#Ostentatious Orange

[aluciahaz]

Sub Adam smut pleasepleasepleaspelalslePLEASEPLEASE i NEED that dickhead to be put in his place I am BEGGING (fem reader<3)

my favorite genre is putting adam in his place 🤝 also how do writers make text yellow on mobile all i could find was orange 💀

know your place

— adam x f!reader

—includes : pegging, crying, begging, bondage, edging, bottom!adam, dom!fem reader

he’s pathetic.

adam, the first man, seemed more like an annoying bird than an angel as he kept boasting about his status and yapping about his dumb stories. how could someone so renowned as him be such a brat?

it was clear he needed some training.

and if no one was going to teach him on how to shut up, you’ll do it yourself.

“mfph—! mmmh!”

adam’s incomprehensible whines sounded better than any foolish joke he’d try and tell you.

his mouth was covered, his hands were bound, and his eyes were blinded with the fabric ripped off of his ostentatious clothes.

the tears stemming from his woeful desperation soaked into the makeshift blindfold, but still streamed down his face like a weak river. the way his mouth quivered around the spit-covered cloth was so pathetic that it was almost endearing.

almost.

if only he wasn’t such a dick all the time, maybe you’d have some more empathy.

his body is trembles as he arches his back again, a loud cry leaving his restrained mouth once more as you drive your strap inside of him, constantly hitting the spot that made him feel like he was in heaven. or well, another heaven.

the vibrator on his tip certainly was helping him feel like he was ascending too.

although, unfortunately for him, the cock ring stopped him from truly meeting god. or maybe lucifer, considering how sinful this all was.

his wings would flail beneath him like a caught dove, flapping and batting against the soft bedsheets every time he got close.

which of course, you’d follow it up by slowing down both the vibrator and your hips.

it made him wail every time, slamming the back of his head down onto the pillow as he begged for you to let him come.

but how would you know? you couldn’t hear any words coming from his mouth.

“i didn’t quite catch that, what did you say?”

“mphf—mm!! mh—hm—hmm!”

he couldn’t speak even if he didn’t have the fabric between his lips. his mind was thoroughly melted, swirling with only thoughts of you and the pleasure he was experiencing. there was no way he could possibly be coherent.

the night keeps going like this. adam, the self-proclaimed best playboy around heaven, getting absolutely ruined by a woman. his weary moans and frail keens fell onto deaf ears. his begging, simply incomprehensible as you show him how weak he was under your touch. he doesn’t know how long it’s been, but surely too long!

too bad you don’t think so.

later, you finally pull off the makeshift gag after what you deem is enough time for him to remember that he’s just a feeble man when it comes to you. that you were the one who truly had the power around here.

“PLEASE! please—please please oh, fuck please—!” his voice would fray as it got higher, drool slipping down his bottom lip as he pleaded.

“please what?”

“plea—please…ha, lemme cum—ngh!” he grits his teeth as you thrust particularly roughly, raising the speed of the vibrator as you do so. it drives him insane, your cruelty.

“no.”

you could only describe his sound as a guttural scream, crying for you, his true goddess, to let him cum. it reeks of desperation, his writhing, his now jumbled mess of begging, his now breaking spirit.

he’s yours, yours, yours.

he doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud.

“i’m sorry—i’m sorryi’msorryi’msorry—PLEASE!” he whines, hoping that you’d take mercy on someone like him.

and finally, you do.

you were a kind angel after all, unlike him.

you rip the blindfold off of him, welcomed with his perfectly debauched face before lifting his legs over your shoulders—he really was flexible!—and taking the cock ring off, reveling in his beautifully demolished state.

“what do you say?”

“THANK YOU! thankyouthankyooou—fuckfuck FUCK!” he sucked in a breath before a long drawn out cry tumbles past his cracking lips, and for once, you like what’s coming out of his mouth.

with your word, adam finds his release, falling from his already corrupted grace. his eyes roll back like he’s died once more, his body, once so animated and jumpy, now stiff for a brief second as he rides his high.

you grab his chin, forcing him to look at you with that glazed over look in his eyes. you don’t even know if he can see you, but the action alone made him groan weakly in response.

“know your place.” you say, releasing his chin.

adam, once so full of himself, nods in agreement, sniffling as he tries to stop his crying.

a lesson well done, you think.

sorry if the words get repetitive ive been having headaches the past few days 😭 ill pull out my thinking cap soon

tags— @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

#hazbin hotel #sub hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel dom reader #sub adam #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #dom reader #bottom adam

[randomgurl2326]

Welcome To Th- Oh Shit… Part 1

A/N: I’ve been thinking about this particular idea for a while now. I hope you enjoy it, my little chalupas(if this does well, I’ll make a part 2)💚💜

As the Going Merry docked in the ship yard of the BARATIE the eccentric captain was out of his mind excited at the promise of food, the ostentatious navigator and the protective swordsman were trying to figure out why their captain could all of the sudden could navigate, and the ‘ferocious’ sharp-shooter was trying to calm down his best friend. The best friend being the introverted healer.

The healer was protesting and swinging at her best friend to let her go and trying to tell the bow in the straw hat that they should leave and forget about this place. Unfortunately for the girl, the captain had no such plans.

“Cap, c’mon, we have to go. This place,” the healer vaguely indicates to the fish structure, “is not all that it seems. Trust me, c’mon, man. I mean it really, let’s just go.”

Luffy looked at the girl incuriously, “why would we pass up food. I’m starving.” The boy captain called out to the navigator, “Nami! You almost done?”

The orange haired navigator gave an unenthusiastic thumbs up and said, “all good to go!”

“All eight, come on you big baby,” Usopp said, practically dragging his best friend I got he restaurant.

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

Inside the fish-like restaurant, the atmosphere is lively as the Straw Har Crew settles in. Th e/c woman looks a little nervous sitting ther, but stills plays nonchalant as her friends take there seats, or in Zoro’a case; struggle to sit.

“Having trouble there, oh so fearsome pirate hunter,” the healer mocks the green-haired swordsman. Zoro gives her an unimpressed look,”shut up.”

The h/c woman chuckles to herself as she looks about until a golden haired waiter came up to the group, her eyes widening.

“Hi. Welcome to our shitty restaurant, where the only thing worse than the ambiance is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you,” the golden-haired waiter asks, clearly annoyed and not noticing the two women yet.

The h/c woman clearly looks like she wants to die at the moment as the moss colored haired man looks at her with a questioning look.

The curly haired captain answers with his mouth still stuffed with bread. “One of everything, please!”

Sanji looks over at him, still clearly not impressed, “Anything to drink? One of our signature cocktails, to help you choke down your meal?”

As the blue-eyes waiter finished the h/c woman—clearly with more gained confidence—says, “I see your service still hasn’t changed, Sanji. Evey time Zeff decides to kick off the line, huh? Surprised he still even let’s you out here with how many women you flirt with.” Y/N said the last part more quiet, almost inaudible, but Sanji heard, he always heard.

The golden-haired waiter’s eyes widened at the sight of the woman and said, “and here I thought that I would never see you again, madame.” The next words that come out of his mouth are clearly meant full-heatedly, but come out a little tense. “Lovely to see you again, Y/N.”

“Cut the shit-“

Everyone at the table can tell the tension between the two, all them looking at each other questioningly. Bit the captain seemed confused to see the introverted woman so feisty towards the charming waiter.

The swordsman decided to help his friend and cut her off by saying, “waiter, can I get a beer for me and something for my friends,” he asked nodding over to the rest of the crew.

Usopp weighed in swiftly with his order, “two beers. I usually have three, but-“

The sharp-shooter was interrupted by the boy with straw hat, “and a milk!”

“Three beers and a milk. And uh, for the madame,” Sanji questions with a charming smile towards the orange-haired navigator.

Nami looks at him with a blink and an unimpressed voice, sensing her friends some-what dislike towards the guy, “water.”

Sanji keeps his award winning smile on his face as he asks, “still, sparkling, mineral? With ice or without? Cubed or crushed?”

Y/N scoffs, with a hard-look, her heart aching, “figures.”

Nami looks between the two before answering with a solemn voice and sort-of questioning voice, “regular water; in a regular glass, thanks.”

The flirtatious waiter then turns to the clearly aching girl with a love-stricken gaze(clearly only able to be told by the two) and say, “and for the one and only? Usual?”

The healer looks from Sanji’a eyes, to the ceiling, purses her lips and looks back to Sanji. “Actually, no. Bourbon. Double.”

“Ah, changing it up, are we, beautiful madame? Tell me, why would the missus change it up after all this time. Anyway, coming right up,” the flirtatious waiter says while leaving the crew.

Usopp blows out a big breath of air, puffing out his cheeks as everyone looks to the e/c girl. Nami, being the only one brave enough, asks, “what was that about? How do you know that guy?”

Y/N looks to where Sanji entered, and says with a small voice, without meeting her crew’s gaze and says, “that, my friend is my ex-husband. Who I am most definitely still in love with.”

The entirety of the crew looks at the woman with wide eyes and screech out—all in sink, “WHAT!?”

A/N: I definitely don’t know how to feel about this one, so please let me know how it was in the comments or olease DM me(or whatever you call it). I don’t know if this was a good one and this was my first time writing for Sanji after drooling over him for weeks. I really hope you guys liked it, and if you did please like or reblog. I live toy my little chalupas💚💜

#black leg sanji #sanji x you #sanji x reader #one piece #one piece live action #opla sanji #opla #opla cast #opla x y/n #opla luffy #opla x reader #opla x you #x reader #pirate hunter zoro #roronoa zoro #straw hat nami #op nami #buggy x reader #captain buggy #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #sanji fanart #op sanji #sanji #shanks #op usopp #opla ussop #opla usopp #going merry #shanks x reader

[milk-lover]

Something I love immediately about Glass Onion is that on a basic level it looks and feels So different than Knives Out. Most obviously is the setting and the colors. Both the Thrombey house and the Glass Onion are characters in their own right—Rian Johnson does an amazing job telling story through setting—but they are not at all similar. One is warm and cozy, autumnal, cramped, the home of a man obsessive murder mystery author. The other is bright, sleek, loud, summery, the ostentatious mansion of an indulgent billionaire. Browns and oranges and sepia vs white and blues and yellows. Wood accents vs glass. They feel completely different.

The easy, boring, lazy thing to do would have been to bank on the success and love for the original film, and stay in that comfortable autumnal coloring. Play on the positive associations of that feel of the first movie, and hope that it tricks the audience into loving this one too. Sooo many film makers would have done this. So many sequels do this. And it would have Ruined the film. I am So Happy Rian Johnson didn’t.

#glass onion #i purposely didn’t leave in spoilers! #go watch GO!!! #god i wish this had been in theaters :( #it would have been such a blast to see on the big screen

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw: Grudge Match

For the first time, the Archon War and its ending are subject to a second opinion.

(And that opinion is yours.)

Osial banks across the stormy sky, feathers of his right wing dipping into the clouds above, water and wind forming beads against his wingtips that follow him as he dips back down. You lend him your energy, and Electro arcs across the vast plumage of his wings and pools inside the beads.

He flaps his wing. A single storm bead rockets down from the sky.

Fishing boats and trading ships are reduced to soaked splinters and fractured metal. The remains of sails, now naught but tatters, writhe in the wind before falling into the sea.

Those who do not die from the sheer enormity of the impact drown in the harbor, bleed out from shrapnel of their own ships, or meet their end at the hands of your contributed Electro energy.

Within fifteen seconds, the harbor has been reduced to a graveyard, the ruined husks of an entire fleet now skeletons lying in deathless slumber on the seabed.

Osial laughs, wild and untamed, just this side of lost to mania, and he dives, his wings glimmering with Anemo.

The Golden House didn't really stand much of a chance.

Electrically-charged Mora are funneled en masse into the vortex above, glinting gold with lightning tails flowing up into the sky in chaotic patterns. Some magnetize against each other, some fly alone, others ricochet into the sea or embed themselves into the land.

Several unlucky souls are punched cleanly through by the symbol of their nation's prosperity, leaving gaping holes in their flesh and ruined bones.

Their screams, warped by the wind and rain and the song of thunder, are a beautiful chorus to you. A performance to welcome you home and give warning to those who foolishly stand against you.

Thunder roars, deafening, and lightning falls, piercing Millelith members. Rain weighs them down, wind steals their breath, and the wind chill robs even the most hale and hearty of a steady aim.

Osial flicks out another storm bead. Several buildings are blasted apart, their rubble crushing their neighbors, metal and stone and wood making a cacophony of ruin.

Entire lives are being uprooted. Centuries of tradition are vanishing under the onslaught. The work of thousands of human lives simply vanishes as it topples into the bay, the waves hungrily lapping at the base of the city and greedily swallowing all that cannot escape.

A small smile stretches over your face.

They deserve this.

With a flick of your wrist, the remaining Mora cluster together into a single massive ball, and you will it towards the wreckage of the city with a little mental exertion.

It crashes down into the heart of the city, right where Rex Lapis once died, and it then erupts as all the force keeping it together simply ceases to do so.

Golden coins and human gore scatter in every direction as fleeing civilians are reduced to mulch by this world's most ostentatious fragmentation explosive.

Osial howls in glee, currents of vicious wind tearing humans from the streets and into his waiting maw as he dives again and again.

In the distance, there is a roar.

The earth shakes to its foundations as immense stone pillars rip free, aimed for Osial, their normally flat tops ground to geometrically perfect diamond spearpoints.

"Morax," Osial sneers. "Come to watch your miserable excuse for a city die under my wings?"

