#Mirror bangle

[yuvan123]

Mirror Oxidised Bangle

Broad Oxidised Bangle

With mirror work

With beads & stone work

Ideal for festive/wedding occasions

This oxidised broad kara will give a fashion statement on every special occasions!

[cranberrydietcoke]

euphoria - r.c

ex bf ! rafe cameron x kook princess ! reader

content: 18+, drinking & drug use, drunk/high sex, degrading names (slut, whore, bitch), on camera type shit, kinda public party sex, my y/ns are always cream team soz, kinda dubcon ig, he makes her say ily, creampie. def giving s1 fratboy rafe. non-descriptive except for tanned skin n u curl ur hair!

a/n: first rafe fic eeeep! many more to come tho i deadass have feelings for him it’s a problem. & thx u for the luv on my last two fics !! preesh u bad bitches

wc: 3k

your fingers intertwined with sutton’s as she pulled you along, splitting the tight crowd of snapbacks and miniskirts. smoke hung over the purple atmosphere as some future song boomed from the speakers. you greeted each spinning face you slid by with a slurred sorry baby! or scuse’ me!

“bitch nooo, come the fuck onnnnn,” she pleaded, jerking you away from the random man you were offering your vape to.

“later okay! come smoke w’me!” you yelled back at him, trying to communicate with charades as sutton pulled you deeper into the heart of the party. he was cute, but you knew you wouldn’t see him later, considering rafe was about twenty feet away slicing lines on the kitchen counter. the baby pink polo hugged his bicep as he bent over, rolled dollar bill tight between his fingers.

fuck. i miss that platinum card.

a few months ago, you and rafe  were the it couple of kildare, without question. luxury vacations, designer swimwear, a mercedes for christmas, days in the yacht. it was like kim and fucking kanye. even more so now. a breakup had never lasted more than a few hours, usually ending with you both getting high and rafe fucking an ‘im sorry’ out of you. but this time, you were actually done with his shit, done having a screaming match every day, done apologizing all the time just so he wouldn’t blow up. sure, it was sad at first. but when it was posted on figure8insider, you had finally reached the last stage of grief: acceptance.

“like why do they even fucking care?” you barked, scrunching a warm, fresh curl in your hand. “how do they even know? shit’s like tmz.” spinning in your satin vanity chair, you turned to face your friend before sashaying to your closet.

“they act like we’re soooo a-list. i’m with your ass every day, you are NOT that interesting,” sutton chuckled, adjusting the strap of her top and checking herself out in the mirror. with topper’s parents away in the virgin islands, his annual end-of-summer banger was everybody’s move for the night, and you were certain rafe was gonna be there.  

“right?” you blew clouds of strawberry pound cake as you rummaged through hangers, “like, i’m not an influencer.”

it came out like a lie, and in a way, it was. you were the sweetheart of the island’s restless and entitled youth, their very own people’s princess. your strapless black dress could only be worn after sundown, barely covering the lower curve of your ass, delicate pink ribbons holding together the cutout of your cleavage. a stack of expensive gold bangles chimed together as you stuffed all your shit into your purse, slammed another shooter, and dialed reagan for a ride.

“you know rafe’s gonna be there, right?” she asked, turning the music down and casting a glance at you from the driver’s seat. you suck your teeth behind your glittery lips.

“duh, bitch! why do you think she got that on?” sutton screamed from the back, making all three of you die in laughter as you hid your face. just like, one more time wouldn’t hurt.

even under the kaleidoscope of neon lights, you could tell the whole room’s attention turned toward you as you danced your way in. sneaking a seltzer from the cooler, you settled at the beer pong table where a group of wannabe finance bros crushed solo cups of natty light, shooting each other starstruck glances and sharing whispers as you glided through, greeting everyone with an indifferent wave and an insincere heyyyyyyy.

“yo, rafe, your girl’s over there,” kelce leaned in, motioning over to the enveloping swarm of people growing around you.

“bro, top,” rafe fell back, slapping topper in the chest, “why the fuck did you even invite her?” he spat out, eyes pulsing.

“dude…why wouldn’t i invite her…” topper stated plainly, as if rafe had asked if the sky was fucking blue. if you weren’t there, that shit was a flop.

“that bitch,” he started, shaky hands sliding in to search his pockets, “that bitch is fucking crazy, okay?” he pulled out a dime bag and his wallet, eyeing his friends who knew better than to speak. he tapped some out on the granite countertop, lining it up nice and clean with his american express, hinging at the waist to align a rolled 20 with the powder, making it disappear in one snort.

before it could register, sutton was dragging you through the sea of people and closer and closer to rafe, forcing you to abandon the crowd of drooling fans. gripping your shoulders, she planted you right in front of him. you looked up, caught between a flash of fear and drunken amusement, an absent smile playing on your face.

“be good okay?” she chided, lightly slapping your back with beaming pride, “text me if you need anything!”

he wiped the excess powder off his nostril with a laugh of disbelief as he stood over you, studying your face. all you can manage is a squeaky and breathless hi as your tipsy blush deepens.

“hey, kid. miss me or somethin’?” he mocked, bringing the tips of his fingers to brush against your arm. 

“oh my god rafe, be serious,” you scoff, batting away his large, lingering hands.

“aw, what? don’t wanna share a blunt with me like we used to?” he drew out, words dripping in honeyed hatred. almost made you forget all the shit he’d put you through. the familiar teal of his eyes roamed over every square inch of your freckled and exposed skin.

“fuck no,” you laughed, watching as his tongue swiped against his bottom lip, “no tellin’ where your mouth has been.”

“right, “ his eyes narrowed as he crouched down, inches from your face, “like you’re some fuckin’ angel.”

breath hot on your lips, encapsulating you with the smell of stout liquor and le labo santal. “won’t smoke with me, but you’ll smoke with ole boy?” he spoke, low and calm through heaving breaths as he motioned with a sharp hand towards the brunette you’d ran into.

fuck. he heard you.

 “i see how it is…bein’ an attention whore since you left, huh?” he backed up, wiping the wetness off his lower lip with the same hand.

“don’t piss me off,” you rolled your eyes, “come on.”  taking his wrist into your hand and leading him towards the balcony door. he had an uncanny talent for manipulating the situation, planting the illusion you had the upper hand, although you never did. you were unknowingly right where he wanted you. digging into your purse, you pull out an m&m mini’s tube, popping it open and flipping it vertically. a blunt slid out and into your fingers, perfectly rolled.

the coastal air was thick with humidity, only lit by the light poles on the beach. rafe’s chest hovered over your back as you stepped out into the salty breeze, brushing strands of hair out of your eyes and positioning the blunt between your lips. just as you fished for your lighter, he moved faster, sparking a flame under his calloused thumb and bringing it closer. he watched you as the fire cast a glow on your half-lidded gaze, crackling lightly as you inhaled. as mean and vile and ungrateful as he was, he truthfully couldn’t imagine himself with another girl. you were bitchy, high maintenance, never satisfied, spoiled, whiny, just so unknowingly powerful. but god, you were fucking perfect. who else on this island would be able to handle you?

“you know,” you hissed, drawing the smoke sharply between your teeth before releasing it in a hazy stream that slipped through the perfect, glossy ‘o’ formed by the soft contour of your lips. “it wasn’t as devastating as i thought it was gonna be.” you sputter, nudging it towards his towering frame which stood outlined by the glow of the orange lanterns. he hit it, tiny little consecutive pecks that made the tip flash on and off.

“really?” he choked between inhales. “cause you look pretty devastated to me.” he smirked, stepping closer, blowing the potent smoke into your parted lips as you instinctively breathe it in. “you miss me?”

“maybe just a little,” you tease, watching the satisfied smirk grow on his face. his free hand traced the curve of your collarbone, fingers lightly brushing the tousled strands of your hair off your shoulder. he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the tanned skin.

“i miss your carrdddd, that nice big boattt, the presents.” you sing with a smug smile, hands snaking around his neck, his fingers finding the cushion of your hips, moving and swaying together.

“oh, shut the fuck up,” he looked down at you, dilated pupils scanning your face, “nobody’s fucking you like me, bet that,” a dry laugh left his throat.

“ugh,” you crash into his chest, pressing your cheek into the dry cleaned ralph lauren. whining  ihateyouihateyouihateyou’s.

steady and smooth, he discarded the blunt, wrapping his hands around your back, groping and pawing at your half-revealed ass. without thinking, you lift onto your tippy toes, breath coming in shallow gasps, lips lingering over his open mouth. without warning, his tongue fought its way in, swirling with yours in a hot, desperate hail mary. your lips met in sloppy smacks, stumbling over each other until he eventually had your hips pressed against the side railing.

pulling away, he spoke, low and from his chest. “you hate me? yeah? or do you just miss my dick in you,” his face lingered over yours, “n’ it’s got you all fuckin’ bothered.” you felt the puff of breath with each word. “say it,” he coaxed, hiking up the front of your dress to thumb at the hem of your panties, “say you want me to take that pussy.” his long fingers ran over your clothed clit, making your hips roll against the opulent stone that hung over the thornton estate. he chuckled, shaking his head as his gaze fixed between your legs. “it’s fuckin’ mine anyways.”  

your lips chased after his as he stepped back, tsking at you, still holding you steady by the waist. “nah, baby. gotta say it,”

you closed the distance, pressing your soft, heavy tits into the muscle of his abdomen and the pads of your fingertips into his bicep. face so close to yours, a smirk practically tangible in the air.

“pleaseeeee rafe, i need it,” you panted out, desperate and erratic. “just one more time.” your eyes traced him up and down, sinking into cross-faded euphoria. a single, needy tear fell from the corner of your glittery and bloodshot eye, streaking down your flushed cheek. brushing his lips against you, he flicked his tongue, tracing the path of the teardrop. you moan at the warmth against your cool skin, reaching down to guide his hand between your legs.

“fuck, such a slut.” he breathes out, cupping your dripping cunt and meeting your lips in a deep, perverse kiss. the kind that you just can't help but pull back a little bit. “missed you, missed this pussy.” he spoke in a low guttural rasp, almost inaudible. his wide build shielded you from the large glass doors that led into the party, hooking his fingers in the fabric of your panties and yanking them down, dipping his middle finger into the wetness pooling at your entrance.

“god, need this shit,” he groaned, swiping his finger gently up and down, circling your bundle of nerves. “turn around.”

he gave the command yet didn’t wait for a response, his firm grip on your waist flipping you the other way, leaving no room for a fight. bent over the balcony balustrade, your head hung in the air, looking down at the pool that sat twenty feet below. one of rafe’s hands pinned you over the railing by the back of the neck while the other played and prodded at your hole, getting you ready for him. discreetly, he worked his cock loose, rubbing the tip through your slick folds.

“rafeeee,” you muffle out, face smushed against the stone and immobile from the strength of his grasp. “not here, please, ca-can we just go inside?”

“nahh, i don’t think so, baby. this is what you wanted, right?” his hand slid down, wrapping a fist into the bunched fabric of your dress, pressing into you. your walls fluttered against him, a feeling so familiar yet so distant. lasers from the party strobed through the window, flashing by you. knees buckling, you couldn’t help but wiggle your ass back against him.

“god – fuck!” you squeal out, feeling him balls deep in you, guiding you down his length and filling you to the hilt. reaching into the pocket of his khakis, which still hung low on his hips, he fishes his phone out. with a quick flick, snapchat is open and the flash is washing over you. even with your head hung over the railing, you could still see the spotlight focused on your tight, twitching hole. he slides in and out, using your dress to manipulate the rhythm of your body. capturing everyyyy moment.

