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rashoumon-homo · 3 months

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No Such Tastes In Men pt.4 (the last part)

Dazai x Male Reader, NSFW

-> Content Warnings: male!reader, anal sex (reader receiving), bottom!reader, dom/sub undertones, frottage, lethal amounts of fluff

-> 2.6k words

NSFW CONTENT AHEAD - READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

<- Previous Part

AUTHOR NOTE: There will be more Dazai x reader content for sure, but this is the last part of this particular story arc. I’m glad you’ve all enjoyed it so much! The reception is far more than I expected when I wrote the first part and I’m very grateful to all of you. <3

Initiating sex with Dazai has gotten steadily easier. Where before there’d be clunky verbal propositioning, you now wordlessly fall into each other’s arms at the end of each weekly meeting.

He’s more liberal with kisses than you expected; it’s like the first one broke the dam and now he can’t get enough. When you’re alone, he’ll kiss you just because; cradling your jaw in his palm before gently pressing his lips to yours. Any lull in the conversation is quickly filled with the softness of his mouth on yours.

It’s natural— unnaturally so.

Dazai hasn’t asked to have penetrative sex with you again since the first time. You were quick to catch on that he was avoiding it, so you asked him about it, worried he hadn’t liked it.

“No, no,” he’d said quickly. “It was… fuck, it was perfect.” He seemed a little breathless, a distant look in his eye. “I just need some time to process it.”

You didn’t push him. It’s understandable that he’d be overwhelmed, since it was his first time receiving and he’d thought he was straight up until then. He’d come to you when he was ready.

Nearly two weeks after the night you’d fucked, he sent a text asking you to come over to his place after work. The implicit real invitation was clear as day. He’s ready again.

You stand at Dazai’s front door, wrapping your coat tighter against yourself to block the chilly air. When he answers the door, he seems a bit more relaxed than last time. He invites you in and hangs up your coat for you.

“So…” you prompt. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I wanted to talk to you. I’ve had some time to think and I want to share what I’ve discovered about myself.”

“Oh!” you say, a little surprised. “I’d be happy to hear all about it!”

Dazai gives you a relieved smile and urges you to sit on the couch. He’s bustling in the kitchen a moment later and calls out, “Just water, right?”

“Yup!” you reply, your stomach doing a little flip. Remembering your drink preferences from last time is a small thing, you remind yourself. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything deeper. Although it is nice to know he cares.

He returns with your drinks and sets his on the side table. He fidgets with his hands while you take a sip of water.

You smile around the rim of your glass and peek over at him. He’s so cute like this, with all his carefully manufactured bravado stripped away. What’s left behind is a cautious, sweet man earnestly looking to learn more about himself and his desires. It’s been hard for you to avoid catching feelings, but you know that would be taking the arrangement too far, so you maintain a level of emotional distance when you can.

“What?” you finally ask, nudging him with your elbow.

“Can I kiss you one more time before I start talking?” he asks. “Just in case?”

The implication of “just in case” makes your blood run cold, but you give him a warm smile. “Always,” you murmur, tipping your head forward.

His lips meet yours gently, his hand hovering near the back of your head before cautiously resting in your hair. He sucks lightly at your lower lip, teasing it between his teeth. Then he tilts his head further and parts his lips, urging you to do the same. As you lick into his mouth, his body seems to curl into you. It’s like he just wants to be held; to be as close to you as possible. You run your fingers through his hair, cradling his head in your hand, and he lets out the most melancholy little sigh you’ve ever heard. It’s like a flower wilting, like a stray kitten in the rain, and it breaks your heart.

You slowly ease away, peppering his lips and the corner of his mouth with little kisses as you do. His eyes stay closed for a moment after you pull away, like he wants to pretend the moment isn’t ending.

“Talk to me,” you say quietly.

“I’m bi,” he says. He scans your eyes for any reaction, like there’s still some doubt in his mind that you of all people will reject him.

You pull him into a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you,” you say, voice muffled into his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me.” You can feel his body relax, a little of the tension let out at your words.

“You’ve helped me to realize,” he continues as you pull away, “That I like men sexually… and romantically.” Before you can even process it, a flood of words pours from his mouth.

“I wasn’t totally sure at first because I like having sex with you but I didn’t want to label myself as bi yet because I’d never had romantic feelings towards a guy. But then I started to feel things towards you and I wanted to test it by having you fuck me and I really, really liked it. And not only that, I liked you.”

He takes a breath and looks at you. “I like you. And it goes deeper than physical desire. And I know that wasn’t the deal, but I couldn’t help it. I don’t want to be stuck in a one-sided thing with you so if you don’t feel the same, I think we should stop hooking up. It’s not fair to either of us.”

You blink at him. “But I do feel the same,” you say. “I’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but I like you too. I want to make out with you and fuck you and give you blow jobs in alleyways, but I also want to hold your hand and take you on cheesy dates to the bowling alley or whatever.”

Dazai giggles, but it’s a little sniffly. “The bowling alley?” he teases.

You laugh and shove him playfully. “You’re laughing now, but you haven’t seen my mad bowling skills in action.”

“Oh my god,” he laughs, shaking his head. When the laughter dies down, he asks, “So you really do feel the same?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” you say firmly.

Like a nervous teen, he asks, “So we’re, like, boyfriends?”

You hide a smile behind your hand. “I like the sound of that.” Then you pull him in by the collar of his shirt and kiss him. He melts into your arms, all the hesitancy from earlier having fully evaporated. You can feel him smiling into the kiss, something he’s never done before. It’s adorable. You find yourself smiling back, and then you’re both smiling too much to even kiss properly, so he nuzzles his face into your neck and lets you hold him.

“There’s something we haven’t done yet that I’d like to try,” he mumbles.

“Sounding?” you joke. Apparently the joking tone doesn’t read as well when he can’t see you, so he pulls back briefly, looking mildly horrified. “I’m just kidding,” you reassure him, chuckling and running your fingers through his hair. “Tell me your idea.”

“I’m not sure if this is something you’re into or not, so we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he explains. “But you fucked me before and I was kind of wondering what it would be like to fuck you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the suggestion. You can’t deny you’ve thought about it before. Late at night, when you’re too horny to sleep, you’d finger yourself imagining it was him instead. You’d formed a habit of it, where it was second nature to cum with his name on your lips and fantasies of him stuffing you full.

Interpreting your silence as hesitation, Dazai quickly backtracks. “But if you’re a top, I don’t mind bottoming for you again-”

You cut him off. “I’m a switch.” More quietly, you admit, “You have no idea how much I’ve craved that idea.”

A playful smirk makes its way across his face. “Craved it, hmm?” He sits in your lap, slowly kissing up your neck. Your hands move to rest on his hips.

“M-maybe,” you admit, mind already going fuzzy with arousal. He rolls his hips, pressing your erections together, and you can’t stifle the groan you let out. “Fuck…” you whisper.

“I like you like this,” he teases, his breath ghosting over your ear. “So pliant and needy under my touch.” He rolls his hips again and bites down at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I could get used to this,” he murmurs.

“Dazai…” you groan. You’re melting under him, chasing his every touch, as your mind clouds over with arousal. You need him. You need more.

“I know, baby,” he soothes. Then he gets off your lap and stands up and you positively whimper at the lack of contact. “Bedroom,” he orders. “I’m not fucking you on the couch– at least not tonight.”

You let him lead you to the bedroom and push you onto your back on the bed. He works quickly to pull your shirt off, and you’re reminded he’s wearing far too many clothes, so you do the same for him. After a few moments of frustrated fiddling with each other’s belts (both of you getting in each other’s way), you wordlessly agree to take off your own pants instead.

And then you’re both just in your boxers and even the time it takes to remove those feels too long, so instead you grab him and pull him down on top of you. You roll around on the bed, frantically grinding against each other. Kisses turn into bites and somewhere in the back of your mind you’re scolding yourself for acting like a feral animal. But you can’t bring yourself to care, not when his throat feels so good between your teeth and the friction of his cock against yours with only two flimsy layers of fabric in between is driving you wild.

Dazai manages to get his underwear down to his knees in the scuffle, then he slides his hands under your ass and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of your boxers to pull them down. “Hold on-” he groans, chuckling a little as you suck a hickey onto his pale skin. He rolls off of you and pulls his underwear the rest of the way off before you pounce on him again. He’s trying to wiggle your boxers the rest of the way down, but it’s hard with you latched onto him like that.

