Director of the Gucci
Cruise2018 film campaign, Chuck Grant attended the Gucci Spring Summer 2018
fashion show in a Gucci Pre Fall 2017 Flora snake printed dress and patent
T-strap pumps with lip detail, a silver leather clutch with pearl and feline
Imagine: dressing up for a case and Sam is a little too interested in the disguise.
Sam x Reader
(Smut, at least smuttier than usual. Actually it’s Smut Lite, not the whole can of smut. Oh and language.)
Dale Howard was a professor at an University. He taught English and five years ago was the victim of a restless spirit. The Winchesters’ saved his life. He contacted Dean now with a new problem. There had been a few deaths on campus that were written off by local PD, but Dale remained convinced something else was at fault. Dean promised they would check it out. The crime scenes still reeked of sulfur when they got there, but their leads turned cold until Dale admitted to seeing his student’s eyes flicker black for a second. Unfortunately, the classes were so big that he didn’t know the student’s name, only the class time. So they came up with the plan: one goes undercover as the T.A. and the other two as students. They pinpoint the demon, capture, and gank the son of a bitch thusly saving the student body from an untimely reprieve of their student loans.
You looked at your form in the full length mirror smoothing out the fabric of the black pencil skirt. You adjusted the belt for the umpteenth time and readjusted your stark white blouse unable to relax in the clothes. With every movement the shirt seemed to untuck from the gray vest. You sighed finally adjusting your glasses. Your hair was slightly messy, but you didn’t dare fix it lest the shirt untuck. You looked different from the usual hunter garb and it was a good kind of different. You slipped on some t-strap pumps and stumbled out of the bedroom Dale had been kind enough to let you sleep in.
Dean and Sam were at the kitchen table. Dale had already left to prepare for earlier classes. Shock crossed Dean’s face, but it relaxed into a smug bemused smirk. Sam’s nose remained unusually tucked into a book. Dean grinned as you walked towards them.
“Oh c'mon! I think I look okay.” You chided Dean. “Why are you laughing?”
“No, no. You look great Y/n. Just like a teacher.” He turned to Sam smacking his arm. “Doesn’t Y/n look like a teacher?”
You shot Dean a questioning look at his weird annunciation antics. Sam barely glanced from his book, but his eyebrows nearly flew off his face. He swallowed, mouth hanging open.
“You… you look good.” He swallowed again returning his to the book, but his eyes flickered from the page to you again.
You looked between the boys, suspicion washing over your features. “Look, I know my hair’s messy but I can’t fix it without untucking my shirt.”
Dean chuckled, “Hey, Y/n Sam couldn’t figure out a word in his book. Maybe you should take a look at it.”
“I’m going to go wait out in the car till you’re ready to go.” Dean grabbed his jacket briefly turning to Sam who glared at him before he left.
You moved to Sam’s side and leaned forward to see the book. He sat back to give you room, but your hand was on the back of his chair while the other lay by the book. The top buttons of your shirt had been left unfastened and he clenched his fists till his nails bit into the palm of his hand. His managed to meet your eyes just as you turned to look at him. He clenched his jaw trying to hold back from ripping your shirt open.
“So, which word was it?”
He let out a ragged sigh as part of your shirt tightened across the bust becoming opaque enough for him to see the outline of your bra. He stuck his finger randomly on the page. You turned the book toward you slightly, planting your elbows on either side. Sam desperately tried to focus on the curve of your cheek where your hand supported your head, but they betrayed his will, sliding down the curve of your back to where the skirt hugged tightly. He almost grabbed your hips and pulled them back into his. He shifted suddenly becoming very aware his body was giving away his thoughts. He turned his body trying to casually cover his lap with his arm. You tugged on your lower lip with your teeth and he almost groaned, visions of pushing you against the table, hiking up your skirt, and causing you to scream out in pleasure on the damn book flashed in his mind.