“this s’my shit, huh?” he panted out, your ass recoiling against each harsh thrust. “you’re my bitch, y’know that? been my bitch.” voice low and slow, almost cocky, like he wanted everyone to know -  like they didn’t already. the sound of damp, saturated clapping mixed with the crash of waves onto the shore.

“p-please, they’re gonna see,” you whimper, body jerking as he slams into you over and over. imagine the uproar if everyone saw you, little miss untouchable, taking your ex-boyfriend’s cock on the terrace outside topper’s party. grabbing a handful of hair, he yanks your head back, glare of the light fixed on your face. 

“they’re gonna see anyway, baby, don’t be shy. jus’ cum f’me,” your face screwed with his words, brows furrowing as you looked up at the camera with hopeless, empty eyes. just so fucked out. the curve of his dick poked and kissed that sweet spot deep inside you, bringing you closer and closer.

“you love me, huh?” he grunted, still forcing a deep arch in your back. “tell the camera you love me, princess.” you could feel yourself coming loose, guilt and lust boiling over in your tummy. you explode in a squealing moan, gripping on his cock and covering it with cream.

 “i love you rafe, fuck! - love you so so much!” crying through hiccups and flickering eyes, still trained on the flash. such a smart girl getting fucked dumb on camera. such a powerful person yet completely powerless in his hands.

“gonna let me nut in you?” his filming hand went flimsy as he quickened his pace, groaning and letting out short little bursts of air. “y’gonna take it all, be good for me like you used to?” he rasped, met with limp nods and a braindead mhmmm. that’s all it took for him to pound every inch into you, sending you deeper into your daze. fuckin’ dickmatized.

the video on his screen shook violently with each stroke, hot spurts of cum filling you up. “fuuuuckk,” he groaned, hips stuttering to a stop and loosening the grip on your hair, leaving you to catch your breath hung over the railing. he pointed the camera down, pulling himself out and spreading one cheek open with his hand to expose the stickiness dripping out of you. the flash finally goes off, and he saves it to his memories. bringing his fingers up to your leaky hole, he fucks his seed in deeper, eliciting a choked sob from your lips. pulling you upright and flipping you to face him, he squats down to pull your panties up from around your ankles, shimmying your hips into them and pulling your dress down. it was just like y'all used to.

the party was still in full swing as you both slipped back in, parting ways as you went to check in with sutton and reagan, completely disregarding the knotted mess of hair on your head and the streaked makeup down your face. was that fucking real? your legs were tight as you stagger and shuffle through groups of drunk teenagers all bouncing with the music, trying to regain your composure. as soon as reagan spots you from the couch, her jaw is on the floor, ushering you closer with her hand.

“y/n, no fucking way! you slut!” she shrieks with wide eyes and a light slap to your arm. “does sutton know?”

“girl, she set the shit up!” you try to explain, motioning with your hands. “i was like, if you insistttttt.” you lie, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, hitting her with a debby ryan radio rebel type smirk.

“you’re lying,” she goes on, picking her jaw up and taking a swig of her drink. “speak of the devil!” she exclaims, motioning behind you with her drink. a sharp smack landed on your ass, making you jump. sutton’s hand gripped yours, turning you around.

“did you fuck him?” she smiled, obviously drunk as shit and wayyy too loud.

“yeahh, what do you mean…” you roll your eyes, snapping your head to the side with a wide smile. it was evident how excited sutton was, prideful about it. lifting her solo cup in the air and grabbing to lift yours with the other, she let out a deafening woo!

“personally…” she went on, clutching her imaginary pearls, “i think that’s worth drinking to,” she proposed, side-eyeing and nudging you not so subtly. “come on bitch! shots for ken and barbie!”

to be honest, that was the last thing you remember.

the next morning, you woke up nuzzled in plaid grey sheets, your phone buzzing incessantly with notifications. the sound of the groundskeepers filtered through the windows. tannyhill.

fumbling with your phone, the words flashed across the screen.

figure8insider – ‘kildare’s power couple reunited? rafe cameron and y/n y/ln spotted together at party!’

oh.my.god.

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ a hundred assorted prompts

¹⁾ raspberry lip gloss

²⁾ pajama bottoms

³⁾ a silver lighter

⁴⁾ fresh honey

⁵⁾ flushed cheeks

⁶⁾ a fogged-up mirror

⁷⁾ the imprint of a belt buckle on skin

⁸⁾ helium balloons

⁹⁾ a broken cocktail glass

¹⁰⁾ old playing cards

¹¹⁾ chipped green nail polish

¹²⁾ a brown leather wallet

¹³⁾ bullet holes in a wooden wall

¹⁴⁾ seashells lined up along the curve of a spine

¹⁵⁾ beaded curtains

¹⁶⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys

¹⁸⁾ fresh-cut orchids in a pottery vase

¹⁹⁾ vending machine cigarettes

²⁰⁾ an out of date map

²¹⁾ a creaky wooden gate

²²⁾ a minifridge stocked with budweiser and paracetamol

²³⁾ snapdragons growing between pavement slabs

²⁴⁾ smudged yellow eyeshadow

²⁵⁾ slept-in braids

²⁶⁾ library books that’ll never be returned

²⁷⁾ a pink-tiled shower

²⁸⁾ a honeybee on a linen shirtsleeve

²⁹⁾ burnt popcorn

³⁰⁾ watching an eclipse from bed

³¹⁾ a black lace bralette

³²⁾ a tattered patchwork quilt

³³⁾ blue raspberry bubblegum

³⁴⁾ a rusted fishing rod and a dried-up lake

³⁶⁾ the taste of whiskey on someone else’s lips

³⁷⁾ rose-scented candles burned down to the wick

³⁸⁾ crescent-shaped coffee stains on a wooden tabletop 

³⁹⁾ odd socks 

⁴⁰⁾ a loose thread on a jumper sleeve

⁴¹⁾ warm sheets on cold skin

⁴²⁾ amber-tinged perfume

⁴³⁾ gold jewelry 

⁴⁴⁾  a calloused palm against a soft cheek 

⁴⁵⁾ a busted headlight

⁴⁶⁾ sunrise from a jail cell

⁴⁷⁾ hand tattoos that weave around fingers

⁴⁸⁾ coconut shampoo

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

⁵⁰⁾ ladybugs crawling across a headstone

⁵¹⁾ grass stains on blue jeans

⁵²⁾ a loaded saddlebag

⁵³⁾ a dusty wine cellar

⁵⁴⁾ a bikini top draped over a bedpost

⁵⁵⁾ snow in july

⁵⁶⁾ dirt-red mountaintops

⁵⁷⁾ goosebumps in a heatwave

⁵⁸⁾ an empty dinnertable

⁵⁹⁾ a fresh manicure and bruised knuckles

⁶⁰⁾ zombie movies

⁶¹⁾ bitten lips

⁶²⁾ dark eyes full of tears

⁶³⁾ a soft cast in summertime

⁶⁴⁾ stale coffee in paper cups

⁶⁵⁾ frozen peaches on a black eye

⁶⁶⁾ acrid smoke

⁶⁷⁾ bound hands

⁶⁸⁾ animal tracks

⁶⁹⁾ unwound vhs tapes

⁷⁰⁾ cartoon plasters

⁷¹⁾ lipstick marks on shirt collars

⁷²⁾ silver bangles

⁷³⁾ sharing a coat in a downpour

⁷⁴⁾ fields with grass at waist-height

⁷⁵⁾ daisy chains up to your forearm

⁷⁶⁾ rolled-up shirtsleeves

⁷⁷⁾ the smell of bleach in a dark room

⁷⁸⁾ a shared sleeping bag

⁷⁹⁾ a new haircut

⁸⁰⁾ swimsuit tanlines

⁸¹⁾ perfume clinging to a pillow

⁸²⁾ lollipops dangling between lips

⁸³⁾ a badly-timed grin

⁸⁴⁾ old books

⁸⁵⁾ tongues stained from slushies

⁸⁶⁾ waking up in a hailstorm

⁸⁷⁾ dying sunflowers

⁸⁸⁾ colourful sunglasses

⁸⁹⁾ the last pew

⁹⁰⁾ tall, rattling windows in a storm

⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

⁹²⁾ sticks of incense burned down to the last

⁹³⁾ bunk beds

⁹⁴⁾ matching sets

⁹⁵⁾ ruined mascara

⁹⁶⁾ a boxing ring

⁹⁷⁾ stained glass windows

⁹⁸⁾ fairy forts

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

¹⁰⁰⁾ a hangover in the evening

[aliyahwritings]

RAFE CAMERON and his DESI!GIRLFRIEND

masterlist.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who complains when you first show him Bollywood movies about how long they are, but ends up more interested than you (he cried during K3G because of his daddy issues).

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who gets laughed at when he first met your family because his eyes were getting teary when eating your mum's food. With time though, he became used to it and can handle it better... until he tastes your grandma's food and it's over for him.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who didn't get to see you with your hair oiled up in the beginning of your relationship because you were scared the scent would be too much for him, but it has now become a routine. He literally drives you to your mom's for your usual head/hair oil massage, and watches intently how your mama does it, so he can do it for you later (that's so husband coded of him omggg).

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who watches you with unwavering attention every time you get ready, mesmerized by the way your bangles slide down your wrists and the soft clinking sound they make. His gaze lingers as you adjust your dupatta, taking his time to memorize every delicate movement.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's obsessed with the feel of your bangles against his skin—when your hands trail over his chest or cup his face, the cold metal pressing into his warm skin. Sometimes, he holds your wrist just to play with them absentmindedly, rolling each bangle between his fingers like it’s his favorite toy.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who secretly practices pronouncing your full name in the mirror until he gets it right, savoring the way it rolls off his tongue. He knows how much it means to you, and when he says it perfectly in front of your family, the proud smile you give him makes every attempt worth it.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who always makes an effort to wear traditional fits when it matters, showing up in kurtas that hug his frame perfectly. He stands out, but in the best way—earning approving nods from the uncles and heart-eyed stares from the aunties who pull you aside just to say how lucky you are.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who thrives during family gatherings, blending in like he was meant to be there all along. The aunties dote on him endlessly, praising him for helping with the decorations or carrying heavy boxes during wedding prep. The uncles offer him drinks, impressed by how quickly he’s learned to fit into the chaos. He doesn’t even blink when the music starts and you’re pulled into the center of the room to dance. Instead, he watches, leaning against the wall with a soft smile, arms crossed over his chest as he admires the way you glow in your element.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who never complains when you drag him to fabric shops or markets, even if you spend hours picking out the right color or embroidery. He stands patiently by your side, occasionally giving his opinion but mostly just watching how excited you get. He'll sneak up behind you, whispering how stunning you’d look in everything. More than once, he’s slipped away to quietly pay for the set you were eyeing, only for you to find it in a little box on your bed later that night.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's become so used to you calling him pagal (crazy/idiot) that he's started using it with his friends.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who learned how to drape your sari. Did it take him a while? Yes, but that doesn't count. He knows where to make the folds and where to tuck in the fabric, and that's enough for you. He even starts buying you new ones because of how beautiful you look in them.

MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's very committed to his bit (dance) and practices for days and days. He would act as if he's just doing it for your family and that's it's nothing, but you know he loves it.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who turns into Nick Jonas for real!!! He's not complaining once about the amount of ceremonies there is. He's in awe of your culture and that's all.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who, after the wedding, is constantly making sure you’re okay. He holds your hand tightly in the car, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb, always asking if you’re comfortable, if you need anything. Even on your honeymoon, when it’s just the two of you, he still can’t stop marveling at how lucky he is to have you.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who spoils you relentlessly. He doesn’t care if you insist he doesn’t have to—flowers arrive at your doorstep every week, jewelry boxes sit on your dresser, and he’s constantly booking spontaneous weekend getaways just because. When you scold him for spending too much, he kisses your forehead and brushes it off.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who keeps your wedding photo framed on his desk. He’ll sit and stare at it during late nights at work, running his thumb over the glass while thinking about how much he misses you. He counts down the minutes until he can come home, and when he finally does, he’s pulling you into his lap the second you greet him.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who brings home little things that remind him of you. If he spots bangles, dupattas, or anything embroidered with colors you love, he’s buying it without hesitation. Sometimes he gets the sizes wrong, but the effort makes you melt every time.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who’s absolutely soft when it’s just the two of you. His tough, cocky exterior melts the second you’re alone. He’ll wrap himself around you, burying his face in your neck as you stroke his hair. He’s happiest when he’s in bed with you, legs tangled together under the covers, whispering about how he’s never letting you go.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who always keeps his promises. No matter how chaotic life gets, he’s there—by your side, unwavering in his love and loyalty.

INFO ABOUT UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @aliyahwritings-notifs and turn on notifications!!!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jamil Viper: A Web, Tangled

Aaand here we go with the Relaxing in Room line of birthday cards :v d ehebkwjw It’s so funny that they chuck pillows to attack??? (By the way, congrats to this Jamil card overloading and crashing the JP server 😂)

For this series of birthday ficlets, I’ll focus on writing each birthday boy preparing to walk to school with the reader (since the duo partner barely appears in the vignettes). Can be read platonically or romantically, whatever you prefer~

Rise and Shine!

You lingered by the doorway, your eyes glued on Jamil.

He was preoccupied with glimpsing himself in a mirror set on a table. Before him were various accessories from a jeweled box. (Judging from the gaudiness of the massive rubies on it, it must have been a gift from Kalim.)

Loose tresses the color of dark chocolate tumbled down his back. When Jamil ran a brush through them, the sun caught and his hair tempered, turning lustrous.

You’d seen him massage his scalp with oil-slicked hands before—and again, he diid it, followed by some sort of a cream. The routine left his head moisturized smelling faintly of jasmine. Jamil never compromised when it came to hair care.

You often had to remind yourself that he was not a princess, entrancing as he was. The sway of his hair, the snap of his steps. Each movement, close to a part in a mysterious dance.

Jamil produced his magical pen. The magestone laid in it was as clear as a cloudless day, and the color of blood that had been left out for a little too long.

Now came the spectacle, the very highlight of your entire morning.

Jamil raised the pen as if he was a conductor waving his baton. A hush fell over an imaginary audience, a collective of breaths held in anticipation. This is it, this is it.

He flicked his wrist, and the magic flowed.

A trail of scarlet light emanated whenever Jamil drew his wand. The accessories laid out on his desk floated up, compelled, in a neat line. A band with a feather dangling from it, narrow golden bangles, flat beads that clinked like coins.

His dark locks lifted, dividing themselves into even sections, then into even smaller ones. They carefully twisted over and under each other, weaving into tight braids. Accessories slid on, effortlessly fitting themselves at his direction.

His intricate hairstyle assembled quickly, as if arranging the pieces of a familiar puzzle.

The red sparkles faded into a fine shimmer and then into nothing at all. As the last traces of magic settled, you bursted into applause.

���Bravo, bravo! Great show as always,” you said appreciatively.

“… That wasn’t a performance,” Jamil corrected as he set his magical pen down.

“It might as well be! It takes some serious skill to pull that off every morning.” You gestured to him. “And so fast!“

“Anyone could accomplish it with enough time and practice.” His words choice was humble, but there was a hint of a smirk in his tone.

A rare moment of triumph for him.

“Not just anyone. I think you’ve got a natural talent for this kind of thing,” you grinned broadly, “like a spider!”

Jamil’s neutral expression splintered, leaving jagged edges exposed. His left eyes twitched, pupils pinpricks.

“Excuse me? In what way do I remind you of a vile bug?”

“Hey, don’t knock spiders! You guys have similar skills. The braids, the webs. You make’m well, all nice and strong. No strands out of place.”

“That doesn’t reassure me,” he groused, a hand on his hip. “I’d prefer if you didn’t compare me to them. It feels wrong.”

Jamil shivered. Not from the cold, but with repulsion.

You gave a laugh—soft against the rising morning sun. “Really? But you’re so alike in other ways too.”

His eyes narrowed into suspicious slivers. Mildly offended, perhaps.

“Elaborate,” he commanded.

“They’re hard working and important but under-appreciated,” you pointed out. “Without spiders, there would actually be a lot more bugs around. We should be more grateful to have spiders’ webs.”

There was a pause, deliberate. Then a gentle prompt.

“… Remind you of anyone?”

Jamil scoffed. It was as loud as a thunderclap in his suddenly cavernous bedroom.

“Maybe.”

Two syllables, clipped. An acknowledgment.

“Jamil-senpai…?”

He hurriedly looked away, staring at the wall for likely longer than what was deemed appropriate. Any more, whether in length or in intensity, and he might have burned a hole in it. His face, hotter than the Scalding Sands.

Your brows shot up. “… Ah. Could it be that you’re feeling embarrassed?”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. Something like this couldn’t possibly ruffle me.”

You craned your body, attempting to meet his gaze. But he wrenched away, denying that to you. “Then why aren’t you looking at me when you say that?”

“I need to get ready for class,” he replied dismissively. “So close the door and wait outside while I change out of my pajamas.”

“Now you’re just changing the subject!”

“Well, we’ll both be running late if we continue to dawdle,” Jamil warned—a tactful evasive maneuver.

His hands found their way onto your arms, steering you into the hallway. You turned back, mouth opening to protest, but Jamil had already sealed himself off.

Banging and calling out to him was no good. Kicking resulted in you gripping onto your poor foot and whimpering. You were left in a sorry state, back to the door as you rested on the floor.

On the other side, Jamil was surely having a little laugh. Cheeks still burning from the praise showered upon him, basking in the afterglow of it.

You sighed.

A spider makes its web to deceive flies into getting stuck in it. Jamil-senpai can be just as tricky.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Jamaai Ghar Aaye ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

Summary: Lando and you go back home from your honeymoon. You hadn't realised how much your parents had changed in that short period of time.

⤑ ln x desi!reader 𔓘

⤑ fluff 𔓘

masterlist ☾☼

marrying lando had been a dream come true. it was something you hadn't expected, but god, you were glad it happened.

now, after not only getting married, but being back to india, to your city after your honeymoon really made you realise just how real the relationship was. the two of you had planned to stay in india for a week with your family, before going to monaco. lando had to begin with his training soon, and you had to get back to work. it worked out well for you.

standing just outside the airport, you quickly spotted your cousin's car, and the two of you dragged your bags over. your cousins stepped out, hugging the both of you, and put the bags in the trunk.

lando and you climbed into the back seat, where you rearranged the bags to sit in the middle, closer to where lando was against the window.

he immediately wrapped an arm across your shoulder and you leaned into him, holding his hand, enjoying the way your red bangles clinked against each other. he pressed a distracted kiss against your temple, his attention on the people outside as your cousin made his way out of the airport pick up and drop.

"so, how was the honeymoon?" your cousin in the passenger seat asked, turning from his seat.

you brightened up, and leaned forward to tell him all kinds of stories. your hands moved animatedly, and every now and then, lando chimed in with a part that you missed.

"are you pregnant yet?" your cousin asked.

your cousin in the driver's seat coughed loudly as he tried to hide his laugh, and you glared at him. smacking your cousin's arm, you said, "what kind of question is that?"

"what? the only reason you can have sex is if you're trying to get pregnant!"

lando laughed, "mate, how many kids do you have?"

"shut up! i don't have sex that often!"

"sure you don't," your husband responded, still chuckling.

"hey, stay out of my sex life!"

"you stay out of ours then! no no, better yet, stay out of your baby sister's sex life, unless you want me to tell you all about how i made her c-"

"no, no, no, no shut up! i don't want to know! i don't care! stop talking!"

everyone in the car burst out laughing. serves your cousin right.

all four of your phones buzzed at the same time, and you checked the notification. your mom was asking in the family group if you and lando were on your way yet. quickly clicking on the camera icon on whatsapp, and setting it on selfie mode, you snapped a picture of you and lando making goofy faces.

sending the picture, you let your family know that you were about five minutes away. all you got was a thumbs up in response.

tuning back into the conversation happening in the car, you realised that your cousin from the driver's seat was talking.

"there's a full daawat at home,"

"what's a daawat?" lando asked you softly.

"it's like a full meal. multiple types of starters and main dishes and desserts. that kind of thing," you responded, just as softly.

"why is there a daawat?" lando asked, his question directed towards your cousins. the confusion was obvious in his voice, and despite him slightly butchering up the pronunciation of the word, you still appreciated it.

your cousin looked at lando from the rear view mirror and smirked, "jamaai ghar aaye hai,"

before lando could ask, your cousin parked the car in the allotted parking space, and the four of you got out of the car.

lando fussed around with the bags, insisting on taking out all the local sweets that he had handpicked from your honeymoon.

"baby, we can give it to them once we go inside,"

lando shook his head, already holding the pile of boxes, "no. we gotta give them now. what's that thing you say when you buy chocolates or a bottle of wine or something when we go to someone's house?"

you bit your lip, trying to hide your smile as you said, "khaali haath kisi ke ghar nahi jaate?"

"bang on," lando said, and walked towards the front door.

your cousins followed behind him with the suitcases, grumbling about their weight.

before you could even reach the door, your parents stepped out, arms wide and smiling. seeing them instantly filled you with joy, and you opened your arms as well to hug them. your parents sidestepped you, and hugged your husband, taking the boxes from his hands and dumping them in your open arms, as they quietly chatted for a bit.

you frowned, and watched as your husband leaned down and pressed his hand to your parents' feet before touching that hand to his chest.

well, at least sanskaar acche sikhaaye hai tumne.

your cousins laughed behind you, but you ignored them.

settling the boxes, you greeted all your aunts and uncles, and you joked a little bit with your cousins as well. you kept a watch on lando from the corner of your eye. he hugged and laughed with the entire family, and you couldn't help but notice how much attention he was receiving.

it made you happy. of course it did.

when your aunt called for dinner, you insisted that lando begin with his meal while you freshen up a bit to get rid of the flight feel.

picking your bag and walking to your room, you began winding down. changing into fresh clothes, you tied your hair, removed all your excess jewellery, washed your face and did your short skincare routine.

once you were done, you walked back to the dining room, and slowed down at the scene in front of you. lando sat at the head of the table, his plate filled with different delicacies. your entire family were surrounding him, offering him more food, and feeding him if required.

with a frown, you sat on the other end of the table, where your cousins sat, talking amongst themselves.

you began serving your plate, and every time you asked an aunt or uncle for a particular dish, they gave it to you without even glancing at you, and it only made you frown more.

as you ate, you watched the special treatment your husband was receiving from your family.

"what the fuck is happening?" you asked lowly to your cousins.

they looked at the scene that you had been watching. your mother was forcing gulab jamuns in his mouth, and you could tell lando was loving the attention.

your cousin sister snorted, "isn't it obvious? jamaai ghar aaye hai,"

you scrunched up your face as you watched all the gulab jamuns vanishing, and silently wished you had taken two beforehand.

sighing you said, "i miss when i used to be the favourite child,"

your cousins laugh, "it always ends up being the jamaai,"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

@partiallyderived this is for you! i got this idea a long time ago when we were talking about your dad basically seeing lando as his son-in-law. baba maan gaye ismein bhi ;)

lemme know what you think of it! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry

[lewisvinga]

million dollar man | lance stroll x fem! reader

summary; in the world of her million dollar man, y/n can’t help but feel like a lost puppy and stick out like a sore thumb leading to mess of jumbled feelings.

warnings; insecurities esp around money, reader is mentioned to be a healthcare worker/nurse

word count; 1.2k

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03

note; i can’t tell yall the amount of times i’ve thought of this fic ever since i started the born to die series 😭😭😭😭 but i rlly let out my obsession w these luxuries out here 🫣🫣

‘born to die’ series masterlist.

masterlist !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Why don’t you wear your new necklace? The one that your fiancé got you.”