“Be patient!” he laughs, shoving you off. He manages to finish undressing you, then straddles your hips. “Good,” he says, kissing you. “Good boy.”

When he leans away, his bare cock brushes against yours, making your hips jerk forward. You whine and grab his ass, roughly pulling him forward to chase the friction. He wraps his hand around both of you and strokes them together. You moan under his touch. It feels so good, like warm sparks running through your veins from your crotch outward.

“Don’t cum yet, okay?” Dazai reminds you. “I still want to fuck you.”

“Get on with it,” you groan impatiently. You hand him the lube, having remembered from last time where it is.

“So impatient,” he teases. “You really that desperate for me to fuck you?”

“You have no idea,” you whisper, then moan as he slips a long, slender finger inside of you.

A look of surprise crosses his face. “Did you already prep yourself?” he asks.

You nod. “I assumed from your text…”

He slips another finger inside, working you open with ease. “But how did you know I’d want to top this time?”

“I didn’t,” you explain. It’s getting really hard to concentrate on the conversation with Dazai’s fingers in your ass. “I came prepped last time too, just in case.”

Dazai stops suddenly, eyes wide. “You’re joking.” You wiggle your hips to urge him to keep going. “I can’t believe I missed out on the chance to fuck you.”

“You have the chance right now, so c’mon,” you say impatiently. “Fuck. Me.”

You’re momentarily disappointed when Dazai pulls his fingers out, but then he reaches for a condom and rolls it on.

“How do you like it?” he asks. His cock rubs against your hole and it takes all your self-restraint not to push back against him and fuck yourself on it. “Fast, slow? Gentle, rough?”

“I like it in my ass,” you snarl.

He unexpectedly grins. “Such a brat!” He sinks just the head inside, not even enough for you to really feel any relief. “You’re gonna be a good boy for me though, right?”

Desperation and impatience starts to crack your resolve. You need him to fuck you or you’re gonna lose your mind. “Yeah,” you say reluctantly.

“Yeah, what?”

You shoot Dazai a withering look, but his smug expression holds strong. “Yes, Dazai,” you correct yourself.

“So good,” he murmurs, then sinks the rest of the way in. The way he stretches you out and fills you up is even better than you imagined. He fits you perfectly; hits every spot just right. But that’s nothing compared to the first thrust. When he pulls back and thrusts in, your whole spine arches and you moan loud enough for the sound to fill the room.

“Fuck,” you rasp.

“Yeah, you like that?” Dazai asks. He’s a little breathless himself. “You feel so good. So warm and tight around me.” He thrusts again, moaning through it. “Goddamn…” Gradually, he builds up a rhythm. He maneuvers your arms so they’re over your head, crossed at the wrists, then holds them tight in his grip. Holding you in place, he starts to fuck you more roughly.

The slick sound of the lube, along with the slap of his balls against your ass, fill the room. The sound is accompanied by both of your moans, grunts, and heavy breathing.

“Dazai,” you warn. Your cock is throbbing, ready to go off at the slightest touch. “Gonna-”

He wraps his free hand around your cock and pumps once. Embarrassingly enough, that’s all it takes for you to finish. Your whole body tenses as you let out a short grunt through clenched teeth and spill out over his hand and your belly.

“Shit-” Dazai grunts, then thrusts hard and lets out a low moan as he cums.

A minute later, you’re both breathing hard, covered in a mixture of sweat, lube, and cum, but happier than you’ve ever been. Dazai pulls out and takes care of the condom, then flops on the bed beside you.

“I definitely like topping,” he says finally. You can hear the grin in his voice, and you can’t help but smile too.

“Don’t expect me to let you top every time,” you warn him. “My ass is gonna hurt so bad tomorrow…”

“Hey, you asked for it!” Dazai rolls onto his side and flops an arm across your chest lazily. “When were you planning on telling me you’re a brat, by the way? You’re a lot of work, you know. It’s a good thing you’re cute like that.”

You stick out your tongue at him, and he darts in and licks it before you can pull it away. Laughing, you shove him, then roll on top of him and kiss him. “Boyfriend,” you murmur happily.

“That’s me,” he says, kissing you again. The cute moment lasts for only a minute or two longer, at which point Dazai whines, “You’re getting cum all over me!”

You roll your eyes and get up, pulling him up after you. “Fine, let’s shower. C’mon, babe.”

Dazai grins and follows you. “I like when you call me babe,” he says. After a moment, he adds, “I like you.”

“Ugh, you’re so adorable it’s actually gross,” you tease. You kiss him, then murmur, “I like you too.”

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#rashoumon writes #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai x male reader #dazai x m!reader #dazai smut #bsd fic #bsd #dazai bsd #top dazai

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f1letters · 1 year

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mastermind | cs55

"what if I told you none of it was accidental?"

summary: it all started when she saw him across the room and she knew right away she wouldn't give up until he was hers

warning: overall fluff, lying reader (with the dumbest but funniest plan too lol), daddy issues, slut-shaming, mentions of alcohol, swearing, suggestive language, the beginning of the story takes place in 2021 when Carlos joined Ferrari (so it's all flashback for much of the story, including the 2021 Monaco GP)

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

word count: 3.8k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

spanish words used: corazón = heart; bebé = baby; ay Dios mío = oh my God; mi amor = my love; te quiero mucho = I love you so much

so I guess this week's theme is Scuderia Ferrari! haha, I hope all of you enjoy this one as always! I can't believe we are already on the 6TH STORY of the midnights series! thank you for all the love you have been giving me in the past weeks since I started, it means the world to me

masterlist

Once upon a time, the planets and the fates

And all the stars aligned

You and I ended up in the same room

At the same time

Once upon a time, in the beautiful city of Milan, dozens of people gathered at a gala dinner to celebrate the anniversary of the iconic racing team that was Scuderia Ferrari.

Like everything associated with the luxury Italian car manufacturer, the dinner was going to be a monumental and remarkable celebration. The red team never did anything less than big, so clearly, no costs had been spared to make the party the best it could be.

It had vintage cars on display, red carpets throughout the corridors, and walls covered in gold frames with images of the team's history over the decades. The ostentation was notable, from the table decorations in the characteristic Ferrari colours to the incredible reception and service of all employees of the gala.

Y/N couldn't believe all the beauty her eyes saw. The young woman almost felt dizzy trying to capture all the details that surrounded her.

Being the daughter of a very busy businessman, it wasn't the first time that the girl ended up having to represent him in business commitments due to his inability to attend. However, as someone who only played a small role in the company's finances, she still felt lost and out of place, especially at a dinner party the size of this one.

The weight on her shoulders of representing her father, one of the team's biggest investors and sponsors, was something that still scared her, no matter how many times she did it.

Y / N walked elegantly across the room, with the sound of her high heels clicking on the floor following her until she reached her table. Her name written on a glass plate indicated where she should sit and she did so, adjusting her long black silk dress so that it wouldn't get crumpled on the chair.

As time progressed, her table was filled with old and arrogant businessmen, more interested in talking about money and showing off their luxury. Y/N made small talk occasionally, but she obviously felt like an outsider.

My father would fit perfectly in here, she couldn't help but think. Critical of her as always, even without being in Italy, he managed to complain about her look for the evening, criticizing her choice of dress for not being red or yellow like the symbol of the Prancing Horse.

The young woman ended up giving in partially, painting her lips with a red lipstick that she had forgotten in her suitcase, seeking his approval, just like she had done all her life.

Her eyes roamed along the room in search of entertainment, so bored that watching others would be a far more interesting escape than listening to the men talk.

And that's when she saw him, in the same room, at the same time.

In all his splendour, Carlos Sainz, the promising Spanish driver who had just joined Scuderia Ferrari, immediately captured her attention. He was sitting at the bar, in a black suit that fit his muscular frame perfectly, fiddling with his phone, probably just as pleased to be there as she was.

All the stars aligned to bring them there at that moment, and Y/N was determined to take advantage of the chance of a lifetime given to her.

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

Of a chain reaction of countermoves

To assess the equation of you

Checkmate, I couldn't lose

She sat there for a few minutes while she listed several potential ways to approach the driver.

Could she be straightforward and sit next to him at the bar and try to strike up a conversation? No, that wasn't a good idea. He wouldn't want some random girl bothering him at his first Ferrari show.

What if she waited for him to look her way and smile at him, or wave at him, something like that? Okay, that was ridiculous. If Carlos didn't look at her all night, Y/N was going to stay there forever staring at him like a stalker, only to go home disappointed.