The being that appears then is not Zhongli, or even Rex Lapis. It is Morax. An ancient dragon, Archon of Geo. The God of Contracts and War. This is no simple serpent, no puppet meant to be majestic and awe-inspiring - this is the war-form. The true face of a draconic god, plated in metals hewn from the heart of the world, innards glowing with yellow-orange energy.

This Morax is the face of death.

Morax roars in wordless fury at his old foe... but then his eyes catch sight of you.

The roar becomes deafening, full of such hatred and vitriol that Osial briefly forgets to fly from surprise, leading him to dive instead.

On some cruel instinct, you give Morax the smuggest, most shit-eating grin you can conjure, and you mouth 'where were you when they needed you?'

If looks could kill, Morax would have just reduced you to subatomic particles.

You gesture to Osial, your gift helping to subtly translate, and he launches up into the storm and the highest points of the atmosphere.

Morax follows, howling threats in a language you don't know.

(The elements lean forward in their seats. You've just invited them to the best fight this eon. Bets are already being made. Geo and Anemo both grin at the other, eager to see whose champion is superior.)

Meteors fall, carved apart by wind.

Voices carry for thousands of miles, roaring in pain and glee and fury.

Bones shatter, scales are torn apart, wounds ooze blood in quantities enough to bathe Liyue in a red rain... and Gods war.

On the ground, the storm has only increased in strength, now that so much more energy is being poured into the area.

Not helping is the hail of immense stone pieces.

Where godly blood lands, life is burnt away by the acidic touch of divinity.

Those who did not flee before can flee no longer without risking swift, painful death.

(Ganyu weeps, the work of thousands of years falling apart in less than five hours. What use were her labors?)

(Ningguang vanishes into a bunker beneath the stone, where she can wait out this chaos. She will build herself back up. This is simply a setback.)

(Hu Tao watches from a distant field as her home is utterly destroyed.

...some morbid little part of her gleefully remarks that business is about to be skyrocketing.)

(Shenhe is unaware of this happening, having been spirited away into Cloud Retainer's realm the moment said Adeptus realized just who had been given a burial at sea.)

(Yanfei is luckily out of the country right now, instead in Fontaine to deal with a reappearing case she'd long thought solved.)

(Xinyan assists in evacuation efforts, her flames burning away godsblood and rain to shelter those nearby.)

(Chongyun and Xingqiu barely manage to stem the tide of raging Hilichurls that are dead set on killing the escaping civilians.)

(Kequing lies in the collapsed rubble of a multi-story building, her Vision repeatedly shocking her as Electro takes the moment to be immensely petty.)

(Xiao drowns in his Karmic Debt, feathers trying to force their way through his skin as his more animalistic instincts refuse to obey.)

(Baizhu has already fled, knowing that he neither can be nor wishes to be of use in this fight. His work is not yet done.)

(Yaoyao stands guard over the population who have made it to her home village.)

(Yun Jin helps to gather scattered families back together amongst the crowds of refugees. Xiangling and her father work to feed the masses while they are all displaced.)

(Beidou watches the storm from the far horizon on the deck of the Alcor. Going in would be suicide, but not helping is just as unthinkable. She must choose, but the sheer weight of the choice is paralyzing. The fleet follows behind her, whether that is into certain death or into retreat.)

(Qiqi stands in the heaviest torrents of the storm. Where the blood of gods stains her skin, life is breathed back into dead flesh.))

Far above in the heavens, Osial and Zhongli are tangled, claws gouging into the new Anemo Archon's innards as coils attempt to shatter the Geo Archon's ancient spine.

There is a deafening crack as Morax's spine bends in a way it was never supposed to.

Ribbons of intestine hang from the massive wound in Osial's underbelly.

Both of them begin to fall to the face of Teyvat tens of thousands of miles below, and you are along for the ride.

Osial lets out a wheezy cackle as he tightens his grip on Morax, drowning in his own blood.

Morax writhes, wings unresponsive.

You hug yourself against Osial. Impact comes far sooner than you expected.

There is darkness.

When you wake, you are in the shallows of an immense crater, exactly where Liyue Harbor should have been. The moon glows pale white above you.

Shattered pillars and ruined buildings jut from the not-quite-bay.

Sitting next to you is a not-very-undead Qiqi. She gives you a relieved look when she sees you're alive. You offer her a thumbs up, as though that will solve the issue.

She accepts it with as much grace as anyone in her situation can and returns the thumbs up, smiling at you faintly.

Beneath you is Osial, dying from mortal wounds but still very alive. Somewhere in the distance is a similarly wounded Morax.

You climb down from your dying companion and come to face him.

"Ah... good. You still live. I did not fail you," Osial gurgles. "Thank you... for helping me settle the score, my maker."

You tell him to hold on. You're sure there's something you can do to heal him. He lets out an amused huff.

"Your kindness is touching, but I know my end is coming. I can feel the Abyss."

You refuse. Osial is yours, damn it. Your friend. Your first Archon. Your protector.

A feeling wells up inside of you.

He will not die. You won't allow it.

Your eyes burn as tears stream down your face. You rest a hand against his scaly face, and ask him to trust you one more time.

"Of course. Always."

You let your power flow. The world erupts into starlight as a new constellation is born, sky adorned with a new pattern of stars: Serpens Fidelis.

The loyal serpent.

Where once laid your dying companion is now a male of mortal human size, who sits up, obviously quite discombobulated. He manages to find his feet, though repeatedly stumbles as he takes his first steps.

Scarred tan skin faintly reflects the moonlight, bathing him in an ethereal glow. Silver locks of hair with deep blue accents seem to drink in the moonlight.

He turns to you, finally, and grins, canine teeth closer to fangs than human, Cherenkov blue eyes glimmering with undeniable joy.

"Thank you, my maker. This new form is far less damaged."

From his right hip dangles a Hydro vision. The Anemo Gnosis is in your hands instead. It appears the cost for his life was you reclaiming the archonhood you bestowed upon him.

He is otherwise entirely nude and doesn't particularly seem to notice this. Maybe that's because he's never had to wear clothes before.

You kindly point this out to him, more than a little embarrassed on his behalf, your hands over Qiqi's eyes so she doesn't see.

Holy shit, was he always that built?

He grins at you, shooting you a salacious wink. "Yes, yes. Get an eyeful of my statuesque physique. I worked for many years on it."

You ask how he managed that as best you can while dying of embarrassment.

"You become quite proficient at lifting weights and swimming at the same time while trying to struggle free of stone javelins pinning you to the seafloor," he says mildly.

He manipulates the water and stormclouds into a set of luxurious robes. A sash at his waist now holds the Hydro vision.

On his back rests a fragment of the Jade Chamber carved into a massive greatsword.

"Shall we gloat over our dying adversary together, my maker?"

Yes, this sounds like a phenomenal idea.

You let Qiqi go, now that Osial is not running a one-hydra nudist colony, and she follows behind the two of you like a lost puppy.

Morax has returned to the form of Zhongli by the time you get to him.

The Vortex Vanquisher lies shattered at his side, and hundreds of rips and tears in his clothes display his grievous wounds.

Osial confidently struts over.

"Why hello, hated enemy mine~"

Zhongli weakly snarls up at him, and also at you, his fists curling feebly at his sides.

"Damn you both. May the Creator strike you both down into the depths of the Abyss."

Osial lets out a small 'snrk', begins to lowly chuckle, and slowly escalates to peals of howling, gleeful laughter. Zhongli just looks offended while Osial laughs himself nearly sick.

"By the maker, you have no idea who you're talking to right now, do you?" He wheezes, tears in his eyes, clutching at his sides.

"The destroyer of my people and an abomination wearing the skin of the Creator of All." Zhongli fires back, indignant. "Are you blind?"

"Go ahead and pray for our maker to save you. See what happens," Osial says, grinning cruelly.

Zhongli murmurs a prayer for protection from evil.

A faint glimmer of magical energy escapes his lips and swirls just above your hands. You cringe at it and wave it away like it's smoke.

Zhongli goes ghost-white, his eyes becoming impossibly wide.

"Creator?"

Tears bead at the corners of his eyes as his actions finally begin to play back in his mind.

"Please, my maker, forgive m-"

Osial cuts off his head.

"What an asshole," he snickers, some blood now on his cheek, a massive grin on his face. "I'm glad he's dead."

You just look at him like he's crazy. Which he probably is.

"Oooooooooohhhh, that's who you are." Qiqi says from behind you, having caught on to your true identity.

Another massive hydra erupts from the ocean in the distance and lets out a sound akin to whalesong.

"HI, HONEY!" Osial yells in her direction before immediately bolting towards her.

You let out a distressed sigh. Exactly what kind of mess have you just gotten into?

(Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21 @sinnful-darling @fleshdotmp4 @ash1 @chilling-on-the-moon @fluffy-koalala @extremelytoastybread @euphoricaldemise

This should probably be all of you.))

#genshin sagau #sagau gnaw #sagau cult au #genshin angst #hopefully one of you likes this #WOOO FIRST DEATH #of non you people i mean #im a little late but whatever #osial is a stud and you cant convince me otherwise #totally has the anime pretty boy muscles

[hearta54]

He's A Distraction (Central Cee x Reader)

Summary: You're a dedicated student and going to Cambridge and become a doctor is your stars and heavens. To make that happen you have to move schools, a boy was never meant to be part of the picture. But Cench looks so good in it...

Word Count: 2 472

Notes: Sorry this is a bit long, I would love if you guys would send requests.

You scroll fixatedly on your laptop, scanning the screen in intense concentration and stopping each time something caught your attention. Reading the Cambridge Medicine webpage was an addiction; in the past you had tried to dissuade yourself from accepting this, but how could you not when it always stared blankly back at you? Addictive but productive, each time you re-read the sentences you had engraved into your memory you grew closer to your dream. And when you closed your eyes at night, you saw yourself in lavender scrubs and a pearly white lab coat; living your dream of being a Cambridge Alumni doctor.

Three A*s needed for entry motivated you to be an excellent student. You didn't mean to behave exaltedly but your current school was inadequate in innumerable ways. Today in biology, there hadn't been enough dissection kits, so the class had taken notes robotically and brushed over the practical. Defeated, you remembered how you had trudged home dubious; how could a school implore success in its students and not have the right resources? A memory of sitting in an examination room at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy unnerved you, yes, you had sat the scholarship examination. It had been strenuous and the competition in the room had been palpable, even so, you didn't feel as if you could compete successfully. Falling asleep, you were plagued by these worrisome thoughts even in your dreams.

Obnoxiously the sound of your alarm erupted immersing the room and awakening you. Each morning when you woke up, a void would open gaping at you, existing ostentatiously: It was a persisting sense of loneliness at first; an innocuous reminder to cherish time with your parents. But this was difficult when they both left for work as the sun just began to emerge teasingly over the horizon. Your mother worked as a university professor, such a nominal salary for an intelligent woman, and your dad worked as a nurse; anyone could tell you nurses were underappreciated, numbers didn't have to. A smart knock was being emitted from the hallway, who was at the door?

A postman adorned in fluorescents held a letter for you to take, when you hesitated a second too delayed, he dropped it, walking swiftly to his flagged motorbike and zooming down the road. A Queen Victoria's Academy insignia? You felt so inauspicious as you leaned on the door prying the seal delicately open. Covering your face with your hand you peaked at the verdict through the intricate gaps between your fingers. "We would like to congratulate your success on the recent Academic Scholarship examination and invite you to accept a scholarship place with us." No words can grasp your joy it's transcending.

Yawning tiredly, you stretched placing your feet into your fluffy slippers, the night had gone and went without a wink of reprieve - you were consumed with nerves for the day ahead: Your first day at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy. Opening the door, you walked across the creaking timber to make breakfast alone as you did every morning. You were befuddled to see your mother occupied in the kitchen handling an assortment of kitchenware ,readying a breakfast spread; usually you would just eat cereal; before you were pancakes, fresh fruit niftily cut, orange juice and array of salivating dishes.

"Mum why are you not at work?"

"I wanted to drive you for your first day, I can't begin to express how proud dad and I are," she said beaming excitedly.

You sat at the kitchen visualizing your mother's small, slightly dated and mediocre car driving alongside the avant-garde and luxurious cars of your new peers. Your stomach knotted half ominously and half guiltily. She seemed so happy to drive you and had sacrificed work to drive you, your inner monologue whispered insisting to take the bus would leave your mother forlorn.

"I'm glad you're taking me; I didn't really want to take the bus on my first day anyways."

Lies.

The academy's tree-lined boulevard was now in sight, driving alongside it now; planting your face against the misty window, eager to catch a glimpse. Your mother's car was now aligned with the curb which signaled a convenient space to leave; grudgingly you opened the door slowly as if peeking into a foreign world - in a way you were. You breathed in a long breath of courage as you slung your bag across your shoulders.

"Bye mum, thanks for the ride," you said, genuinely grateful.

"My pleasure darling, I love you, see you after school." Your mother grinned, pride cascading her face and carved smile lines. Guilt ebbed slowly as you watched your mother drive away. As her car dissipated to a speck in the distance a humble maroon car pulled to the curb, your mother had dropped you off with a car of a similar stature. You felt an unspoken sense of camaraderie. I'm glad I have someone to share the embarrassment with.

A boy emerged who appeared to be in the upper-sixth form - your year. He didn't seem ashamed of his car or even the slightest bit alienated; instead, he was confident, you could read if from his aura: it preceded him. Staring now, you saw his dark hair which was styled into jaw length box braids. His cutting cheek bones were iridescent, catching the sunlight, and you marveled at the softness of his plum bottom lip...

