#Most Expensive Emerald

[neha24nav]

Aga Khan Emerald - Colombian Emerald That Broke All Records At Christie’s Auction

The 12th of November, 2024, was a date in history, at Christie's in Geneva, when the Aga Khan emerald broke all records, for it has proven to be the rarest and most beautiful and astrological fit ever for gem lore, hence the highest in price. The Colombian emerald, or Panna stone, has been adored over the ages for the meaning it embodies as well as its constant value. Thus, this sale conforms to the eternal magnetism as well as the eternal meaning of emeralds, within the category of precious stones.

[sexbot300]

18+, minors dni! (being a slut for nanami bc honestly who isn’t)

authors note: hello! this is my first-ever post, i hope you guys enjoy it! (I literally have no idea how layouts work yet, bear with me)

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sugardaddy!nanami who scolds you whenever you feel as if you’re “doing too much,” with all the lavish gifts he gives you. nothing is too much for his angel.

sugardaddy!nanami that asks which jewelry set you like best. emerald or ruby? ah. how about both?

sugardaddy!nanami who you thought would be a joyless, serious man as people portray him. they’re not lying, he really is serious, to people that aren’t you. you’ll witness a soft side of him that only shows the most gentle of smiles.

sugardaddy!nanami who gladly scoops you up bridal style in his arms, walking while you burry your head into his chest.

sugardaddy!nanami who unpacks the gifts he gets you on the countertop after a business trip. “kento, baby, you shouldn’t have.” you play with the polyester ribbon while he simply leans back on the fridge opening up a beverage. “I couldn’t help but have the prettiest woman in the world waiting for me at home. it would be embarrassing of me to show up empty-handed.”

sugardaddy!nanami who for the first few times that you went out with him, meticulously kept track of the things you called “cute” and noted wherever your eyes wandered for a minute too long. the next morning you woke up with everything you ogled your eyes at decorating your room. attached is a note that read, “please forgive me, sweetheart, I didn’t know which you liked best. p.s. my sincerest apologies again, I let my own thoughts get carried away. be good for me and wear this tonight.” your fingers gingerly held onto the note, until your eyes fell on two things you don’t remember looking at when you went out shopping. a beautiful silk gown and an expensive lingerie set.

sugardaddy!nanami who will gladly kneel to strap your heel, placing a kiss on your ankle, after trailing his hand up and down your shin.

sugardaddy!nanami who sends you a monthly allowance for your hair, nails, skincare, and whatever you desire.

sugardaddy!nanami who thinks indulging in materialistic things is futile, but he wants to see you decorated in every fine piece of fabric, clothing, and accessories.

sugardaddy!nanami who acts as if he’s unbothered by you curling up on his lap while he types away on his work computer. you couldn’t even tell how much he adores every second of this as he idly types away. he loves to have you pushed up on him all the time, the minute you slightly move? a strong hand is placed on your thigh or waist to prevent you from leaving.

sugardaddy!nanami who’s only condition is to continue this dynamic until you’re unhappy or want nothing to do with it. (you literally want to marry this man but okay).

sugardaddy!nanami who has a saturday night ritual with you where you buy the most extravagant of desserts and feed it to each other. oh yeah, you have to be sitting on his lap the entire time while you both feed each other from the same fork.

sugardaddy!nanami who places his nose on the nape of your neck while you’re seated on him as he sharply breathes in your scent. “as much as I enjoy eating sweets with you,” he said in a whisper, “they could never mimic your taste.”

sugardaddy!nanami who started off paying your rent, bills, and utilities which he felt mentally, secretly disgruntled by. not because he’s paying (duh) or he has to take care of you, it’s just the fact you haven’t moved in with him yet.

sugardaddy!nanami who considers you under his care and deems your wellbeing as his responsibility. you’re hurt? point to where. your body is sore? lay back down while he massages you. you’re hungry? food is being sent over and here’s money for grocery shopping. you’re upset? he kneels down in front of you as he attentively listens to your sobs.

sugardaddy!nanami who supports your hobbies. he’ll drop off little things that he knows have to do with your interests and only says, “you like this don’t you?” you name drop pilates, cooking, art, knitting, whatever it is, he signs you up for the nearest classes.

sugardaddy!nanami who actually notices if you did something different with your hair, if you wore a new shade of lip gloss. little things.

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sugardaddy!nanami who places the most tender of kisses onto your forehead like he didn’t wreck your shit a second prior. “such a good girl… i’m so so proud. taking my cock in so well.”

sugardaddy!nanami that plays with your body in subtle ways. hands? his big, veiny fingers are stroking yours gently. thighs? constantly getting gripped. your waist? a strong arm wrapped around it. your cheek? a thumb stroking it. shoulders? relieving tension from it. collarbone? rearranging your necklace so it lays properly. guts? fucked out of place. makeup? smeared all across his luxurious bedsheets. lips? blown out from sucking his monster cock and making out.

sugardaddy!nanami who rents out an entire summer beach house with a glorious view of the ocean. partially because he likes the privacy of you two alone, surrounded by nature, and romantic sunset dinners. also because he wants to watch you ride him while he leans back on a beach chair without disturbing the public. (nobody is allowed to see what’s his).

sugardaddy!nanami who actually pounded you into another dimension, your mind still in a haze while he carries you to the running bath. “stay with me princess, i need to clean you up.”

sugardaddy!nanami who makes sure you finish several times before he does. oh poor baby, you’re out of breath? would you like some water? we’re not finished yet. poor nanami didn’t get to cum once, and you so badly want him to use your body to do so.

sugardaddy!nanami who buys you a personal collection of sex toys to play with when he’s not there. he personally studies the way your body twitches and convulses with certain toys, he needs to know how to please his princess. sometimes he chuckles to himself because he knows deep down, nothing– no one, can please you the way he does.

sugardaddy!nanami who sees you stressed or crying over school and work and quickly replaces those tears with ones of joy.

sugardaddy!nanami who will have you folded like a damn lawn chair and only whisper sweet nothings while drilling into you.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a high sex drive but hides it in the beginning like the gentleman he is, making sure you feel comfortable and safe.

sugardaddy!nanami who gives you the car you’ve been wanting forever. you ride the car for a bit with him ecstatic, kissing him over and over, giggling. you both quickly found a new way to celebrate. you’re pinned down over the glove compartment, one large hand gripping both of yours as they’re pinned to your back, and the sounds of skin slapping with your loud moans mix in the air. “ke-n-toooo~ I-I don’t want to ge- uh! It m-messy in h-ere…” “don’t worry darling, I-” a low grunt comes out, “i always cum inside dont I?” he quickens up the pace only to have you screaming like a whore. “t-that’s it. just take it. It feels good, I know,” he mercilessly pounds into you, kissing your temple, “just come undone on me, that’s it. make me proud.”

sugardaddy!nanami who texts you to quickly come to the office and sends you a cab for an urgent “visit.” why? he’s stressed and his favorite method to cool down is your throat expanding around his girthy dick. he'll grip the strands of your hair while cooing at you, "i know angel, i know. but you look so beautiful right now, don't stop."

sugardaddy!nanami who groans from the stressors of his job, turning his attention to you while he pushes himself back on his chair. he looks down on his bulge before sighing and tugging his tie down left and right. “go ahead. come suck me off, i need it and I know you want it too.”

sugardaddy!nanami who does the whole pillow underneath, hand pressed on lower abdomen, with a vibrator wand abusing your clit.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a diet that consists of devouring your pussy on a regular basis. “b-babe… i- ah! s-slow down,” as you elicit a loud dirty moan that fills the room, “pleaaaase.” if only you knew he takes more pleasure out of this than you and you’re the one gripping his hair to the point of leaving his scalp red. he further pushes his nose into you, mumbling, “beg all you want, I’m not done.”

sugardaddy!nanami who is a gentleman, really. who will kill anything within 5 meters if it remotely threatens you. but he can’t help but admire the way your little cunt can’t fully take it the first few times together.

sugardaddy!nanami who never thought much of daddy kinks, but when he hears “daddy” slip out of your precious mouth, his heels dig deeper into the mattress, his massive body weight shifts crushing you, angling his dick in an almost sinful way while pressing you deeper into a mating press. “say it again.”

sugardaddy!nanami who watches you squirm with a vibrator jammed to your clit and his tongue lapping up and down your cunt like any separation from his tongue and your pussy will cause his death. “k-kento s-stop this feeli- ah! I th- oh god! I think I need to pee!” he can’t help but chuckle in his head. his baby never squirted before until now.

sugardaddy!nanami who secretly wants to get you knocked up. man loves fucking his cum into you. he has such a big breeding kink that you catch on.

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[gaysindistress]

Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

[rubys-domain]

well. i didn't do shit today. not even play games. i just fucking existed. i don't think it's going to be any different tomorrow either. it's frustrating how my interests can just evaporate out of nowhere. what the fuck else am i supposed to waste my time with, since i'm incapable of utilizing it for anything valuable. i don't want to be suckered back into youtube rabbit holes about cryptids or some shit. i'll inevitably see a recommendation that reminds me that i live in the darkest timeline imaginable. and i can't have that because i'm trying to not make myself feel worse than i already do. i probably will just force myself to play these games anyway. i don't hate them; i'm just not particularly motivated to play the way i used to anymore, i.e. The Eternal Grind. i'll probably just empty my stamina and fuck off again. and then i'm back to wondering wtf to do.

[marzennya]

The Northern Consort used to be a spy, don't you know? A good one, too...only the heavens know how far that particular web goes, but it benefits the Emperor's reign, and the Empress is found of him, so who are we to judge, eh?

[+200 Better Lore points!]

Empress Shen is finally here, my God! How difficult was this particular beast, eh? It took me, like, five or six redesigns! The balance between feminine and masculine really kicked my ass here...I think I did pretty well, if you take in account everything. I'm proud of myself, so all of you must be nice to me.

The drama is set during the warring states period, my inspiration was mostly from how they costumed the Queen of Zhao, the dowager Queen of Qin and Haolan when she finally becomes the Queen of Qin. They are all gorgeously dressed, I recommend watching it PURELY for the costuming and also the scheming women.