The young woman needed an excuse to talk to him, something that would allow her to build a master plan that could not fail.

She couldn't lose. She couldn't let this chance pass.

Nothing was going to stop her.

He had to be hers.

And then it hit her, her 'a-ha!' moment. With a completely out-of-the-box idea, the girl got up from her chair, apologised to the people at the table for leaving, and confidently started her mission.

Carlos was sitting at the bar all alone, holding a whiskey in one hand while the other was scrolling through his Instagram feed, until out of nowhere he felt the touch of a small, soft hand on his big, rough one, catching him off guard.

"Sorry about that, but there's this weird guy who keeps bugging me. When I saw you alone, I told him my boyfriend was waiting for me as an excuse for him to leave me alone, I'm sorry." Y/N lied through her teeth and let out a nervous giggle as soon as she saw the Spaniard's shocked face.

Carlos couldn't help but notice the girl's charming figure and the way the dress fit her amazing body in all the right places, still in shock mode not knowing what to say.

Y/N noticed and released a smile. Her plan was kicking off and starting in full force. "I hope you don't have a girlfriend who is going to show up at any moment and pull my hair out for hitting on her man?" She said, laughing more confidently now.

"Don't worry. There is no girlfriend." He smiled at him, allowing their eyes to meet for the first time and squeezing her hand more securely. "So who's the creepy guy?"

"Oh." Oh fuck. Y/N did not expect this question at all. Panicking already about her lie being revealed, the woman impulsively looked over her shoulder and pointed at a random skinny man who had his back to them. "That guy over there, but I think I've already lost him."

Carlos looked in the direction she pointed and a discreet smirk formed on his face. He looked back at the girl and without releasing her hand from his hold, he spoke. "So, what's your name, corazón?"

What if I told you none of it was accidental?

And the first night that you saw me

Nothing was gonna stop me

I laid the groundwork, and then

Just like clockwork

The dominoes cascaded in a line

Though the beginning of the couple's story had been anything but accidental, for the rest of that night, they were all about each other. Attached at the hip, they eventually moved to the driver's table, cocktails in their hands, and just talked for hours on end about everything and anything: from how nervous he was about joining a racing team with a history like Ferrari's, to why she was at that gala, even if she didn't look like one of the normal guests at these celebrations.

The fiery chemistry between them was noticeable to anyone who laid eyes on them, and with him being the hot new addition to the team, countless people were curious about the pair.

The two felt like children again, so much was the joyful enthusiasm that grew inside them. They didn't know if it was something physical or psychological that was happening to them but one thing they both believed: it was something magical.

But love at first sight has these foolish things: for those lucky enough to experience it, it only happens once in a lifetime and it's something that stays with them until the end of time.

After a while, Carlos excused himself to go to the bathroom and Y/N knew it was time to get the second phase of her master plan in order.

When the driver came back, the woman was nowhere to be seen. It was almost as if she were a mirage, a figment of his imagination that simply vanished into thin air.

He looked for her, looking all around the splendorous dining room, but there was no sign of her. What do you mean she left him alone after all the chemistry that was created between the two throughout that night?

It was as he turned back to the table that Carlos noticed the red napkin folded over his plate. Carefully, he picked it up and unfolded it, finding a phone number and the girl's name written in black ink, along with a clumsy heart at the bottom of the note.

If she had planned to have him completely fascinated by her and wanting to see her again more than anything else, she had succeeded.

What if I told you I'm a mastermind?

And now you're mine

It was all by dеsign

'Cause I'm a mastermind

The very next day Carlos gained the courage to text her and make his move since the pawns were now on his side.

From: Unknown

I have a paddock pass with your name on it as my guest waiting for you. Monaco, next Sunday. Hope to see you there, bebé - CS

Her heartbeat immediately sped up as she read that message. However, there was no time to waste.

The show must go on. She had a man to win. Putting her brave face back on, the young woman took a deep breath and decided to send a text playing hard to get, trying to entertain the curiosity he had in getting to know her better.

To: Carlos Sainz

I guess you'll have to wait and see if I show up...

You see, all the wisеst women

Had to do it this way

'Cause we were born to be the pawn

In every lover's game

Sunday morning came in the blink of an eye.

Y/N woke up with the sunlight hitting the window of her hotel room. She got up right away, put on a robe and went to the entrance to the balcony to observe the breathtaking view of Monte Carlo.

The girl could barely contain the butterflies of anticipation that she had in her stomach, anxious to see again the Spaniard who controlled all her thoughts since the gala where they met.

During the days until the race weekend arrived, the couple exchanged messages all the time. Not only did it allow them to get to know each other better, but it also took their relationship to a new level, with the two of them now openly flirting, not afraid to reveal their mutual interest in each other.

Y/N went to her wardrobe and carefully chose her outfit for the day, selecting a simple white jumpsuit and silver open heels.

She knew that her presence would be noticed, thanks to the importance of her last name, something that worried her a lot. Not because of Carlos, but because of what her father would say.

The businessman had heard from some of his associates about his daughter's interaction with the driver during the Italian team's anniversary, which led to a huge argument between them. Y/N's father expressed his disappointment in (what he thought was) his daughter's lack of professionalism, going so far as to accuse her of being a disgrace to the family name for acting like a 'slut'.

Nothing out of the ordinary for him. The young woman could no longer take the things he said to heart, with so many criticisms and low expectations her dad had of her.

She wasn't going to stop living because of him, especially when it put at risk her relationship with a man as spectacular as Carlos.

Going against her father's orders, Y/N got on their private plane and flew towards Monaco without giving him any explanation of where she was going.

After she finished getting ready, the woman looked at her reflection in the mirror and one of Carlos' many texts echoed in her thoughts: your red lipstick drove me completely crazy to kiss you in Milan. And with that came the next step in her master plan. She took the same lipstick and applied it over her lips.

Carlos wouldn't be able to resist.

If you fail to plan, you plan to fail

Strategy sets the scene for the tale

I'm the wind in our free-flowing sails

And the liquor in our cocktails

Y/N got into her rented black Ferrari parked outside the hotel and drove the short distance to the circuit. Did she need to have such an ostentatious car with her? No, she didn't. But why not take advantage of her connections with the team to entice the man who was waiting for her?

Arriving at the parking lot, the engine of her car caught the attention of the people who were there. Photographers began to direct their cameras in her direction, flashes going off, waiting to know who was behind the smoked windows driving.

As soon as she got out of the vehicle, she could hear whispers: who was she, where was her father, was she a guest of Scuderia Ferrari, did she have an affair with one of the drivers.

Putting on her sunglasses to protect herself from the sun as well as the flashes, Y/N lifted her head and started to walk confidently towards the entrance where she knew her pass had been left by Sainz and was waiting for her.

On the other side of the paddock, Carlos became aware of the commotion that was settling in at the entrance, wondering which celebrity had arrived this time. Although he was still hopeful, the driver didn't know yet if his dream girl was going to show up.

Seconds later, his colleague Charles approached him and the two sat on two piles of tires, talking about the race that was going to start in half an hour until Monaco's home hero interrupted the conversation.

"Mate, isn't that your girl?" Leclerc, now in on the subject after Carlos told him everything about that night, asked when he saw a figure in white approach their motorhome, with a sea of photographers following close behind her.

"Ay Dios mío, she came." Carlos spoke aloud, blurting out his thoughts as his brain seemed to shut down with the image of her.

Y/N was now mere steps away from the boy and looked directly into his eyes, giving him a sly smile, almost like a scheming criminal plotting something.

With his eyes still locked on her, as if she were the only person in the world at that moment, Carlos watched as she walked right past him into the motorhome, not saying a word to him.

Just a gentle touch on his hand, like she did at the bar on that memorable night.

"Good luck with her, mate." Charles' laughter echoed in the Spaniard's ears as the Monegasque left, leaving Sainz standing there, speechless, all alone.

Carlos woke up from his trance when he felt the flashes on him. The photographers. They sure took pictures of their little moment there.

Oh, she was trouble.

What if I told you none of it was accidental?

And the first night that you saw me

I knew I wanted your body

I laid the groundwork, and then

Just like clockwork

The dominoes cascaded in a line

The man followed her path and entered Ferrari's home, immediately seeing her alone, leaning against one of the walls and concentrating on her phone.

Quickly, the driver reached near her and grabbed her hand, pulling her with him into his driver's room.

On the other hand, the girl hadn't even realized what was happening to her when her back made contact with a wall inside a small room and she heard the door close in a hurry.

