terry Silver knew how to do without a doubt, it was throwing a party….

“They don’t know that I love you…

I broke you just to own you…”

Terry pushed himself off the wall, his lips still curled in a smug predatory smirk as he eyed you from afar. Your doe-like eyes looked bored while they surveyed your surroundings quite pointedly as Bea rambled in your ear about something trivial, most assuredly. If it weren’t for the hordes of ogling eyes from young vulture-like reprobates on you at present, Terry would be keen to watch you like this all night. Those doe eyes gave way the fact they’d been looking for him for quite a while in all their feigned innocence, silently begging for him to swoop in and save you from your untamed proclivities. Begging to be broken…

“You’ll get what you’re begging for soon enough, sweetheart…” Terry cooed under his breath, letting his legs carry him to your shimmering corner of the cluttered dance floor. He knew ignoring you in that little black skirt and silver halter top was going to be hard. Terry had never longed to touch anything the way he longed to touch you but ignoring his little prize was a necessary measure to ensure you’d show up at his mansion hot and ready. So, Terry straightened out his Tom Ford blazer and ran a large hand through his nearly silver hair coolly. His eyes bore into you intensely enough for you to finally meet his gaze across a sea of blurred gyrating bodies, everything around him always seemed to fade when you were around. Every high he had in his youth failed in comparison to the one his ethereal free spirit provided him, how he lived without you all these was beyond him. But that would all be remedied come Friday, he’d make up for every ounce of lost time…

Terry closed in on you and Bea, feigning a polite smile, he watched as a dusty pink blush spread across your cheeks. Your plump lips fought the urge to curl into one of your coy little smiles as you eyed him up with dilated pupils. The rapid rise and fall of your ample breasts made you look like a dog in heat, Terry had to bite back an ominous chuckle at the sight of you before him.

“Good evening, fancy running into you here” Terry said charmingly, he finally peeled his steely blue eyes off your curvy form and let them settle on Bea with a coquettish aura. Bea was the type of girl he would’ve dated at the height of his coke heydays. She was the hallow type of pretty you’d find on the cover of Vouge with a personality to match or lack thereof, the type of girl he’d take to a charity gala and nothing. You on the other hand were quite pretty but in a petite cute, ingenue beauty type of way that most people wouldn’t find intimidating. You made up for that with your exuberant, quick witted, occasionally sarcastic charm.

“Look what the cat dragged in Bea, we’ve been standing in this corner of the dance floor all alone for almost two hours now, did you get lost?” You quipped coyly, Terry saw your signature coy smile twitch on your plump lips out of the corner of his eye and fought the urge to let his eyes stray from Bea. Bea looked up at him before looking at you almost anxiously as she realized he was talking to her, and only her. Terry let the wave of awkward silence stretch on for quite some time, his blue eyes bore into Bea expectantly. Silently urging her to put her dry personality to the side and play along with his little game long enough for him to slip her a meticulous invite.

“Oh, uh, Mr. Silver what brings you to Warwick…” Bea trailed awkwardly, Terry maintained his polite smile though internally he was rolling his eyes. He would trudge through tedious trivial small talk with your snooze box of a friend for you, and only you.

“Oh, you know just out on the town, they have a more intimate lounge just upstairs for us oldies. My friends packed it in early, so I thought I’d come down and see what all you young darlings were buzzing about.” Terry said in the same mildly coquettish tone. He allowed himself to glance at you long enough to catch the way you were adorably grinding your teeth as you glanced between him and Bea with a faux aura of aloofness. Terry fought a giddy smirk as he watched your ample breasts rising and falling faster than they had even a moment ago. You were silently seething already, and he hadn’t even mentioned the party yet.

“Don’t be silly Mr. Silver, you’re not that old, you blend in down here just fine” Bea said still looking incredibly awkward under his gaze. Her brown eyes seemed to be silently pleading with you to save her from whatever was brewing between the three of you right now. Your eyes bore into him, lit up by the hues of flickering lights as a new wave of intensified synths poured through the speakers overhead. If it weren’t for the obnoxious club atmosphere one might say the stare off the pair of you were having was pulled right out of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. An exasperated huff escaped you plump lips as you finally turned you seething gaze towards Bea. Terry let his polite smile falter just so, getting the urge his prized filly was gearing up to buck at any moment.