The design was immensely inspired by the Chinese drama The Legend of Haolan. The main character just has this impeccable Shen Qingqiu face-card, every time I see her I just think 'Yes, Shen Qingqiu, for sure.' Here's her, for reference:

For Shang Qinghua, things were so much easier, though; I watched some episodes of Story of Yanxi Palace and was struck by inspiration™. He was so easy to draw! It's all very Qing dynasty inspired, it just fits him, I think.

It took me so very long to draw the jewellery and the embroidery in both of them...I admire the people who actually do metal and needlework. Heroes, all of them.

The pearl makeup is one of my favourite ancient Chinese makeup trends; I just had to put it in. It's a very fancy form of Huadian, which is where you draw forms, mostly flowers and other pretty things on your face using paints, powders, pearls, gems and glued flowers, and it was popular from the Tang dynasty onwards. The ICONIC pearl Huadian was popularized in the Song dynasty because it (shockingly) represented modesty and elegance.

Shen Qingqiu's greenest ornaments are made out of imperial jade, which is characterized by this vibrant emerald green colour and great translucency. It's also the most expensive type of jade ever.

The! Nail! Guards! Make! A! Comeback!

Shang Qinghua's ornaments are, in the other hand, made out of pearls - for elegance, wisdom, and wealth, and blue jade, for serenity, peace of mind and self-reflection. Mobei-jun buys all of his husband's jewellery with intention, for sure.

They're such big gossips omg, nobody is safe.

[witherby]

Heyyyyy *leans on expensive car* what are you cooking up for the next mer!reader part?😌

-🌭

Heyyy hotdog 😏 ur about to see it babycakes

Human!Damian x Mer!Reader

Part 8

Masterlist is Here!

It's a very grueling two days of monitoring for you in the med bay. You're kept sedated on a wet gurney so you can be examined for wounds, but there's nothing physically wrong with you. They poke and prod you, take your blood, and run test after test after test to see what could've made you turn so bad so quickly, but those results run clean too.

It's a psychosomatic effect, then. Something is distressing you so much that your body is responding to your mental state. When asked about it, Bruce just rubs his face exhaustedly asks the team to make a new care plan that involves Damian's involvement as much as possible.

When you're deemed healthy enough to return to your tank, they wean you off sedation and carefully deposit you back into the water with a special health monitoring cuff on your wrist.

While you were gone, your castle spire had the top half turned into a removable hideaway in case you got stuck again; it now clicks on and off from the bottom half, a little like a Lego, for your safety.

It takes you a day to fully shake the medicine off, so you spend most of it in a weird daze, but when full alertness returns to you, you pick at the bracelet a while, then tiredly float to the surface to receive breakfast from Jon. And Jon is there like normal, sitting on the lip of the tank with a smile, but he's not the one holding your bucket.

It's Damian.

Damian, who looks at you with wide eyes, like he can't believe you're here and you might vanish if he blinks. Damian, who stands there and stares like you're the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. Damian, who looks just as anxious as you feel. The bucket in his hands is trembling minutely.

It's Damian. He's here. He's here. He's here.

He just stares. You don't know what to do except stare back, locking onto those brilliant, emerald eyes you practically begged to see for weeks. The sudden, unadulterated attention from him makes something twist inside you, and you don't know if it's positive or negative.

Jon clears his throat and quietly calls your name. You glance at him.

"Feeling up for a meal? I've got a couple puzzles, too, if you want them. If you're still woozy from the meds, then that's okay too."

Damian seems to pull himself together and finally offers you the bucket. You hesitate just a moment more, then reach out and take it. The tips of your fingers just barely graze his.

You hold the food to your chest, staring at him. Damian stares back. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he opens his mouth like he's about to speak.

You quickly turn away and drift a few feet from the tank's edge, starting to eat. His stuttered gasp tells you the message was well-received.

Jon sucks in a sympathetic breath through his teeth, reaching out and squeezing Damian's forearm. "Give 'em time," he whispers. "You've been away a while, y'know? I'd probably feel a little abandoned, too."

"It wasn't on purpose," Damian mutters, eyes burning. He fights it down, refusing to cry when there is nothing to cry about. His old position as primary caretaker was reinstated (albeit, Jon is secondary caretaker, now, but he'll take what he can get), he's no longer barred from seeing you, and he's got another chance to fix this companionship. He just needs you to give him the ability to act on this chance.

He needs to earn your trust again. He can do that. He will do that, no matter the cost.

--

You're not up for playtime that day, or the day after. When either one of your caretakers mentions getting into a wetsuit, you react unenthusiastically, so they stay out of the tank to respect your wishes.

Damian is visibly distressed by your refusal to engage with him. He uses your name, he offers you toys and treats, and only tries to call you Princess once before you release a low, threatening warble, and does not try again. If he was so upset by being ignored, then fair is fair. Maybe he shouldn't have done it to you. Prick.

The stinging in your chest at the sight of him doesn't get any better, but it also doesn't get any worse. According to your vitals you're stabilizing, but the beautiful florescence of your tail hasn't quite been restored ever since that fateful incident with Bruce pulling Damian away. The missing patches of scales have regrown by now, but your entire color palette seems overall paler. Less enthused and iridescent. Almost defeated, like you've settled into a life of complacency.

The routine adjusts, and you with it. You quietly accept food at mealtimes and half-heartedly engage with toys. During the tours, you go through the motions of swimming idly around and doing basic loops. You no longer press your body against the glass to stare at and admire all the guests. You no longer steal the buckets to make your caretakers dive in and retrieve them. You no longer chirp or chitter or trill.

It's killing Damian, the guilt threatening to swallow him whole. He's tried everything to get you back to how you used to be — old games, sitting and talking to you, even getting into the water to try and play hide and seek — but you are absolutely not interested. Nothing is working.

And when nothing works, he goes back to the basics. He reenters Bruce's office and takes out your files; he pours through them all, page by page, paragraph by paragraph, to scrape together any fleeting idea of how to bring your incredible spark back.

He's flipping through some documents detailing behavior in wild Mer pods when he finds his answer, and he knows what he needs to do.

Damian asks for an hour to speak to his dad. There's an entire myriad of questions thrown at him, most he can answer and some he can't. There's almost shouting, but Bruce manages to cool them both down again. There's a lot of negotiating, a lot of it, but finally, finally, he gets the green light. He leaves his father's office feeling more confident about you than he has in weeks, and it shows.

The following morning, when you drift to the surface to get breakfast, Jon is there with the bucket, and Damian is there with a rock. It's a small thing, barely the size of your palm, but it's beautifully painted. It's not one of the rocks you've had before, meaning he's not re-gifting you something you gifted him.

It's something he made. For you. He made a gift for you.

"Good morning," Damian says, and your eyes snap to his. "I've brought you this. I want...I wanted to express my..."

He sighs, brow furrowing. You tread the water patiently.

"I am sorry," he finally says. "I'm sorry I allowed my father to separate me from you. I'm sorry I started acting like you didn't exist. I was so angry to see Jon replace me that I feared you would not need me anymore."

Your expression doesn't change. Damian swallows thickly.

"Maybe my phrasing is poor. I don't want you to need me. I simply...I care about you a lot. And I did not think you cared as much, so I took to ignoring you almost entirely. But I thought about you all the time. I wondered if these imbeciles were cleaning your tank properly, or remembered that you don't like red snapper when they feed you, or if anyone was playing with you enough."

Damian inches a little closer to the edge of your tank. He holds the rock out to you. His hands are shaking.

"You don't trust me anymore. That's understandable, and a very logical move on your part. But I want to earn it back. I want to prove to you that I'm here to stay this time."

He leans over the edge a bit, eyes locked onto your own.

"I will do whatever it takes to ensure you don't feel alone again."

You pull your gaze away from his and move closer to examine the rock. The bright, rich colors and intricate patterns painted into it make something ease up in your chest. You feel like you can breathe just a little bit easier.

Your hands emerge from the water, rivulets trailing down your palms and wrists, and gently take the stone from him.

Damian's entire body relaxes, relief making a smile appear on his face.

It promptly vanishes, replaced by indignant sputtering when you spit a bunch of water at him. He coughs and wipes his face, then blinks to find you swimming to the bottom of your tank to find the best place to stick your present. You're moving so much faster, so much more energetically than you were before.

"There you are, Princess," Damian whispers into the water, grinning wide.

"...are they gonna come back up and eat?" Jon asks, still sitting with the bucket. "Cause...we can't re-refridgerate this with the other food. It'll have to get tossed."

[sofiasworld00]

Build A Bear

Lando Norris x reader

Summary: He just wants to spoil his girl.

Warnings: fluff, some spice towards the end.

Word Count: around 2k.

Y/N hesitated at the entrance to the sleek, pink-lit store, her fingers curling around Lando’s as he tugged her inside with his usual cocky confidence. The faint scent of vanilla and floral perfume hung in the air, blending with soft music. Rows of lace, satin, and silk seemed to glow under the store’s spotlights, and Y/N’s cheeks burned as she took it all in.

“Lando, this is too much,” she murmured, trying to pull him back. “We don’t need to be in here.”

“Nonsense,” Lando said, his smirk widening. His sharp green eyes danced with mischief as he leaned closer. “I need to see you in some of this stuff. For purely… research purposes.”

“Research?” she shot back, folding her arms over her chest, though her lips twitched in amusement.

“Yeah,” he replied, dropping his voice a notch as his fingers brushed her waist. “I need to figure out which one will make you blush the most when you wear it. You know, the important things.”

Y/N laughed, the sound tinged with nervousness as she glanced around. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he quipped, guiding her further into the store. “Now, let’s start over here.”

Browsing The Racks

Lando approached the nearest display with all the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. He plucked a delicate set of white lace lingerie from the rack, holding it up for her approval.

“What about this one?” he asked, tilting his head as if deep in thought.

Y/N’s face burned as she grabbed the set from his hands and shoved it back onto the rack. “Lando, stop being embarrassing!”