Y/n could hear the smile in Lance’s voice as she stood in the bathroom adding the finishing touches to her makeup. “Yeah, because a Serpent around my neck would match the floral look.” She snorted, referring to the Bulgari necklace he had gotten her the week prior.

“I mean, you haven’t worn it yet. Where else would you showcase it for the first time other than your own engagement party?”

“Because it doesn’t match.”

What she said was partially the truth. The serpent necklace didn’t match her 3 thousand-dollar Oscar De La Renta dress.

It didn’t match with the gold Rolex on her left wrist or the diamond-encrusted Cartier love bangle, Juste un Clou, and the Van Cleef bracelet on her right wrist. Nor did it match the giant diamond engagement ring adorning her ring finger.

It didn’t match her white Louboutin heels nor did it go with the 20-motif Van Cleef Alhambra necklace.

It didn’t match her and that was her issue.

Y/n never even dreamt of the lifestyle she had been living ever since dating Lance. It was something so unattainable. The expensive bags, jewelry, cars, and private jets, she never even dared to dream of.

She grew up middle class, her parents having enough to be able to put food on the table, and have decent clothes, but not enough to earn them all the luxuries she has now. Sure, her nursing job earned her a decent amount of money, but the necklace her boyfriend had gotten her cost more than her yearly salary and that said enough.

She remembered the look on the faces of Lance’s extended family when they found out she did not come from another rich family and was just a regular pediatric nurse. They immediately assumed she was just with him for money. They talked and talked.

The gossip would become worse whenever Y/n would show up with a new bag or bracelet. She hated it.

She remembered when Lance decided to throw her a huge birthday party. He paid for most of it even if she protested. Not to mention, he gifted her not one but two Hermes mini Kelly’s. She remembered the looks on his aunt's face as she held a rare picnic mini Kelly.

“One for the money, two for the show, right?” He joked, chuckling at her shocked face, and pressed a kiss against her cheek. “I love you, honey.”

“You’re unbelievable, Lance. I love you.”

The same picnic Kelly bag he gifted her was the one she decided to wear with her floral dress. A springtime engagement called for a floral theme engagement party, hence the dress.

Y/n stares at herself in the mirror after applying her Dior lipgloss. She looked like a million-dollar man. She looked so strange like she was unrecognizable. She had the dream life of so many but had no idea why she felt so upset or heartbroken.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realize Lance had been calling her. “Honey, what’s the matter?” He asked, concern in his voice as he walked into the bathroom all dressed in an expensive suit.

“I hope you’re not getting cold feet before our engagement part.” He joked but his smile immediately fell at her silence. “Are you?”

“No! No!” Y/n quickly exclaimed, turning around and settling her hand on his shoulder. “I’m not getting cold feet, Lance. I want to marry you and I will marry you. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.” He mumbled, grasping her hands. His dark eyes were filled with concern as his thick brows furrowed up. She still seemed hesitant to tell him what was on her mind. “Hey, I won’t judge you for what’s on your mind.”

Y/n sighed again as Lance gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “You know I didn’t grow up with this. All of these luxuries, expensive jewelry, even more expensive cars and bags. My nursing job can only cover so much. It can’t cover a quarter of what you give me.”

“And I don’t care!” He exclaimed, “You’re my fiancée. I want to spoil you. It’s my duty to spoil you. I don’t care what they think, I-”

“But I’ve seen the way your aunts stare at me.” She mumbled, looking down at her Louboutins. “I’ve heard their whispers. They just think I’m a gold digger who is only marrying you to have this lifestyle but I couldn’t give two shits about all of this! We could be struggling with money and I’d still want to be with you.”

She sighed as she let go of his hands. She turned around to look at herself through the mirror. “I see a stranger when I’m dressed up like this. I stick out whenever I’m with your family and they all know it. They never try to hide their whispers and they’re right. I don’t fit into this world, Lance. I look like a million dollar man but why does my heart still feel broken?”

“Y’know what I see?” Lance asked as he took a step closer to her, placing his hand on her waist. “I see the most gorgeous woman. Someone so unique and special that she’s like an exotic flower.” He chuckled, running his finger over the strap of her floral dress.

“I see someone who is so brilliant she used her brain to study to help children in need. I see someone with a heart so big, that she works extra shifts just to spend time with her patients no matter how tiring the week has been.” He continued, gently fixing a strand of her hair which made her let out a soft chuckle. “I see my fiancée, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with despite not growing up in ‘my world’.”

Lance leaned over and kissed Y/n’s cheek. “I see the woman who has always been by my side. I see the woman who will be the mother of my children. I see the woman who has stolen my heart from the day I bumped into her in that cafe.”

He spun her around so she was facing him. She rested her hands on his shoulder once again for stability as his hands held onto her waist. “I don’t see someone strange. I see you.”

She takes a deep breath, her pink lips curled into a smile as her eyes fill with tears. “You always know how to take a girl's breath away, don’t you?”

“Just yours.”

Y/n leaned up and pulled him close to kiss him, not caring if they were going to be made to their own engagement party. “I love you so much, Lance.”

“I love you so much, Y/n. More than anything else in this world.”

She leaned back down with a wide smile on her lips. She takes a deep breath and quickly glances in the mirror to ensure her makeup is still intact.

“Well, we can’t be late to our own engagement party.” Y/n chuckled, grabbing her bag and turning back to Lance. “Shall we go, my million dollar man?”

He kisses the top of her head as a smile matching hers appears on his lips. “Let’s go, my honey.”

[bebemoon]

major arcana looks: THE HIGH PRIESTESS | khaite "romee" open-backed draped merino wool gown, marina eerrie "sacred" natural silk dress w/ hood, knobbly studio pearl double threader, knobbly studio silver mismatched fluted perfume funnel & holder earrings, di petsa silver metal belt, yvmin gemstone mesh fingertip rings, silver ewer (c. 19th cent.), kindred black "porphyria's lover" natural perfume, middaia "cathedrale pearl chains" necklace, schiaparelli surreal jewelry-pierced half-mask, alighieri "the ancient incantations" sterling silver bangle bracelet, alighieri "the ancient incantations" sterling silver ring, victorian silver hand mirror, laura benson "god seeds" pomegranate archival matte print

[whencyclopedia]

Beauty in the Bronze Age - Minoan & Mycenaean Fashion

Dress and appearance in Bronze Age Greece (c. 3100 BCE - c. 1100 BCE) played a part in defining gender roles and emphasising idealized beauty that planted the seed for modern-day standards. The Minoans turned the island of Crete into a Mediterranean powerhouse and dominated Aegean culture until around 1450 BCE when the Mycenaean civilization from the Greek mainland peaked and wrested control. Frescoes and figurines uncovered from this era reveal a fabulously colourful society that expressed itself through fashion, hair, and accessories. Both Minoan and Mycenaean women sought a pinched waist to achieve the epitome of a feminine aesthetic. The fashion of Mycenaean men, however, expressed their warlike temperament, in contrast to their Minoan counterparts, who embodied display and splendour.

Minoan Women

Women are heavily represented amongst the archaeological finds from Knossos, Akrotiri, and other Minoan hubs. One of the most beautiful examples is the Snake Goddess Figurine which depicts the archetype of Minoan dress. This woman wears a flounced, layered skirt that falls to the ground. Her bodice has short sleeves and a scalloped neckline which reveals and accentuates her breasts. This is mirrored in the colourful frescoes which emphasise bright, eye-catching fabrics dyed a myriad of colours. Bold primary colours – reds, yellows, and blues − dominate the pattern scheme. To get these shades, the Minoans took advantage of the available natural resources. Saffron – now the world’s most expensive spice – was used to acquire yellow and murex sea snails created a rich purple.

One of the most interesting aspects of female dress was the use of corsets or tight thick belts to create an hour-glass figure. Artworks suggest that the wasp-waist was highly idealised in Minoan culture and body modification may have been implemented to achieve this. Corsets have, of course, gone in and out of fashion in the thousands of years since their early Cretan use. Minoan women also wore jewellery to frame their features. Hoop earrings, necklaces, and bangles were all popular forms of expression and decoration − gold and glass beads were used to give outfits that glamourous touch.

In the frescoes, women have black hair braided into long tendrils or locks. Their skin, in contrast, is typically a pale white, implying that the ideal women would have spent significant time indoors and that the archetype of feminine beauty could be obtained by focusing on domestic duties.

Continue reading...

[tarnishedsilverjewelry]

Happy New Year! I was wondering if you could write a Smoke x reader about the reader at a New Year's party at Johnny's house and Smoke tries to get close to the reader so he could give her a kiss on New Year's?

New years kiss

A/N: Im so sorry this is so late guys I had to draft this like 7 times bc I hated the dialogue I wrote:( ALSO ugh Tomas my BABBYYY also I also made y/n chubby bc I said so. ALSO HARUMI IS HERE BC I LOVE HER🗣️🗣️🗣️

Warnings: possibly ooc smoke and use of Y/n. Don’t like Y/n? Don’t read it🤍

Johnny had invited Tomas, Kuai Liang, and Harumi to a New Years Even Party. Johnny had raved about seeing the ball drop and having a night of simple, good fun.

Harumi, who’d spent a good portion of her life in a far off corner of the world begged Kuai Liang to go, because she wanted to experience a true American New Years Eve celebration

Kuai hadn’t been able to say no to her, and agreed to go but asked Tomas to come too since the last time they’d had a celebration Bi Han had nearly killed her. They arrived in a week early and Johnny helped them put together more civilian type outfits instead of their ninja uniforms

Tomas shifted uncomfortably in his clothes, he hadn’t had many chances to wear clothes like these since his adoption. Kuai was in a similar situation, but managed to get past it when Harumi would twirl around in front of Johnny giant mirror “Do I look American?” She asked, twirling herself into his brothers arms

“I was going to say ravishing, my lotus.” Tomas walked out of the room to ignore their affectionate nature.

Kuai Liang was dressed in a plain white undershirt with a long sleeved deep navy button up with matching pants and a brown belt with a brassy-gold buckle, matching brown dress shoes. Kuai Liangs sleeves had been roiled up to his elbow and the top few buttons left unbuttoned so everyone could see his undershirt peaking out. Johnny had lent him a gold watch and a few necklaces to wear to tie the outfit together.

Harumi had been handed a tight black dress with sparkling silver straps, a pair of black high heels (which she took a few minutes to actually be able to walk in), and a sparkly headband to help keep her hair back.

Tomas had a pair of black dress pants on, with black dress shoes, a black belt with a silver buckle, white undershirt and a black long sleeved button up. He kept his shirt fully buttoned but still rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Instead of gold jewelry he had a silver watch, a few bangle bracelets on the other wrist, a few rings he saw in the mall, and some of Johnnys silver necklaces

They had helped Johnny set up the party and greet the catering staff he’d hired to bartend and to feed everyone. People started arriving in groups quickly, and the music was blaring loudly. Harumi and Kuai Liang were dancing together happily, while Tomas uncomfortably slipped out onto the balcony

The music was still just as loud, but being away from the crowd soothed him somewhat. The beer bottle in his hands was mostly full, it being a drink he didn’t even like, clanked gently against the railing.