“Don’t be silly Bea, you don’t have to lie to Terrence just because he’s a billionaire. He is that old and he really doesn’t blend in with us young commoners in his Tom Ford blazer now, does he. You know, aside from the fact its 85 degrees outside (29 degrees Celsius 😉)” you said in a biting yet sickly-sweet kind of tone with some attempt at a sinister smirk on your face. And there it was, Terry chuckled under his breath at the pointed usage of his full name you’d be paying for that little jab at his greying age real soon…

“Y/N, that was rude…” Bea muttered to you softly, it was nearly impossible to hear over the blaring of supposed music above them. Terry waved his hand dismissively, pulling an emerald, green envelope with an elegant, gold wax seal out of his blazer pocket before you could respond. Your big eyes swirled with eager curiosity at the sight of the lone invitation clutched in his large hand, Terry did his best not to let such an endearing look dissuade him from the task on hand. He assured himself he could relish such a look in due time as he forced yet another polite smile; he settled his blue eyes on Bea once more.

“That’s quite alright, I’ll be heading back up to my rightful place on the lounge sofa Y/N just as soon as I give Bea this…” Terry said weaponizing the sickly-sweet biting tone you had just used on him with an almost sadistic look in his eyes. Your face fell astronomically though you did your best to play it off with your signature aloof expression, but your eyes appear slightly…glassy as they peered over at the emerald envelope. Honestly, the look in your eyes was enough to have the faintest twinge of guilt bubbling in the older man’s chest, a feeling the coke had numbed for quite some time. “It’ll all be better Friday, sweetheart you’ll see” Terry replayed the thought in his head like a mantra in the brief stretch of silence that lingered in the air.

“Um, what is it…” Bea trailed looking at the letter with a constrained look in her eyes. The twitch of Bea’s hand suggested she wanted to take it, but your sudden withdrawn expression made her hesitate. Terry considered the fact that maybe he was taking this a step too far but how else could he make sure you waltzed into his mansion Friday evening? One split second decision would allow him to both wrap up this tedious small talk foreplay and strike hard with no mercy.

“It’s an invitation to the party I’m hosting Friday evening, I’m willing to give you the details if you accompany me to my rightful place on the lounge sofa” Terry said in a tone that managed to be charming towards Bea and mocking towards you all at once. Bea’s dry expression for once looked dumbfounded, her brown eyes looked between the two of you, equal amounts conflicted. You, however, were gritting your teeth again with a fire a blaze in though big eyes of yours. Terry didn’t fight the urge to smirk, instead he turned and looped an arm with a still dumbfounded Bea and guided her a fair distance through the droves of strung-out blurs on the dance floor. He ignored Bea’s soft cries of protest though he felt her trying her hardest to unloop her stringy arm from his. “Strike first, Strike Hard, No Mercy” a new mantra swirls in Terry’s head and he forces himself to a stop in the middle of the cluttered club floor. He turns to meet doe eyed gaze with a giddy, sadistic smirk that leveled the one he bore in the dojo with the ghost of his lost friend John Kreese all those years ago…

“Oh, Y/N, you’re welcome to join us” the words float out of his mouth tauntingly. The blaze in your eyes dies down just enough for a smirk to curl onto your lips.

“…He knows how to get the best of me

I’m no fool for the world to see

Trade my whole life just to be….”

😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

#thomas ian griffith #terry silver #terry silver smut #terry silver x reader #the cult of tig

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flodaya · 5 months

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What is Z supposed to do in the met? The people in charge of the interviews are others, the after party is also in charge of others, does anyone know that he did dua lipa last year?

honestly i think it's just an "honor" for the ones chosen rather than them having actual resposibilities

allegedly they are invovled in the planning and preperation of the event but idk how true that is

they're also welcoming guests, i believe, so Z cant arrive as the last person on monday which yay for us

and they're attending a pre-met gala dinner at Anne Wintour's house Sunday night

#ask

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iwanthermidnightz · 5 months

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Karlie was hanging out with Daniel Roseberry at a Pre-Met Gala party yesterday? Oh worm maybe she *is* wearing Schiaparelli to the Met Gala tomorrow 👀🤞

I love this so much and saw this coming months ago, if true of course! It would be such a great choice!

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archiveofkloss · 5 months

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may 5, 2024 / new york city, new york

karlie kloss attended UTA’s pre-met gala soirée yesterday 🤍 here she is pictured with dan constable, gabrielle bird-vogel, blair kohan, and cynthia erivo!