"I love you mum, thanks for the ride," he spoke to his mother with a genuine smile.

"I couldn't say no after you begged for a ride, could I? Have a good first day, Oakley."

What! He had asked for a ride. The guilt came gushing back, you weren't like him, yes you could relate about your car which was vain and face level. But he appreciated his mother wholly and wasn't attempting a façade to fit in with the elitism around. You felt a searing pang of shame. Frozen in thought you only broke out of this state when you felt dark coffee eyes meeting your gaze. The dwindling blare of the lesson bell dismissed you from the intense, awkward situation. Walking towards the office to meet the enrollment officer you chastised yourself sternly: This was the year of academic success entailing A*s, boys could tear down everything you had worked so hard for in a painful heartbeat.

The enrollment officer had distributed timetables to the small group of scholarship students; some of them gave a condescending air: Almost as if the fact testing had terminated slipped their minds, but most were nice and proffered kind but shy smiles, clipped at the edges with perceptible nerves. You navigated the halls wearily searching for your chemistry lab, the school was grandiose but tastefully understated. The look of old money attracted your gaze, it was a world away from where you had come. Walking the winding stairs, you see your chemistry class meters away from the landing 'room 299.'

Having arrived ahead of time allowed you to peruse the chemistry lab, it was a spectacle. Advanced modern equipment, granite bench tops, the most powerful microscopes... It left you speechless. You were broken from your trance by your classmates trickling in slowly and the booming voice of your new chemistry teacher.

"I am Dr. Olsen, I have a doctorate of chemistry from Oxford itself, trust you are in more than good hands," he paused to chuckle at his own joke but carried on when the students unreciprocated his mirth.

"This is the only chemistry class in the upper sixth form, that should allude to the arduous nature of the course. Therefore, to maximise your concentration I have taken it upon myself to devise a seating plan."

Dr. Olsen trailed off when the class began to groan resentfully.

"You can thank me when you receive your A-level results at the end of sixth form. Right then, in the back row, Y/N and Oakley Caesar-Su, Veronica Windward and Yasser Malik ..."

Oakley, You had been seated next to the boy from earlier this morning. You knew you shouldn't be smiling to yourself, chemistry was an imperative A-level. You weaved yourself to the back row and sat next to him.

"Hi Oakley," your voice had manifested much more timidly than you had expected.

" Yeah hey y/n, call me Cench, only my mum and tired old teachers like this one call me Oakley."

You giggled unexpectedly, he grinned back his gaze lingering. As Dr. Olsen droned on about Titration you took down notes studiously, beside you Cench was doing the same; writing down notes swiftly. You couldn't help but notice his handwriting was neat and prettily round, looking at his notes you dropped your pen. From your stool you reached down to retrieve it, on the way back up you bumped heads with Cench who had thoughtfully wanted to help.

"Oh my days, I'm sorry y/n, you good?" He was asking searching your eyes for signs of hurt.

You went to assure him you were okay when you got cut off by no other than Dr. Olsen...

"You two in the back Oakley and y/n quiet please."

"I am sorry Dr. Olsen I was just _"

"I don't want a justification take notes like everyone else, or get out," he said belittlingly.

Your cheeks got hotter as the class snapped their necks rubbernecking to witness your embarrassment, you looked at your notes mortified.

"Look, Dr. Olsen, You don't have to chat to her that way, she bumped her head and I was seeing if she was okay, yeah." Cench's jaw was locked making his cheek bones even more enunciated.

" Don't talk back Mr. Caesar-Su, detention after school." With an angered demeanor he resumed his lesson. You fought away guilt as you continued taking notes, if only I had gripped my pen tighter.

Trailing the halls advancing towards the exit, you're clouded with gratitude tinged with empathy for Cench, you hadn't meant to get him in trouble. Nor had you meant to tarnish his reputation in front of the strictest teacher. In your periphery you see Cench and your heart soars.

"Hi, Cench, I'm so sorry about earlier, I didn't think you'd get in trouble for trying to help."

"Don't worry about it y/n, that prick shouldn't have -"

"Right, students before we go into the room, these are the rules of after-school detention..." A teacher drawled these words with an expression of boredom.

You gave Cench an apologetic look over your shoulder before you opened the door, you were met by a smile and a shrug of the shoulders from Cench. The whole way home your mind is scattered with intrusive thoughts of him, you don't want them there but you don't want to fight them away either.

Cench's POV:

Detention dragged on just as I thought, thoughts of y/n appeased this listlessness because thinking of her had made it bearable. As we had worked on our assignments in silence I had chosen to continue my English literature essay. I could say I had not made much progress because the silence which filled the room was unsettling, but really it was because it was y/n who occupied my mind. Y/n with her guileless smile, her sharp and dazzling intellect, the clocked tick some more and I spent the time like this: Thinking up an interminable list of why I like y/n. Really and truly I had only met her today, but something about her...

Wrapping a towel around my waist and drying my wet braids, I hear a ping from my phone. 'You have received an email from..." It's a notification from the enrollments officer. Is this about today, I know I went overboard but I wasn't gonna let that prick talk to y/n like that.

I check what she has to say and she's saying I have to pick an extra-curricular to fulfil my scholarship expectations. That's calm, I'll join the Charitable Cause Club, I heard y/n is in it.

Y/N's POV:

At your desk you're riddled with inconsolable worry. In two days will be the chemistry exam which will make thirty percent of your semester grade. Staring at the notes in front of you which feel insurmountable you begin studying. It is well after midnight when you finally turn off your lamp and resign to sleep.

Cench's POV:

Standing around the classroom I see y/n, her eyebrows are nearly touching in what looks like worry while she reads her chemistry notes. I never thought she would panic during exam season, I think she's the smartest in our whole class. Watching her worry like eats away at me I really don't like it.

Lying awake on top of my covers despite the cold. My mind turns to y/n for the infinite time and I stop randomly at the Starbucks order she has in the morning sometimes. A regular matcha latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup and a strawberry icing doughnut embedded with fresh pieces of strawberry. Trust man's not simping... it's deeper than that.

Y/N's POV:

At 7am on a Friday morning, the library is empty. The comforting silence interrupted sporadically by the tinkering of the librarian. Today, is the day of the chemistry exam and no matter how much you study you don't feel ready for the exam. You feel warmth on your head, the feeling of someone watching you so you glance up straight into coffee eyes. It's Cench leaning on a bookcase your favourite Starbucks order in hand. Your heart skips several beats.

"Hi y/n, your such a neek you know, studying at this time." Cench says this as his eyes flick across your face, enthralled.

"I don't know, you can never be prepared enough," you retort, trying to fight a smile from showing on your lips but failing.

"I don't know about that, you'll do great, your as smart as you are cute. Which makes you very smart."

You feel your cheeks getting hotter and you stare blankly at your notebook.

Never taking his eyes off you Cench puts the drink and a paper bag down on the table.

"I got you a little something, good luck, yeah."

You watch him as he walks away, with his bag slung over one shoulder. Suddenly you are filled with the confidence he has in you.

Taking a few sips of your matcha leaves you refreshed, reaching into the paper bag your heart squeezes when you see a strawberry covered doughnut. How did he know. Looking inside the bag for napkins you see a strip of paper, unfolding the paper you read the message.

It says: You should go out with man. Scrolled on the bottom is a phone number.

You gasp earning a reprimanding look from the librarian. Your mind wanders visualising what your date with him will be like.

...

THE END

#one shot #x reader #central cee #cench #romance #fluffy #classical piano #fanfic #fanfiction #y/n #imagine #uk #ukrapper #central cee x reader #central x you #central cee fan fic #writer

[faith-forgxtten-land]

Cinderella | Leonardo

okay, i am aware this isn't my greatest work but i actually kind of like it, or i enjoyed writing it at least because i'm a sucker for fairytales being applied to non-fairytale stories/settings... also i spent about the same amount of time writing this as i did attempting to find a gif of leo in that damn suit and then i ended up having to make my own because i couldn't find one of just leo...

2003!Fast Foward

warnings: none? cleavage mention, one innuendo, fem!reader... genuinely nothing other than non-proof read writing

summary: when leo meets cinderella

word count: 1437

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Leonardo likes people watching – which is not stalking no matter what Raphael says. He likes imagining their lives and catching snippets of arguments and jests and idle conversation, and he especially likes watching people in his colour, even if some of the gowns and suits he sees are abominations fit for incineration rather than an evening out.

Although, he concedes, there are a lot of pretty outfits tonight, including a dashing cornflower blue, pinstriped three piece suit – complete with a fedora and all – that Leo quietly longs to have in his closet. His brothers would probably laugh and Donny would accuse him of wanting to look like a noir detective (and so what if he did?), but Leo was used to tuning out their teasing.

He settles against a wall and continues to watch. There’s a lot of blue in the crowd; shades of navy and midnight, indigo and periwinkle threatening to bleed into purple and catching and sparkling in the light.

For every fashion win, however, there are another two fashion failures, and Leo can't hide his wince as a woman saunters past with undeserved, and therefore impressive, confidence clad in a ghastly shade of turquoise and adorned with fur trimmings.

He loves blue more than anyone else, he really does, but even that shade has skipped over the boundaries of ostentatious into obnoxious, and Leo has to blink to try and erase the monstrosity from his mind.

Pulling his eyes away from another blasphemous shade of cyan passing through the doorway, he scans the sea of people casually and smiles amusedly as he quickly spots Raph. He’s got his arm around Donny who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, clumsily hunched and torn between politeness and awkwardness as his brother flirts brazenly.

He can’t find Mikey and he lets his eyes roam the room once more to make sure he hasn’t missed him, although missing Mikey is pretty impossible, not least because he's in a bright orange tuxedo. It should worry him more, although he’s not sure whether to be worried for Mikey or for whomever Mikey is with, but all thoughts of his little brother are expelled from his mind when he catches a breathtaking shade of blue across the floor.

The dress is long and shimmering, fabric pooling on the floor, and Leo follows the material upwards, transfixed as it cascades and ripples over skin like water. It’s so blue.

His breath hitches as he traces bare neck and lands on the most beautiful face he’s even seen. You’re looking right at him. He feels faint, hyperaware of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears, the racing flap of a hummingbird’s wings matching the flutter of butterflies within his stomach.

Love at first sight is such a ridiculous, illogical notion. It's fanciful and childish. It’s unrealistic and goes against everything Leo has been taught and everything he expects from himself. But your dress matches his suit, matches his mask, he's a mutant turtle, and he’s already striding towards you and you’re meeting him halfway, and before he can even stop and think about what he’s doing he’s asking you for a dance.

His breath hitches again as your palm glides against his and he rests his other along the curve of your hip, feeling the heat of your body through your dress.

Years of training have made his feet steady and his frame strong, but Leo still feels a little out of place as he does his best to lead you around the floor. You smile at him, soft and amused, easily reading the tension in his shoulders with the palms of your hands. “You need to relax,” you murmur teasingly. “Breathing would be a good start.

His shoulders gradually slump under the gentle caress of your hands as you dance in companionable quiet, and your answering beam causes his breath to catch in his throat. This doesn’t feel real, it feels like a dream and a fairytale all at once – perhaps also combined with a nightmare because his brothers are watching and even Mikey has reappeared to gawk – as Leo twirls you gracefully.

He might feel out of place, but the two of you are perfectly in sync. You’re calm and flowing in his arms, your gown whirling and billowing behind you like a silent wave rolling against the shore with every step and spin, and you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

In all honesty, Leo has no idea what to say now that you’re in his arms. He should probably speak before it gets awkward, before you leave and he never gets to see you again, but his heart feels like its trapped in his throat and even the thought of speaking makes him nauseous as those butterflies continue to assault the lining of his stomach.

He thanks every deity he can name that you break the silence first. “Do I get to know the name of my dance partner?”

Your smile is wide and bright as you wait for his reply, and it takes Leo a moment to register your question. When he does, his answer is a stammering mess that makes it impossible for you to hide the gooey endearment on your face, eyes all-but moulding into little hearts as you slowly bridge the sliver of space between your bodies.

You can feel solid muscle flexing beneath your palms as his breath stutters, and you can’t hide the satisfied grin blooming across your lips, cheeks aching when his hand flattens against your spine and he extinguishes the final inch between you like smothering a flame – except the instance your chest is flush against his, that flame is burning brighter, roaring and scorching, and your eyes flutter as his lips brush yours in a whisper of a touch.

“And your name?” Leo asks, breath fanning your face and unable to tear his gaze away from you. “Don’t tell me it’s Cinderella.”

You laugh, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching, and Leo’s heart clenches in adoration. “That would be silly,” you tell him playfully, glancing down at your dress and pretending not to notice the way his eyes drop to your cleavage, pausing for a moment too long, as they follow yours. “I would never be so on the nose.”

“Of course, my mistake. I am terribly sorry for my misjudgement.”

“Although,” you admit, accepting his tongue-in-cheek apology with a mischievous dip of your chin and letting your lips roll to conceal a smile as you glance at him coyly from under your lashes, “I do actually have to leave before midnight.”

Leo blinks. “Don’t tell me this dress will turn to rags and your carriage is a pumpkin.”

You shrug nonchalantly and it’s Leo’s turn to laugh. “A girl has to have her secrets.”

“Are you hiding glass slippers beneath that skirt?”

“Oh, I bet you’d love to know what’s under my skirt, Leonardo.”

His face is hot, and Leo has never been more glad to be a turtle, green skin disguising a heated blush. “You’re a terrible tease.”