Happily detached from the crowd he saw a small group of women being welcomed by Johnny. He greeted them with big smiles and hugs, and directed them to a coat closet. One however stuck out to him. Long hair pulled into a slicked back bun, chunky gold earrings, a tight black sleeveless dress that clung to every curve of her torso, and her thick ass. The dress ended just below her bottom, and her thighs were clad in red tights, and she wore a pair of small dark red kitten heels with pointed toes and a shiny silver buckle on the top of them

Tomas felt his mouth dry out, and his pants tighten. By the elder gods she was gorgeous. Her small but plump lips were pulled into a wide smile that bared all her teeth.

Gods even her teeth were nice. He’d seen plenty of straight and glaringly white teeth in arriving groups. But hers weren’t. They were yellowed and slightly crooked, and fit her face much better than the ‘veneers’ as Johnny called them.

He needed to be close to her. Hear her voice, her laugh. He had to. Every fiber of his being was vibrating to be near her. He needed to see the crinkles around the corners of her eyes up close, see the smile lines around her pretty mouth, feel every curve of her body with his hands, feel her hands running over his body gently

She walked over to the bar tender and was poured a glass of red wine before walking over to her friends and talking happily to them. He watched them for a half an hour from the balcony, eyes focused spilt on her when she turned her head to look at him.

Tomas felt his eyes widen and face burn in embarrassment, he dropped his eyes to the floor as the air in his body left him. He hadn’t even gathered the courage to talk to you and he’d already wasted his chances. Fuck.

Slowly he looked up, eyes zeroing in on you easily, and you smiled at him. Tomas felt the blush on his face worsen, but he smiled back. He even managed a little wave, that made you smile harder your pudgy frame shaking from laughter. But you waved back.

You on the other hand were giggling with your friends, who were trying to get you to talk to him. “Go talk to him! He’s seriously like…transfixed by you!” One said. Another joked “I knew you were secretly a siren!” You snorted. “Oh…I don’t know. You know guys don’t really like me for…me.” You admitted ashamed.

Your free hand pressed against your bulging stomach, and all the memories flooded through your mind. “Girl, I love you. But those people suck. They’re painfully insecure douches who don’t deserve the time of day! Look, Johnnys your cousin he invited everyone! Ask him about the guy, since he never invites anyone but people he knows and trusts!” Your third friend said, already waving your older cousin over.

Johnny was your rock through every guy who’d hurt you, and you’d stuck with him even before he started directing the Mortal Kombat movies and his fame skyrocketed. “Hey! What’s up?” He asked throwing an arm over your shoulders. “Who’s that guy? We’re trying to get Y/n to talk to him! He’s like…in awe of her!” Johnny followed her finger and huffed.

“That my friend Tomas, he and his brother and sister-in-law are visiting from Japan. He’s really nice, and as much as I’d like to say stay away from him..I don’t think you will.” He admitted, pressing a kiss to your head and walked back over to welcome the last group of people to arrive

You were about to go over and talk to him, when a very familiar song came on. “Come on! You can talk to him after our song!” You laughed and let them pull you on the dance floor. You laughed happily, eyes straying over to Tomas who now sat on the couch staring at you

You danced happily with your friends, unaware of Tomas who was currently wiggling his way through the crowd of dancing people. His eyes scanned you up and down enjoying the way your body moved with the music.

It seemed your friend had saw him approaching and ended up slowly pushing you back towards him as the song went on, because one half step backwards and you were standing back-to-chest with him

His face was a deep red and his hands were stiffly by his side. You admired his face, and made the choice to grab his hands and place them on your hips. Immediately his grip tightly slightly, then you leaned back into him and continued to dance with the music. Tomas followed your lead

This continued for a few songs, and not once did your leave stray from each others face. His hands however strayed from your hips, and roamed your sides, shoulders, hands, stomach. Like he was mapping out your body with his hands.

You were a bit shorter than him, being 5’4” to his 6’1, and came up to just past his shoulders in your shoes. Tomas craned his neck to face you, and he struggled to not tear you away from the dance floor and keep you for himself

His hands pulled you to be more flush against him, and your arms went up to loop around his neck. Your fingers brushed abound the back of his neck and his jawline softly. Tomas leaned his head down to rest his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

Your hands continued to brush against his neck, and his continued to wander over your body. You didn’t close your eyes, instead opting to map out his face in close detail.

You two were alone in your own world, when suddenly a hand try to pull you from Tomas. Startled you looked over to see a man, nondescript and boring grinning at you. He was saying something, but you could care less. Then he tried to pull you away from Tomas (who was surprisingly strong), but Tomas smacked his hand away with a glare.

Gently, so gently, Tomas pushed you behind him and away from the man. The man took this opportunity to try and pick a fight with Tomas and when people swarmed around them you were pushed off of the dance floor.

Your friends joined you and took you to the bathroom. There, helped you fix your hair, and pelted you with questions. “We were dancing, and it was like it was just us. Alone in our own world when this guy, who’s probably been deemed the new big thing because he looked young, tried to pull me away from him!” You scoffed, looking in the mirror to fix your lipstick. “But Tomas smacked his hand away, and pushed me behind him and then he tried to like attack him! I got pushed aside by the crowd.” You huffed.

You desperately wished that you knew where he was, or that he was here with you. You wanted to feel his hands on you again, hear his voice. But instead you let your friends pull you around and socialized. Eyes swiveling around for Tomas

Tomas pushed the man off him, and blocked his punches and kickes until Johnny came over and threw the guy out. A few women then turned their sights on him and swarmed him. Uncomfortably he sent Kuai Liang a desperate glance, and was thankfully saved by his brother and sister.

He departed from them and started walking laps around the house, looking for you. His eyes were slightly frantic. What if you’d gotten hurt? What if you were mad at him.

The night continued on, 9 turned to 10 and 10 to 11 and he still couldn’t find you. He’d searched every corner of every room, every crowd, the bar the catering staff, he’d looked everywhere he could think of. He glanced at his borrowed watch, 11:36, and frowned deeper. Kuai Liang and Harumi had migrated to the back yard where it was quieter. He’d seen them on his many laps around the house.

Tomas did three more laps around the house, and growled in frustration. Had you left? What if you left with someone else? What if you didn’t want to see him again? He chilled the time again. 11:49.

Finally accepting his defeat he took his original position on the balcony, staring out at the hoard of people. A part of him hoped to see you in the crowd, and rush down to you. He deflated further and checked the time again. 11:52.

At 11:54 he thought he saw you in the crowd, but she wore blue tights not red. 11:56 he saw your friend group lingering in the backyard, but no you.

He checked his watch again. It was 11:57, when he heard a little gasp. “It’s you.” Whirling around he was met with the sight of you. “It’s me.” He nodded dumbly. “I’ve been looking for you. I thought you left or got kicked out.” You admitted, taking a step forward. “No, I’ve..also been looking for you. I thought you left.” He laughed, slightly embarrassed.

You took another step forward, and his hands regained their place on your hips. “Y/n. My name is Y/n.” You said suddenly. “Ah, my name is Tomas. I…” he trailed off, voice failing. You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck again. He pulled you against his chest again. He glanced at his watch again. 11:59.

“Would…you like to be my New Years kiss?” He watched a smile stretch across your pretty face. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to do a lot more than just kiss you. But sure. I’ll be your new years kiss.” Tomas blushed red, and you snorted.

“10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! 3! 2! 1! Happy new years!”

Distantly, Tomas was aware of fireworks exploding and people cheering. But all he could feel was bliss. Your lips were soft, and the gloss you wore tasted like cupcakes. Your lips locked onto his left Tomas feeling a feeling of pure euphoria. Pulling away, you pressed your face into his shoulder. “Happy New Years, Y/n” “Happy New Years, Tomas.”

Bonus! Dialogue between kombatants

Tomas: Thank you for inviting me to your party Johnny. I had a wonderful time!

Johnny: More like you and Y/n had a wonderful time!

Johnny: Still can’t believe you’re hooking uo with my baby cousin!

Tomas: We’re not just hooking up!…Whatever that is

Raiden: You’ll have to introduce us to your new infatuation, Tomas

Tomas: Yes I think you’ll get along very well

Tomas: Do you know what ‘hooking up’ is Johnny says Y/n and I do that

Raiden: Uhhh..ask Johnny

[brailsthesmolgurl]

'BLIND' DATE

Preview: After the end of a situationship, you had mustered up the courage to go out on a blind date to finally settle down. But what if, your date happens to be the guy you were in a relationship with?!

Warnings: Angst that is gonna hurt you in your meow meow, Fluff that shall heal the hurt in your meow meow. Mild-implied smexy scenes.

Divider is credited here!

Staring at your own reflection in the mirror, you utilised your 20/20 vision to scan every part of your body, to ensure that you look the best you had been since the last parting with Rafayel. Yes, y/n is finally ready to crawl out of her wailing dungeon to go on a date with a potential boyfriend. A guy whom you had met on some dating website--that you had downloaded out of the blue--had asked you out on a date.

Your gaze paused at your wrist, the bangle that wrapped loosely around your wrists casted a frown on your face. There is no way you are going to wear something your supposed-ex had given to you a long time ago. You see, Rafayel and you had never been exclusive anyways, although a huge part of you wished that the both of you would gravitate towards being more than friends.

But that wish of yours simply stayed as a wish, till the day it was crushed by Rafayel telling you that he does not see himself in relationships due to how demanding he can be in one; be it physical or mental. He clearly has a reason of his own but you could not seem to see it from his two sense and so, a stupid argument erupted which led you to your confession and with him standing in shocked. However, he decided to add fuel to the fire and dismissed your liking towards him and off you went. Not even turning your head back at once.

It has been months from then, no form of contact was initiated between the both of you. Mostly you blocking him off of your social media and contact lists and beelining only on your own self-recovery. Life was pretty banal for you till you stumbled upon this user on your dating app, who is in search of a partner. This app only allows you to get to know the person via texting, all of their information such as gender, MBTI, Blood Type, Likes and Dislikes etc were shown except for their looks and name. It is an app that prides itself on making matches purely based off of one's personality rather than looks.

Perhaps, this is a fresh start for you. The guy you had been chatting with so far has left a good impression with you, sharing same perspectives, telling humourless dad jokes (that you sadly fell for all the time, smiling behind the screen like a fool), flirtatious and incredulously charming. For a glimpse, you thought it was Rafayel given the similarities of their spelling errors in their texts yet you figured well enough that this may not be the same guy afterall since this one is searching for a serious relationship. Flirtatious texts do not die off easily as one may think and this situationship of yours with this mysterious man named ‘Turtleboi’ had fluorished so much within the span of a few months that it got you to thoroughly consider going out to meet him.

Flashing back to the texts where he had asked you out on a date, you could not help but to blush at the thought of it. The way he proposed for a date was exactly how you figured, or wished Rafayel would have done it to you and it goes something like this:

𝗦𝗼, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗹𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘂𝗽𝗰𝘂𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘆.

𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗹𝗲.

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗲. 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂??

𝗔 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸?

𝗜 𝗯𝗲𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿, 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗴𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀! 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗳𝗮𝘀𝘁, 𝗹𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗵, 𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿, 𝘁𝗲𝗮 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴!

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬. 𝐈 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲.

𝗢𝗵 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆, 𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀.

Your hands would not stop trembling, the atmosphere of the fine dining restaurant eerily colder than ever. It was however, a restaurant that you would never step foot into given its prestige. Not that you have the sort of funds to spend it on fresh seafood here when bulk, half-par seafood you can purchase from any supermarkets is a huge bang to your buck. Maybe it is the way the lights barely glowed in this private room as well, causing the velvet scarlet walls to take form of the insides of a belly, enveloping you within its grasp and that is the moment you know that you are way too nervous for a date as such.