“Embarrassing? Love, I’m being serious,” he said, stepping closer to her. His voice dropped into that familiar, teasing tone that always made her knees weak. “You’d look incredible in this. Don’t you trust my taste?”

“I trust it,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. “But—”

“No buts,” he cut her off, already reaching for another piece—a deep emerald green bra adorned with intricate lace and matching panties. He held it up to her, squinting like he was picturing her in it.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, feeling her heart race. “That one’s way too expensive,” she said, glancing at the tag and feeling faint.

Lando rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Y/N, do you know who I am?”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re Lando Norris, Formula 1 driver and professional pain in my ass.”

“And your boyfriend,” he added smugly, tossing the set onto a growing pile of items he was collecting. “Which means I can buy you whatever I want.”

Try On

After much protesting and teasing, Y/N found herself inside one of the plush fitting rooms with a pile of lingerie. The soft lighting in the small space made everything feel more intimate, and she bit her lip as she slipped into the first set—a light pink bra and matching panties adorned with tiny bows.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, smoothing down the fabric and feeling a mix of nervousness and confidence. Lando had been right—his picks suited her perfectly. But still, the idea of stepping out there and showing him felt like a challenge she wasn’t ready to face.

“How’s it going in there?” Lando called from the other side of the door.

“Fine,” she replied quickly, adjusting a strap.

“Let me see,” he said, his voice playful but insistent.

“No way!”

“Come on, Y/N,” he coaxed. “I picked it out. I need to see if I got it right.”

Her cheeks burned as she opened the door just a crack, peeking out. Lando’s eyebrows shot up, and he immediately pushed the door open wider, stepping inside without a hint of shame.

“Lando!” she squeaked, trying to cover herself.

“Relax,” he said, his eyes roaming over her appreciatively. His voice dropped, turning soft and sincere. “You look incredible, love.”

She glanced away, her hands fidgeting nervously. “It’s just… a lot,” she admitted.

“It’s perfect,” he said, stepping closer. His fingers brushed against her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. “And so are you.”

Her protests melted away as he leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

Checkout

Eventually, Y/N changed back into her clothes, and Lando carried the mountain of lingerie to the checkout counter. Y/N’s stomach churned as she watched the cashier ring up item after item, the total climbing higher and higher.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered, tugging on Lando’s sleeve. “You don’t have to do this.”

He turned to her, his smirk returning. “I want to,” he said simply, slipping his black credit card onto the counter without hesitation.

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted, leaning down so his lips brushed against her ear. “You’re mine, Y/N. And I’m going to spoil you. End of discussion.”

She swallowed hard, her heart racing as she watched him sign the receipt like it was nothing. The total could have bought her a small car, but he didn’t even blink.

“You’re insane,” she muttered as they left the store, the bags swinging from his arms.

“And you love me for it,” he replied, grinning.

Home

By the time they got back to Lando’s apartment, Y/N was still trying to wrap her head around the day’s events. The shopping bags sat on the living room floor, the delicate fabrics spilling out like a secret waiting to be revealed.

“You’re still thinking about the price, aren’t you?” Lando asked, dropping onto the couch beside her.

She nodded sheepishly. “I just… I don’t know how to wrap my head around it. You spent so much, and—”

He cut her off with a kiss, his lips soft but insistent against hers. His hands cupped her face, tilting her head to deepen the kiss until she melted against him.

“Y/N,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and commanding. “Stop worrying. I can afford it, and I want to do this for you. Let me take care of you.”

Her breath hitched as his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer. “But—”

“No more buts,” he said, his tone firm but teasing. “You’re mine. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Later

The tension in the room shifted, turning electric as Lando’s lips trailed down her neck, his hands exploring her curves through the fabric of her dress. Y/N’s nerves melted away, replaced by a warm, tingling sensation that spread through her entire body.

“Go try one of those sets on,” he murmured against her skin, his voice husky.

Her heart raced as she glanced at the bags. “Lando, I—”

“Now,” he said, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip.

She bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before grabbing one of the sets—a deep red lace number—and disappearing into the bedroom.

When she returned, Lando was waiting for her, his expression unreadable as he leaned back on the couch. His eyes darkened as they roamed over her, taking in every inch of the delicate fabric and how it hugged her body.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Y/N stepped closer, her cheeks burning as he reached out and pulled her into his lap. His hands roamed over her back, his touch light but deliberate.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers.

She shivered as his hands slid under the fabric, his touch sending sparks through her. “Lando…”

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips trailing down her neck. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of heated kisses, whispered promises, and Lando proving, over and over, just how much he adored her.

remember to repost and share it really helps!

[random-twst-things]

Part 2 of this!

*After the interview, it was cut short*

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Mal?

Malleus: ...yes?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: HOW?! how is it that we're even married?

Malleus: Well-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: We haven't even dated each other?!

Malleus: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Look, it's not that I mind, really but-

Malleus: Really? ☺️

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Not the point Mal! How did this even happen? And for an entire year?!

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, turns to Mal: Mind explaining?

Malleus: Well, you were the one to court me

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...Me?

Malleus: Yes, do you remember around a year ago the time you gifted me a new tamagotchi, coupled with a pretty rock with a small card saying "love you"?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Yes? It was a while ago, but yea

Malleus: Well, I thought that was you courting me, dear

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...

Malleus: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: You thought that I was courting because I gave you a rock? A simple rock?

Malleus: Correction, a very pretty rock, but yes

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Please don't tell me this is the way faes court?

Malleus: Well, not exactly. Instead of the, VERY, pretty rock you gave me we usually find or buy an unpolished emerald rock and give it to the person we wish to court.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: AN EMERALD?! UNPOLISHED EMERALD?! I gave you nothing close to that!

Malleus: Well, I assumed that given your living situation and expenses you sadly had to use a pretty rock you found instead of the emerald

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Mal, you do know that our way of "courting" is very different, right?

Malleus: I am aware, but I assumed you knew

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, sighs: Okay, okay- wait- this was when?

Malleus: A month before we got married

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: A MONTH?!

Malleus: Yes, a month, I wished to do it sooner but thought I'd wait to respect your human traditions. Lilla also said patience is key ☺️

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: MAL A MONTH IS TOO SOON?

Malleus: It is? 😔

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: YES BUT-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, sighing: WHEN?! HOW DID WE EVEN HAVE A WEDDING?

Malleus: Dear, the event I held a year ago in Diasomnia's courtyard was our wedding

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: I thought that was some fae holiday or tradition you guys did?

Malleus: It was not, it was our wedding

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, pacing the room: wait- you need a marriage officiant for a wedding to happen though? What about the vows? The walking down the aisle?

Malleus: The vows we said we're done in private, remember? when I poured my heart out telling you how I could never imagine you not being in my life? The marriage officiant was Lillia and the walk down the aisle I chose not to do as I couldn't wait any longer.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Okay, so I remember the "vows" but when did I even sign the marriage license?

Malleus: As soon as you walked into the dorm doors

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: I thought that was a paper to see who came?

Malleus, worried tone, happy face: My, dear, you really should read something before you sign it 😊

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: yea, I really should

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: what about the wedding attire? I didn't wear a wedding dress/suit? The ring?

Malleus: The outfit of garments I sent to you the day before our wedding and the ring I'm assuming you thought was a "simple" gift 😞

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: THAT WAS MY WEDDING DRESS/SUIT?! And wedding ring?!

Malleus: Yes, I must say you looked positively gorgeous/beautiful/handsome and I chose the ring very well, it suits you tremendously

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Thank you-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: okay, okay- No big deal- I'm just married to the prince of Briar Valley, descendant of fae, the most powerful mages in the world.

Malleus: I prefer to be called "Mal", by you

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Oh by the Seven, I can't believe we got married all because I gave you a SIMPLE ROCK

Malleus: As I said before, a very pretty rock

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Mal, we don't even live together

The rock You/Mc/Y/N/Yuu gave to Malleus:

Authors note: (this turned out longer than I thought 😭)

(FINALLY! DONE! No next part... Unless a part 3 where they talk it out better? Nah.... Unless)

Dividers by/from @/cafekitsune

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter ten: Umasked Tension

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 10 | next

Series Masterlist

The sun barely filtered through the narrow windows of your quarters as the hours before the VIPs’ arrival drew closer. It was a strange, almost oppressive calm in the air, as though everything was waiting for the storm to hit. The excitement, the nerves—they buzzed just below the surface, threatening to bubble over at any moment.

As the clock ticked closer to the arrival of the VIPs, you began to get ready, slipping into a dress you had reserved for this moment. It was sleek and fitted, a deep shade of emerald green that brought out the natural warmth of your skin. The fabric shimmered faintly, catching the light as you moved, a quiet elegance that felt at odds with the world you were stepping into. The heels you chose were sharp, pointed, giving you a little more height, a little more presence as you prepared to walk into a room full of powerful, untouchable men.

When you finished dressing, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your reflection was almost foreign to you. The confident and powerful demeanor that you wore was ready, set aside for the moment, but the truth behind your eyes wasn’t hidden yet. There was a sadness there that even the most beautiful dress couldn’t conceal.

The door to the bedroom opened just then, and In-ho stepped in. He was dressed in his usual dark attire, the mask firmly in place. His presence filled the room, but there was something different today—an unspoken understanding between you both. Neither of you needed to say it aloud. You both would have to deal with stuck up rich guys.

“You’re ready,” he said, his voice softer than usual, but still carrying that familiar calmness.

You nodded, biting back a sigh. “I guess.”

There was a brief moment where he just looked at you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. His gaze wasn’t cold this time. It was different—something that made your heart skip a beat. It was almost like… concern? You couldn’t be sure, but the heat in your cheeks made you wonder if you were imagining it.

Then, without a word, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something. A mask. The same black one he always wore.

“This is for you,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still firm as he handed it to you.

Your fingers brushed against his as you took the mask, and for a moment, everything felt still. The mask was a reminder. A symbol. You weren’t you anymore. You were a piece of this twisted game.

You glanced at him, feeling the weight of the moment. “I’m ready.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but the look he gave you told you everything you needed to know. It wasn’t just about protecting your identity. It was about playing the game. And you both had already gotten too deep to turn back.