The music has stopped, and Leo reluctantly lets you step back, already missing the warmth of you as he takes in his surroundings as though seeing them for the first time, as if the two of you have been underwater, alone in the world, this entire time and have only just broken through to the surface.

It’s no longer just his brothers gawking; you’ve attracted quite the crowd with your dancing, and he realises he’s not sure how long the pair of you have been spinning away – it could have been a minute, or it could have been twenty.

As he glances at his brothers and does his best to ignore the whispering swarm, he’s not sure his face could get any hotter. Mikey is grinning widely, cheering and hooting and receiving plenty of dirty looks, not at all phased by the chastising glare Leo shoots him, while Donny and Raph look equal parts awed and confused, impressed and disgruntled.

Leo rolls his eyes and turns to face you again only to be met with the lingering scent of your perfume and empty space. Panic shoots through him like lightning and he’s about to rush for the nearest exit when he almost stomps on something.

His laugh is barking and loud and his brothers look even more confused as he picks up a heel. It’s not a glass slipper, but it is blue and there’s a slip of paper with a phone number and your name that Leo slips into his pocket.

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo #tmnt imagine #tmnt leonardo x reader #leonardo tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2003 #tmnt fast forward #leo tmnt #tmnt leo x reader #leo x reader #leonardo x reader #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt leo

[hum-suffer]

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. Red and gold and orange, he often said they looked more like sunset than fire that poets called them.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. They grew in Dwarka by bunches. Against the green and brown of trees, they looked like waterfalls of the furnace, he said.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He had planted his first plant of palash in the palace of Dwarka, he had watered it everyday after his sword practice.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He fought ferociously against his grandfather, Vasudev, when he wanted to tear down his palash tree for the renovation of the palace.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He hid in the branches of his palash tree when he ran from his mother. He stepped on his uncle, Krishna, and reached those heights with loud laughs. He watched his mother run around the tree as he hid.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He wrapped them in leaves and took them to his father every time he was allowed to visit him. Arjun wore them in his hair proudly, said the flowers matched his ascetic clothes.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. When he was married, everyone who had seen him grow threw palash flowers on his head. He laughed when his aunt Revati claimed she specially ordered the flowers from Vidharbh for him, he knew she could possibly do it just for the ostentatious idea.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. Uttara wore the same colour as them the next day of their marriage. His aunt Rukmini and Elder mother Draupadi teased him red for it.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. His uncle Balram gave him a new bow for the upcoming war. It had palash flowers carved at all seven joints.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers.

His pyre burnt the same colour as them.

#yes i made myself sad #desiblr #suffer ye suhana nahi #thoughts #hindublr #desi stuff #mahabharata #arjun #abhimanyu #subhadra #draupadi #krishna #balram #dwarka

[bowieandqueen11]

Fickle Bird / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: Would you be willing to do another spicy Izzy hands x reader ? Loved your previous stories!!

Thank you so much!! I'm always happy to see how much people enjoying reading for Izzy :) Assigned babygirl by the fandom and I am here for it,

Warning: This is smutty as heck, so 18+ only please!!! Sexual biting, sexual allusions and strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @unwanted-animal.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands was becoming irritatingly querulous.

It had taken him far too many hours of laboriously hard work to finally pull you away from your crewmates. Every time you turned your head, he had been right there behind you. Doing his best to throw you sad eyes, hanging his head and ostentatiously ducking out of your line of vision as if he were plagued by tenebrous shrouds. He had tugged at your collar while Stede Bonnet's crew were idly mulling around, pretending to do their assigned chores on deck; he had done his best to subtly lead you away from Lucius, growing more and more irritated by each passing second you ignored his advances and continued your conversation.

He had wrapped his arms around your waist, jutting his chin into your shoulder as you did your best to shake him off and clear up your friend's dinner plates with Roach. Even though a sharp jab at his ribs got him to take a sheepish step back. running a glove through his hair to slick it back with an imperceptible look bored into the side of your cheek, you did your best to ignore the phantom chills of his stout fingers caressing carelessly over your stomach.

By the end of the night, he was two seconds away from hauling you over his shoulder and throwing the two of you into the ball room; as clouds steamed out of his ears, the visualisation of slamming the door shut with the heel of his boot and taking you right there and then, with stupid Lucius Spriggs being able to hear, was getting far too enticing.

Israel Hands had always been flighty. Impatient. Agitated, when it came to you. You had always known him to be: ever since your tenure on the great Captain Blackbeard's vessel almost five years ago now, Izzy had been protective over you and your relationship. Fear bore jealousy: a heart-breaking self-conscious disposition masked behind layers of seething hardness spawned only the animosity of Stede Bonnet's crew, and served to hinder his plans all the more.

As much as you did enjoy teasing the man, you knew that even he had his limit.

Which is how you found yourself nearly flown, well, more like catapulted to the other side of the beach during one of Bonnet's 'stupid fucking dilly-dallies around the poncy parts of Tangerine Cove', as your ever sweet significant other had put it. Before Buttons could even step foot on the shore: before Lucius could even settle down underneath a palm tree to sketch Black Pete, who had carefully positioned his near naked body to be splayed out against the foamy bubbles like a starfish, before Frenchie had even managed to haul the rest of Wee John's gunpowder out onto the strand, Izzy hand taken your hand tightly in his, his grip ready to pop your fingers like sea grapes.

You only laughed as the two of you ran, kicking sand across your feet as you scurried after him and towards an incredibly conspicuous, raggedy looking wall of orange lichen eaten stones placed as a make-shift border between the stretches of beach. Izzy didn't say a word. Instead he almost seemed to glide in front of you, as if beaks were pecking at his feet, threatening to perch upon a bough in his heart and thrum; he knew, if he couldn't make it behind these stones right now, his frail soul was about to snap under the weight of it all.

The intensity of his gaze as he helped you step over the ring was enough to take your breath away.

He sinks to his knees before you, wasting no time in knocking you to the scything sand; his hand splays out against your stomach and pushes you gruffly, until you've fallen onto your bottom and he has easy access to your legs. He whimpers as he hitches them up, frantically lining your ankles with wet kisses and hot, open-mouthed bruises as he wraps them around his neck. His hands are soft, so tender, yet they claw into your skin as he begins to knead the muscles of your calves. You can feel him inch closer and closer - his hands winding down your inner thighs until they're resting on your inner legs, thumbs tantalisingly close to stroking your panty line.

'Is this alright... sweetheart', he asks breathlessly, pressing his fingers down into the meat of your hips until his full weight his almost exclusively leaning against your stomach. He leans forward to nip against your mouth.

'Hmm- hmph', you jolt as you feel Izzy guide his hand further down towards your growing heat. 'Oh god yes. I swear, I was about to explode on that ship. As much as I appreciate the new company, especially with how cranky Edward has been recently, it's so hard between the two crews merging and escaping the English to find a moment alone.'

'Says the little tease. 'Oh Lucius, you're so funny, and I love your hair. And you're such a great drawer. You should draw me some time, and we should skip off into the sunset'-'

The back of his head is suddenly jolted up as you grasp onto the strands of hair near his crown. His mouth shudders at the feeling, opening and closing like a blubbering fish. Like a swallow caught in a trap. You graze your fingernails down to the nape of his neck apologetically, not before chiding him with a humoured 'jealousy has never suited you, Israel Hands. Now shut up and put that mouth to better use, before I go take Pete's place.'

He growls at you, baring his teeth, but you can tell by the way he gets straight to work that he takes your jesting as light-hearted. He lets the words wash over his head: right now, he was busy burying himself within you; his nose glides across the pulse point jittering through your neck, his eyes heavy and lidded as he barely breaths. Barely moves.

The little flirt. He was trying to get his own back.

He just rests there, just lets you shiver under the short pants that roll off his tongue and fan out across your collar bone, his teeth daring to dart out every so often and graze across the skin by your earlobe. His lips continue their ghostly ravishing, finally coming to a stop by cautiously hovering over your racing heartbeat.

You were getting far too impatient. The feel of your hands scrambling down to tug at his thigh holster would almost had made him laugh, if it hadn't been for the fortuitous brush of the side of your palm against his growing bulge.

But two can play at that game. You almost want to scream when he cocks his head up to throw you a shit-eating grin, before the flat part of his tongue licks out to swirl against the top of your left bosom.

'If you don't- hmph- if you don't stop, someone is going to catch u-oh-'. Your reprimands were astutely silenced by Izzy with a teasingly light stroke of his pointer and middle finger down the thin material covering your groin. He made sure to drag his thumb behind, digging in against the material a little harsher with it, until you could almost feel the rugged tip of his fingernail inside you.

'Oh, fuck off. If you're any louder, even the fucking sirens will start popping up to see what that... titillating sound is.'

If Izzy wasn't too busy running the flat edge of his tongue up the seam of your inner leg, you would have had half a mind to shove him off you right there and then.

'Stop complaining.'

He drags his thumb along his lips before popping it in his mouth, sucking at the leather. His eyes never leave yours as his teeth clench into the material, tugging it off and throwing it blindly behind his back. The feeling of the coarse pad being suddenly replaced by a warm, firm fingertip against the outside of your folds was enough to make you buck your hips up in wild euphoria.

This man. He was going to drive you absolutely mad.

'Even I didn't think you were such a squirmy little thing', he states with a calculated grin. 'Didn't take much for you to fall apart in front of me, now, did it? Never does though, to be fair.'

'Oh, you're one to talk. One more - mmph- one more sad look in my direction and I would have pinned you to the floor in front of Bonnet's crew. You're proper needy, aren't you? Couldn't- couldn't wait- couldn't stop begging-'

He was far too impertinent for your persiflage. God, how he had wanted this-how he had wanted you for far longer than his dogged soul was willing to admit. It had near driven him to that sweet, twilight chasm of madness: sent him tumbling over the edge until he was near plagued, near driven to his knees to beg for forgiveness for his loving sin at your placating shrine. He was almost about to burn with embarrassment, but Israel Hands was too far gone to care.

Instead, he swallows thickly before taking your hand, cupping it around his neck. Then he whimpers, and the two of you are really in it then.

'I would let you fucking wreck me, you know that?', he chokes out from behind gritted teeth, trying to stop the pulsating feeling aching in the pit of his stomach.

'Sweet man', you reach up to brush his cheek with your free hand, and he almost recoils at the touch. 'You're safe with me Iz. Always. You don't have to hide what you want.'

He cups his fingers over your own: he can barely stop them from contracting over your knuckles as he throws his head back to the heavens and closes his eyes in contentment. His body starts squirming then, the heat from your fingertips making every nerve ending down the back of his spine alight, and he can't help - doesn't want to stop the way he starts rocking his hips back and forth across your legs. The lust seems to be radiating off his glowing cheeks as he furrows his eyebrows in blissful agony.

He drags his free hand down your arm until he reaches the scabbard to the right of his stomach. You poke the inside of your lip with your tongue, watching the sharp edge slice across the air to be placed, with a precision only wrought with a extensive practice, to lay underneath the cold metal bravely guarding your chest. With a quick whip of his wrist, off your blouse went: the first button soared through the air without Izzy needing to even open his eyes. But as he peeked one open and saw the line of tantalising skin grow wider down your rising breast, all semblance of restrained self-mastery fled from his brain.

The rest were ripped open by a clenched glove. You were surprised none of the rest of the crew popped their heads up at the sound: the rip of cotton material being shredded straight across your jiggling bosoms, your buttons flying off like mini cannonballs being struck into the unsuspecting shifts of sand.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how your legs imperceptivity clenched together at the way he subconsciously wet his bottom lip, his nose scrunching up as he nearly snarled at the sight of the unhampered skin freed from your tight blouse.

He's voracious as he bites down like a starved stray and pierces the edge of your right breast with his front teeth. The faint sunlight blinds your eyes and makes you see pockets of stars as he begins sucking like his very soul depended on it, burying his head right in line with your sternum.

Wanting to return the favour, you let your free hands wander down. Hiking up the fringes of his shirt, you let your hands wander over the taut muscles of his abdomen, smiling to yourself as you feel goose bumps prick up to meet your cool palms. Izzy pants against your nipple, which in turn makes it harden as his hot breath breezes past. Giving you an idea, you run your hand up past the fine silver hairs of Izzy's happy trail, to experimentally roll the pad of your thumb over the man's left nipple.

What you weren't expecting, however, was for him to collapse on top of you.

The groan that muffled out past the fist he tried to shove into his mouth was inhuman. Was damn sinful. All he can do while he lets the overpowering rush of desire coarse through his veins is to quieten the sound with your awaiting lips; he's trembling against you, and so you reassure him with a languid massage of your tongue against his own. His hand tried to flail away as he finally feels you probe around his teeth, but you catch it easily, pressing it firmly against your fluttering heart. With a final tug, you finally manage to stumble your way through the loops of his trouser buttons.

His hips judder forward until he prods awkwardly against the bottom of your abdomen, leaving a slick wetness smeared against the buckle of your belt. He grimaces, a thin line of saliva glistening between you as he pulls his head back to look down at the disturbance. His nostrils flare as he buries his hands into two clefts in the rocks either side of your head, and does his best to try and control the painful contortions of his face. A low whistle still manages to catch in the back of his throat as he gazes down at the milky seepage he has left behind, running in smooth drips down your bellybutton and smearing it with each jolt of your desperate hips against his, further and further down against your hip line. The muscles in his face fall as if he were in a trance: as if he were a man possessed.