You fumbled with your fingers, dazing off with your eyes trained on your bodycon dress as you stayed sat on your plush dining seat. The restaurant should be sued for having such comfortable seats as you might actually consider stopping by just to nap on the seats rather than have a meal here. With you being such a nervous wreck, your last bit of conscience took over and you started to grab your clutch, already aiming to leave at the very last minute before you are about to meet this guy.

Your conscience speaks of your deepest insecurities and you know why you would want to back out at the last moment. Your insecurities are consuming you at this very moment. Maybe you did not have the adequate amount of time to heal from Rafayel’s rejection and it led you to believe that you probably should not be in a a relationship until the day you can forget about Rafayel. You got up and made your way towards the door only for it to be swung open in front of you and your eyes widened in shock, fascination, horror, and all kinds of emotions that you had never felt before. But most likely had gotten it bottled up, sealed closed and stuffed into the darkest corners of your memory closet.

“IT’S YOU?!” You could not help the rise of volume in your voice, the scrunched eyebrows of frustration, the gritting of teeth that tightened your jaw, the heartbeat that you could only achieve after a marathon and your trembling hands that would very much like to cross jab towards his face. Rafayel’s handsome face. His nebulic eyes formed beads on his pinched face, question marks littered all over his face, his form a bit more frail than you had last remembered but he still is looking like a living, breathing art piece. And you curse yourself for that thought despite your current state.

“I guess it is me.” The artist recollected himself, readjusting the flaps of his blazer and he stood up straight again, his facial features setting back to their own neutral position again. Now he looks like those marble statues of famous people, not smiling, but just introductory. He gestured at the room and you sighed, knowing that it would be even more rude to walk out now so you turned and sat back at your seat. “You look nice today, y/n.”

Your silence and ennui attitude made it clear that you did not want to be anywhere near him and he was quick to read the room, choosing to take the seat right next to you when the table can fit up to 15 guests and the most ideal seat would be the furthest one away from you. “Let’s get this over with.” You avoided his gaze when you spoke. Being enthralled with his beauty is the last thing you wish for right now, let alone being in a room with him.

“Alright then, don’t mind me treating this like an actual date then.” He shrugged off his blazer, revealing the formal white formal button-up shirt beneath and his slender digits went up to unbutton the top two buttons, revealing more of his Adam's apple. Damn. "It is a fair night to be acquainted by you Miss Y/n. I hope this dinner shall not disappoint you in considering me to be your boyfriend."

How did you not realised? No, how did you not trust your own gut? The nonchalance, the flirts, the typos, it was all pointing towards Rafayel but why did you not buy it? "What made you changed your mind about being in a relationship Rafayel?" You finally lifted your head off of the floor, but was only able to look at his Adam's apple as you spoke. Damn.

"You know." Rafayel uncorked the bottle of champagne and started pouring it into the champagne flutes. The gold liquid sloshed around as it got emptied from the bottle, almost sparkling under the shine of the chandelier. "It was a bit of a brutal brulesque for my mind. I had to strip down what I had fundamentally believed in, set away my ego for a while to give whatever a relationship is, a try it deserves."

Your eyes blinked rapidly a few times and you silently thanked him as he passed you the champagne flute. It smelled of honeysuckle, with a mixture of grapefruit and lychee. It is your first time drinking a champagne afterall. "Why did you consider it only after I had left?" You took a small sip, the cold liquid kisses your lips before gliding down your throat and leaving a sweet and fruity trail in its wake.

The champagne in Rafayel's flute failed to meet his lips as he drew back his arms in midair to answer your question, his eyes lost a bit of a glimmer when he reminisced the bitter thought. The expensive stalk twirled between his thumb and index finger, his gaze following the tiny movements. "Maybe, I wanted to try it with you instead." He was cool-headed when he spoke, the sweetness of the champagne may not even be a cure to the taste of bile he is feeling in his thorax. "I got the app because I figured maybe I could try it on some nobody before I get to you finally."

"So...you wanted to try it with someone you barely knew?" Your eyebrows frowned, just like your lips and you caught his eyes, which were already trained on you. It has been quite a while since you had seen a pair of eyes so beautiful. The last you recalled a pair of great colours would be an old lady whom sat down to have a chat with you while you were enjoying the sunset by the park. You remembered her eyes clearly, both sparkled a close resemblance to amethyst stones. Perhaps, a swatch of pink would be more of a familiar gaze. And now you are met with those familiar windows of one's soul.

"You could put it that way, but I was only prepping myself for you." He cleared his throat and finally drank, downing his drink in one go and refilling it almost immediately. Although looking nonchalant, the man cursed himself for not pacing his words well.

"And you thought breaking someone's heart for a stupid experiment of yours is a great idea?" You voiced in bruquesness, reproachful even. "I think I should leave." You pushed your chair back, the carpeted floors silenced the protesting screeches of the heavy chair. Snagging your clutch off of the chair, you turned towards the door and careened over to the exit.

A strong grip settled onto your wrist and you were tugged back in an instant. Rafayel was up and off of his seat, holding onto your wrist and making use of his larger body to entrap you against the wall. Your height only allows you to extend all the way to his collarbone. His cologne ambushed you as well, a waft of sea salt and bergamot. His signature scent. You snapped yourself back to reality by chewing onto the insides of your cheek, nagging yourself to not be tempted. "Who said I was going to break their heart hmm?"

"It's not like you get to know who is behind the texts on that stupid dating app." Your face reddened, the warmth of it easily being the heater to warm up the chilled room. "All the more reason for you to just settle temporarily and move on if things don't go your way." His other hand snaked around behind your back, his touch blazing a hot track against your covered skin. Your bodycon dress not exactly the thickest material to fend off physical touches. He wrapped his arm around the lower of your back and pushed you further up against the wall and you gasped when his nose tip came in contact with the top of your head.

"I would not do that, because I chose wisely." You can feel his arm tightened his grip around you and he pulled back slightly, the chandelier's glow formed a soft outline for his figure. "And I had a strong hunch, the person I am interested in, is you." The hand that was previously holding your wrist, came to pepper your cheek with featherlight touches. You looked like a porcelain doll to him, too hard of a touch and you might just crumbled, like how you did in front of him last time. Your abjection made his heart ached and hence the mindset change.

The tips of both of your noses touched as he lowered himself a little, a gesture he usually do when he hugs you last time in respect of your smaller size. It was adorable till it lasted, but now, in this moment, it still is an adorable detail that does not go amiss. "How...did you knew...it was me?" Your curiosity got the best of you, and you just got to be greedy and to sought for the answer. "There are just as many other candidates out there, that could be me."

"The story you told me of the turtle." His eyes wandered, from your left eye to your right, then down to your lips and back up again. He is using the triangle method, yes. "I had never told anyone other than you and Thomas, and my aunt who has been with me for as long as I could remember." His username 'Turtleboi' was what prompted you to narrate a story to the anonymous fellow about how a 'guy friend' of yours befriended a turtle during one of his sea adventures. The intricate details and all were told as how you remembered Rafayel reciting them to you. So, that was what sold you off apparently.

You could feel your weight started to shift, the embarassment-o-meter going past its threshold when you realised that Rafayel has gotten you wrapped around his fingers. You wanted to scamper with your tail, or head, buried in between your legs but with your current position, it seemed impossible to escape. "I...I just didn't thought you would--"

"I love you y/n." Interrupted by the man, you felt a finger lifted your chin up and a pair of soft, pillowy lips touched your lips. Your very first kiss, taken in a fine dining seafood restaurant, by a man who had rejected you but oddly rejoiced with you again via a dating app. The kiss ended when you were about to close your eyes and you see Rafayel leaning back slightly, Adam's Apple bobbed once while he gulped down what is possibly nervousness of his own. His diffidence disappeared alongside his gulp and he smiled at you. "This relationship deserves to be given a chance, yeah?"

The sincerity his gaze holds got you good. You smoothed your hands up his taut chest, feeling his pectorals beneath your touch and you locked eyes with him, a smile of solace settled on your lips. "I forgive you Rafayel. And...I love you too." The both of you were leaning in for another kiss before the door opened with a thud and startled the both of you, causing Rafayel to pull you into his arms tightly, shielding you away from any potential threats but the young waiter stood in the doorway, a tray held in front of him, ready to serve the appetiser.

"You may come back later." Rafayel was quick to dismiss the tomato-faced waiter while rubbing small soothing circles on your back as your cheeks laid dormant on his chest. Once the door closed with a thud, Rafayel turned back to you, and lifted your chin once again. "Now, let's not let someone else ruin our relationship yeah?" And he presses his lips onto you again.

A beautiful idea from one of my readers and also a writer whom I look up to greatly. Thanks for requesting me to write this, I had fun burning some of the midnight oil to finish this piece @xvysarene <3! Do support her works as well!

[ltash]

Scream

Ghostxfemalereader

The opulence of your office was a stark contradiction to the chaos unravelling beyond its walls. The mahogany desk, polished to a mirror-like gleam, stood as a testament to power and wealth, its surface immaculate save for the glowing monitors streaming live footage from the CCTV system. The images on the screens told a grim story: Task Force 141 was storming the building with relentless precision. The faint echoes of gunfire filtered through the fortified walls, each sharp crack a harbinger of impending doom.

You adjusted the Prada spectacles perched delicately on your nose, the gold frames catching the soft glow of the chandelier above. Rising with deliberate grace, you smoothed the rich, velvety fabric of your brown jersey dress, its figure-hugging cut sculpting your petite, hourglass silhouette Gold bangles chimed softly as you opened the drawer and retrieved the sleek, matte pistol resting inside. Its cold, familiar weight steadied your trembling hands.

For a moment, you allowed yourself a single deep breath. Control. Poise. Resolve. The words repeated like a mantra, a fragile bulwark against the growing panic clawing at your chest.

The corridor stretched before you, bathed in the dim, foreboding glow of emergency lights. Shadows danced on the walls, twisting and shifting as if alive, feeding the unease you tried desperately to suppress. Each step you took, the click of your heels on the marble floor echoed louder in your ears, amplifying the stark emptiness around you.

Then the lights went out.

Darkness enveloped you with suffocating immediacy. Your breath hitched, coming in shallow, uneven gasps. You gripped the pistol tighter, the weapon feeling small and insignificant against the mounting dread. Somewhere ahead, gunfire crackled faintly, punctuated by muffled screams. Each sound hammered at your composure.

Turning a corner, your pulse skittered into chaos as a figure emerged from the shadows. He was a phantom in the dark, broad shoulders, towering frame, and an aura of menace that seemed to fill the space like a tangible force. The skull mask obscuring his face glinted faintly, its hollow eyes fixing on you with an intensity that froze you in place.

Before you could react, he closed the distance, a blade flashing in the faint light.

The steel kissed your abdomen with cold precision before sinking in. Pain erupted, hot and blinding, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips as your knees buckled. The rich fabric of your dress darkened as blood seeped through, warm and sticky against your skin.

His grip on your wrist was unyielding, pinning you effortlessly against the wall. The sheer strength in his hand was enough to force a choked cry from your throat. Shadows framed his masked face, but his eyes, deep, piercing pools of brown, locked onto yours with a cruel, magnetic pull.

"You don't look scared enough," he murmured, his voice low and edged with menace.

The knife twisted, a calculated motion that drew another strangled cry from you. Agony bloomed, spreading in sharp, unbearable waves, but it was his presence that overwhelmed you, the heat radiating from him, the dominance in his every movement. His breath was warm against your cheek, steady and deliberate, a contrast to the chaos inside you.

"P-please," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Please, what?" His tone mocked your desperation, lips brushing so close to your ear that the words felt like a physical caress. "Begging won't save you."

Your body arched involuntarily as the blade shifted again, the pain electric and all-consuming. You clawed weakly at his forearm, your strength insignificant against his iron grip.