When you stepped into the grand hall, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The VIPs were already gathered, a mix of loud voices and expensive fabrics filling the room. The second you walked in, their eyes landed on you. It was like the room held its breath. The way they looked at you—like a rare piece of art they wanted to own, but could never touch—made your skin crawl.

You tried not to let it show. You couldn’t.

Your father was standing off to the side, his back straight, his expression as cold and distant as ever. He didn’t acknowledge you when you entered, didn’t even glance your way as you walked past him.

That sting—the ache that you couldn’t shake—came rushing back. You tried to hide it, bury it deep beneath the mask you wore. But it was hard. It hurt. More than you cared to admit.

In-ho must have noticed the change in your posture. His hand, warm and firm, landed on your shoulder for a brief moment. The touch was gentle, but it grounded you. Reminded you that, at least for now, you weren’t alone in this.

“You’re doing fine,” he whispered, his voice low, reassuring.

It didn’t fix the pain. Nothing could. But it was enough to keep you moving forward.

It wasn’t long before the VIPs began to circle. Their eyes stayed glued to you, their gazes hungry, eager to inspect, to dissect. They made comments—subtle at first, but the undertones were clear.

“You know, I’ve heard the Frontman is very protective of you,” one man said, his voice dripping with something darker. “But I bet he’s hiding something interesting behind that mask.”

Another VIP, younger, with a smug look on his face, stepped forward. “Maybe we should all get to know each other better,” he said, his eyes lingering on the ring on your finger. “If you’re interested, of course.”

The way they looked at you—it was like you were a puzzle they wanted to solve, something they couldn’t have, but would do anything to possess.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced a smile. You had to. It was part of the game. You had to play along, pretend you were just as interested in their hollow words as they were in your appearance.

Before any of them could step closer, In-ho was there. Like a shield. He placed a hand at the small of your back, guiding you toward the VIP room with quiet authority.

“We’ll be escorting you now,” he said, his tone final, and for a moment, the VIPs seemed to respect the unspoken boundary.

You walked beside him, the tension between you both palpable, but at least for now, you were free from their unwanted attention.

When the VIPs had settled into the room, you thought you might finally get a moment to breathe. But the truth was, there was no escape. Not from the eyes that followed you, not from the games you were forced to play.

And then, you saw him again. Your father.

His eyes flickered to you once more. That cold look. No warmth. No recognition. He just… looked right through you.

It hurt.

———————

Chapter 10!!!!! Woohoo! Lemme know what you think! Thank you!

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[holdmytesseract]

So Close To Love

Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Summary: On Tony's Christmas party isn't a certain God able to keep his eyes from you, and yet he can't bring himself to make a move - or can he?

Warnings: alcohol, music? idiots in love, not a happy end but I'd say there's hope, feels, slight thirst?

Word Count: 2,4k

a/n: Merry Christmas, y'all! I hope this lil' present I have for you manages to put a smile on your faces! 🤗🎄

This oneshot is kinda based on that song:

Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist

divider by @jiyascepter

"Must I really attend this ridiculous Christmas party of that arrogant imbecile, calling himself a-" "Brother," Thor cut Loki off rebukingly. "Enough. Behave yourself, I beg of you. I know you don't wish to attend, but it will be good for you. You have to show interest or Fury might question your probation - once more," the blond Asgardian chided. "It's for your best and you know it. Now come on, get dressed."

Loki rolled his eyes, but deep down knew that his brother was - unfortunately - right. With a soft, annoyed groan he lifted himself off of the comfortable beanbag in his reading corner and closed the book shut he held in his hands. Thor smiled like a Cheshire cat - proud of having convinced his stubborn sibling.

With the snap of Loki's fingers engulfed him an emerald green haze and replaced the sweatpants and t-shirt with black slacks, shiny black dress shoes and a very formfitting shirt - also black. "There. Are you happy now, brother?"

The god of thunder's smile did not cease; one meaty hand reaching out to clap his brother rather harshly on the shoulder. "Yes, I am. Let us join the party!" Thor already marched towards the main door. "I bet Lady Y/N will be present as well," he added with a small wink and stomped out of Loki's apartment. The raven haired god rolled his eyes once again, "Oaf." but couldn't shake the nervous feeling and anticipation flame up inside him. If you were truly going to be there... His heart skipped a beat at the mere thought. You were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon. A goddess. An angel walking the earth. And your sweet, kind and selfless personality... How you conquered his heart without even knowing...

"Brother!" "Oh, for Norns sake, I am coming!"

"Okay, what do you think?" You stepped out of your bathroom; taking a deep breath. You slowly twirled in a circle then; showing off the dress you chose to wear for Tony's Christmas party to Nat and Wanda. Red - fitting the topic.

Both your best friend's jaws dropped. You giggled. "Good or horrible?" "Neither, babes. This is... stunningly sexy, yet cute." Wanda nodded; agreeing with the Russian spy. "Absolutely." You looked down yourself. "Yeah? Really? It's not too much?" "No. Not if you try to attract the attention of a certain man - or should I say god?" You reached over and threw a pillow your friend's way; hitting her square on the stomach. "Shut up, Nat! He isn't interested in me - and we all know that." You walked back inside the bathroom to check a last time on your hair, but actually desperately tried to hide the blush on your face - because Natasha was right.

While you tried to flee, exchanged the Widow a knowing look with the Scarlet Witch; both women suppressing their giggles. They knew. Of course, they knew.

The party was already in full swing, as you stepped through the opened doors of Tony's penthouse apartment. The band in the corner - dressed in fancy golden shimmering suits played some classical Christmas songs, but also normal music. You saw waiters paving their ways through the crowd of Avengers, rich people and several hot shots of the American government, SHIELD and the military. They held glasses of champagne and fancy little snacks on trays. Some people already occupied the dance floor, others were chatting or nursing drink after drink at the festively decorated bar. It smelled like expensive alcohol, rich cologne and remnants of cold smoke. It was awful.

You were an Avenger and had every right to attend this party - and yet you felt so out of place.

"Come on, babes. Let's get a drink and have some fun," Natasha's voice ripped you out of your thoughts; feeling her tug you after her. You didn't even protest and followed your best friends; greeting Steve, Tony, Pepper and Bucky on the way.

Thor and Loki were seated on a creme white leather sofa across the room; close to the huge French door, which led to the roof garden. Both men had a drink in their hands. While the blond god chatted enthusiastically with Dr. Jane Foster and a few other... scientists, Loki found himself utterly bored; having to witness his brother's lousy attempts at flirting. He rolled his eyes subtly, and brought the glass in his hand to his lips in order to take a sip of the alcoholic liquid - and almost choked.

His eyes had travelled across the spacious apartment, and had landed directly on you. The raven haired god hadn't spotted you before, but now that he did, he felt like he could barely breathe. You wore a stunningly beautiful red dress, which highlighted your curves to perfection and suited your whole appearance. Loki couldn't help but to stare; distracted by your looks and the sweet smile upon your lips, which managed to turn his knees into jelly.

"You should ask her to dance, you know." Thor's quietened voice suddenly urged to his ears. He noticed how close his brother had slid over to him on the sofa; his gaze directed on you as well. Loki scoffed and played it cool; downing the rest of his Martini. "Why in Odin's name should I do that, brother? I can tell there already is a line with men wanting to dance with her. See all those rich sycophants eye-fucking her?" He jutted his head at a group of men in tuxedos; standing only a few bar tables away. Thor's eyes followed. "I bet they'd do everything to get her attention and lure her into their 'honey-trap'. She doesn't need another one."

"Why don't you make sure to get her before they can, brother? Are you truly willing to lose the Lady of your interest to such vile men?" The raven haired god stood up from the sofa, "You forget that I am no hero, Thor." and walked away without another word; straight to the bar. The blond god only shook his head in disbelief.

The evening progressed; alcohol flew and caused the party to get wilder. By now, almost everybody had fun on the makeshift dance floor - no matter the song. Loki, though, was still sitting alone at the bar; glad that nobody had approached him. After all, he had just attended the party because it was the 'best for him' and good for his reputation. Which reputation? The god asked himself; almost starting to chuckle. He hated it to be here and yet he hadn't left.

The reason was simple...

He found himself unable to avert his eyes from you. He tried, but failed gloriously. Loki watched you dance with one man after the other - all of them besuited billionaire playboys; each of them trying to flatter and impress you more. As if it was a competition. He could already feel the bile rising in his throat by the mere look at them. This wasn't the proper way to gain the attention of a lady. Typical mortal men... It disgusted him.

Another feeling he also couldn't shake was jealousy... Yes, he was jealous of that unworthy mortal scum touching you in such an intimate way. Dancing was an art. The expression of feelings and status. Obviously not on Midgard...

What Loki didn't see, though, with being blinded by jealousy and frustration, was that you absolutely didn't enjoy yourself. You hated these... machos just as much as Loki, and yet you were too kind to recline their ask for a dance and your attention.

"Save her." A feminine, quite familiar voice urged to his ears through the music. The god frowned and slowly turned on his bar stool to face the 'intruder'. "What are you talking about, Miss Romanoff?" The Widow's gaze drifted over to you, then back to Loki. "Don't act innocent, Laufeyson. You know exactly what I'm talking about," Nat urged him on just like his brother. She gave the god a smile alongside a wink, ordered another drink and vanished in the crowd again.

A groan of distress left the god's lips; his pointer finger dancing over his bottom lip in thought.

Again he let his eyes wander over to you. His gaze lingered and he felt his chest tightened. No, he couldn't. Swallowing hard, he averted his eyes once again and redirected his attention to the bartender. "Another, please." The friendly man behind the counter nodded and replaced his empty glass with a full one.

Once Loki had downed this drink as well, he stood up with a sigh and turned to finally leave - crashing into another body. Out of instinct, his arms reached out to steady the person he just almost ran over. "Apologies, I-" When the god lifted his gaze and found himself staring into your mesmerising Y/E/C eyes, his breath hitched. "Y-Y/N..." Loki desperately tried to keep it together; clearing his throat. "I did not mean to run into you. Again, my apologies." He didn't notice that his palms were still gently gripping your upper arms - but you did; having a hard time to hide the blush on your cheeks.