'I-I care for you. You know that.' He can barely meet your eye in fear that you'd be repulsed by the sweetness - by the fondness that has flooded through them, feeling the gilded shadows that veiled his sight begin to lift.

You reach up and let your pointer finger gingerly trace over the outline of the swallow tattoo inked into the side of his neck. 'I know. I love you too, Israel Hands.'

God, you were going to be the end of him. And if he weren't so blinded by it, he would have been more than satisfied to sink into the depths of oblivion with you seared into his irises: the last mirage, the last vision of a life he had could never have. Of a love he had not earnt.

But he was stubborn, and his talons refused to stop clinging onto hope.

It must have been quite a sight: the perched rocks quaking as something pounded sloppily against them, the cacophony of breathless, gasping whines as your clawed hand tried to reach back and hold desperately onto the sharp jags above your head.

'Should we... should we do something about that?', Roach asks, looking quizzically around at his friends and dropping the stick he had been chasing the Swede around with a moment before onto the beach.

Lucius, squints his eyes warily, and shakes his head in disgust. 'Nah. I'm leaving that one for the Captain to handle.'

'I think he's too busy getting his own, uh, stuff handled by Blackbeard', Jim pipes in, doing their best to hide their roguish smile as the sound of you screaming Izzy's name grew louder and louder, no matter how well you were trying to stifle it by shoving your mouth into his shoulder blade and biting down, and no matter how well Izzy was drowning it out with the harshness of his own grunts.

'Actually', Lucius thumps the end of his pencil against his chin and begins to grin menacingly. 'This might come in very useful. Looks like Dizzy Izzy, or should I say Izzy the Rasper won't be making poor old Lucius scrub anything else while he's on board.'

#ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #izzy hands imagine #izzy hands x reader #izzy hands smut #ofmd imagine #our flag means death imagine #ofmd season 2 #con o'neill #blackbonnet #stede bonnet #blackbeard #roach #lucius spriggs #black pete #frenchie #jim jimenez #the swede #buttons #wee john feeney

[mothpawbs]

edit: yooo part 2 is out go look at it!!

royal gals from arc 1! i used this as a way to further illustrate and explore my fashion headcanons, and i love how these turned out. design notes under the cut!

CORAL: i wanted her to look deceptively kind and bubbly, so i tend to draw her big and round like a whale. two inspiration for her design are king dorephan from breath of the wild and granmamare from ponyo. i give her a big coral crown and pearl jewelry. she has a lot of teardrop shapes bc she's probably sad about a lot of things

GLACIER: my favorite queen <3 i wanted her to look regal and no-nonsense but kind. with the exception of her crown, most of her accessories are very sleek and minimalistic. and of course i had to give her glasses because i'm obsessed with giving dragons glasses. i can't decide if the spikes on that crown are opal or enchanted ice, but the studs are black tourmaline.

SCARLET: the og bad bitch!! i love designs that make her look like the world's scariest, swankiest peacock, and the animated wings design was a huge inspiration here. her face markings are meant to look like a helmet. the mail vest she's wearing here is more for show than protection, an ostentatious piece she wears around the palace rather than something she'd don in battle. this is generally the fit i imagine she would wear to court sessions and arena matches.

MOORHEN: i would love to know more about her tbh. i like the colors i gave her, i think the shades of brown work really well together. the cord around her neck represents her sibs, the knot having four coils to symbolize each of them. she has agate embeds all over her, with the majority on her horns, wings, and wrists/ankles. i imagine she has tattooed wing membranes as well.

GRANDEUR: i wanted to make her look regal and positively ancient, and i think i succeeded well enough. her frill shape vaguely matches glory's, as well as her affinity for orange and gold color accents. the flowers are based on tropical rhododenrons.

BATTLEWINNER: ooo she was fun. basically no opportunity for fashion, as i'm sure anything she'd try to wear would burn or melt in her lava bathtub, but i got to do some fun scarring on her. her snout is all scratched up, one of her horns broke off at some point (i imagine that happened during her throne challenge, and that nightwings spar with their horns like rams or deer. she probably got slammed into a wall or something) and her ears are all kinds of shredded. any water vapor around her face and neck tends to solidify into ice, building up into big sparkly icicles over time.

#digital art #mag art #wof #wings of fire #royalty #queen coral #queen glacier #queen scarlet #queen moorhen #queen grandeur #queen battlewinner #seawing #icewing #skywing #mudwing #rainwing #nightwing #character design

[chococolte]

i adore your writing SO much its so detailed and expressive its amazing like im in awe??? even the old works you reposted i love it so much?!??? if its open still id like to request sagau with ayato and thoma (and any other if you want to add someone!!) and them maybe meeting their god or being praised?

Thoma already is such a sweetheart so i can imagine how he'd melt from even the slightest bit of praise, and ayato is such a prideful man but itd be so interesting to see how he pushes that aside for his god. Absolutely adore all the sagau works youve posted so far, imagining their wholehearted devotion and love in such a way is just 👌 cant wait to read more <33333

word count. 1.1k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obssessive thoughts/behaviors, religious & cult themes, sagau + cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. nonnie r we about to kiss...? u know just how to make me write ur req... regardless, thank you so so much!!! i hope this is okay for you??? this is just u praising them since im working on a bigger work that'll have all my takes on the genshin men as worshipers, I hope u don't mind!!

ayato

Ayato is a prideful man.

Raised from birth to be the clan head after his father, Ayato has always been steadfast. He has to be. He has a duty to his clan, to his sister; to protect her from the darker side of politics, the back-stabbing and infighting; to protect the ones who he cares about the most, the ones who work underneath him and the ones who have put their trust into his command.

He works because he must. He lies and deceives, and with guile he crafts webs of intricate gossamer, lying in wait for an unfortunate individual stupid enough to cross him. Ayato's pride is deliberate, molded by his hands, by the azure glow of the vision at his hip— he is sagacious and determined, mature and mighty.

It is surprising, then, how easily he crumbles when with you.

The echo of your laughter, your refulgent eyes, the steady cadence of your voice and your dulcet tones; every detail of your being enraptures him with the ease of breathing, with all of the ease of sunlight seeping through verdant glades.

Your praise, whether light or ostentatious, leaves Ayato melting in his seat. It's unlike him— unlike the tall, dignified man of cunning and wit, to be so weak and defenseless to only your words; but the tides of his heart pull regardless, drifting to the moonlight of your smile. To feel the weight of your eyes on him leaves him preening, crooning at your slightest attention.

What pride Ayato has is discarded for this brief moment of peace with you, so he can revel in the euphoria your praise alights.

Your eyes crinkle at the sides, twinkling in the dim light of your private chambers. "You did good," you say. You say it so simply he feels silly for getting so worked up, foolish for the way his cheeks burn.

A soft ember of candle wax lights your face only slightly, an orange halo coalescing behind your head. Despite the twilight, Ayato does his best to impress your visage into his mind; the rim of ethereal light cupping your head like a sunset dipping beneath the sea, the flame's reflection dancing on your skin, the light glistening in your eyes like a blanket of stars. He drills it into his head, desperate to never forget.

You stare into the candlelight for a moment, then rise to your feet. You take small, measured steps towards him, then take a spot next to his seated figure.

"I'm sorry to have called you so late at night," you whisper. Ayato keeps his expression calm, showing no emotions on his face, despite the wild rhythm of his heart in his chest. "I'm afraid I wouldn't have been able to speak to you privately, otherwise. But I truly am grateful for all you've done."

Without breaking eye contact, you reach forward and cusp his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the birthmark under his lips. His skin burns like electricity runs through the current of his veins, his nerves set aflame by the kindling of your touch.

"You're so good for me. I think you deserve a reward, don't you?"

Ayato swallows thickly, then with trepidation, softly leans into your hands.

thoma

Thoma's heart beats against his ribcage with all the fury of a raging fire.

He squirms where he sits in front of you, furtively rubbing his legs together. Thoma drums his fingers on his knees in an attempt to calm himself, trying to focus on the light sound of the rapping of his knuckles.

The mere thought of being alone with you is enough to send him into a frenzy, but the reality of it makes it difficult to breathe. You had fed him compliments before, simple praise— but still, enough for him to wish the moment would last forever.

Light bores down through the diaphanous curtains of your throne room, reflecting your glistening, specular throne. Carved into the pillars that hold you up are jewels and precious stones, ingrained and polished until they shine like the sun in the sky.

“Thoma.”

You say his name in such a particular way, entirely unique to you. It sticks out in his mind, burning like a pyre. The way your lips cup together to form every syllable, the soft click of your tongue hitting against the roof of your mouth. That you know of his name at all is a kindness; that you speak it aloud, a blessing.

He grips the fabric of his pants a little tighter, digging his nails into his knees. Thoma helplessly resists the urge to kowtow before you, staying seated peacefully by your feet. You asked for him to do no more, and to imagine you ever dissatisfied with him brings him to tears.

You are his God. He wants to kiss your feet, whisper words of worship and love— but you have not asked for that. You asked for him to sit, and so he does. No more, no less, despite the yearning that aches within him.

Thoma nods his head in understanding, untrusting of his own voice. His heart trembles, drinking in your being, draped in fine silks and ornate jewelry. You are effortless in beauty and elegance; next to you, every god only stands to look like a parody of the beauteous glory of your existence.

“You're so beautiful,” you say. You reach forward and cup his cheek, and his breath hitches in his throat. Thoma’s eyes haze over with fog, but a warmth courses through him past the mist. Warmth from you, from the light you provide. Heat like an undercurrent runs through his veins and brings him back to reality. “So pretty. So good for me.”

A faint blush dances on his champagne-tinted skin, softly embracing his face and ears. Thoma looks up and meets your eyes, watching as you smile and wrinkle your eyes in a way that makes his knees weak. He's never been happier to be seated.

“I'm so proud of you.” You twirl his hair in your fingers, playing with his messy locks, ignoring the red blooming on his cheeks. Thoma bites his lip in an attempt to keep himself silent, butterflies hopelessly fluttering in his stomach.

“Please,” he murmurs. It's both a plead for you to continue and for you to stop— his heart is weak enough as it is, even without your praise. Coupled that with even the faintest of your breath against his skin, and Thoma is struggling to keep himself composed.

You laugh, whispering. “It's okay. Let me show you how proud I am of you.”

#[🦇] — my writing #genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #sagau #self aware genshin au #genshin cult au #self aware genshin #genshin self aware #genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere ayato #yandere thoma #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #thoma x reader #gn reader #sagau ayato #sagau thoma #gender neutral reader

[creaman]

Hello! Just want to say that I absolutely adore your designs for Jon, Edward, and Jervis! They're so detailed and extra. I love them sm. Up in the top two favorite designs. My favorite is definitely Jervis. Which is funny, because in just about every version he's my least favorite of the three. His design is just so fun and goofy and him. It's amazing. They all are.

Anyways that's it. Byeeee<33

Oh? Do you now? Well I’m glad you think so because now you’re getting

Design Notes — Riddler | Scarecrow | Hatter

I drafted up some rogue designs last year, actually. They’ve mostly evolved from those. Content warning for horrific old art.

The McGriddler — Ah, a grown man with the strength of a baby! I’ve actually had this… horrendous peacock concept in my brain since 2022, back when my Riddler design was a dirty blonde/brunette. I hated him. He had the costume, but not the flair. Not to mention the generic facial structure.

Luckily, New Riddler is now an ostentatiously dressed vain attention whore! Highly fashionable, extensive wardrobe (def designing more outfits for him) and a possible mid-life crisis arc where he just wears a bathrobe and wifebeater for a month straight.

And listen, I’m not much of a writer, but there are notes on his personality.

Not great ones, though.

And rather than his ambiguous forensics/science job, he now works in I.T. Or rather, worked in I.T. (fired for patronising tech support customers)

For Jon — He’s always had black eyes with orange ringed pupils (initially blue) from the fear toxins. Drafted him up in high school because I was coping.

I’ve always intended to give him multiple costume designs. With narrative purposes. He redesigns himself. Ofc he couldn’t be satisfied with one thing, no, he has winter, summer, Witch Doctor, stealth etc. costumes on the way.

The initial design was trying to do too much — Patches, stitches, belt straps, arm warmers, utility belts, boots. Clutter. (Does NOT help that I can hardly decipher my old sketches.)

So, we just remove the overtly slutty components from the main design—

—And put them in a seperate campier Scarecrow design that I use as a Halloween-sona.

Silly Crazy Zonka Wonka — I think I was looking at pics of the Depp Hatter for the old design, which. May explain some things.

Acute observation! They look nothing alike. So I’ve kept absolutely nothing from the initial design except for the choppy wavy hairstyle.

Completely different colour scheme. Subbed out the TF2 Ghastly Gibus for the Towering Pillar of Hats. (Because ofc The Hatter would have something from the funny Hat FPS, no?) Shorter. Feebler. Every sickness on the planet. Congratulations! Mercury poisoning.

The initial concept for the redesign was to have a sort of reversible coat with his Arkham outfit on one side, and Rogue outfit on the other. You can see I just opted for him to wear a combination of both.

#vclownverse #I fucking hate my riddler if you couldn’t tell #design notes #character design #batman #the riddler #edward nygma #scarecrow #jonathan crane #jervis tetch #mad hatter #digital illustration #creaman #batman rogue redesign #batman rogues #old art #vinegarclown #fanart #creaman-answer-sheet.pdf #gamer scarecrow

[under-cotton-and-calicos]

Fungi and Fae

NB Fae x AFAB Reader

AN: I wrote this last year while I was in the mood for fall. I'm a bit late for Valentine's but here's some fluff (and smut later in part two)!