#karlie kloss #05052024 #new york city #pre met gala party #met gala #met gala 2024

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morrones · 1 year

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Camila Morrone in an Audrey Hepburn inspired look for the Vogue Magazine pre Met Gala party

#camila morrone #cmorroneedit #photoshoot #userlolo #usermorgan #userneptune #dailywomen

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femalestunning · 1 year

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AMANDA SEYFRIED photographed by Greg Williams at Cartier’s 2023 Met Gala Pre-Party

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firstelevens · 5 months

Text

traveling on (and it won't be long)

sam/bucky | alternate universe (formula one au) | 2.6k words | rated g

The drivers from Team Stark get invited to the Met Gala and produce some content for their socials on the way. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

My beloved @sesamestreep texted me yesterday about the F1 AU boys attending the Met Gala, and naturally her wish is my command. Enjoy!

( also on AO3 )

Over the course of his career, Bucky has done no shortage of things that made him look stupid. There was his exclusively-cavorting-with-young-royals-on-yachts phase, the two years (pre-Alpine, of course) where his Instagram was exclusively thirst traps, that one summer when he decided to go blond…all terrible choices, in retrospect, and all things that he regrets. One thing he can say for all those phases, though, is that at least they were fun at the time.

He would give anything to be able to say that about today.

‘If one more person tells me to relax, I’m going to lie down on the floor and scream,’ he texts Steve, because Sam’s probably on lap twenty of a race right now, and Becca would probably just tell him to suck it up.

‘How are you still this bad at being on camera?’ Steve replies.

‘Peter used to just let me argue with Sam and hit record. These guys are making me read from CUE CARDS.’

Steve just sends him a laughing emoji in response, because he’s a traitor. (But then he follows up with a picture of Ellie and her baby brother playing with fingerpaint to cheer him up, because apparently siding with Steve in a fight against two boys twice their size was the right call when Bucky made it thirty years ago.)

It’s his own fault, maybe. If Bucky had spent less of his last year on the grid antagonizing the higher ups at Tuono, Rhodey and Nat would have had to spend considerably less time trying to placate them, and then they wouldn’t have had the leverage they needed to get Bucky to agree to this.

The director calls for everyone to get set up for another take, and Bucky stands on his mark again, shaking out his shoulders and trying to reach for the charming version of him from the yacht parties and all those videos with Sam. When they call action, Bucky looks at the camera, pretends that it’s Sam, and lets the smile spread across his face as he reads from the cards: “I’m Bucky Barnes and today is the first Sunday in May. It’s time to get ready with me and Team Stark to go to the 2026 Met Gala.”

He doesn’t actually fall to the floor in relief when the director declares, after eighteen takes, that they’ve finally got it, but it’s a near thing.

After the cue cards, they film Olivia as she talks the viewers through Bucky and Sam and Joaquín’s outfits for the events, and Bucky just has to ask her questions and let her talk, which is a relief. Bucky gets about fifteen seconds after that to check the results of the race in Montreal and text Sam an emphatic, ‘CONGRATULATIONS I LOVE YOU SO MUCH’ immediately followed by an equally sincere, ‘they’re making me film my skincare routine you owe me so big after this.’

He knows that Sam won’t get around to checking his phone until much later, not until after the cooldown room and interviews and the presentation of the trophies, but still. If Bucky can’t pull him aside and kiss the hell out of him in a quiet corner the way did after all their races last year, the least he can do is be sure there’s a text waiting for whenever Sam gets to it.

Then he trudges to the bathroom vanity, where there’s a ring light and a camera set up by the mirror and a sound guy standing in the shower, reminds himself that he’s doing this because of how much he loves Sam, and launches into an explanation of the facial cleanser he uses and how important hydration is for race car drivers.

By the time the crew packs up for the night, they’ve filmed skincare, haircare (an overnight mask made by a New Orleans small business), and gotten footage of Bucky doing a Korean face mask (he looked ridiculous, but Olivia did one with him in solidarity, because she’s the best). As Bucky closes the door behind the last person to leave, he looks around the suite, now ringing in its emptiness, and falls into bed without even turning off the lights.