"Such a fragile little thing," he mused, his voice almost amused. "And yet, you're still fighting. Adorable."

The humiliation burned hotter than the pain, yet you couldn't ignore the way his words sent an unwelcome thrill skittering down your spine. His masked face loomed closer, the hollow eyes seeming to drink in your every reaction.

"Why..." Why are you doing this?" you choked out, trembling under his hold.

His reply was cold, absolute. "Because I can."

The simplicity of his answer was more terrifying than the knife. It carried no malice, no justification, only a detached certainty that rendered your defiance meaningless. He tilted his head, studying you as if you were a curiosity.

"You're trembling," he said, his voice soft but edged with dark amusement. His gloved hand gripped your jaw, forcing your face to tilt up toward his. "Your fear is... intoxicating."

Your breath hitched as his hand travelled lower, a possessive touch that burned even through the barrier of his glove. "So small," he murmured, the words a cruel taunt. "So delicate. I could break you so easily."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but his hand wiped them away, the leather rough against your skin. "Don't cry," he whispered, his tone darkly seductive. "Not yet. I want to see how far you can fall."

The knife twisted again, and the sound that escaped you was different this time, soft, breathless, a sound that betrayed far more than pain. His eyes narrowed behind the mask, the cruelty in his gaze sharpening with satisfaction.

"Do you like this?" he asked, his voice a dangerous purr. "Does the pain excite you?"

"N-no," you whispered, but the tremor in your voice betrayed the lie.

His chuckle was low, vibrating through the narrow space between you. "Liar," he said simply. "Your body doesn't lie."

Shame and fury warred within you, but his dominance was absolute. The weight of his presence, the heat of his body, and the unrelenting intensity of his gaze, it consumed you.

"You'll scream for me," he said, his voice soft but menacing, a promise etched in stone. "And when you do, it will be the sweetest sound I've ever heard."

You clung desperately to the shreds of your composure, but in your heart, you already knew the truth. You were his, trapped in a web of fear, pain, and something darker, something you couldn't name but couldn't deny.

His fingers tightened around your jaw, forcing your gaze back to his. The touch was demanding, almost domineering. His eyes were deep pools of brown, the colour of rich earth.

He whispered, his voice low and cold. The blade twisting agonisingly inside you...

"Scream."

Gif credits: @yumethefrostypanda

[teaah-art]

Gujarati Miku/ગુજરાતી મીકુ

Requested by @\i-am-a-megalodon

She is wearing a chaniya choli set with Kutchi Banni embroidery and mirror work. She is wearing traditional gujarati jewellery. Chaniya : The lower garment, cinched at the waist and flairs outwards

Choli : A blouse like upper garment that usually tied in the back.

Jewellery :

Kundan Butti : Gem encrusted ear ornament that loops behind the ear and is fastened to the hair.

Kandora : Waistband/kamarbandh

Kundan Bangdi : Gem encrusted bangles worn on the wrist

Patla : Chunky bracelet worn on the wrist

Kaliganthi : A necklace that is a composite of several amulets (dodi), strung together on a chain base.

I'm drawing a series of as many South Asian Mikus as I can! Here's the tenth one! Is there a South Asian Miku you would like to see? Feel free to request!

All South Asian Mikus

Commissions Open | Support me on Ko-fi!

[talesfrommedinastation]

Let's talk about Chrisjen Avasarala's outfits in The Expanse

The first time we ever meet Deputy Undersecretary of the United Nations, Chrisjen Avasarala, she's chilling out in her fancy, cozy house, checking out her outfit and hair in the mirror, and playing with her grandson. She's rocking a lovely gold sari, huge earrings, and big ol' bangles.

Minutes later, she's still wearing that gorgeous shimmering outfit...as she's at a UN Black Site, interrogating a Belter terrorist who is being tortured using gravity.

(The whole scene is a masterclass in character introduction of a feminine, refined, powerful, badass. 10/10 writing).

But I want to talk Avasarala's outfit right here.

Saris are up to 9 feet in length and are often elegantly draped. You NEED gravity and resources to make the fabric work. Especially shimmering silky fabrics like that.

Doubly so for jewelry. Earrings cannot be worn like that under space helmets (I say from experience being an earring lover and motorcycle enthusiast) lest they damage the wearer or break. Bracelets would be impractical in space too, especially the bigger ones that clank and announce someone's presence, like Avasarala.

Point in, Avasarala marching in full regalia like that to a Belter is full flaunting of not only her heritage, but Earth's power and role. She is wearing a beautiful, rich, cultured outfit no Belter could ever wear in their lifetime and she knows it.

[lorddocmarten]

🦇Tips for Dressing Goth on Low-Spoons Days🦇

Note: I am low-support needs disabled, and what works for me might not work for you. I am not a doctor and cannot offer medical advice!

Black hair, baby. I dye my roots with $1.25 men's beard dye from the 'tree now, so that's pretty cost-effective, and you don't have to do anything for your hair to look 'goth'. I wouldn't recommend a mohawk because for it to look maximum cool, you have to style it, and that can take a while. My haircut now is shaved on the sides with short bangs and it looks goth even if I don't style it. It requires minimum maintenance, too.

Pre-layered accessories. Many necklaces- especially ones marketed for 80s costumes- are pre-layered and you only have to work with one clasp. Maximum style for minimum effort. You can find layered necklaces on Amazon, at Halloween stores, and I've even seen them in the costume section of thrift stores. There are also bangle stacks that function the same way.

Strega Fashion and Lagenlook- this might work for wheelchair users, depending on how long your flowy elements are. Lots of tunics and skirts and sweaters and fancy hooded tops, etc. Think of a dark, witchy vibe. Very comfortable and can be easy to style with clothes-you-find-at-Wal-Mart, and relatively cheap.

Nails. I LOVE having long dark red nails for maximum 'spoiled vampire prince' vibes, but sometimes having acrylics or press-ons can be too expensive, impractical, or maybe too femme for you. Whatever the case, I have more recommendations than your standard black nail polish- there's silver nail polish that makes your nails look mirror-like, red nail polish of all shades, purples, etc. For a more masculine, deathrock look you could experiment with dark, zombie-esque greens, or even neon shades to stand out against your darker clothing. Painting my nails can be hard for me due to my coordination issues, so I keep Q-tips nearby and soak them in acetone to clean up the edges.

Eyeliner- they sell jumbo eyeliner sticks and you can basically roll that about your eyes, smudge with your finger, and call it done in about one minute. I have yet to find a sharpener to go with mine, which is unfortunate, but these would seemingly be the way to go when you don't have the spoons to pull out the white base and all that.

Shave your eyebrows. Not necessarily for everybody, but it gives a more alien or 'more human than human' vibe to your look without makeup and makes me look infinitely more goth even in jeans and a t-shirt. YMMV.

Piercings, if you want them, can get them, won't affect your job, etc.- these always look pretty alternative especially when combined with each other. These combined with the black hair will do the job for you, in my opinion. I currently only have my ears double pierced but plan on getting my septum done soon.

[queenmuzz]

Ballrooms and Bloodlines: Chapter I

A steamy story set post Veilguard

Read HERE on Ao3

It’s not what she’s used to.  She’s used to wearing rugged leather, chain mail, her shield and greathammer.  Not tonight.  She wields and wears neither.  She’s used to having her hair in a rough, practical ponytail. Not tonight.

She’s used to going barefaced, no need for accentuation of features that get obscured by dirt and grime. Not tonight. 

She’s used to wearing minimal jewelry, and aside from one item, is for battle scenarios, with enchantments for necrotic damage, or defense against demons. Not tonight.

Tonight, she is draped in bangles, rings, necklaces, all generously borrowed from her Ingellvar ‘ancestors’.  As much as she finds it distasteful to loot from their crypts, she knows that the long extinct noble family is more than happy to lend their grave gold to the hero that bears their name.

Tonight, Myrna gently brushes the eye shadow on her eyelids, blending the shades together, before tutting at her to remain still as she applies eyeliner.  How women and men are able to point a sharpened implement straight at their eyes without flinching is beyond her.  Still, there are few people she would trust more than Myrna to do such an intimate and delicate thing.

Tonight, Vorgoth rumbles contentedly as it braids her silver hair, working on what will probably be one a set of twenty or more separate tiny braids, all entwining together , resembling a string of pearls adorning her head.

Tonight she is wearing a full length dress made of the finest Nevarran velvet dark green, almost black, with the accents of lilac in the bodice.  The amount of times she’s worn a formal dress in her lifetime can be counted on a skeleton’s hand. With two fingers removed.

Each of these times, they had been an ill fitting dress, borrowed by an old watcher, several seasons out of fashion and she’d removed them at the first opportunity she had.  This one is the latest in Nevarran fashion, fitted perfectly to her stature, and hugs every curve.  And for once, this dress is not borrowed, it is her very own to keep.  

For tonight, she is no longer Watcher Ingellvar, disgraced Cryptguard.

She is Lady Ingellvar, Slayer of Gods.

Well, that’s the name on the ball invitation.

A ball given in HER honour.

It still surprises her that she, a foundling with no name, is the star attraction at this gala.  Although, at this point, she ought to know better.  She has spent the past three years walking the length and breadth of Thedas, traveled to the Fade, fought battles that only take place in legends.  And come face to face with the most dangerous entities that have ever existed.  That people wish to celebrate their champion, especially when she comes from their own soil.

Of course, she would be the first to say that she wasn’t alone.  That she had the best of the best at her side.  People with far more experience than her at practically everything.  All she happens to have is the skill to bring said people together.  Somehow that makes her something Varric called her all the way back, a ‘Leader.’  A person that people can look up to.

“IT IS FINISHED.” Vorgoth rumbles with apparent satisfaction as it floats back a bit, and Mryna gives a final brush of blush.

She sees herself in the mirror, almost completely unrecognizable. She shimmers in green, gold, and silver

“Are you ready?” Myrna asks, doing her best to keep her voice settled “They are waiting for you.”

“HE IS WAITING.” Vorgoth adds.

She nods, swallowing all her doubts as she makes her way to the door, followed by the two people she is the closest she’s had to parents.

The double doors open revealing a figure.  He stands there, looking resplendent in his formal Mourn Watcher garb, glittering epaulettes on his deep green and burgundy uniform.  He looks the definition of dignified. Aside from the waves of anxiety that he’s exuding, the way he quickly hides his hands behind his back, trying to look stately, but not quite quick enough to hide the way they tremble. She sees his eyes widen as he takes her in, the sharp intake of breath, the way he wets his lips, and her heart thumps painfully.  Even if the worst should come to  pass and she makes a complete fool of herself, seeing him looking at her with such adoration will have made it all worth it.

He straightens his back, takes one hand from behind his back, now still and under control, and takes her hand.  He bows low, and kisses it. Ever the gentleman.

“You look… he struggles to find the right word, glances at the two people behind her,  “stunning, my dear.”  It’s not the word he’s looking for, and she knows it.  Whatever word he wanted to use is not for a gentleman to say, especially in front of a lady’s parents.

“Shall we?” He offers her his arm and she hooks hers with his as the four of them make their way to the hustle and bustle of the ballroom.

-----

It seems that the entire Mourn Watch has shown up, as well as the cream of the Nevarran nobility.  There’s even a few Tevinter nobles, several Antivans, even a very out of his depth Orlesian, who keeps nervously looking at the undead servants offering hor'dourves  on golden platters.  The only conspicuous absence is King Markus, but no doubt he’s far too busy to attend. 