The image in front of her left her feeling equally shy and wanting more. Carlos placed both hands on the wall next to her head, making it impossible for her to break free from his hold.

"You're playing with fire, corazón." Carlos moved dangerously close to her, allowing her to feel his warm breath on her neck. "Coming in here teasing me like that."

"Me? Teasing? Never." Y/N replied, running her hand over the fireproof garment that covered the man's toned chest.

"You're lucky I spent all this time waiting for you to come." He lifted his head, making eye contact with the girl. "You make me lose all control, bebé, I swear. Since the first night I saw you, I've wanted your body."

One of the driver's hands left the wall and he brought it to the young woman's cheek, letting his thumb run gently across her lower lip.

"That red lipstick again." Sainz reduced the distance between them even further, letting his own mouth graze over hers. "You're doing it on purpose."

"What if I am?" She spoke, giving him a look that was a perfect mixture of innocent and provocative.

Carlos glanced at the watch on his wrist for just a second, turning his attention back to her right away. "Then I guess I still have time to show you what happens when I lose control."

Although he ended up in second place in that race, almost reaching the top of the podium, Carlos left Monaco feeling like a winner after that half hour between those four walls.

Nothing would ever make him feel on top of the world like her on top of him.

What if I told you I'm a mastermind?

And now you're mine

It was all my design

'Cause I'm a mastermind

More than a year and a half later, and with the 2022 Formula 1 season now over, Y/N and Carlos were still together and happier than ever.

They overtook everything that came their way, only to get back stronger.

Her father obviously hadn't taken their relationship well from the start, leading the girl to quit the company and cut off contact with him for months on end. only now trying to make amends. Only now, more than a year later, the two were trying to make amends and reconnect, since the businessman contacted her to apologize for everything he had put her through during her life.

The media was also a difficult step to overcome. For a long time, they insisted on invading their privacy due to the business connections between both sides. It was tricky to strike a balance between not being a secret and keeping their relationship to themselves at the same time. But eventually, the two of them managed to get there with the experience that time brought.

Now, the couple was lying in their bed, in the house they had recently bought together in Milan, a city so special to them and that symbolized the beginning of their story.

Being there, in silence, holding each other, with the room lit only by the light coming from the fireplace. That meant the world to them. Those were the kind of moments they cherished the most, especially in such a relationship that required a lot of work with how much he travelled during most of the year.

The young woman was lost in the memories of the past, daydreaming about the beginning of their history, when Carlos intertwined their fingers and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

He was hers.

Just like she designed it like the mastermind she was.

No one wanted to play with me as a little kid

So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

To make them love me and make it seem effortless

This is the first time I've felt the need to confess

And I swear

I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian

'Cause I care

Perhaps moved by her trip down memory lane, for the first time in their relationship, Y/N felt the sudden need to confess.

Her palms got sweaty as soon as she started to think of all the scenarios that could result from her confession. What if he didn't want her anymore? Would it be worth it to risk an argument over a detail about the day they met?

"Mi amor, what's wrong?" Carlos asked as he felt the heat and sweat between their clasped hands, sitting down on the bed with his body lightly over hers.

"What if I told you none of this was accidental?" She asked nervously, earning back a laugh from her boyfriend's mouth.

"Sorry bebé, but you've lost me now." He confessed.

"The first night that you saw me. I planned the whole thing. There wasn't a creepy guy trying to hit on me. I lied to get you to talk to me." Wasting no time, Y/N let the words out of her mouth before the courage to speak again disappeared.

So I told you none of it was accidental

And the first night that you saw me

Nothing was gonna stop me

I laid the groundwork, and then

Saw a wide smirk on your face

You knew the entire time

Y/N put both hands over her face to hide and avoid seeing the driver's reaction to her admission.

Carlos, on the other hand, could only chuckle as he brought his hands to his partner's wrists in order to expose her face again.

The young woman opened her eyes slowly in fear, only to be faced with a wide smirk on his face as he looked at her as if she had told the greatest joke in the world.

"I'm being serious, babe. I swear it's the truth." She stressed, remaining with her back flat on the mattress and with her boyfriend's body now fully against hers.

"Ay mi corazón, te quiero mucho." Carlos let out a loud laugh and held her face, placing a quick kiss on her lips to calm her down. "I knew the entire time."

"What?" She asked in shock, sitting on the bed and forcing the boy to sit with her.

"You know the random man you said was the perv?" Y/N nodded in response to Sainz's question. "It was my cousin Carlos. He had been with me all night until I went to the bar to get a drink."

Oh. My. God.

Y/N was never going to show up at the next Sainz family gathering.

You knew that I'm a mastermind

And now you're mine

Yeah, all you did was smile

'Cause I'm a mastermind

taglist: @dan3avacado @starxqt @roseinnej @spiidergirlsworld @ccloaned @hotpigeon22 @dr3lover @lovelytsunoda @primadonnasdream @luxebeautystyle @wallfloweriism @ilivefortheleague @gwynethhberdara @satellitelh @adavenus @audreyscodes @wifeoflucyboynton @th6ccnsp6cyy @classifiedsblog @flyingmushroomss @motylekrozi @claramllera @gabrielamaex @handsupforamiracle @pierre-gasssllyy @lorenaloveslewis

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thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Forget-Me-Not 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You spend the night on the couch. You don't go further than the bathroom. You can't bring yourself to check her bedroom or the one you left behind.

You go out to get your bag and change in the yellow haze glowing behind the faded curtains. You check the time. Jan is expecting you in an hour.

You emerge into the dewy morning and tramp down to ground level. You get in the car, reversing out without looking back at the dingy house. The final farewell can't come soon enough for the slanted walls.

Jan is out in the yard, hammering a pineboard as you drive down his lot. His white hair curls with the sweat beading on his skin. He stills the hammer and wipes his forehead as you pull up.

You get out as he greets you in the way all the villagers do. A manufactured friendliness that cannot erase their true judgement. They smile in face just as easily as the mutter your name under their breath. You mother harboured little good will in Hammer Ford and blood is sacred here.

“Sorry to hear,” he says.

“Matter of time,” you shrug dismissively.

“Isn't no way to come home,” he shakes his head and coughs into his fist, “walnut,” he points the hammer over his shoulder, “like ya said.”

Walnut, like the dining table. Where she sat and drank herself into that box. You nod and follow him over to the casket. The hinges are brass and the finish is rough. What does it matter? It's just going into the dirt.

“Got cash,” you say. Jan doesn't deal with the bank, everyone knows that. Funny the little things that stick with you.

“Thanks,” he accepts the bills as you count them out. So much for a rainy day. The sun shine bright as if mocking the grin affair beneath its watch. “I'll have it taken down to Norn's.”

“Yep,” you agree, “she's there.”

You head out without further niceties. Neither of you uphold those. Better to say what you mean and nothing else.

You get to the property line and idle. You turn away from the woods. You're not ready to go back yet.

You stop by the church first. Father Oswald sits with you to discuss the ceremony. You'll say a few words at the grave site. You don't think anyone would come to a wake. You don't want them to.

You set off again, still reluctant to retrace your steps. You drive to the spare core of the village and park outside the library. You cross the street and peer in through the window of the bakery. It wasn't there when you left.

You venture inside and peruse the sweets behind the glass. You order a black coffee and a cinnamon bun. You pay the woman behind the counter, vaguely familiar. You're certain she was a few years behind you at school.

You sit and pick at the glazed dough. You don't have much of an appetite. You don't feel much of anything. You're just wading through, try not to get lost in the tide.

You sip the coffee. Bold but rich. Not bad. Better than the instant powder gone stale in your mother's cupboard.

The door opens and shuts, several times over as you stare at the table. The city taught you apathy. You don't let the noise bother you.

The chair across from you slides out and a figure plants themselves on the seat. You raise your head, your vision narrowing to make sense of their features. You turn your head to gaze out the window as Loki blows over the top of a mug.

You slide out your phone, a defence mechanism. Still no reception. You put it down and keep your attention diverted. He clears his throat and taps his toe next to yours.

“You know, I do have an important matter to discuss with you,” he says.

You don't react. You know that's what he wants. That's why he showed up the night before. He undoubtedly insisted on being his clan’s representative.

“You've sent your condolences.”

“Mm, yes, but that isn't what I mean,” he traces his finger up the handle of his mug. “The house.”

You lower your brows and keep your eyes beyond the window. The village moves slow as ever. Not like the endless flow of the city streets. There's no where to hide here.

“My father has an offer. The property has value.”