Word count: 1.6k

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊Part Two (to be updated)𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

"You are looking devilishly beautiful today, m'eudail." 

"I appreciate it." You mutter, eyes scanning your surroundings for brown caps or yellow growths. After years of gathering, you have grown quite adept at it. 

“Won’t you spare me even one glance?”

The autumnal rain serves as a wonderful humectant for mushrooms- they come bursting forth from the ground and wood in vivid browns, yellows and striking black, well, the edible ones at least. A few of the local birds migrate for the season, leaving the woods serenely quiet. In their place, papery field maple seeds dance through the air like a set of wings carrying invisible bodies. Shades of red and orange permeate the woods, and even though you have looked out at the sea of colour countless times, the intensity of their hue and atmosphere always takes your breath away at the beginning of the season. It is your favourite time of the year, and it would always be much more enjoyable if it weren’t for your buzzing companion.

“I attended the most wonderful ball the other day, yet it was sorely lacking in good company. Would that you were there-”

“Your kind would have made me dance to death. Literally.” You quip, hiking your skirt up and stepping over a dead log. Conversation, if you could even call the slinging of words between the two of you, comes as naturally as breathing to you in the presence of Aetyn. Your grandmother had warned you about their kind since you were but a babe, cautioning you against their trickery. You were glad that she had trained you on how to handle them as it came into good use whenever you came out to forage.

Never accept gifts. Don’t stare at them for extended periods of time. If you encounter one, be gracious but maintain a boundary. You leave offerings of cream and pasties out for them, and wear a bell in the ribbon tying your hair.

After years of being around Aetyn, however, you have come to doubt the veracity of several claims. In the beginning they had attempted to ensnare you in all sorts of ways, fairy rings, gifts in the form of decadent chocolates and precious gems, wordplay. It all flowed over you like water. You presume that they gave up after the first two autumns.

Early on, you had accidentally gazed at them. It was hard not to- they have fine features so different from those of humans. It was as if fae were sculpted from marble, perfect and polished. Their smooth skin, hooked and noble nose as well as their androgynous beauty caught your gaze like a fish to bait. Nothing happened to you though, they just stared at you quizzically and asked if they had something on their face. Nonetheless, you still remain slightly guarded around Aetyn.

“Aetyn, would you ever consider chasing after a more naive, vulnerable maiden?” He’s quiet for a few seconds. You can almost hear the little cogs turning in his head.

“...but they don’t have your sharp tongue, or your bewitching-”

With a gasp, you clamber over to a massive queen bolete, brushing leaves and dirt from its cap before plucking it, its stem breaking from the earth with a satisfying crunch. You place it into your basket among a handful of porcinis, morels and chanterelles. Before you can stand and continue, you notice Aetyn laying belly-down on the grass with their head in their hands, long pink hair ostentatiously trailing down their shoulder.

“You have a look in your eyes when you find a good one. You smile so wide-” they have a sparkle in their eyes, you think you see their legs kicking in the air

“You’re so pretty.”

For some reason, the compliment feels oddly genuine, different from the other pet names that he piles onto you. Sensing the heat rising up your neck you look away, fussing with the mushrooms in your basket and wandering off to the clearing ahead. You’ve gotten used to Aetyn’s careless flirtation- they had used it as a tactic to trick you so you never take it to heart. Something about the look in their eyes strikes a chord within you this time, though. A jumble of strange, foreign emotions stir in your chest, so preoccupied are you with your thoughts that you make a near fatal mistake.

“Be careful!” 

Suddenly, an arm wraps around your midriff and tugs you backward. You’re leaned forward, torso tipped precariously over a circle of mushrooms. Gingerly, Aetyn gathers you into their arms, pulling you upright and a few steps away from the fairy ring.

“It wouldn’t do for you to fall into the snare of another fae now would it?” In the circle of their embrace, you are acutely aware of their body against yours even through your shirt and your coat. Your eyes are drawn to their lashes- pink just like their hair, so fair that you had never noticed just how long they were, fanning across their rosy cheeks. Aetyn’s gaze trails down the features of your face and lands on your mouth, hands sliding down your shoulders to your wrists. The feeling of his skin on yours is surprisingly humanlike, soft and comforting, but what ever made you think it would be otherwise? The urge to say something…or to do something-

A light ring and plink snaps you out of your reverie. Tearing your eyes away from them, you twist around to see your ribbon and bell on the ground. Aetyn steps away from you, the usual ease and gracefulness gone from their lithe body. They bend over, picking the delicate ribbon up. Your fringe has come loose, the two neat braids threaded to the back of your head by your grandmother undone.

“May I?” Aetyn pushes back the hair that obscures your vision. You nod, taking a seat on a cushion of brown leaves.

Their fingers carting through your hair are tender, deft as they expertly do up the braids and secure them once more. It feels…good. The warmth of their fingers, which you have watched pointing and gesturing many a time, seeps into your scalp. For once, the two of you are silent and you realise that you are wholly unaccustomed to the quiet whenever Aetyn is around. You’ve just grown used to their chatter like the tweeting of a little bird hovering over your shoulder. 

“It is done.” 

You are unable to see it, so you run a hand over the back of your head and feel the braids just as they were when you left home. They really are surprisingly good at it. Your tongue slips loose, from the intimacy in that moment or the fluttering in your chest, you do not know.

“Thank y-” You slap a hand over your mouth, unable to stop the panic from bubbling and frothing over. You look at Aetyn warily but regret it in the exact same moment, because you can see your distrust reflected in their eyes. The wide grin plastered onto their face falls and they look away from you. Whatever little shreds of trust that they’d hoped to have built up with you had blown away in the wind, they must think. 

It’s the first time that you’ve seen them look hurt and the sight claws at your heart. A few moments of unbearable quiet pass before you dust off your skirt and pick up your basket.

“I-I think that’s all I need for today.”

As the both of you walk through the lush woods, your mind is racing. With just one move, you’ve upended any semblance of kinship you shared with Aetyn. What were you going to do? Do you even want to do anything about it?

Just as you near the bend leading to your home, you come to the panicked conclusion that it would be awful to end the day this way. Aetyn has had every opportunity to capture you with trickery today, yet spurned it each time. Considering the seasons of your…relationship, you feel like you have shunned them. Summoning courage, you take a deep breath before spinning around so abruptly that Aetyn jumps.

“Today…was nice.” you bumble, acutely aware of how awkwardly your mouth forms the syllables. Your free hand twists the fabric of your shirt hopelessly.

“It was nothing. I am honoured to have your company.” They respond politely with a smile, eyes downcast. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish for a few seconds before

“Th…Th-thank you!” As soon as the two words leave your mouth, you squeeze your eyes shut.

This is it. I’m sorry for being such a foolish girl, grandmama.

What feels like an eternity passes and yet, you haven’t somehow been turned into a beetle, or been bound to servitude to a diabolical fae for the rest of your meagre mortal life, or anything really. It was quite anticlimactic. 

Instead, you feel a rush of warmth in the air and the bristle of tree branches bustling against their neighbours and the sweet call of a bird somewhere. And you hear laughter- Aetyn’s laughter, bright and rich which makes your chest brim with weight and ache. 

Your eyes still closed, a hand tugs gently against the nape of your neck and a pair of feather-soft lips plant a kiss on your brow.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He cradles your face in his hands. You feel compelled to lean into them but you remain rooted in place.

“Thank you.”

You place your basket on the kitchen counter, moving to don your apron and get started on dinner when your grandmother shambles into the room with her cane in hand.

“That’s a pretty flower in your hair,” she squints through the glasses perched on her nose, “wherever did you find it at this time of year?”

A hand flies to the back of your head, fingers tangling with little stems and soft, small flowers tucked into your braids. Your heart beats like the wings of a hummingbird.

“Oh my.”

Your grandmother peers at you with mirth.

“You have the look of someone in love, dear.”

#terato #terato writing #monster lover #monster romance #monster x reader #monster x human #exophilia #fluff #sft #rare pure sft from under-cotton-and-calicos #fae #fae lover #fae x reader #fae x human

[percervall]

it all fades to nothing (when I look at him)

Pairing: Toto Wolff x fem!reader Words: 2787 Warnings: mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of emotional abuse, slut shaming, Google translated German A/N: @kostasstsimikass and I started talking about Toto being your +1 to a wedding, and it got a little out of hand

---

When the wedding invitation came in, your first instinct was to say no. There was no way you were about to subject yourself to a public humiliation willingly. However, the longer you thought about it, the more guilt churned in your stomach. It wasn’t just anyone- not some vague acquaintance or a cousin thrice removed. It was the person you had come to see as a brother. His parents, your aunt and uncle, had been there for you and had taken you into their home when it all had gone to hell. So, suffice to say you couldn’t not go, and a phone call with your cousin made it even more clear that both him and his bride-to-be wanted you there. 

Your boyfriend had smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist as he read the invitation over your shoulder. The man loved a wedding –loved any excuse to get dressed to the nines and, in turn, spoil you with a pretty new dress or a piece of jewellery. It’s up to you, liebling, he’d said, but I know you will never forgive yourself for not going. You hated how well he knew you. You hadn’t been together long in the grand scheme of things, although it felt like you had known him all your life.

“Does this mean I get to spoil you?” Toto asked after you had filled out the rsvp.

“Knowing who will probably be in attendance, I don’t know whether to give you full rein or tell you no,” you replied, doubt tightening itself into a knot that sat heavy in your stomach. 

“You know how little I care about their opinions when it comes to you, liebling. If anything, it makes me want to spoil you more.” 

You did know how little he thought of them, disgusted by the way they had treated you –they being your parents, who had practically thrown you out of their house when you switched mayors your first year in University and pursued a career in law rather than medicine like your father had wanted you to so you could eventually take over the family practice. And a small part of you, a petty part, wanted nothing more than to show up dripping in Toto’s adoration as you showed off your combined wealth. Yet the majority of you was too scared to be branded the common whore again, the way they had when you were in your teens. Rationally speaking you knew it shouldn’t matter what they thought of you, after all they had made it abundantly clear they did not love you, but even after all these years that inner child still craved their approval. 

“I’ll think about it,” you eventually agreed. 

After a long phone call with your aunt, and later with your grandmother, you met him halfway: you’d pay for the dress and shoes, but Toto could buy you whatever jewellery he wanted. The grin he had given you when you set the terms of the agreement was truly a tribute to his last name and made you a tiny bit nervous that he would buy you a necklace with 50 separate sapphires or something ostentatious like that. Then again, Toto had impeccable taste so why should you be worried? The only clue you gave him was a photo of the colour of your dress –a stunning burgundy that reminded you of the blood oranges you would eat every time the two of you were in Italy. On his part, Toto gave you no clues as to what he had bought you until it was the day of the wedding. Your cousin was getting married in Tuscany and had offered the both of you a room in the villa they had rented for the wedding party. You were about to get ready after having breakfast on the little balcony of your room when Toto stopped you.

“I have something for you, liebling,” he said, pulling you onto his lap as he produced two jewellery boxes. 

“Toto…” you said, not finishing your sentence. You felt him smile against your skin as he kissed your cheek. 

“Open it,” he murmured. Opening the largest box first, you gasped quietly when you saw the dainty gold chain with two baguette cut diamonds –one along the length of the chain and the other vertically in the centre. You had a feeling that the stones would sit on the two places along your clavicle Toto loved to shower you with kisses and love bites. His habit of marking you had almost gotten the both of you in trouble on numerous occasions before you went public with your relationship, and even after it was often met with the unmistakable giggle of Lewis and a knowing look from Valtteri.

They glittered beautifully in the sun as you let the chain run through your fingers, your head filled with memories of the two of you in various hotel beds across the world. You just knew it would compliment your dress beautifully. 

“You spoil me,” you muttered, running a finger along the length of the chain. 

“Mm, good,” Toto replied, sliding the second box in front of you. You threw him a glare that you only half meant, and opened the box. Inside was a gold ring with three diamonds in the same cut as the necklace. The stones were held in place by two gold bands, making it appear as if the stones were floating. It was undeniably stunning and the set had probably cost him a pretty penny. 

Toto took the ring out of the box and slid it onto the middle finger of your left hand –a secret fuck you to your parents.

“Eines Tages wird das ein Ehering sein, meine Liebe,” he murmured in your ear as you both admired the way the stones caught the mid-morning light. Although your German had vastly improved ever since joining the Mercedes’ legal team back in 2021, it wasn’t enough to fully understand the words that sat heavy in your heart; even if you didn’t understand him word for word, the sentiment wasn’t lost on you. It felt like a promise, almost an oath. A year ago it would have terrified you, sent you running for the hills, but right now it filled you with so much love that you thought you could burst. You studied his face while he sipped the last of his espresso, admiring the lines framing his eyes and smile, hair still messy from where you’d tugged on it last night when it hit you square in the chest: you’d give up everything if it meant having him forever. 

Untangling yourself from him and the emotions that formed a lump in your throat, you excused yourself to get ready. Toto kissed the top of your head when he passed behind you ten minutes later to get in the shower as you sat down at the vanity to do your makeup and style your hair, deciding it would be easier to pull it back in a low bun. You slipped on the dress, running your hands over the silk material as you admired the way it hugged your curves in the mirror. Toto stopped buttoning his shirt to admire you. He came to stand behind you, peppering kisses down your neck and shoulder.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, schatz,” he said, leaving a final kiss behind your ear. You felt your cheeks heat up at his praise as you turned to look at him.

“Help me with the necklace, please?” 