"N-No! No need to apologise. I-I mean, I should've watched where I'm going as well, so..." You smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear - a nervous habit. "It's fine, really." That was a lie. In fact, nothing was fine. Your heart was running a marathon; the sudden encounter caused your feelings to run wild.

Loki gave you a small smile as well, "Very well." and cleared his throat, as he noticed that he was still holding you; quickly letting go of you.

Your skin tingled where he had touched you, and you couldn't deny that you were already longing for his touch again.

An awkward moment of silence between the two of you passed, but before any of you could say something, the lights in the apartment got suddenly dimmed and the music changed.

I've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight I've never seen you shine so bright, mhm-hmm

Some might say it gave off romantic vibes. Major romantic vibes...

From the corner of your eyes you could see couples starting to sway together to the famous soft rock song.

I've never seen so many men ask you if you wanted to dance They're looking for a little romance, given half a chance

Loki swallowed hard and licked his lips; heart threatening to break free from his ribcage. "Dance with me," the god suddenly uttered; mouth working faster than his brain could think. "Please." Your gaze lifted to meet his again - and feared you were going to drown in those beautiful blues. "Yes." It was your heart speaking.

The handsome god gave you another soft smile, before he gently reached for your hand and took a few steps backwards; pulling you gently with him and away from the bar.

And I have never seen that dress you're wearing Or the highlights in your hair that catch your eyes I have been blind

Loki's hand found your waist then; his other hand engulfing your smaller one. You bit your lip and placed your free hand on his black shirt clad shoulder. Together, you started to sway to the music.

The lady in red Is dancing with me, cheek to cheek

It felt so different. Different from any other man you had danced with tonight. It felt right. How gentle, yet firm Loki's touch was. How he guided you over the dance floor. The way his hand held yours. It was overwhelming.

Almost shyly you lifted your head; eyes locking with those endless blues of his. And once more you felt yourself drowning. No words were exchanged. Neither of you had to. You could read it on the god's face; saw it in his eyes.

The dozens of other people faded into a blur around you. It was just you and Loki. Nobody else existed in that very moment.

You could feel yourself closing the distance between you further; your head resting against his firm shoulder. Loki's heart skipped several beats - unbeknownst to you. And he certainly did not reject the invitation. He let the hand on your waist slowly glide to rest on the small of your back; pushing you even closer against his body. You were so close now that you could smell his intoxicating cologne with every breath you took. Leather, charred wood and something citrusy. It caused your head to spin.

You could also feel his definitely unsteady breath against the burning hot skin of your cheek - and you could swear you could still smell the remnants of alcohol. Martini?

Without even noticing had your gaze dropped to his lips; wondering how they would feel against yours. Wondering how he'd taste.

Perhaps Loki was able to read your mind. Or he could feel it to. Whatever it was, it urged him on to lower his head; nose grazing your cheek as his lips hovered over yours. You feared that your heart was going to explode; anticipation and want coursing through your veins.

Loki was about to finally close the remaining distance between the two of you, when the lighting got turned up again; the brightness almost blinding - and the moment between you and the god bursting like a bubble. The both of you could do nothing but blink; now standing an arm length away form each other again.

"I-I'm sorry," Loki muttered and before you could say something, he had vanished in the crowd of people around you. With your mouth slightly agape you stared a hole in the floor where the god had been standing just a few seconds ago; stunned. Your brain was having a hard time to process what just happened. Hence, you didn't even know what exactly happened...

Loki cursed under his breath as he stumbled into his dark, empty apartment in the Avengers tower. He was such a fool. How could he be so stupid to just leave you standing there? He could've had all he ever wanted - and now he was sitting on the floor; back pressed against the frame of his bed, black curls a mess and black shirt halfway undone, with empty hands. And why? All because the oh so brave and arrogant princely womaniser had gotten cold feet. Seducing and charming a woman wasn't a problem. Seducing and charming the woman he loved seemed to be impossible.

Loki ran his hands over his face with a groan. He was an idiotic imbecile.

Tags: @fictive-sl0th @gruftiela @theaudacitytowrite @anukulee @alexakeyloveloki @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @chennqingg @muddyorbsblr @glitchquake @mandywholock1980 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @mochie85 @dryyoursaltyoceantears @chantsdemarins @loz-3 @eleniblue @goblingirlsarah @crimson25 @icytrickster17 @lokidbadguy @hunny-beann @stupidthoughtsinwriting @kimanne723 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokidokieokie @lovingchoices14 @valencia-rou @kikster606 @frzntrx @lokisgoodgirl @huntedmusicgardenn @linaax @sheris532 @km-ffluv @jiyascepter @salvinaa @lcolumbia1988 @blackholeofcreativity @lou12346789 @soulpiercing @loonalockley @liliac-dreamer @brokenpoetliz (Continuing in the comments)

[surielstea]

Beg For It

1k celebration request

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader (mafia au)

Summary: Reader is ovulating, enough said.

Warnings: Smut | minors dni | p in v | no foreplay | unprotected sex | heavy breeding kink | allusion to pregnancy | petnames (baby, sweet girl, brat) | bondage (shadows) | no plot, just smut.

2.4k words

I don't know what it was exactly that was wrong with me. I wasn't normally this clingy but for some reason, all I could think about was my very dangerous, very busy husband. He was all I wanted as of late, and if I didn't constantly have my hands on him I think I would collapse.

"Baby, I have to go to work," Azriel sighs, stumbling towards the door as I latch to his waist, draping over him and making him drag me along with him.

"Don't want you to," I whine, tightening my hold.

"Love," He sighed, stopping our game of push and pull, and rather turning to face me. I look up at him with a pout to my lips and his eyes soften, his hands coming up to my jaw. "My pretty girl," He admires, his thumbs rubbing over the tops of my cheeks. "What's gotten into you, hm?" He tilts his head and I shrug mischievously, knowing damn well what was making me so needy. "Tell me," He encourages and my frown deepens.

"I'm ovulating," I grumble and he smirks.

"Oh yeah?" He says, his voice dropping and I groan, playfully hitting his chest in a futile attempt to get him to stop teasing.

"Stop, you know what that does to me," I say and he chuckles, catching my wrists to stop me from pummeling him anymore.

"My poor baby," He hums as I wrap my arms around his torso rather than punch him and stuff my face into his chest, unable to get close enough.

"Don't pity me," I huff.

"Then what is it you'd like me to do?"

"Stay," I mutter. "Please, you can spend all day filling me," I attempt to coerce but he seems unwavering.

"You're insatiable," He grumbles, his hands meeting my hips.

"It's your fault," I huff into his chest, his expensive cologne enveloping me.

"Yeah? How so baby?" He said, pulling away to look at my expression, my brows crinkled with an evident pout painting my lips.

"You know how," I cross my arms defensively.

"I don't think I do, use your voice hun," He encourages and I curse, looking at him with a defeated expression.

"You and your pretty words get me all bothered and you know it," I confess and he smirks.

"Do they?" He leaned closer and I groaned, pushing him away and stomping down the hallway.

"Whatever, just go to work already," I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Aw, don't be like that." Arms wrap around my waist and pull me into a chest. "It's alright baby, just say you want me," He hums, kissing down my neck, making me clench my legs together.

"Az," I sigh, my hand coming to his cheek. "You have to go to work." I push him away by the face but he twists out of the position so he is in front of me once again, blocking my path towards the hallway.

"Well, I can't just leave my needy wife all alone now can I?" He tilts his head and I close my eyes, cursing him for making this all harder than it had to be.

"I'll be fine," I mutter, lifting onto my toes and pecking his cheek before fluidly moving past him. "Go." I make a gesture with my hands that waves him away as if one of the most feared men on the continent were a child in need of directions.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you really want me to leave." Azriel's hands return to my hips before I can get too far, his grip tightening as he pulls me right back into his chest so I am flushed against him.

I grit my teeth, looking up into his hazel eyes. It was no wonder it was his job to interrogate whatever poor soul wronged the crime syndicate, it seemed as if it was impossible to lie to him when staring into those pools of hazel. Emerald and gold melded together, a rim of blue lining his pupil, and orange on the outermost edge. They were the first things I noticed about him, and they will always be my favorite physical features of his. He knew that, of course, he also knew that I was a terrible liar.

"Tell me you want me to leave," He encourages and I stifle a sigh, looking away because I unfortunately couldn't find it in myself to even attempt. I wanted him, and he seemed willing enough to give me him.

His smirk widens. "That's what I thought," He concluded in a snarky tone, but before I could manage a retort he picked me up by my hips and tossed me over his shoulder like a rag doll.

"Az! Let me go!" I pound my fists into his back but he was too busy trailing his large hand up the back of my thigh to care. "Azriel," I groan, now kicking my feet. But that didn't seem to phase him either, and he didn't put me down until we were in our bedroom and he could throw me onto the bed.

I recovered quickly, looking up at him with creased brows as I fiddled with the hem of my nightgown. "Oh don't act all shy now," He taunted. "C'mon baby, tell me what you want," He came to the edge of the bed so he was directly in front of me, his large frame looming over mine. "Or you could show me," He offers, holding out a hand and I look down at the hem of my nightgown and then back up to him. I grab his outstretched hand and push it under my dress, silently encouraging him to take it off. He seems to understand and does exactly as I wish.

The fabric falls to the floor within seconds and I fall back into the mattress, my head landing in the pillows as I watch him mount over me.

I hastily work at getting his shirt off, the silent thrashing of clothes filling the room as he kisses down my neck towards my collarbone.

"Az please," I implore, discarding his shirt down onto the floor with reckless abandon.

"What is it? Tell me what you want," He breathes into my lips. I arch up into him as the need in my chest intensifies.

"I can't wait any longer, please I need you now," I cry, my hands coming to the hem of his pants.

"Yeah? You gonna beg for it?" He incited and I whimper, attempting to press my legs together but he made the movement impossible with his hips settled between my thighs.