You check your cup, almost empty. You swig the last of it. You stand and gather the cup and unfinished dessert. You put the porcelain on the counter and toss the cinnamon bun on your way out.

The door doesn't close behind you. He's following you. Your heartbeat piques. In an instant, you're hurled into the past. You're running through broken twigs as he snickers behind you. You ball your hands as your breath hitches.

You cross the street without looking, only just dodging a bumper. You go to your car, fumbling with your keys. Before you can stick them in the slot, there's a snare around your arm.

You spin and shove Loki off of you, biting down on a shriek. You glare at him and point the key at his chin.

“Not interested.”

“My father will give you more than the bank,” he counters.

“Don't care.”

He sniffs and quorks his head, “is this because I never called?”

You choke on a scoff. You turn and ram the keys in the slot and twist. You open the door as you step around it. The edge hits him as you swing into the driver’s seat.

“The house is worthless. The bank will give you pennies for the land.”

“Go tell your daddy you failed,” you sneer and yank the door shut, hitting the lock with your fist.

You start the engine without a glance in his direction. You pull put as he barely avoids getting his toes run over. Just as ever, this village belongs to the Odinsons. They won't have to pay the bank much to get what they want but you will never sign your name next to theirs.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #drabble #au #backwoods au #series #thor #avengers #mcu #marvel #forget-me-not

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theredofoctober · 7 months

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MANNA- CHAPTER FIVE: OATS

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink

This is chronologically the fifth chapter in the series

---

The day after the failed feast Dr Lecter enters your unhappy chamber to find you already awake, greasily feverish in the maelstrom of narcotic hangover. Moaning under the dripping cloth of your bedsheet, you wince from the light that punctures the room as Hannibal draws back the curtains with a determined flourish.

"This is what happens when you do not eat and drink enough, I'm afraid," he says, putting a lusciously cool hand to your brow. "The excitement around the table certainly didn't help matters. Had you been receptive, then you would have been hydrated, full-bellied, and ready for the day ahead. Alas, your mulish nature is the portcullis that refuses you entry into better health. I cannot raise it for you."

You haven't the life in you to retaliate to such sanctimonious jibes, and he well knows it.

Humming a strand of Vide Cor Meum, Hannibal glides about you, first plumping your pillow, then holding a glass of water to your lips until you must either drink, or drown. In fractured gulps you salve your chapped throat with it, then part your lips again for a spoon of porridge; to your surprise, the portion spilled from cutlery to tongue is slim, a suggestion of treaty, of a temporary kind.

"I will never make you eat more than is reasonable, little one," says Hannibal, meeting your narrowed stare so frankly that you are almost abashed by the look. "It would do you no good to upset your stomach any further. I will minimise your intake for a few days, at least."

The suggestion is so unbelievable that you search his plain expression for the merest taint of trickery.

"You're not... angry with me," you observe, at last.

Dr Lecter's head inclines.

"Any ill feelings between us were settled at dinner, were they not?"

He helps you to the bathroom, stepping politely outside the door as you list at a sloppy port-wise angle, gripping either side of the bowl with preventative force; you may fall should you let go, humiliate yourself in the necessity of further care.

That Hannibal reverts to a veneer of nurturing aid after an episode of violence with such undisturbed ease frightens you, as does your instinct to accept that profferred assistance. Too many years span from here to the last time you allowed yourself to do so, and though you know well Dr Lecter's malign in having manufactured such frailty, you may never regain the position to resist it without him.

As with Will, your way out of this house is to drive yourself further in.

"I'll return home early today," says Hannibal, as he eases you back into bed in stops and starts to accomodate each shimmer of nausea. "I can reschedule my afternoon appointments for another time."

"Don't bother," you mutter, against your pillow. "I want to be on my own."

"I'm aware of that. Nevertheless, I will be here to monitor you. If you're feeling better tonight, then I will conduct your next therapy session."

Fear flowers at your core, all thorn tipped leaves.

"I won't be better," you say, your lips still crushed to starched cotton. "That promise I made to you about trying— I can't stick to that. I can't be the person you need. And I can't eat. It's too hard for me."

Hannibal lays a hand on your back, soothing you as he might an infant with colic.

"I know," he says, simply. "Relapses are to be expected. Neither Will or I will admonish you for that. What I will not tolerate is rudeness. I have demonstrated what will occur if you do not keep your tongue in check."

At this your head snaps upright against the pull of sickness.

"Aren't you rude?" you ask, sharply. "And Will?"

Hannibal pats down your coverlet, quite unoffended.

"One might argue that is down to interpretation. I pride myself on cultivating elegance, which includes manners, as a matter of course. Will, however, is— unique. I overlook his cruder moments for the complexity layered beneath them. As for what we have done to you, it is unfortunate that you cannot observe the act through our eyes, and perceive its beauty, as well as your own."

To this, you have no answer. You can think only of snaring hands, of Will's stubble scarring your cheek, and the blood broken like bottled wine across your inner thighs, so much ugliness paraded as glory.

"Please drink the water I've left out for you," says Hannibal.

You do, for he will know, if you do not.

There was something in that glass, or the oats, you comprehend, for when you are next conscious you are propped upright in a leather chair, only part returned from witless repose.

A metronome clicks at your ear, back and forth.

Lights flash and cease, white and black their blinking through the timeless night in which Dr Lecter has you drown. You sit, or swim in it; you cannot tell. The fungal spell of Hannibal's cooking robs you of both voice and tether to the earth. You could be foam in a Homerean ocean, where men become pigs on its alien isles.

You too might be such a beast, or a child, or some sylph of amorphous matter trapped in such hampering skin.

The sound of your breath comes, shuttered and sharp.

A warm hand cups your chest, and your lungs seem to open to its gesture as though by unknown magic.

Then a voice murmurs from a face before you, its shape without edge, an orb.

"You are safe. You are cared for. You belong."

Like a switchblade across your eye the light comes again, and you are part of it, an impulse that is all life, all one.

Hannibal speaks your name, grounding you to him, as to a stack in some wild sea.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now," he tells you. "They may be difficult. Try to answer them honestly."

There is only a man here, there is only light; you cannot refuse them.

"Okay," you mumble.

Hannibal's pleasure in your answer is a current timed to the swishing metronome.

"How did your eating disorder begin?" he asks. "What did it look like, then?"

"Just a diet, at first," you say. "The meals got smaller and smaller. Then a lot of food scared me. I started counting calories. Throwing food out. Being around anyone eating was like I was being tortured. That's when I knew that something was really wrong with me."

You hear the scratch of a pen on an unseen pad.

"I see. And how did that realisation make you feel?"

"Nothing. I didn't care. Then I started to like it. Challenging myself. The compliments— feeling like I had something nobody else did, that I was so good at— It became everything I was. My identity, kind of."

How easy it is to speak, when you cannot see the expression of the listener before you.

"Trauma frequently shapes us in our formative years," Hannibal comments. "It is a natural response to build oneself in its image. So, let us retreat to older memories. Tell me of a time that you recall being afraid."

The flashing light numbs to an ebbing glow.

"There was this guy," you say. "A guy that my dad was friends with. Still is. His name is Leland Frost. He used to come over to our house all the time. He was always so friendly, but I knew that there was something wrong with him. There was something in his eyes, the way he laughed too much, or stood too close to me. Like he was putting on a rubber Hallowe'en mask of a regular guy, and everyone was just pretending it was fine, but they really weren't pretending."

"Elaborate."

You gnaw at your lower lip until you taste warm iron, and consider spitting out the calories.

"I tried to tell people about it," you say. "But Dad could never see it. He'd just say, 'oh, that's just Lee. Silly old Uncle Lee. That's just how he is.' But I knew. I saw him. I smelled the cheap rubber mask."

"Did this Uncle Lee ever hurt you?" asks Hannibal, softly. "Touch you in an inappropriate manner?"

This memory is dusky, a cobwebbed photograph.

"I don't know," you admit, at last. "I always thought he wanted to, though. I always thought the minute my parents left me alone with him something bad would happen. The waiting was always the worst part."

A pause, in which you sense rather than see Dr Lecter watching you through the dark-light-darkness.

"But maybe it wasn't Uncle Lee that I was waiting for," you say, at last. "Maybe it was you and Will."

The gloom becomes further marred by tears, and you feel a box of tissues being pressed into your loose hand.

"That's enough for today," says Hannibal, rising from his seat. "You've done well for me. This calls for a reward."