You looked over page. His finger had definitely landed on the word “the”. The only other word it could have been was “late” or maybe “era”, but unless Sam had suddenly become illiterate to three lettered words you weren’t sure what he didn’t understand. You dug your toe thoughtfully into the floor trying to catch a word in the text he could have meant to point to. Finding nothing, you glanced at Sam. His jaw was tight, his expression so hard he might’ve been angry if not for his eyes. He stared straight at you, eyes darker than usual with pupils fully dilated. For a moment, you could almost feel his hands hungrily grabbing beneath your blouse. You breathed in sharply, the thought sending a quick erotic pang between your thighs. He grit his teeth, then shot forward. You barely stood up when his hands roughly brushed over your back, grabbed your ass, and hoisted you onto your table. Your skirt rolled up as he moved between your legs, hand grabbing the back of your neck forcing your head to tilt back. His lips crashed into yours in a bruising passionate kiss that ripped a moan from your throat. His hands moved to your chest where he massaged and teased your breast, then pressed down your sides where he grabbed your hips and pulled them to him. He was unbearably hard and when your panties rubbed against him and you shuddered biting your lip he nearly ripped the damn things off and had you right then. He growled ripping back your collar to expose a shoulder. He pressed his nose against it before biting gently. You gasped when he pulled away. He pushed back his hair still half crazed with lust. Both of your pants filled the air. You licked your lips. They still tasted like him.
“I’m going to car or we’ll never leave.” Sam’s voice was deeper than usual.
He slammed the door behind him unable to cope with the roar of testosterone racing in his system. You were left still splayed on the kitchen table shivering at the ghost of his touches.
It’s time to deck the halls, dance around to holiday jingles and contemplate the little things - we mean the accessories, of course. When it comes time to get dolled up, all the little extras, like shoes, jewelry and even perfume, are just as important as that dress you’ve been dying to wear. We scoured your favorite stores to find the most glamorous, classic, elegant and eclectic accessories for holiday parties, social events and everything else in your calendar. From pretty and pink to black and gold, find the perfect party pieces for you, below.
fic: Let Your Heart Be Light (Olicity, Rated M) chapter 3/14
Let Your Heart Be Light (13129 words) by callistawolf Chapters: 3/14 Fandom: Arrow (TV 2012) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak Characters: Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak, Thea Queen, Roy Harper, Tommy Merlyn, Moira Queen, Walter Steele, Laurel Lance, Sara Lance, Malcolm Merlyn Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Romantic Fluff, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut Summary: Oliver takes Felicity shopping for a holiday wardrobe and a little more insight is shed on how they feel about one another going into the Great Christmas Ruse. Author’s Note: Seriously, you guys, the outpouring of support for this story is amazing. Thank you EVERYONE for your favorites, likes, kudos, comments, reviews, reblogs… I had no idea that everyone else would love a “cheesy Christmas romance AU” as much as I do. Now we’re getting down to the meat of the story and for anyone who was worried about the previous appearance of the Lance sisters: they don’t feature very heavily in this story. This is all about Olicity, friends!
Felicity was still second-guessing her decision to go along with Oliver’s insane plan when he showed up at her town house the next afternoon. She was pacing the floor of her living room, chewing her lower lip and running her damp palms over her jeans when there was a knock at her door. She grabbed her phone and purse from the table next to the door and flung it open.
Oliver stood on the step, big smile in place. “I said thank you last night, didn’t I? Can I say it again?”
“Just make sure I don’t regret this,” she warned him, stepping out and then turning around to lock her door.
“It’ll be fun! Have you ever done Christmas before?” he asked.
“Once,” she admitted, turning back to him and gesturing for him to lead the way. He walked down the steps and towards the shiny crossover parked at the curb. “I went home with my roommate for the holidays my sophomore year at MIT. It was fun, but I had to sleep on the bottom bunk of a bunkbed. Underneath her 8 year old brother. Not a highlight, I assure you.”
i bought a flapper dress for $30 today with beading and sequins and a drop-waist skirt and i tried it on with my t-strap pumps and oh my gosh i need someone to invite me to a Gatsby themed new years eve party stat