—

It’s not until morning that Bucky even remembers to check his phone. He’d plugged it in to charge far away from where they were filming, to avoid the temptation to check for replies from Sam every few minutes, and he’d been too tired to retrieve it at night. He swipes through his texts as he sits up in bed: selfies that he and Olivia took with the face masks on, pictures from Steve of Ellie and Jamie covered in paint after their art session, and then a stack of notifications from Sam. The earliest ones are from last night, a series of hearts and a ‘ thank you, baby’ in response to Bucky’s congratulations, then laughter at Bucky’s unwitting transformation into a skincare influencer, and a message that says, ‘guess I’ll have to think of some way to repay you for everything’ followed by that weird smirky emoji that shouldn’t make Bucky blush as hard as it does.

The rest are just updates: a good night text from when Sam went to bed, a message from around seven AM about a weird dream he’d had involving a tortoise, and then messages about heading for the airport and getting on the plane. Bucky replies to the very last one and then sets off in search of some kind of caffeine before the cameras come back in.

He doesn’t realize until much later that his ‘love you, see you soon’ text to Sam was only half true. They’re doing his makeup—eyeliner is involved, enough that he’s irrepressibly reminded of the era where his style icon was Pete Wentz—when Bucky notices that there’s only one camera in the room today instead of three. When he asks about it, the makeup artist tells him they had to split up the cameras between the three rooms, which she appreciated because she’d been worried that they would get in her way.

Bucky says something about how it must be hard to weave around all of that and do such delicate work, and she agrees, but really all that he’s thinking about is the fact that there are two other rooms. Some part of his brain had just assumed that Sam would be here getting ready alongside him, that they’d have at least gotten to see each other while being corralled into makeup and hair and wardrobe. He knows that Sam’s outfit has enough architectural detail that they can’t share a car there, but he’d hoped that they could at least swing a couple minutes with each other before he had to relinquish Sam to his adoring public. (And they are adoring, not that Bucky can blame them.) Something in Bucky’s chest sinks a little bit, but he swallows it and keeps chatting, very aware of the camera pointed directly at his face.

As it turns out, there’s a staggered schedule for Sam and Bucky and Joaquín to finish getting ready and head out, and Bucky’s up first. Olivia sweeps into his room right as they’re putting the finishing touches on his hair, one last tweak of the flowers tucked into the bun at the back of his head and a spritz of hairspray for the hair that’s down and brushing his shoulders as he turns his head.

“You look amazing,” she says, beaming at him. He grins and thanks her, then grins even wider when she takes a step forward and adjusts the lapels of his jacket, fussing with how the necklaces sit and adjusting the way his cape drapes over his shoulder.

He steps back for final approval when she’s done, turning to the side so she can get a better look at the cape. “Am I up to your standards? I won’t bring shame to your good name if people know you’re my stylist?”

“With your jacket collection? Never,” laughs Olivia.

She gives his hand a squeeze before she shoos him out the door, and he calls over his shoulder, “Go get dressed already! How are you gonna upstage us if you’re not on time?”

“There’s one person here who’s gonna be doing the upstaging,” she says, “and it’s not me or you.”

As Bucky is ushered out towards the elevators, he sees Peter at the end of the hall, holding the door open for someone carrying an oversized garment bag. There’s a little bit of coral fabric peeking out, just like the material of Sam’s outfit, and for a second, Bucky thinks about making a break for the room. He’s an adult, he reasons. It’s not like they could stop him if he ran.

But then the elevator opens, and the camera operator gets in first, immediately turning to get a shot of Bucky at the doors, and he resigns himself to waiting a little bit longer as he steps in.

Bucky has attended exactly one other Met Gala before, when he was twenty-four and dating a British model who was maybe also some kind of duchess. He’d just been scenery back then, dressed all in black so as to avoid taking away from her outfit, which had involved so many ruffles in the skirt that she couldn’t even sit down in the car on the way over. As the door opens and he steps out of the car, Bucky finds himself wishing he was that invisible again, just for a second.

Then he remembers how hard Olivia has worked for months now, how excited the young designers had been when the team had gotten in touch about dressing the three of them. There simply isn’t a universe where Bucky allows himself to let them down, so takes a deep breath and straightens his back and steps out onto the red carpet.

Once he’s high up enough on the stairs, he undoes the tie that’s holding up the train of his cape, hopes that the damn thing works, and keeps walking. He only knows that the fabric unfolded properly when he hears the soft noise of silk flowers tumbling out in his wake, spreading out into a train as he goes. He tries not to look too pleased with himself and hopes to God that it was the right angle for photos.