He crosses the room to pick up a telephone, glancing at you with an unintelligible heat in his eyes.

"Good evening," he says, into the receiver. "I hope this is a convenient time for you. Yes, that is correct; I'm calling about your daughter's progress. I am very satisfied with her cooperation today. We are approaching some early milestones."

Hearing the tinny, distant voices of your parents, you struggle towards a lucidity that feels so desperately out of touch.

Hannibal crosses the room towards you again and turns the phone away from his mouth to murmur, "I will allow you a few words to them, if you will be sensible."

By this he means: if you do not give the game away.

You nod your head jerkily and extend a fist as Dr Lecter introduces you into the conversation.

"She is here, now. Somewhat tired, but all is well."

You clenched the receiver to your ear, tears coming in such a quick patter that, at first, you can only sit in hyperventilating silence as your parents babble at you, their voices sharp with an underlying guilt.

"How are you, honey? It's so good to hear from you! We love you! Is everything okay?"

Each day you've been parted from them you've missed them as you would your most vital structures, with a sore and deathly strength, yet your love is not so stark as your disappointment in being so abandoned by them.

"No," you say, at last. "I'm not okay, Mom. Dad. How could you send me away and not even warn me?"

The babbling rises, panic in male and female iteration.

"We had no other choice. It was all we could think to do! We tried everything. But Dr Lecter's helping you, isn't he?"

Hannibal's stare is, itself, a warning.

Pressing your knuckles to your anguished mouth, you pass the telephone back to him, not trusting yourself not to scream for help and damn yourself to the harshest punishment that such an executioner of free will might hand to you.

"She is overwrought," says Dr Lecter, apologetically. "I'll call again next week."

He hangs up, and leans across to clean the tears from your face himself, ensuring the tissue is discarded in a wastpaper basket; even in this he must be perfect, organised and pristine. You hate him for it, this performance he makes of his life, preserving such details as no one would be likely to notice but him.

"I wish you hadn't let me talk to them," you whisper. "Now I feel even worse."

"Of course you do," says Hannibal. "Your family betrayed you. It would be much more unusual if you held no resentment towards them at all."

You squint up at him in accusation.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Leaving a wound open may sometimes allow it to dry, and subsequently heal. You will not advance without acknowledging the harm your parents have done to you, whether through dispatching you to me without consent, or by ignoring your justifiable fear of Leland Frost. The map to your mental injury is unfurling before us: the continents take shape, as do the names that mark each turn in your unhappy life. In time, I will know them all."

Weeping, you slip down in your chair, not wanting to see the truth that thrusts itself up from the outcrop of evil.

"I will help you to your room," says Dr Lecter. "More sleep is in order, I think."

Will Graham enters the house some time in the night; you hear his low voice through the floorboards as you lie in swaying wakefulness, wondering what brings the professor here at so late an hour. He stays for so long that he accepts an invite into one of Hannibal's spare rooms, a fact that you discern from the voices passing your door in the hallway.

Again you sleep, though not pleasantly, your psyche disturbed by the third presence in the building, and by the lasting bruise of Dr Lecter's relentless torments.

In this sleep you dream of an antlered thing burying you in a terracotta wood, its face so darkly passive as soil smothers your airways that you might well be a bone, stored there to be gnawed at some late and starving hour.

When you emerge from this haunted slumber you still feel the threads of it still noosed around you; dream-sick, drug-thick, you stagger across your bedroom and, finding the door unlocked, tumble on into the hallway beyond.

By chance you find Will's room, letting yourself into quarters that smell of night-sweat, and pine, and male musk. You scarcely know what you do as you climb into bed with him against his salty heat, nor why it is he, of your abusers, that you seek.

Will starts awake, wild-haired and horrified as he senses your body beside him. Your name bolts from his lips, scarcely recognisable, the utterance of an animal groomed to speak a human tongue.

"What are you doing here? You should be in your own room."

Keeping your back to him, you drowsily reply.

"Had a bad dream."

Will breathes an ironic laugh.

"And you think you'll sleep any better in my bed? I destroyed you, remember?"

Self-blame, self-loathing, all jagged and tail-swallowing teeth.

"No," you mumble. "He did. Not you, Daddy."

You feel Will sit up behind you, scratching a hand through his unruly curls.

"You're not in your right mind," he announces, gruffly. "I'd better tell Dr Lecter to stop giving you whatever medication you're on. It's not good for you. No wonder you're having nightmares."

Still, he doesn't attempt to turn you out of bed, or to call Hannibal to eject you on his behalf. He only slouches, gazing at you, until you turn on your side to look back at his pretty, troubled face in its nest of brindled shadow.

Will's shoulders still droop in a mode of shame, yet the black of the room deepens the blue of his eyes into a yearning colour through which many a woman would gladly fall. He wants you here, you realise, perhaps likes the power he holds in having you soft and needful beside him, in his lair, after all he's done.

You should detest him for feeling it, and you do.

But recognising that craving within him reawakens the understanding of that power you may yet hold over him, in return, the mistress of a cur that bites all but those that direct the leash.

It is a long way off, this control, but the taste of it will do, for now.

"Let me stay," you implore, fluttering sodden eyelashes in a coquettish attempt to convince him. "Please? Just for tonight? I don't want that dream to come back."

You'll loathe yourself for this, in the morning, but now all you care for is the night. Will seems to be having the same thought, for he lies back down on the mattress again, taking care to leave ample space between you.

How does he compartmentalise his violence—his taste for it—from his revulsion towards you, and further still from the empathy that stirs in him like a stamped out fire?

"Just one night," says Will, sternly. "I don't know what Hannibal is going to say about this."

You pull the quilt up under your chin, almost giddy with your achievement, and with it the comfort that pours over you like a September afternoon. This strange happiness you will remember, and wonder at, when all you should have known were the tatters of despair.

"Dr Lecter left my door unlocked," you say, as Will moves in restless, settling motions at your back, still refusing to make contact with your skin. "So it's really his fault I'm here, you know."

At this Will half-rises again, but whatever question or comment he murmurs is lost to your abrupt slumber.

By morning he is gone, and you are alone again, only the scent of the monster remaining about you to mark out your miserable self-treachery.

He is not there to see you thrust the sheets against your face and inhale their bitter stink, if only to claw back the triumph of having made vulnerable a man so very closed to contact of the most human kind.

He is not there, and he is everywhere.

Will is as part of this house as Dr Lecter, now.

#ao3 writer #manna fic #yandere will graham #yandere hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #tw darkfic #tw eating disorders #tw anorexia #tw abuse #tw drugs #tw noncon #dead dove do not eat #hannibal lecter fic

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woodbine-in · 3 months

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romanov-ramblings · 2 years

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Voided velvet upholstery used for the Maple Living-Room of Her Majesty at the Alexander Palace in Tsarskoe Selo

In the Maple Living-Room of Her Majesty, a variety of textiles were used to decorate the Empress’s informal reception-room which was made up of forty pieces of built-in and free-standing furniture. Among these various chairs, tables, sofas, etc. were a folding-screen with leaded-glass inserts, small stools or benches with curved arm rests and an upholstered wingback chair which was built in the same shape as the one from the Lilac Cabinet of Her Majesty. In the collection of GMZ Tsarskoe Selo, there are pieces of these textiles which were cut from the furniture by the last chief curator of the Palace-Museum, Anatoly M. Kuchumov to preserve the textiles used, in the event a restoration were to happen as was hoped for. However this did not happen, and what had been left of the Maple Living-Room was stripped by the early 1950′s and a load-bearing wall was placed in the middle of the four windows, effectively making two exhibition halls. Today, the post-war configuration has been removed and the room faithfully reconstructed to how it looked prior to the Second World War. One of the textiles in particular, a voided velvet ground of green with a stylised, blue and green peacock feather motif was used to decorate several pieces of furniture - a wingback chair, folding-screen, curved benches, and seat cushions for the seats of some of the wooden armchairs - all of which was designed and executed by the firm of F.F. Meltser & Co. - the Court Decorator being R.F. Meltser. Currently, furniture is still in the production stage for the Maple Living-Room by the Tsarskoselskaya Restoration Workshop, and in the future the room will be filled with more pieces until the stage for this room is completed. ________________________________________________________________ Please enjoy these images, and If you'd like to share them elsewhere, you can download them yourself and if you do so, PLEASE remember to credit the institution/news source/author/photographer - in this case Gosfond, and GMZ Tsarskoe Selo, Mr. Newman appropriately! Thank-you. ________________________________________________________________ Photographs:

1. Remnant of the voided velvet used for upholstering furniture. This piece of textile is in the collection of GMZ Tsarskoe Selo (digitised via Gosfond). 2. An upholstered stool/bench from the furniture suite of the Maple Living-Room. Manufactured by the firm of F.F. Meltser & Co. Photograph from “Antiques, Objects of Art and Collectibles,” Circa. 2004. 3. An overstuffed, wingback chair from the furniture suite of the Maple Living-Room. Manufactured by the firm of F.F. Meltser & Co. Photograph from “Antiques, Objects of Art and Collectibles,” Circa. 2004. 4. Cropped detail of a photograph of the Maple Living-Room taken in 1928, by American photographer, “Mr. Newman” showing the folding-screen. Sources:

Gosfond (State Museum Catalogue of the Museum Fund of Russia) GMZ Tsarskoe Selo (Tsarskoe Selo State Museum Reserve) "Antiques, Objects of Art and Collectibles," Circa. 2004. Mr. Newman, Photographer. Circa. 1928. Link of courtesy: www.goskatalog.ru https://antiqueland.ru/articles/1507/

#alexander palace #gmz tsarskoe selo #tsarskoe selo #gosfond #romanov #imperial russia #voided velvet #velvet #textile #maple room #russian archival material #empress alexandra feodorovna #art nouveau #jugendstil #style moderne #furniture

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kamara-interiors · 2 years

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Revivalism: Gothic Revivalist Style

Revivalism affected a lot of art forms, but it influenced architecture the most. It started in the 19th century as a reaction to the environment of the industrial revolution.

Because of the rapid urbanization (manufacturing and mechanization), many immigrants coming in, and the Civil War, wealthy Americans embraced Romanticism. It was an urge to reexamine the "simple" ways of the past to find happiness in their complicated present. Like the Renaissance and Neo-Classical, it was going back to the classics. Still, instead of just the classics, other periods of styles were included in Revivalism. Greek Revival, Roman Revival, Rococo Revival, Gothic Revival, and so much more. In short, Revivalism in architecture was the use of visual styles that imitated the techniques of the previous architectural era.

What about the furniture and interiors during this period? A lot of them were inspired by the Rococo, Renaissance, and Gothic periods. The Rococo Revival style was thought to be elegantly French and popular for the design of drawing rooms and parlors. The Rococo revivalist furniture usually consists of two sofas, two armchairs, four side chairs, and a center table. Renaissance Revival furniture, they were primarily used in bedrooms and reception rooms.

In Gothic Revival furniture, regardless of the home's exterior, is usually used in dining rooms. A lot of the furniture designs showed straight legs, tracery, and chair splats that form pointed arches. Most pieces were made from walnut wood. Although the style wasn't as popular as the others in America, architects and cabinetmakers used this for the most part.

Furniture created in the United States between 1840 and 1860 was made to fit into Gothic Revival homes of the time. It was ornamented with tracery and other Gothic carvings such as quatrefoils and trefoils. The rose window and pointed arch, for instance, became the inspiration for several chair back designs. And that is what I used for reference in this plate.

For this plate, I chose to do an armchair made back in 1855. The chair is from Belvior, a large Gothic villa in the 1850s, New York, for a tobacco merchant named Christian H. Lilienthal. Existing photographs of the Gothic Revival library show that the chairs and bookcases are related to the works by Gustave Herter, a cabinetmaker. And like with much of the Gothic Revival furniture, it owes more to the architecture vocabulary than traditional furniture making. The furniture is made with walnut wood and has dimensions of 163.8 cm x 64.5 cm x 56.5 cm.

I chose this piece because it's one of the styles I've enjoyed learning throughout this course. Not only that but seeing elements/motifs of architecture can be implemented into furniture and interiors. What can be seen from the exterior can also be applied in the interiors. I think what I chose is an excellent example of what Revivalist furniture is, combining the concepts and ideas of architecture into interior spaces.

As aspiring interior designers, choosing and implementing furniture in an interior is essential, especially when designing for ourselves or a client. Knowing the types and kinds of furniture that can strike up conversations and discourse. What I liked doing throughout this course was learning about the interiors of the history of how people live and interact with each other—knowing what worked for them or how they made sense with the spaces they had—seeing the factors that affect man, his environments, and their relationship to one another. And maybe, like Revivalism, we can implement previous periods of styles to today's design.

#art #arts #2021 #HSTIND1 #pencil #revivalism #gothic #chair #Visual Works #1st Year #history

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cockatrice-writers-guild · 2 years

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LOVESTORY - Chp 7.5

intermission

warnings: swearing

My name is Rose Walter and I’m just your average 24 year old girl, trying to get by in life. I grew up in the big city and worked the register at a local convenience store. Nothing special. Well, I was cursed at birth but besides that, nothing special.

And today has officially been the worst day of my life.

It all started when I was born. No wait, a little after that. After the whole birth cursing thing. That part’s not important. Anyway, when I was a child, I was just sitting in front of the T.V, watching whatever my dad had put on to get me to shut up when it happened. An ad played. An ad for a company I’d never heard of before. Sunshine Manufacturing. I still remember how engrossed I’d been at the time. The colours. The exaggerated expressions of the actors. The music. The mascot. And for some reason, the ad stuck with me. It would always be in the back of my mind, a memory waiting to resurface.

One night, when I couldn’t sleep, the ad came to mind again and I finally caved in. After several hours of desperately searching for it on the Internet, I found and re watched it. It really was as weird as I’d remembered and though the company had rebranded itself quite a while back, it still really interested me.

So, I started doing research on Sunshine Manufacturing, learning more about it each day. And I liked what I saw. I respected their environmental policies and loved what they stood for. Their products were innovative and from what I’ve read, they treated their employees really well. I also had a huge crush on their velki CEO, Isabelle Wilfred and given the opportunity, I would climb her like a tree, but that was more of a recent thing.

So, after getting a diploma and a stable job, I applied for a position there. And about a week ago, they finally wrote back. They said they wanted to see me for a job interview, which had been amazing news! Both amazing and terrifying, actually. I didn’t want to mess up what could be my only chance to join them so I blew a bunch of cash on a new suit and some makeup. I looked up interview questions and how to make a good impression on your interviewer. What was considered good etiquette and how to make yourself memorable. I practiced what I would say in my free time. Studied my expressions in the mirror as I did. And finally, the faithful day arrived.

It was raining.

That was the first sign something terrible was going to happen. I’d barely managed to get to a sheltered spot before the downpour started and my socks were soaking wet. Ugh. Now, I stood in front of the massive office building, clutching my briefcase tightly to my person and trying to psyche myself up while peering though the windows. I made sure not to take too long. I didn’t want to make a bad first impression by being late. Also, the receptionist was starting to stare. I checked myself in the reflection. Suit? Check. Hairstyle I unfortunately had to pay $50 for? Check. Gloves to prevent people from coming into contact with my hands and falling in love with me? Check.

I entered the building and took a look around while walking up to the reception desk. Everything was clean, white and quiet and I already felt out of place. Unprofessional compared to these pristine walls. A cheaper suit was all I could afford and the pointless bronze peacock statue in the center of the room was judging me for it.

Nevertheless, I pushed onward. I reached the desk, where a velki was tapping away silently at a computer, and pressed the button on the front. A beat later, he was leaning over the table to get a look at me.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I, uh, have a job interview today,” I said, having to look up to meet his gaze.

“Your name?”

“Uh…Rose Water-uh, Walter. Rose Walter.”

The receptionist's head disappeared and he typed away at his keyboard. Then his head came back into view. “You’re the 10:30 appointment?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Uh…yeah?”

He let out a low whistle. “Well, good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

That was the second omen. I decided not to dwell on it.

“Head down the hall to your left and take the elevator. It’s the 60th floor.”

“Which room is it?”

“Trust me. You’ll know.”

I started making my way to the elevator when the receptionist spoke up. “Your other left.”

I ducked my head. “Ah, right. Thank you.”

As I rode the empty human elevator up, I tried to give myself a pep talk to calm my nerves. “Okay,” I said to no one. “Alright. I can do this. I can do this. I’ve trained my whole life for this moment. My credentials are good. I know everything about this place. I’m passionate. A hard worker. An asset to this company. I deserve this job. In a few minutes, I will wow the interviewer with my words and begin the first day of rest of my life. I can do this. I can do anything I put my mind to. I’m ROSE WALTER.”