"Fuck, please Azriel," I fall deeper into the pillows, my need for him all-consuming as I allow myself to plead.

He leans closer as my pathetic voice fills the room, his nose running up the column of my throat before he begins placing sweet kisses down it. "More," He demands and my back arches up, my peaked breasts brushing against his chest.

"You can take me however you want, just gods, fuck me Az please," Tears fill my eyes as if I was begging for my life, yet that was what satisfied him.

"Turn around for me then, hips up alright?" He said and I nodded, quickly doing exactly as he said, my cheek going down onto one of the many pillows on our bed as I hiked up onto my knees. I can hear him sliding off his belt behind me, thrashing his pants off quickly afterward.

He hovers over me, lips pressing gentle kisses along the side of my neck in a soothing manner. I leaned into that touch, my head reclining to rest on his shoulder.

Shadows pinned me down onto the bed, dark tendrils twining around my wrists and ankles as he aligned his hips up with mine, his tip prodding teasingly at my entrance and I squirmed beneath him, writhing as I clenched around nothing, silently begging for him. "Shh, I know baby, I know it hurts," He runs a hand down my back, a soft caress to calm me. And then, he was pushing in.

"Az," I whimper as he finally sheathes himself, the wide head of his cock entering my core. I groan at the stretch, my back into his chest as he continues moving in, every inch making it harder and harder to breathe.

"So fucking, tight," He grits through his teeth, both his hands coming to my hips as he forces them back onto his cock. I screamed, clenching the sheets beneath me as he thrusts shamelessly deeper, with no caution to his movements as he picks up a steady rhythm. "This is what happens when I don't stretch you out first," He grunts. "So needy for me, impatient brat." His hands grip my hips tighter. "You gonna— gonna punish me?" I taunt, tears already forming in my eyes.

"I bet you'd like that hm? My dirty girl," He admires, pushing in all the way when I try to reply, cutting me off and replacing my words with a sudden moan, the sound ripping through me as he bottoms out inside of me.

I scream his name, the stretch so pleasurable that it brings pain. "Fuck, fuck Az I can't," I gripe, tears running down my cheeks.

"But you said you wanted this," He retorted, leaning over me so his lips were beside my ear. "You begged, remember?" He purred and a shiver ran down my spine as I flushed pink at the recent memory.

"Mhm," I nod, attempting to blink away my tears.

"Az." My back bows as he thrusts powerfully, deeper, so much deeper. Fuck, I could practically feel him in my womb. The thought alone left me clenching around him desperately, my body aching to be filled by him.

"Azriel," I moan, my tears cascading down my face like a waterfall but I didn't care anymore.

"What is it, baby?" He asked his voice half a groan.

"Breed me, please," I murmur, fully prepared to begin begging.

"Fuck," He sighed at my words, his forehead coming down to rest on my shoulder as he continues pulling out only to push back into my throbbing cunt.

"Az," I grip at the sheets, my need to release quickly turning overwhelming. "Please, I wanna have your babies," I whine and he smiles against the soft skin of my back.

"Yeah? You want me to give you more than one?" He purrs and I sigh in pleasure at the idea, sinking lower into the bed. "Mhm," I nod dumbly and within a moment his thrusts fold over in force, the strength doubling as his hips clap against the backs of my thighs.

My body screamed for release but I ignored it, I was going to draw this out as long as possible.

"Fuck, I'm gonna breed this tight cunt," He confesses and I squeeze around him at the idea, my core whirring with an uncontrollable need.

"Please," I cry, lying on the pillow pathetically as he continues stuffing himself inside of me. "Want you to come inside," I gripe, my voice fragile and raw but it only urged him to increase his speed.

"Is that right? Want me to get you pregnant? Get your belly all round with my kid?" He suggested and I quickly nodded, feeling beyond just agreement.

"Azriel," I arch deeper, my chest nearly flat against the mattress as I kept my ass up, making him feel all the more deeper inside of me.

I squeezed tighter around him and he twitched at the sensation. I smiled, prideful that he was close already. "Don't pull out," I whisper, reaching back and placing my hand on his cheek. "Want you to fill me," I throw my head back onto his shoulder while his thrusts continue, rocking the bed back and forth with the creaking of the headboard slamming against the wall. "You close?" He pants out and I nod frantically, unable to get the words out despite how badly I wanted to reach my climax.

"I can't," I manage but it was barely audible. "M'gonna—" I can't even finish my sentence before my orgasm takes me full throttle and I'm finding release on his heavy length.

The moan that rips through me is monumental, and the feeling of the moment, gods it was indescribable. A tidal wave of pure ecstasy swept me off my feet, and now I was drowning in the pleasure.

It took me a long moment to come down from that nearly celestial high, but once I did I realized I was clamped down around Azriel's cock so tightly that it was hard for him to move in and out of me any longer.

I knew he was close, the vein throbbing on the underside of his cock was proof of that.

"Fuck," He grunted lowly into the shell of my ear, my sensitive cunt twitching around his width at the sultry sound.

"C'mon Az, fill me," I whine and he nods, his forehead coming down onto my shoulder.

After one last stroke of his cock along my walls, his release finally spurted out into a direct line straight toward my womb. He groans at the feeling of his seed nestling deep inside my cunt, his small whimpers not going past my notice as he catches his breath and comes down from his high.

After a moment, ever so slowly, he unsheathes himself and allows me to fall down onto the welcoming bed.

"You did so well for me baby," He whispered, leaning down and placing pecks along the top of my spine. "My sweet girl," He hums and I mumble something incoherent about sleeping back.

"Not yet baby, I gotta clean you up," He soothes, scooping me into his arms and I whine clenching my legs together, not wanting any of his warm releases to escape me.

"M'tired," I groan but he ignores my protests and takes me into the bathroom anyway.

"Oh my poor girl," He hummed. "What am I going to do with you?" He tilts his head and I wiggle my brows suggestively.

"You could make me a mom," I suggest and he smiles, shaking his head.

"I'm already doing that, genius," He deadpans and the sudden realization overwhelms me. I wasn't pregnant yet, but that decision of being ready was enough to spur me into joy. I throw my arms around Azriel's neck and hug him tight to my bare chest.

"I love you too," He rubs my back, recognizing my silent form of affection. I nuzzle my face into his neck deeper. "My sweet girl," He sighs, his chin coming down onto mine. If everything goes well, we're soon to be parents. The idea alone at the moment was entirely perfection.

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[chrollogy]

18+ MDNI; light dom!iwaizumi, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie, couch sex, iwaizumi is kinda mean in a hot way, just pure smut and nothing else. this was supposed to be a short thirst but idk what happened. divider: cafekitsune.

── iwaizumi was an ever attentive lover during your most intimate moments together, whether it be in the bedroom or somewhere else in the house, he always put your needs before his—your pleasure before his. with such an intimate atmosphere, iwaizumi never forgets to constantly praise you, strings of dulcet whisper against your searing skin for taking him so well; he made sure to handle your naked body gently—butterfly touches and ghosting kisses, like you were the most expensive possession he had.

but just like everyone else, iwaizumi had another side to him—a side that never fails to bring out desperate mews and whines from your swollen lips; a side that reaps your most inner desires with such carnal hunger and he absolutely loves it. iwaizumi loves it when you let go and turn into a dirty little whore for him, for his cock as your body desperately chases that oh-so-mind blowing pleasure it yearns for with each passing second.

he was mean.

iwaizumi looked down at you, head held high with dominance, dark emerald gaze piercing right through your core. you were both on the couch, legs on either side of his waist as he pressed himself on the plushness of the backrest; sun kissed arms spread wide, resting atop the sofa. your lover donned a pointed look, one brow held high, an icy expression painting his face, “if you want to cum on my cock, you have to work for it.” iwaizumi’s gruff voice cuts through the thick lingering atmosphere. you let out a pathetic whine, the sound dissipating into nothingness while you held iwaizumi’s stare, your nails digging into the bare skin of his shoulder—a silent, weak protest telling him you couldn’t take this anymore.

everything was going so well, the two of you had found yourselves in a rather intimate moment while watching a movie until out of the blue, iwaizumi had a weird glint in his eyes as you pulled away from the kiss. the next thing you knew, he ordered you to fuck yourself on his cock and make yourself cum, all by yourself—practically allowing you to use him at your disposal. “iwa—” your lover clicked his tongue and that was enough to get you to shut your pretty mouth up. so you started again, picking your naked body back up to dance an endless rhythm up and down, up and down until pleasure decides to come.

your legs ached, thighs burning with every movement of your hips; frustration swallowed you, annoyed that the sensation of pleasure was being drowned out with each passing second. so close yet so fucking far away, your body teetering between the boundaries of that mind blowing orgasm but never really able to cross it—almost like reaching out to the void, the uncertainty. tears outlined the corners of your eyes, unpleasant thoughts plaguing your mind as you did your best to focus on iwaizumi’s cock. he looked at your face, frustration clearly etching itself there—pride blossomed across his chest, ego shooting to the heavens above. who knew he was able to drive you to the edge so easily?

resting your cheek upon his sweaty chest, feverish moans and mewls tumbled past your lips, hips desperately chasing that high. you’ve been at it for at least an hour now, cunt practically dripping with essence from the sexual build up. soft squelches reverberated throughout the walls of the apartment, lewd sounds mixed with pleasured groans filling both your ears. iwaizumi bit his lip, gummy walls squeezing him deliciously tight, “there we go. .” he grunted, using a free hand to grab your chin and angle your face up to him. his heart almost clenched at the sight of your watery eyes and quivering lips, pure desperation seeping from your body. iwaizumi would have caved right then and there if he didn’t fantasise about how pretty you’d look all fucked out and hungry for his cock.

his dick twitched but none dared to address it. slowly, iwaizumi traced your pout with his thumb, head leaning into the butterfly touch. a smirk planted itself on his face as your lover pushed the digit between your lips; as if on cue, you sucked iwaizumi’s thumb, hot tongue swirling around the tip as if it was his cock. a soft groan rumbled from his chest, tongue swiping at his bottom lip before tilting his head. keep going. a wordless command, you hadn’t even realised the halt of your movements, so then you started the same monotonous rhythm—muscles burning and body yearning for pleasure.

you moaned around his thumb as his free hand groped your ass with such fervour; all this was taking a toll on iwaizumi, too. the repeated bounce of your hips and squeeze of your walls had him on edge, not to mention that sinful look on your face as you fucked him. the hand on your ass found its way to your hip, resting there for a bit before guiding it down to his cock with immense force. you let out a loud yelp, for the first time that night, your eyes rolled to the back of your head—the tip of iwaizumi’s cock finally nudging that sweet sweet spot.

it was cute how you tried to moan his name despite a finger in your mouth. “that’s it. mhm, you’re doing so so well f’me. .” iwaizumi breathed out, voice trembling in unison with the bounce of your hips. you clenched around him as his cock repeatedly reached deeper in your cunt, thanking the heavens and iwaizumi for finally giving you some kind of relief—a new wave of pleasure you’ve been desperately seeking out. looking up at your lover, tears of frustration and pleasure rolled down your heated cheeks; a specific twinkle in your eyes was all iwaizumi needed to know that you were close.