Toto happily obliged, his large hands deftly clasping the chain, kissing the top of your spine. The tiny gesture sent a shiver down you as his hands came to rest on your hips. You looked at him in your shared reflection in the mirror. 

“Toto..” you warned him, but your voice was devoid of any real threat. He smirked a wolfish grin that had become his trademark over the years, but moved away from you. The look he gave you as he finished getting ready left no room for misunderstandings: at the end of the evening you were his to do with as he pleased. 

+

The ceremony had been beautiful, the display of such unfiltered love and adoration between two people had left you feeling emotionally raw. There had been several moments throughout the years where you had felt unworthy of such love. It had taken you nearly a decade of therapy and experiencing unconditional love to realise your views on reality had been skewed because of the way your parents had treated you. Toto handing you a flute of champagne pulled you from your thoughts.

“Are you okay, schatzi?” he asked, his eyes glued to yours. He knew exactly what had happened with your parents. During those long nights dealing with the FIA back in 2021, you had spent a lot of time together going over what had happened in Bahrain and combing through the rule book. Toto was a great observer, and while at the time you detested it, he had figured you out in an instant. He had been the first man who allowed you to open up while being there every step of the way. It had been so hard to be vulnerable, the damage done throughout the years making it near impossible. 

“Yes. No. I will be,” you replied, pulling him down for a brief kiss, not trusting yourself to say the words bubbling up in your throat –that you couldn’t stop thinking about tying you to him for forever. This was not the place nor the time to do so, this was supposed to be a moment to celebrate your cousin and his wife. 

Toto smiled at you, eyes soft and full of his love for you, and kissed you back as he murmured an ich liebe dich against your lips. You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched him get pulled away by your cousins a moment later to discuss either a business opportunity of some sorts or golf, although that quickly faltered when your eyes met your mothers’. 

“Here we go,” you muttered, downing your champagne in the hopes it would provide the courage and patience you would need in order to deal with her and your father. 

“Mother,” you gave as a greeting when she approached you. Anxiety gripped your insides, but you steeled yourself, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing she still held a shred of power over you. 

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal daughter,” she all but sneered. Her face was a tight mask of pleasantries but her voice betrayed her disgust.

“Oh no, see, that's where you’re mistaken. In order for me to be the prodigal daughter I would have had to come back home with my tail between my legs; show remorse for my transgressions. And if there’s anything I’m not, it’s remorseful for prioritising my own happiness over yours.” 

You could see your rebuttal took the wind out of her sails. She had anticipated you crumbling under her thinly veiled attack on your character, and had this encounter taken place three years ago or maybe even a year ago, you would have. 

“Your sharp tongue was always the thing that got you in trouble. No wonder you’re alone wearing cheap clothes and fake diamonds. There’s no man who would want a woman like you,” your father commented. It was a loaded comment, not only meant to degrade your intellect but also a way of framing you the way he had done when you were a teenager: a woman owning her sensuality and her sexuality could never be anything other than a slut in his eyes. 

There was no denying that his words hurt; he always knew just where to hit to knock you down. You could feel the anger simmering in your veins, trying your hardest to keep your cool and not give them the satisfaction of knowing they could still affect you. The scent of Toto’s cologne, the brush of cotton against your exposed back and the warmth of his hand on your hip as he came standing behind you was enough to ground you. Even if he was behind you, his presence felt like a shield against their vitriol. Of course his height helped in that sense; even in your heels, you just about reached his shoulder. 

“Everything alright, liebling?” Toto asked quietly, giving your hip a squeeze. You rested your hand on top of his, giving a squeeze in return as an answer and straightened up, rolling your shoulders back. You saw recognition flicker across their faces when it dawned on them who he was and what he was to you.

“My sharp tongue landed me my dream job as in-house counsel at Mercedes AMG Petronas F1, it got me a boyfriend who looks at me as if I am made to be worshipped. I don’t think he’d take kindly to the accusation that he buys me fake diamonds,” you said, your voice even and ice cold. It was the voice you usually reserved for dealing with stupid men in legal battles. Toto chuckled behind you, breaking the tension in your body. You were sure your parents were about to protest, make up excuses as to why you didn’t deserve any of the accolades behind your name, how dating a man twenty years your senior was more evidence for this. You didn’t want to hear it, no longer cared for what they thought of you. You had never been good enough for them, there was always something that displeased them; if it weren’t your grades, it was the way you dressed, how you flirted with a waiter, that you ate too much or too little. Something clicked inside your brain, a final piece of the puzzle that you had been looking for all those years: You were done trying to appease them, realising you never would get their approval –realising you didn’t want their approval, not anymore. The only person whose opinion mattered loved you unconditionally despite all your flaws and frayed edges, he could read you like an open book and knew just what you needed without you having to say the words out loud. 

“If you’ll excuse us,” you interrupted your father’s spluttering, turning around to face Toto who just smirked at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Both his hands rested on your lower back now as he leant down to kiss you. It was both so tender and so filthy and full of promise for later that it left you light-headed. 

“Wanna get out of here, schatzi?” he murmured. You nodded and let him lead you outside, leaving your parents seething behind you. 

Outside, you took deep, gulping breaths, tears burning behind closed eyes. They weren’t tears of sadness or grief, but you felt… Relief. Even though it hurt to have to hear those words, you were relieved you could finally stand up to them. You could feel the last rays of sunlight on your face as the sun slipped lower behind the rolling hills of the Tuscan landscape, painting the sky with hues of lavender and peachy pinks. It mirrored the way Toto’s words and actions warmed your soul.

“You did so good, am so proud of you my love,” Toto said softly, hugging your back to his front as he shielded you from prying eyes inside the ballroom. He kept whispering his praise and love for you, the words washing over you like a balm for your still healing heart. 

“I love you so much, liebling,” he said, brushing a finger against your cheek as you turned to look at him. His expression was so open, so full of adoration, it squeezed your heart seeing him this way and cemented the feeling that he was the one you wanted to spend forever with. 

“I know it’s unbecoming to discuss this at someone else’s wedding, and maybe this is all the emotions of today speaking,” you started after a moment of silence, “but I can’t imagine life without you. If-.. If you were to ask, I’d say yes,” you all but whispered. Toto didn’t reply to your admission, not with words at least. He tilted your face up, brushing his lips against yours as he whispered i love yous in between kisses. That was all the reassurance you needed that he felt the same way about you. A tiny voice in the back of your mind whispered that it probably wouldn’t be long before he’d give you a new piece of jewellery to symbolise just how much, to serve as a permanent reminder of his love for you, to make you his and him yours. 

This fic was meant to be a Toto supporting his girlfriend as she deals with her shitty parents, but it somehow ended up being strangely cathartic? (this is still a work of fiction, don't worry about me) It got a little out of hand and I am not entirely sure of the flow of this fic, but I also know I need to set it free because I could nitpick this thing apart for all of eternity. Please let me know what you think, your comments truly feed the fanfic goblins in my brain For anyone else who recognises themselves in this fic, I am sorry you had to deal with that, know that you are loved and worthy and good enough 😘

click here for more of my work

#f1 fanfic #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff oneshot #did I throw every single essay word I remembered from my uni days into this fic? ...maybe #what good is a language degree if you can't use it?

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Eighteen

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Eighteen: Burn, Demon, Burn

The cavern shudders in the entrance of its mouth. Debris is kicked up into the air like the soot to your smithing; the ashes of what you could only describe as rebirth hangs thickly and desolately in the air.

You struggle to blink through the amount of dust, the dry particles of sand sticking stubbornly to your vision - yet your eyes never look away from his bare back.

He stands in front of you, acting as a barrier of scarred skin and muscle, silently drinking in the enemy before him. Like a predator, he thinks, he watches, his shoulders thrusting forwards…

“Roronoa,” you whisper lowly. You stare at the nape of his neck, focussing on the subtle sweat that baubles there. “Let me talk to them.”

His head twitches to you, and you see the incredulous look that’s sported across his brow.

“You gonna share some tea and biscuits, too?”

“I like tea parties,” you sarcastically mutter. “Do you really want to start a fight against an army of wizards?”

“I like sword fights,” he counters. His back, still unyielding, divides you from the fourty more lackeys that continue filing in, their power-wielding hands threateningly raised in front of their solar plexus’.

Another typhoon of debris coats the cavern’s climate, sweeping into the rhythm of their clambering footsteps; Zoro, unflinching, readies his sword, shoulders squared, a feral glint in his eye.

They all stand in line, stacking themselves into a wall with their scrawny bodies and long-pointed wizard hats. No words are uttered; remaining tight-lipped and hard-eyed, they all wait with baited breaths for the main entertainment to begin.

Oh, and absolutely, it begins.

"Well, well…” A powerful voice heaves thickly in the contained air, the rumble of his graceful footsteps echoing deep into the cavern's marrow.

The wall of wizards divides in half, searing a perfectly straight angle to the landscape beyond the cavern. A silhouette towers over what would’ve been a beautiful view, an ostentatious wizard hat poking through the sky like a sharp-beaked crow.

The Shaman grins.

He advances through the divide, his footsteps almost imprinting the ground that they trace across, and with a yellowed-out smile, his face comes into your and Zoro’s view.

"It’s the demon and her protector. How delightful," he trills.

Your gaze shifts from Zoro to the shaman, apprehensively observing both of their movements. The wrinkled shaman’s eyes blaze with fervour, fuelled by the apparent thirst for your blood, and even the shadows cast by the cave walls seem to writhe in response to his undeniable want.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward. Immediately, the minions raise their arms up higher to their chests, and the shaman’s resentful eyes burns deeper into yours.

“I’m Raya…I’m a blacksmith,” you slowly say, raising a hand up in peace, the other resting on your dagger. “This is entirely a misunderstanding. I’m willing to resolve this peacefully if you are too.”

The shaman sneers, a twisted grin contorting his features. "Peace? The only peace that awaits you is in death."

“No.” You shake your head, maintaining a neutral expression across your face. "We can leave this place and never return. No more trouble for you or your people."

The shaman's laughter echoes through the cavern, his bright earthy eyes sharpening with each passing second.

"Your kind has caused chaos for far too long,” he spits at you, his fumbling fingers spinning in arcane energy. “Your kind is an abomination.”

The lackeys inch closer, their hands glowing with a tinge of ochre oranges and golds. Zoro, with a bitten back growl, tightens his grip on his sword, advancing a step closer to them.

"She’s giving you a chance to leave," Zoro warns, his voice cutting through the tension. "Take it."

The shaman's expression twists into curiosity, his eyes flickering to the swordsman in front of you. "No, foolish samurai, it all ends now."

And everything, all at once, becomes undone.

The lackeys surge forward, their hands emitting a wave of teeth-gritting power in your direction. Zoro charges into the fray, swords slicing through the arcane energies, as you, too, move with agility, the dagger in your hand deflecting their blinding light.

The shaman's raises his arms in revelation, his voice dripping with drunken pleasure.

"It all ends now. It all ends now."

As if a dam has burst, the enemy surges forward, balls of energy glowing golder and brighter within the centre of their chests.

Zoro charges into the fray with primal determination, the sword in his hand splitting through the ethereal onslaught with a hiss to his metal. In tandem, you move with an agility born from blood, the dagger in your hand slicing the energy with a dance of fury.

"This doesn't have to end in bloodshed!” You scream out, thrusting your dagger against an attacking hand.  “Let us leave, and we swear to you we’ll never come back."

“Denied,” the shaman grins widely, a typhoon of dark energy convulsing within his fingers.

And in a single, swift motion, he aims his finger at you.

It all happens so quickly – neither you nor Zoro have the time to react.

The energy leaves his towering body, zapping into your blackened arm like the massive jaws of a convulsing animal. Your head snaps down, the blood rushing into your ears, your eyes widening in shock, and your breath lodging in your throat.

Although the adrenaline within you blocks any idea of pain, there’s an undeniable feeling of warm wetness that lingers across your skin. From your shoulder, down to your forearm, all the way down to the end of your wrist, a large slash slowly unsews from your skin, your body so easily unravelling under the shaman's fingers. The air hisses as your blood meets the atmosphere. And it sizzles.

Your blood sizzles on your skin, loud and heavy and metallic. And it burns within your bones like poison.

The shaman guffaws heavily, maddened eyes drinking in your frozen frame.

"Burn, demon, burn!" He yells, already pointing his fingers again at you, a ball of darkness growing within their tips.

Zoro immediately advances towards the shaman, a forceful slash thrown at his back. His grey eye, uncontrolled and drunk on rage, is widened beyond belief, the sword shaking in his hand as he shoves him away from your line of sight.

"Lay another finger on her, and I'll cut all your limbs off," Zoro bellows furiously, hissing and spitting in a voice that you've never heard come from him, dark and uncontrolled and incredibly not calm.

And although the wound in your arm continues to untether and de-skin itself, you keep on fighting. With the last remaining shreds of your energy, you fight through the unbreathable pain; the very air pulses with palpable tension as you attack and deflect, spin and thrust, until the edges of your vision finally blur into a ragged darkness.

Blood, the essence of life turned macabre, begins to spurt from your mouth in a crimson cascade. As the vitae meets the cool cavern air, it sizzles and burns, leaving third-degree kisses of pain across your skin. Almost instantly, your steps falter, teetering on the precipice of collapse.

"Hey!" Zoro's voice reverberates through the cavern, his terrified eye fixated on you from a distance. But before you can muster the words to tell him to stop, to turn around and leave you there, another gush of blood escapes your lips, and you choke, your eyes locked on his.