Besides, there’s more than enough people to make up for one reclusive Royal.  There’s elderly men who are wheeled about by their skeletal servants, enjoying one of their last social events before they too will join their ancestors in the crypts.  There’s a gaggle of small children, most of them utterly entranced and entertained by the magic show Manfred is performing for them.  She idly muses on how well he works with children, his happy hisses as the children cheer as he juggles fireballs.  He only pauses his show to wave at them when he notices them.

But a good chunk of the party goers are young, attractive, and most importantly, unmarried men and women, all circling her like vultures.  She involuntarily moves closer to Emmrich, who notices her discomfort and squeezes her arm reassuringly.

“May I have the honour of having the first dance?”

If she had her way, she would have ALL her dances with him, she muses as they dance, his one hand chastely at her waist, the other entwined in hers, guiding her around the ballroom floor, as the band played a traditional Nevarran waltz.  (Sadly one of the few things that the undead couldn’t do was wind instruments).  He’s delicate with her, his touch barely noticable as they move to and fro with the other dancers.  It feels so out of place, almost a regression to when he first started courting her.  Fade knows that he has been much LESS gentle with her lately, not that she’s been complaining.  But she knows she must appear… ‘Available’.  In high society, you can make so many more connection if you have the potential for a marriage alliance.  It feels dirty, leading all these people on, having no intention of even considering a union with any of their relatives, but that's how the upper crust works.  It's not unique to Nevarra, sadly. 

“You dance so well,” he murmurs in the shell of ear, causing a shiver of pleasure to run down her spine, driving away the shame at her deception.

“Well, I had a good teacher,” she tells him, “an incredibly patient and kind teacher,” and she can see a flush appear in his cheeks.  This is not idle flattery, as she has spent the last few weeks having her feet being taught to follow a set pattern, instead of reacting on the fly.  It was a hard thing to learn, until he had come up with the idea to treat it like a battle, that when her his left foot moves forward, her right foot should move backwards and to the left.  There’s a fine line between offense and defense, and she learns to recognize the signs when the roles should reverse. 

“It didn’t hurt that he is incredibly handsome as well,” and she senses, much to her satisfaction, a tiny little hitch in his step, and his blush deepens.

The song draws to an end, and he gracefully leads her off the floor.  She’s aware that a silent crowd follows her, all eager for a sample of her attention.

“My dearest, as much as I would love to keep you to myself for the entire night, they are here for you.  It’s time…” 

She stiffens, as this is the one thing she had feared about this event.  It is one thing to command a fire breathing Adari, a possessed assassin, a Tevinter detective, a magical dwarf, a Warden who has killed an archdemon and lived, a savant in ancient elvish technology, (and an incredibly charming necromancer) to kill Gods.  It’s quite another to be the star attraction in a ballroom, where everyone wants her attention, even for a brief second.

Still, she swallows her fear, pastes a polite smile on her face, and goes to greet her followers.

She starts out easy, picking out a tall lanky teenage boy  who seems awed by her mere presence as her next dance.  He stumbles over his words as he tries to play the gentleman and take the lead on the ballroom, before she gently smiles at him, and lets him relinquish control,  and then leads him across the ballroom, round and round again.  He attempts to talk to her, stammering out questions about her adventures.  It’s adorable how he’s transfixed by her, not love precisely, but she knows he will go to his grave, many, MANY, years later (she hopes) with this moment etched into his bones.

By the time the song ends The poor boy is as red as the tomato sauce Lucanis canned for her as a gift before they last parted company.  She places a chaste kiss on his cheek, and he practically flees the room, overwhelmed by his feelings.  

The next dance is elderly matriarch, who starts out deceptively easy to dance with. That is, until the woman reveals she has several sons of marriageable age.

“My eldest, Edwin, runs a tailoring business!  He’s high in demand by both the living and the dead, you MUST come see his work the next time you’re out…”

“That sounds nice”

“And there’s my boy Lothar.  Shame he couldn’t make it, busy supplying masonry to Minrathous rebuilding efforts.  He also hosts the best soirées!

“Lovely”

“And my youngest, Cyril!  He’s part of your Mourn Watch!  No doubt you’ve been acquainted with him.  He’s such a gentleman! You two would definitely get along!”

“I’m… sure we would.”

The song is mercifully shorter than the previous one, and she’s thankful she can disentangle herself before the woman starts arranging invitations for her to visit her manor when her sons are in town.

She takes a quick break from dancing, sipping a drink, making small talk with guests, thanking them for coming, all while she makes her way slowly towards Emmrich, who is in a conversation with Vorgoth.  She needs to get to him before the next song starts, she needs to take her on the ballroom once more.

He sees her approach, and she loves the way his eyes light up, the way he apologises to the entity that he really must be going, and makes his way towards her.  They’re about to embrace…

“Lady Zea Ingellvar!”

An iron voice rings out, sharp and demanding, but coated in a thin layer of gold plate, to make it sound palatable and pretty.  Emmrich’s brows furrow as he looks towards the intruder, and she follows his gaze.

It’s a young man, around her age, his wavy rose gold hair perfectly combed.  He wears the Mourn Watch uniform, but unlike Emmrich’s, it’s garishly decorated in an assortment of medals, relics, and other gold flimflammery from long dead relatives.  Whoever dressed him seems to think quantity is more important than quality.  Still, he has a presence that cannot be ignored.

“I don’t think we’ve been acquainted,” he holds out his hand, palm up, and she places her hand in his as he gives his a kiss.  It’s not gentle, like Emmrich’s, it’s more possessive, as if he’s entitled to her hand, “Lord Heinrich Karppinen, heir to the Duchy of Cumberland.”  She can’t help but wince at his emphasis on his title, like he clings to it like grave gold.  “May I have the next dance?”

She can’t help but see Emmrich stiffen and bite his lip out of the corner of her eye, but he makes no move to voice his disapproval.  She weighs her options.  To spurn a ducal heir, even casually and with good reason, is not something that is done lightly. Strangely, she’s intrigued by this challenge.  Perhaps she could humour him, allow him to think he has a chance to receive her grace.   

She gives a quick glance at Emmrich, nodding curtly, and he backs up, accepting her decision, despite not liking it at all.   She allows the young man to escort her to the ballroom floor, proud of his latest ‘catch’, and not afraid to show his accomplishment off.

“You’ve become quite the talk of Nevarra, Lady Ingellvar,” Lord Karppinen says as he smoothly guides her across the floor.  “It’s been quite a few years since we had one of our people reach such a renowned status.”

“Yes, it’s strange to be compared to Cassandra Pentaghast, even if it’s a high honour.”  She does not feel worthy enough to be associated with that woman that Varric liked to talk about, who wrote romance novels specifically for her enjoyment.

The name seems to irritate the young man, as he does his best to suppress a grimace.  “Pentaghast!” He says, the P sounding like he wants to spit out a wad of mucus.  “She was the Right Hand of the Divine, Founder of the New Inquisition, and what does she do with that power?  Goes off and marries a Dwarf.  A DWARF!  Doesn’t even protest when the Inquisitor disbands her organization.  All that power… gone…. And she ruins her family name.”

Insulting Lady Cassandra, a risky move. Zea thinks.  She already doesn’t like the man, but out of necessity, she pastes a smile on her face as they continue their dance.

“You, on the other hand, have single-handedly  accomplished so much more than her.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, I didn’t do it alone.”  She honestly argues, “I had many friends and allies. I had one of the best Antivan Crows, a brave Grey Warden, (it’s still hard to keep her emotions in check whenever she thinks of Davrin), and of course” She takes a glance at the gentleman across the room and her heart seizes as she sees him watching her, “the eminent Professor Emmrich Volkarin.”

That name brings out a face of  outright disgust.

“Volkarin…  a man who doesn’t know his station in life, deems himself as far too important to be bound by it.  Plays at being a noble, despite being nothing but a commoner.  In fact worse… a butcher’s son .”  It’s the way he says those last few words, the way his voice drips with disdain, as if Emmrich’s father was vermin that repulses.  She frowns, and she catches Emmrich’s face from across the ballroom, seeing how concerned he looks.  He must know something is going on.  But she tries to remain diplomatic.

“Honestly, I find that to be very noble, to take on such a lowly profession to support your family.  To suffer the social stigma, to bear it willingly for the ones you love, is there not honour in that?”  It is the truth.  She has never had the pleasure of meeting Rupert Volkarin in life, but she knows that he must have been a good man, someone his son emulates to this very day.

Lord Karppinen scoffs,  “You are very naive to think like that, Lady Ingellvar.”

“I am not,” she argues back.  “Don’t forget, I am an orphan.  A foundling.  I claim no title nor lineage.  I am no better than that butcher you disparage.”  From the corner of her eye, she sees Emmrich now acting agitated, with Myrna placing a supportive hand on his arm.  The situation is getting out of control, and Emmrich may do something he will regret if he sees that she is being upset by this arrogant noble.

“You are much different.” He responds, his voice now returning back to its honeyed state.  An attempt to ingratiate himself to her.  “You are a founder, a once in an Age person who has the potential to start their own dynasty.  But…” his voice dips deeper, “In order for a dynasty to take root, it must also be grafted with other trees, not with the weeds that wither and die miserable short lives.  It would be beneficial to join roots those with the pedigree of us nobility.   We are the ones who have fought dragons, after all.”  He’s trying to woo her, to bring her glory and accomplishments over to his household.  But he has no idea how much it has backfired on him.

There it is …she sees it now, his weakness.  In a battleground this is the moment that she would find the chink in their armour, a flaw in their fighting technique.  Nobles and their everlasting love for dragon hunting.  A butcher who carves up meat to feed starving bellies may be considered sacrilegious, but a noble’s taste for killing majestic creatures merely to decorate their halls with is apparently considered virtuous.

“Are you?” she asks sweetly, a true smile now creeping into her face.  “Tell me, Lord Karppinen, how many dragons have you killed?”  

The man sputters… looks shocked that she would ask such a question, but she continues.  “How many generations has it been since a Karppinen has slain a dragon?  Your father?  Your Grandsire?  Your Great Grandsire?”

“This hardly matters…” he protests, but she has him with his back against the wall.  Now her warrior mind tells her to put her shield away, and bring out the metaphorical greathammer.

“Because Emmrich Volkarin has personally helped me hunt…” she makes an exaggerated act of calculation, “One… two… three… four… five?  Possibly more, since one of the archdemons had multiple heads… but he has taken down AT LEAST five dragons.  Who is the more noble now?”

He loses his sense of speech and she grins, as she is now the one to lead him across the ballroom floor.  Emmerich seems to have calmed down, reading the situation as not as dire as he thought, but there is a perplexed look on his face.

“Emmrich Volkarin has helped me personally dispatch not only those dragons, but also two ancient elvish gods.  He has broken into one of the most secure prisons ever created, and,” she thinks back to the conversation between Emmrich and Solas in Minrathous on that dark final day,  “he has earned the respect of the Dread Wolf himself.”

At any other time, she might feel sorry for the man, the way he splutters and stammers, but today, she feels no mercy.  In fact, she feels like she ought to pay him back for his slander of her beloved.  She pulls him in for the kill, and whispers in his ear.

“Let me tell you a secret, my little ducal prince,  you might think you wish to claim me as your own, but I carry the child of the wisest man in all of Thedas in my womb.”

He stiffens, and their dance comes to a complete halt, causing a disturbance as other dancers have to make last minute swerves to avoid crashing into them.  

Lord Karppinen has gone a deadly shade of pale, or green, but perhaps the veilfire lighting is to blame as he releases her immediatly, as if she is infected with the Blight.  His lips are moving, but no sound comes out.  He looks like one of those freshly caught fish she had seen in Docktown, gasping and suffocating in an environment it did not belong in.  Except this time, she feels no sorrow, no sympathy.  

And with that, without a word, he turns around and storms away from her…

And goes straight for Emmrich.

Oh. Crap.