I pumped both fists into the air as I yelled this and that’s when elevator doors slid open with a pleasant ding.

I froze mid shout and the poor human woman on the other side of the doors stared at me. Elevator music played and neither of us made a move.

She didn’t get on.

Slowly, the elevator doors slid shut again.

I…put my fists down and closed my mouth. …hopefully, I’d never see her again if I got this job. I shook it off and tried to pass the time by reviewing some interview questions. It gave me some comfort, at least. I was more than prepared for this. It would be a piece of cake.

Finally, I reached 60th floor. That receptionist hadn’t been kidding. The elevator opened to a very short hallway with a set of intricately carved double doors at the end. The third and final warning.

I straightened out my suit and knocked on the doors.

“Enter,” said a feminine voice on the other side.

I pushed through the smaller, but just as intricately carved human doors and found myself in a large room. Much larger than I had expected a room that held interviews would be. It was much more furnished too. There was a couch with a coffee table off to the left, a complicated chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a table with velki refreshments to the right and several other small tables carrying various cat statues and vases filled with flowers. The colours, all dark browns and deep blues, gave the room a muted but professional look. Sunlight flooded in through the floor to ceiling windows behind a large oak desk.

And at that desk sat famous CEO Isabelle Wilfred.

I pinched myself. It hurt.

So that’s what the receptionist had meant.

Isabelle Wilfred. This was her office. Why had I been directed to her office? What did she want from me? Was she going to interview me? Had I committed some kind of war crime so heinous only famous and powerful CEO, Isabelle Wilfred, could fix it? What was I supposed to do?

Isabelle Wilfred cleared her throat and I realized I had been staring. I dropped my gaze. Then picked it back up because if this still was a job interview then that was rude. I let out a slow breath before making my way over to her table, each step bringing me closer to her. I quickly climbed up the stairs to the top of the desk.

Isabelle Wilfred’s desk. Because she was going to interview me.

I pinched myself again on the way up. Still hurt.

Once I reached the top, I walked to stand in front of Isabelle Wilfred and forced my eyes to meet her beautiful light green ones. The desk was quite wide and there was plenty of room between me and her but, in my opinion, it wasn’t enough. She was even more beautiful up close and it was all I could do not to turn into a blubbering mess. She stared back and it took me a second to remember why I was here.

“G-good morning, Ms. Wilfred.”

“Good morning, Ms. Walter. Please sit.” She nodded to the chair behind me and I sat.

“So, you’re probably wondering why I called you here.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.” My heart was pounding.

“Normally, interviews are conducted by the Resources department but, well, your application…really stood out to me. Pardon my boldness but I just had to see you for myself.”

Famous CEO Isabelle Wilfred thought I was interesting.

…still hurt.

“T-thank you, ma’am.”

“So if you’re ready, we’ll begin.”

I nodded. “I’m ready.”

Isabelle Wilfred folded her hands. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

The interview went on for quite some time. At first I was nervous because I was being interviewed by a very powerful CEO who was also the woman of my dreams but after a while, we got into a comfortable rhythm. I could tell she was impressed by my answers because she smiled and nodded along thoughtfully as I spoke, which was great for my confidence and horrible for just about everything else. I was glad I was sitting or I would have fallen over.

Finally, the interview drew to a close.

Isabelle Wilfred nodded to herself before turning to me.

“That will be all, Ms. Walter. Thank you.”

She stood and brought her index finger towards me. I stood and extended my arm as well. We shook and I thought things were starting to look up for me when Isabelle Wilfred froze. Her eyes widened and her pupils focused on a spot in the middle distance.

I knew that look.

Horrified, I snatched my hand away and inspected the glove.

It had a small, barely noticeable hole in it.

I looked back up. Isabelle Wilfred blinked slowly, her gaze starting to focus on me once more. I stared back. She blinked again. Shook her head slightly, as if coming out of a trance. I swallowed.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, clutching her head in confusion. “I…must have spaced out for a second there.” She shook her head again. Blinked. Her eyes cleared. “I…I’ll have some people email you in a few days with your results. You may go.”

I blinked up at her. “O-okay. Thank you, ma’am.”

I made my way down the staircase, both confused and grateful nothing had happened. Maybe my curse had broken at some point. Or maybe since the actual area of contact was so small, especially to her, it only had a hold of her for a second. Or maybe we didn’t even touch. That was probably it. I sighed in relief.

And then a huge face filled my vision, just outside the rails of the staircase. Isabelle Wilfred stared at me, her head at an odd angle from leaning out of her chair. Her eyes were wild and her smile was now much more…manic than it had been earlier. I knew that look too. She was under the curse.

I had accidentally made famous CEO, Isabelle Wilfred, fall in love with me.

I pressed myself into the opposite railing, wide eyed, and felt my cheeks start to warm at the proximity.

“Actually,” Isabelle Wilfred started, as if this was all completely normal. “I-.” Then she cut herself off with a snort that quickly devolved into a fit of laughter.

“Alright, cut. CUT! Really Abby. Again? Really? I’m trying to make a show here.”

Isabelle Wilfred, also known as Abby White in the real world, sat up and leaned back in the prop chair, still laughing. “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed to the tired director, Fable Peterson, through her laughter.

Rose Walter, played by up and coming actress Mia Watson, also laughed. She slipped past a cameraman and climbed back up the staircase.

“I think,” Fable said, “we need a break.” They turned to address everyone in the room. “Everybody take 5! We’ll try again at 2pm.”

Everyone let out a collective groan before setting their equipment on standby and slowly trudging out of the room. Mia reached the top of the desk again and jumped out of the way of the human camera crew on their way down. She reached Abby and sat down next to her.

“Hey,” Fable said, as they walked over the prop table. They took care to step around the tired human camera crew. “Explain something to me, Abby. Why is it always that scene? We’ve been through it 3 times now! 3 times.”

Abby chuckled and shook her head. “Look, it’s not my fault Mia’s scared expression is so amazing. Show them, Mia.”

Mia pulled off another shocked expression, adding some exaggerated hand gestures for good measure and causing Abby to erupt into laughter again. Fable just shook their head but had to fight off a smile of their own.

“I wanna finish this scene by today, dammit.” They rubbed their eyes. “Ugh. I’m going to go drink something with caffeine in it and rethink my life choices.”

“You’re the best director in the world?” Abby tried.

Fable waved her off as they walked away. “Yeah, yeah. I forgive you. See you girls in 2 hours.” They left the room, leaving Abby and Mia alone.

Abby rested the side of her face on the table and turned to look at Mia. “Hi.”

Mia, for all intents and purposes, had to fight to meet Abby’s gaze in real life too.

They’d met a few weeks ago, after the final casting had been decided, and Abby had been nothing but nice to her since they’d met. Sharing a lot of scenes in the show, they’d spent a lot of time together, whether it be rehearsing or just hanging out. And Mia had started to accumulate feelings for Abby, though she still wasn’t ready to admit this to herself. She could, however, admit to herself that this new proximity wasn’t helping. “…hi.”

“So, how’s it going so far? Everything you wanted it to be?”

“…I think things are going well. I…I still can’t believe I actually got the part of the main character. It’s like a dream come true.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Mia. You’re an amazing actor. You deserve to be here.”

Mia focused on the bridge of Abby’s nose to avoid looking into her eyes, which were still an absolutely beautiful pale green. “…thanks. That means a lot coming from such a great actor.”

“What, me?” Abby blew raspberries and they both laughed. They watched each other for just a moment too long before Abby broke eye contact and sat back up. She stretched. “Well, I’m starving.” She looked down at Mia. Looked around the empty room. Turned to Mia again. Coughed. “Hey, you…wanna go grab some grub together?”

Mia smiled.

7 years later, at around 2 in the morning and almost halfway across the planet, Syren Jones stared wide eyed at her laptop as she read the news article over once again. She smiled to herself. Then, she scrambled for her phone and texted her friend of over 9 months, Thaddeus Kayne. She asked if he was awake and he responded by informing her of the time but stayed awake anyway as Syren excitingly told him about how just yesterday, the people who had played the main characters in one of her favourite shows had gotten married.

Her screen displayed a picture of the aforementioned couple posing for the camera. Two woman, a velki and a human. The velki, Abby White, wore a sleek grey suit with a dark blue boutonnière and was holding her spouse to her face, smiling. The human, Mia Watson, wore an elegant flowing white gown and was kissing White on the check, also smiling.

They were happy.

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#writeblr #original writing #original story #Syren and Thaddeus #OCs #the rooster crows

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