He’s just made it up to where people are being greeted and interviewed by a young woman who looks familiar. He’s seen her face on posters, and though he doesn’t know her name, she knows his. He tries not to feel too bad about it when she tells him how much she enjoyed this season of Need for Speed , and he opens his mouth to thank her when a ripple of gasps carry down the stairs, loud enough to be heard over shouting photographers and the ambient noise of so many people in one place.

“Did someone fall?” Bucky asks, looking ahead to where people are posing on the steps, but he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary there.

“I’m pretty sure they’re looking that way,” says the interviewer, grinning as she points down at the very bottom of the stairs.

He turns to see what she’s pointing at and feels his breath catch in his chest, a second too late to join the chorus.

Bucky has only ever seen Sam’s outfit in parts: sketches on the wall of Olivia’s studio and individual pieces tried on during fittings, mockups shared on video calls and swatches of fabric pinned up next to a Botticelli painting. They were all too disjointed to form any kind of picture, and Bucky had trusted Olivia enough to know that the effect was worth waiting for.

Now, as he looks down towards Sam, he’s not sure that ‘worth waiting for’ does him any kind of justice.

His arms are bare, rings and bracelets glittering on his hands as a gold filigree cuff wraps around his bicep. The coral and gold fabric of his vest and pants must be tailored down to the millimeter for how they hug his body, and there’s a gold headpiece creating a halo around him like the one Bucky sometimes thinks he might have in real life.

And though Sam sometimes feels to Bucky larger than life—in his talent, in his kindness, in the vastness of his love—now he looks the part, too, the cape that’s settled on his shoulders arcing high up behind him in two curves like an enormous set of angel’s wings. It’s layer upon layer of soft, floaty fabric, coral giving way to pinks and purples and eventually a deep ocean blue that just sweeps the floor as Sam walks.

There are flashbulbs going off and people murmuring excitedly around him, but all Bucky can do is stare at Sam, watching as he jokes with a photographer and throws his head back in a delighted laugh. Bucky has taken his first step down before he even realizes it, then stops where he is.

He thinks again of the last time he was on this carpet, of how the greatest worry was that he would be a distraction and he was kept well clear of the pictures until it was decided that he could come back in. He couldn’t do that to Sam, not when he’s so utterly glorious a picture all on his own.

“He looks incredible,” says the interviewer, who Bucky really should apologize to. He’s about to do it, too, to say sorry and try to answer at least one of her questions before moving on, but his eyes are still on Sam, and he knows that he should tear them away except…except…

Except now it’s Sam who’s looking up at him , eyes wide. He would feel the weight of that gaze from a mile away, would know in an instant that it was Sam whose eyes were tracing the lines of his body. He would know the smile that spreads across Sam’s face, too: slow and satisfied and with its own gravitational pull, for all that Bucky can’t turn away from it.

The smile would be enough for Bucky, really. He’s well aware that he ought to be moving on, that people are looking impatiently at him from their various stations, but then Sam catches Bucky’s eye, raises a hand, and beckons him down.

There’s no way that people are supposed to be doing this, thinks Bucky, as he hurries down the stairs, but there’s no way that he’ll lose even a second of being at Sam’s side, not if he can help it.

He’s almost tempted to hover a few paces away, just so he’s out of shot, but Sam extends a hand to him before Bucky even makes it to the last step, interlacing their fingers as soon as Bucky’s hand lands in his.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, all warmth as he pulls Bucky towards him.

Bucky shrugs, not even bothering to hide his smile. “Well, you know, I didn’t have anything else planned tonight, so I thought I’d see what the fuss was about.”

Sam raises their joined hands and kisses Bucky’s knuckles, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s own. “You want to find out together?”

“Always.”

—

The next morning finds about five dozen texts from Becca and Steve on Bucky’s phone, every possible angle on Bucky’s awestruck face as he looked at Sam on the red carpet. None of them are particularly flattering, his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide in pure wonder.

Still, Bucky thinks, as Sam curls an arm around him and wordlessly grumbles about being woken up too early, this time, maybe he’s okay with looking a little bit stupid.

#happy first monday in may y'all #sambucky #sambucky fanfic #sambucky f1 AU #my fic #down to the WIRE but I finished it while it was still temporally relevant so THERE #sesamestreep

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