“are you going to cream around my cock? hm?” his words went straight to your core, squeezing around him once more, earning a proud smirk from your boyfriend. yes, you wanted to say but instead it came out loud and incoherent—all a jumbled mess from the toe-curling pleasure planted deep inside you. the grip on your hip tightened, a burning touch as iwaizumi forced your body onto his with a new found hunger; loud skin slapping engulfed the living room, the heavy air of sex lingered and intertwined with your naked bodies. with each passing second; each rough movement of your hips, the muscles in your body tightened, head spinning from the overwhelming sensation.

“c-cumming . . !” you managed to slip out, a digit between your lips—iwaizumi held your face near his own, hot breaths mixing as you both gasped in pleasure, he absolutely loved seeing your face as you come undone for him. he urged you on, whispering sweet nothings against your neck. it didn’t take much for you to cum; body turning taut, and fingers painfully digging into iwaizumi’s bare shoulders that was sure to leave crescent marks. as you came, iwaizumi didn’t think twice to move his hips, forcefully thrusting up to meet your own—the harsh slapping of his balls against your ass adding to your blissful state.

fuck, you were on cloud nine. iwaizumi didn’t fall behind, sheathing his cock deep inside your cunt and shooting hot cum while moaning your name into the ceiling, vision turning white for a mere second. he made sure to ride out your orgasm, giving you quick, short thrusts with the head of his cock nudging against your sweet spot over and over again. you shivered at the oversensitivity, weakly placing a sweaty palm over his abdomen, earning a breathless chuckle from your lover. god, he’d do this all over again just to see the lustful desperation etched on your face.

[cobragardens]

The Colors of Crowley

Black is the color Crowley uses to cover himself, red is the color that represents Crowley to himself, and yellow is the color that represents Crowley to Aziraphale. What each color symbolizes and how it's used give us important information about Crowley (and to some degree Aziraphale) and about the ineffable relationship.

I feel kind of dumb writing this post because I'm sure it's glaringly obvious to everyone else, but there's this Metro UK article of all things (the Metro is owned by the hardcore rightwing Daily Mail, btw, so please don't link to it) that mentions the red stitching on Crowley's gloves in 1867, and it made conscious some details I had only subconsciously noted, so fwiw to anybody else, here are my notes on the colors associated with Crowley in Good Omens and their significance in the context of the way each one is used.

I don't think we need to cover black-as-evil in Western color symbology. [And yet here's a long-ass paragraph about it anyway! --Ed.] Light:dark::good:evil has been a thing with Christianity since before Christianity was even Judaism. The Israelites picked it up from the Zoroastrians way back before YHWH had subsumed El as 'God,' which may have been before they were Israelites as well; I mean it was a LONG time ago. Good Omens has been using black and white to represent Hell and Heaven, respectively, long before the show. In the UK, the book was published in paperback with a choice of black or white cover with an illustration of the contrasting character in the contrasting color: Crowley illustrated in black, Aziraphale in white. The current hardcover is grey.

Crowley wears black, and the Bentley is black. At the metanarrative or authorial level this is obviously for the purposes of the black/white demon/angel contrast, but on the intra-narrative level, the Watsonian level, it's interesting to note that Crowley doesn't have to wear black. He's obviously not free to choose from the full color palette, but Furfur's shirt and sash are is dark emerald green, Dagon is in ultramarine (as befits a marine Elder God), and Shax has only been on Earth for four years before she's wearing head-to-toe oxblood. When she shows up later in battle dress she's got a lot of oxblood there, too. And yet Crowley wears black.

Authorial reasons aside, black suits Crowley for a couple intra-narrative reasons. For much of history, black was the most expensive color to dye and maintain in clothing, and as a result it has always been fashionable. And for several centuries in Christendom, wearing black was also a sign that you were in mourning, which was a social and religious obligation when someone close to you died. Whether you could wear other colors with it depended on how long ago that death had occurred.

Again: black is what Crowley chooses to cover himself, and as there is a sharp distinction between how Crowley presents himself to fulfill his obligations and who he thinks of himself as being, there is likewise a distinction between the colors that represent those two quantities as well.

Red is the color the show uses to represent Crowley to Crowley. The most obvious reason is his hair. This is another change from Book Omens, where Crowley is described as having hair that is "dark." A lot of fans in the UK hated the change when S1 came out because fans hate change and the British have a thing against gingers, but Crowley's red hair suits him better than dark imo because the Mother of Demons in Jewish religious literature, Lilith, is traditionally depicted with red hair. Red hair has been associated for more than a millenium in the Middle East and England and Wales with sorcery, witchcraft, demonic influence/possession, and satan-worship.

Crowley wishes his mom was this cool with snakes.

A good case can be made that Crowley genuinely likes the color red in addition to considering it demonically appropriate. I say this for three reasons. Firstly, because when he has a (limited) choice of (again, demonically appropriate) colors, he always chooses red. The marble of the desk in his apartment is not green or grey. He can have any color stitching on his gloves or lining of his jacket collar he wants, but it's always red. Secondly, it's not only red he chooses, it's almost always bright red.

We know Crowley's red isn't supposed to represent blood or violence, because we have another demon character whose use of red represents just that, and it's not the same red:

Compare Shax' oxblood and burgundy to

and

and

and

Crowley's red isn't just red, it's lipstick, cherry, crimson red. And in case we weren't sure that we should read this red as symbolizing passionate, romantic love:

Romantic symbolism aside, bright red is also the color of passion (romantic or otherwise), optimism, heat, vitality, life, (hell)fire, and warning.

Red and black says don't fuck with Jack.

The third reason I think we can safely say that Crowley actually likes the color red is that he hides it. It's always tiny little touches, some of which you have to look for to see. (I still don't know where they snuck in the red on his Elizabethan habit, e.g.) And we know this color is a risk for him, and that he is right to hide it, because Ligur, who doesn't approve of any of Crowley's less-than-fully-demonic embellishments and may share Hastur's opinion that Crowley has gone native, comments on one of Crowley's more noticeably colorful items.

And I think the red tells us one more thing about Crowley, too.

Bright red is the colorest of colors, you know? When we can choose only one color to represent all colors, to represent colorfulness itself, we choose bright red (even in cultures where red symbolizes other meanings than it does in Western art).

Remember how Aziraphale gives Crowley's jacket a tartan collar when he swaps bodies with Crowley and impersonates him in Hell because Aziraphale feels the need to maintain some small secret token of his identity, some tiny unremarked sign of something he loves and thinks is beautiful, when he is down there alone in the gloom among enemies?

Crowley is down there alone among enemies every second of every day and night, whether he's in Hell or on Earth. And he's already had his identity stripped from him once. If you were someone who said

about this

and then you got recruited by the fash downstairs bc the fash upstairs threw you out for not being fashy enough and you had to start wearing nothing but dark colors and more importantly had to hide everything that made you feel warmth or softness or joy, and that was it, that was the deal for eternity, but you could add one (1) little touch to everything you wore to remind yourself that there is some beautiful part of you left, something you loved once, that no one has yet been able to steal or brutalize out of you...what color would the stitching on your gloves be?

Lastly, Yellow represents Crowley to Aziraphale. I'm going to skip the chain of evidence for this bc I think it's obvious, but the way it's used also lends itself to some inferences supported in other areas in the show.

Here's where I think changing Crowley's hair to red from Book Omens' dark is a good decision in another way. Crowley always has red hair, and if he has any color in his clothes it's going to be red. Red is eye-catching; it always stands out, but it doesn't stand out as demonic. And yet the color Aziraphale associates with Crowley and calls "pretty" isn't red.

I suspect that when Aziraphale says he can make Crowley an angel again, Crowley hears "You're not good enough for me to accept you as you are, let me fix you" because these are words Aziraphale has said to him many times, and has meant some of those times. But

tells the audience differently. The color Aziraphale associates with Crowley, the color he calls "pretty," is the color of Crowley's only overtly demonic feature. Aziraphale doesn't love the angel he knew who isn't Crowley, he loves Crowley, the demon, the person he is now, his yellow demon irises.

Yellow appears in three other places in S2, and they're all symbolically significant, and in fact serve to establish another symbolic significance to the color yellow in addition to that of Yellow Is the Color of My True Love's Eyes.

One of them is a feather duster:

Crowley reacts to a feather duster like a cat confronted by an unfamiliar object

The other three are private conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley:

The walls that surround Crowley and Aziraphale when they speak openly about their situation and how they will handle it are drenched in yellow, and that is super interesting, because in Western color symbolism yellow is the color of fear. The archangel of whom Crowley and Aziraphale are both (rightly) terrified wields a tool the color of fear. The color of fear saturates the backdrop of conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley when they have to discuss their situation and their actions openly.

Remember how Aziraphale's voice shakes here?

Crowley realizes the crows have just handed an angel evidence the angel can take to Hell and use to have Crowley killed

Even the Bentley, that clear sign of Aziraphale's love for Crowley, is also a yellow coffin enclosing him. For Aziraphale, thoughts of Crowley are always entangled with fear, because Crowley is not just Crowley, he is also Crowley's Fall.