The world swirls in disorienting patterns, pain in your arm and the burning sensation in your mouth blending into a symphony of agony. Despite your struggle, Zoro charges in your direction, his voice laced with urgency and concern.

"Hold on. I've got you," he urgently hisses, strong fingers gripping your shoulders, a palm pressing firmly against your bleeding wound.

"Your blood betrays you, demon. Burn, demon, burn," the shaman taunts, his words a haunting echo in the cavern's twisted symphony.

Zoro, with every stroke of his swords, fights not just against flesh and magic but against the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you both. Your vision dims further, the edges of consciousness slipping away like sand through grasping fingers.

But before darkness consumes your vision, your body throbs aggressively within Zoro’s grasp.

BA-DUM.

The green-haired samurai snaps his head down at you, feeling the chaotic vibration within his palms.

BA-DUM.

With a heavy, pulsating beat, you scream out loud, piercing the cavern with your awful shrill.

BA-DUM.

The blood stings. Everything stings. Your arm feels untethered - your body, a bouncing ball.

BA-DUM.

And with one last howl, your body contracts, expands, and… explodes.

BA-DUM.

No. You dizzily look down to your body, seeing that everything’s still intact. You didn’t explode, no.

“What the fuck just happened?” Zoro yells out, gaping at the landscape above you. You tilt your head up, realising that none of the lackeys are there. The Shaman, too.

BA-DUM

But wait. They’re there. Outside the cavern, teetering off the edge of the mountain. Airborne but colliding aggressively with eachother.

BA-DUM

Colliding against each other within an invisible sphere of wind. A bitingly ferocious, yet perfectly controlled tempest ensures within the invisible borders of their ragged bodies, swirling in a way you could only describe as animalistic.

BA-DUM

Hah. You laugh a little to yourself, drunken from the sampled taste of death. They look like flying confetti strings, all tangled within each other. Absorbed by such a gluttonous typhoon.

Zoro shakes your shoulders, and your eyes blurrily graze across his face. He’s saying something – his mouth’s open, a helpless look on his face, the vibrations of his voice running through your body… but you can’t hear him.

You look back to the typhoon, the energy of growling wind ingraining itself so perfectly within the mountainous landscape.

BA-DUM.

It looks exactly like something your old man could wield.

#one piece #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro #one piece luffy #luffy #monkey d luffy #one piece ace #straw hat pirates #usopp #sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #straw hat luffy #one piece fanfiction #one piece fic #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #op fandom #female reader x zoro #zoro x female reader #zoro x fem reader #three sword style #zoro roronoa #zoro rorono x you #zoro roronoa x y/n #straw hats

[venomous-qwille]

Im sorry to bother you with this but i've been googling like crazy with no success. What is the name for the type of shirt/sleeves fool has?

The shirt is a poets shirt, the orange layer over the top is a renaissance style doublet- I was specifically inspired by the costumes of the landskneckts, who were very ostentatious in their silhouettes with a lot of extra 'cuts' in the fabric ^^. I added ties/ribbons rather than buttons (which were more common on this kind of fancy outfit) because that feels more DCA and jestercore to me.

#asks answered #fool eclipse #gitm au #ghost in the machine au #ghost in the machine

[saphirered]

a winter's ball with vax'ildan, maybe? only if you have time

When I read this one, I immediately got inspired. Hope it turned out well! 😘

Wining and dining was never really his style. Vax’ildan prefers the shadows over the shimmer and shine of these ostentatious events. It’s a thing he could do without but with Vox Machina’s rise in reputation so came obligations. It’s not every day the Sovereign invites you and your friends to attend some posh party and while he might want to forget, his sister and her boyfriend-he means friend- have not neglected to remind him this is not something he can get out of. At least there’ll be an open bar and as long as he sticks with the likes of Scanlan and Grog, he’s in for an eventful night to be sure. Even if everyone has been threatened urged to be on their best behaviour, he is used at being a shadow in the crowds. He’ll be fine. It’ll be hell but he’ll be fine. So here he stands dressed in his best, listening to the chatter and whining of the nobility of Tal’dorei. Plenty of gossip and slander and he has to admit his fingers do twitch when he sees some of the blatantly disregarded riches people put on display. It’s like they want to be robbed. Wait… That man was wearing three rings just a second ago. There’s two now. He searches the crowd. Nothing out of the ordinary. At least to the untrained eye. He recognises a pattern of movement, someone making their way across the room, to be as far away from the scene of the crime as possible, not like the rich prick will notice the ring missing in the first place but better safe than sorry he supposes. Whoever you are, you’re good. Just not good enough. And since Grog’s been cut off from the open bar and Scanlan has already has found some privacy, it’s not like he’s got anything better to do. 

On your trail, he realises he was incorrect when he assumed you were getting away from the crime scene. Instead you are making a clean sweep, mingling with groups, inserting yourself into conversation. He’d have lost you completely had he not seen you change you appearance behind a pillar. He almost did lose you several times but there’s something distinct in your behaviour, a tell that he knows all too well, and one he’s guilt of himself. Though, when he gets close enough, your voice, it sounds familiar. He can’t quite place it. He gets closer but doesn’t quite join the same conversation you’d slid into. He listens to you, watches your every movement. You’d taken on the appearance of a tiefling, horns and orange eyes and all. Attire displayed more Marquisian. You lay it on thick, flattery, compliments, charms and don’t neglect the occasional flirt to really sell it. 

“My my, that ring of yours, it is a gorgeous piece!” You gasp as one of the ladies not so subtilely brushes the rubies around her neck. Obviously she was looking for a way to insert the ostentatious diamonds into this conversation and was failing. That faint glint in your eye right before you spoke, the one that’s akin to focussing on a target, that’s your tell. Everyone has one after all. 

“It ought to be. It was a gift from J’mon Sa Ord themself!” The lady already stretches her arm out towards you, to give you a look up close. Vax watches as you daintily reach out to take the woman’s hand and let the ring hit the light perfectly. 

“Such a high honour, my lady. A gift befitting a queen one could say. You simply must share the story behind it.” As she retracts her hand what the woman does not notice; you unclasped one of the bracelets on her arm, let it drop into your palm, the one that clasped under her hand, and sweep it away as she goes into the extensive story, having all those around oohing and aaahing. In the mean time you grow quieter and quieter until the focus is entirely away from you. You bend out, and make for the nearest alcove. Vax watches you brush along your clothes and then let your hands fall to your sides, bracelet nowhere to be seen. That’s when he decides to make his move. 

A job well done. You got plenty of loot from your little scavenger hunt, no one any the wiser. Tonight was a fruitful night. Who knew the desperate for attention and admiration were still granted plus one to such an event with a tight invite list. Just your luck you make a good actor and have no obligations to sweet-talking yourself into this spot. Such a shame though, the event is so large with so many attendants, it’s easy to get lost and lose sight of your escort. It’s unlikely you’ll meet again, or rather, your escort will meet you again. You’d not be so stupid to wear your own face on such an adventure. Nothing a little magic couldn’t fix. Not all deals made are bad ones and you surely reaped the benefits of this one. Time to leave. Stay close to the dance floor, make it to the balcony and off you go. It’s like stealing candy from a very rich baby. Another change of face; a half elf this time, with a tiered ruffle skirt. It seemed suitable, and just slightly big enough to keep at bay some of the suitors waiting for a dance partner of their choosing. You turn down the others, claiming exhaustion, already being spoken for, and so on. 

“Would you like to dance?” Your breath catches. You know that voice, and seeing the half-elf to your side, you are not mistaken. Shock must have spread across your face but you recover quickly. He looks as handsome as you last saw him, though the outfit is not very him. Vax. Your heart aches 

“I’m afraid my dance card is full, good sir.” You reply and sound a little more breezy than you intended. You have to get out. This is no place for a confrontation. Vax only takes one look at you and knows every single instinct on the verge of kicking in, so instead he simply takes your arm and pulls you into the ongoing dance. It’s a good thing you’re both quick on your feet or you might have sprawled across the floor unable to avoid the other couples in their routines. You want to say something, protest or just get out but He’s guided you along to a place where doing that inconspicuous would be very difficult, even for you. Bastard. You put on a smile and play the part of a whimsical lady who belongs here. 

“What brings you here, Miss?” You want to snort at his all too innocent question and playing into your act. He’s learned quite well. Then again, he always had charm, though, his sister will always be the more persuasive one. 

“Oh, I’m here with the Lord Waters. My uncle was kind enough to send me along to familiarise myself with the court here! And you, good sir? What brings you to this marvellous event?” You want to gag. You feel his hand burning against the small of your back, know he can feel through the illusion, feel the dagger you’ve got holstered there. His fingers of the other hand have clasped with yours, the fingerless gloves must have been a nice surprise as opposed to the dainty satin it appears to be. 

“Me and my companions were invited.” Damn it. You should have taken a better peak at that guest list when you had the chance. Of course Vox Machina would be in attendance. You’d have made better efforts to avoid them. Not that you’re not enjoying this encounter. In an odd way it feels good to be here, back in Vax’ arms. You’ve got plenty of memories like these. Though few include being in a palace like this. It feels good even if you’ve been made and should probably make an effort to get out now. 

You must be very important then. Excuse me for not knowing-“ You keep playing the game and Vax almost starts doubting himself. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe he missed you in the crowd and is confusing you for this innocent half-elf but then you cast your eyes to the closest balcony. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’ll pass it and he wonders if you plan on making your escape then, slide away without another word. 

“Vox Machina. Heroes of Tal’dorei some say, though it’s a bit pretentious if you ask me.” He speaks earnestly. And then your window of opportunity approaches. 

“I’m afraid my feet have grown quite tired. It was lovely dancing with you, Hero of Tal’dorei.” You make to push away from him and he lets you go. What you don’t notice is that he’s just as good as you and in your distraction of getting away, you miss him removing that dagger from your belt. Your head’s turned when he swiftly slides it up his sleeve and follows after you, through the crowd. 

You break for the balcony, moving through the crowd gently until you reach the doors and slide through unnoticed. There’s no one else. It’s freezing cold after all. Big change from the warm interior and leaves you shivering just a little as your body adjusts. You look around the ledge; bushes below lead into the gardens. A drainpipe goes down to one side but looks rather shaky. Though his balcony is supported by pillars and happen to have decent foothold, even if a layer of frost covers the ground below. You’ll have to be careful still but you could not call yourself a master thief if you were thwarted by some ice. You pick a nice spot and sit on the railing, reach for your- it’s gone. You frantically look around, as if it might have dropped on the stone here somewhere. Then the door opens and through slides that damned half-elf, holding your dagger between his fingers. 

“Looking for this?” Cocky as you know him to be when successfully stealing something. “You can drop the act now.” You roll your eyes as you jump back to your feet and meet him in the middle of the balcony. He lets you take the dagger without a fuss and you quickly put it back in its sheath dropping your disguise. He wasn’t prepared. Vax didn’t think you’d actually drop your disguise, that he’d be facing you now. With your urgency to get out he had assumed you might have been running from your past, from him but you’re not. You’re standing here and don’t make a dive for your escape. You cross your arms. 

“You’re a bastard, and you know it.” You snicker. Despite the freezing cold the sound warms him from the inside. It’s been far too long since he’s heard that sound, heard you. You take another step closer. Your breath shows upon the cold air as you look him in the eyes. You tilt your head slightly, lips parting and begin to lean in. You bring a hand to his chest, let the other brush along his cheek, along his pointed ear until you guide his face to yours, as if you’re going to kiss him. But then he feels a pull and his hair falls free out of the tie he’d been persuaded to keep it in. You step back laughing and lift yourself onto the balcony ledge. He crosses the distance as you play with the tie. 

“Is it really that easy?” He laughs at your antics. It’s like you never parted, like not a moment has passed since your last goodbye even though it has been years. He was a scavenging thief with an annoying sister back then. He’s an adventurer now, still with an annoying sister though. You were a runner for a local guild. What have you become? You bear no seal, now sigil and you seem wholly unburdened. You wink at him. 

“It can be.” You swing your legs over, and stand on the small ridge. You quickly peck his lips and leave the half-elf in shock, short of a response. “Pick a place. Tomorrow. Lunch. My treat.” You play with a gold necklace between your fingers but before you’re about to jump off the shock has vanished and Vax feels in control of himself once more. He cups your cheeks. 

“I’ve missed you.” He breathes as his brain is trying to wrap his head around all of this. You’re here. You actually want to see him and as it looks like now you’ve no objections to picking up where things left off. What in the world is happening? 

“Missed you too.” Genuine words. Gently he presses his lips to yours, awaiting any response of objection but you move them against his, wrap your arms around his neck and deepens the kiss. The cold breeze cuts at his skin, his fancy clothes doing little to keep it at bay as opposed to your attire, clearly suitable for the weather and your objective for the evening, though he cares little when he holds onto you, when he feels your fingers brush against his skin and spark a fire to keep him warm, however short-lived this kiss may be. He pulls away, reminded you are on a job and he’d be a terrible partner in crime if he did not look out for you. Your hum in disappointment almost makes him forget about that. 

“There’ll be a guard patrol coming in two minutes. You’ll want to be past the fountains by then. The roses to the right will give enough cover.” Vax gives you the run down and you nod. With a final peck you push off the ledge and he runs to the edge to see you grab onto the pillar, and slide down. When he does he feels something in his breast pocket. It’s the gold bracelet. You blow him a kiss when you hit the ground before you turn on your heels and make a sprint for the roses quite a ways a way. You’re lucky you’re fast. With a longing sigh he watches you go. Lunch it is. 

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