And I think fear is what Crowley's eyes themselves represent. For Crowley, fear is now a fundamental part of his perception, his nature, his identity.

The angel Aziraphale once knew is not Crowley, and yet from what we've seen, the chiefest difference in character between this sweetheart and this mischief-maker--

--is that the Starmaker does not know yet that he should be afraid, and the Serpent does. That knowledge and its fear has, shall we say, colored his view of the world.

Aziraphale learns that fear early by observing others rather than Falling himself, and knows enough that by the first time we meet him in the Before, he is already afraid.

Pink was once symbolically equivalent to red; in modern Western color symbology it is a color of innocence, youth, beauty, and first love. Hashtag just sayin'.

The cruellest thing this suggests to me is that, rather than rebellion or his propensity to ask questions, rather than the knowledge of good and evil, the Starmaker's Fall was caused by his innocence. it wasn't the questions that were the problem: it was that he didn't know any better than to speak them out loud.

Y'all, Crowley and Aziraphale do not suffer from communication problems. Despite both being male-coded and British, they don't even seem to lack emotional intelligence. What they do have is a universe of silence and fear they have to communicate within and around. What they lack is the safety to speak and love freely. The true color of Crowley is crimson, but someone gave him those eyes, and Aziraphale either watched that happen or knew about it, and now Crowley covers himself in black--which btw is also the symbolic color for mystery and secrets--and only lets Aziraphale see him as he really is now, because Aziraphale won't judge him for his yellow eyes (or punish and forsake him for his questions). Because Aziraphale carries that fear with him too.

[sleepykye]

Handsome idol..

Kinich x reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Thank you for 300 followers ! I truly am grateful, knowing that it took me blood, sweat, and tears to get me this far. Although I do not post much, I still am truly grateful! ❤️

The light from the window shone onto your body as you lay in bed, not wanting to get up from bed as your alarm kept on ringing. With a groan, your hand turned the ringing sound off, reluctantly sitting up as you rubbed your eyes. Your hair was all messy, some locks falling over your face. The dorm provided by the school was cold, and the air conditioner was turned on 24/7.. it felt like you were in a freezer. You slowly got up and prepared yourself for the long day. Heck, you even regretted joining this prestigious academy. As you got dressed and left the dorm room, you overheard some students talking about an idol that was joining the school..?

"Have you heard.. we're gonna have an idol transferring here today!!"

"Oh my gosh, yeah! I heard he's reaaaaally hot, too...!!"

You rolled your eyes at their overexcited gossips, sighing as you got to class and sat down, fishing out your phone as you scrolled through Instagram reels. Most of them contained couples, holding hands, kissing, and even some posting about themselves going on expensive dates with their boyfriends or girlfriends. It got to the point where your entire for you page was filled with them, as if even the online world is mocking you for your lonely butt. You closed your phone as soon as the lecturer walked in. But as soon as the lecturer walked in, you noticed a figure that looked.. dazzling if you were to admit, walking after the lecturer. The lecturer instructed him to sit beside you since it was the only empty seat. He gave a small nod before sitting beside you. The lesson soon began, and you could hear small chatter, most likely about the new guy. Most girls were drooling over him, if not all, except for you, that is. You wanted a normal school life, a normal romantic life as well. Not one that would consist of your significant other being famous or something, just a normal, typical man that would love you from the bottom of his heart.

The lecturer couldn't care less if people weren't paying attention. He was just there to teach. It wasn't any of his business if the students didn't want to listen. After all, they'd get kicked out of the school if they fail twice a row anyway. Your eyes slowly drifted to the person beside you. He was quiet, his skin pale, and his eyes were those of a beautiful emerald hue paired with a bit of yellow, fully showcasing how captivating his eyes itself were. After a minute or two of staring, you looked away, already noticing the girls in class staring daggers ar you. After class, you were immediately pushed out of your seat, multiple girls swarming your new desk mate as they tried to make conversations with him. He didn't appreciate it much at all. He gave all of them a cold look before speaking, his tone icy cold as he narrowed his eyes slightly at them

"Scram."

That single word was enough to leave pouts and whines on the girls. They all left, sulking as they went to have their lunch. You then noticed him turning to you, offering you a hand as he witnessed how they had pushed you off just to get a seat next to him

"...are you okay?'

Blinking a few times, your own hand slowly accepted his, getting up from the floor as you offered him a small smile and sat down again next to him

"Yeah, thank you"

He gave a small hum, turning his head away, cutting off your line of sight from seeing his face. You couldn't notice it, but his cheeks were slightly red. He hadn't gotten that flustered over a girl before..

"Kinich."

He spoke. It was a single word, but you got what he meant by it, obviously it being his name. After exchanging names with him, he didn't talk much after that. But whenever looking away, he would sneak small glances at you. He wanted to get to know you better. He didn't know what this foreign feeling was whenever his heart skipped a beat in his chest from seeing your little smile, but whatever it was, he wanted to more of it.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 4]

On the day of his birthday, Tim is very rudely awoken by something hitting his face. Or, multiple somethings, actually.

It doesn't hurt - even though the somethings are quite hard and full of edges, and some of them heavy, they were very gently dropped on him from only a few inches above. More like placed if he is being honest.

Tim groans and raises his head up from the pillow, blinking his sleep away and coming almost face to face with Minky's large, wet-looking and eager eyes.

"Happy Birthday gifts for Young Master," the house elf tells him with the deep satisfaction of a job well done and disappears with a loud crack. Tim drops his head back down, burying his face in the pillow. She does that every year, so he is not exactly surprised by this kind of present delivery. But it's still a little annoying.

It takes him a few minutes to come to the conclusion that he won't be able to fall back asleep no matter how hard he tries. Which also doesn't surprise him - who in their right mind would be able to sleep while surrounded by birthday presents? - but it's kind of a tradition at this point. Just like Minky buries him in his gifts every year on his birthday, he is trying to get a few more minutes of sleep every time after it.

With a huff, Tim sits up on his bed and throws the blanket off him, looking around. And there comes the first surprise of this morning; there are more boxes in his bed than he expected.

Usually, it's only three or four: Mother's and Father's, that come either together, as one gift, or as two separate ones, the obligatory gift from Malfoy family because they like to make sure they are paying attention to absolutely everyone, even if they have little personal interest in the Heir of Drake family, and Diggorys', who send him something unbearably expensive every time because Mr. Diggory is friends with Father and likes showing off that he is rich.

This year, there are six gifts. Well, of course there are, like, a couple dozen birthday cards as well, from everyone who bothers remembering the birth date of the Drake's Heir, but Minky never brings those, and Tim is not particularly interested in them anyway. They are for Mother to sort through and decide what to do with them.

But back to the topic. Six gifts.

For the first time since Tim was around four - so, before he realized that none of those presents were for him personally, not really - he feels excited.

He sorts through the boxes, setting the recognizable emerald green one with a white bow (Malfoys) and the yellow with a red ribbon (Diggorys) aside. He doesn't care for those, he can open them later.

Which leaves him with a white, neatly wrapped in silk package that has to be from his parents, a blue rectangular box with yellow patterns on it, a small box in pinks and purples, and a rather large, narrow cardboard thing that isn't wrapped at all and actually looks like it's made from several smaller boxes with the use of sticking charms.

The last one is the most curious, so Tim leaves it for later and starts with the white package from his parents. There's no card - not like they need to add it since they are, well, his parents - and it's not exactly the most exciting present either: a 'Guide to Your First Potion' and an empty journal in a matching cover with a self-inking quill. Tim has no interest in potions; he likes reading about charms and enchantments way more, but the underlying message is clear. He sets both the book and the journal aside on the table by his bed and runs his hands through the rest of the gifts.

He decides to go with the blue one next, an impatient feeling tugging at his stomach. It turns out to be a chess set, with the pieces made of some kind of semi-translucent, crystalline stone, but what intrigues him even more is an additional, poorly wrapped purple lump with a crooked bow inside the box. As soon as he opens that, half-a-dozen chocolate frogs leap out of it, hopping away and all over Tim's bed.

He blinks in surprise, but upon closer inspection, there's a card on the bottom of the purple package. Make sure to bite their legs off, it advises in a jumpy handwriting, and, below that, Happy Birthday! - Steph.

Tim can't help but laugh. He doesn't bother going after the runaway candy; if Minky was cheeky enough to wake him up by throwing presents all over him, he's sure she'll be delighted to go on a frog hunt later.

Instead, he goes for the next box, the pinkish-purple one. This one is signed To: Timothy Drake, From: Samantha Manson in a curly handwriting on top, but despite knowing the sender, Tim has no idea what to expect.

Inside, he finds a shiny, silvery thing with about a dozen buttons and what looks like a piece of telescope on one side of it. He frowns, carefully setting the thing aside on the bed and looking inside the box again. Sure enough, there is a note, and it's about ten times longer than Steph's.

It's called a camera, the note says with no preamble, and Tim can very vividly hear Sam's condescending voice in his ears, You use it to take pictures. Then, there's a whole list of instructions on how to use it, which Tim is reluctantly grateful for. Thanks, he knows what a camera is, he's seen them before. It's just that they were always big and kind of bulky, and he hadn't known they could be so compact.

But it's a strangely thoughtful gift, now that Tim thinks about it. He and Sam still didn't talk much when Mrs. Manson brought her over; they just somehow wordlessly came to a mutual agreement of never bothering each other and spent the time reading their respective books while sitting in the opposite corners of a room. But in the few instances when they did talk, Tim remembers saying he wished he could draw. Just so he could keep things he liked seeing in physical, tangible form, and not only in his memory.

He should probably find out when Sam's birthday is, and send her something nice in return. He has no idea what that is going to be yet, but he has to try.

Carefully setting the camera back in the box - he is not sure how delicate he should be with it but better safe than sorry - Tim looks to the only present left. He tried not to think about it lest he ends up getting his hopes up and being thoroughly disappointed later, but, well.

There's only a few things he can imagine needing a package of this shape and size, long, narrow and thin.

He licks his lips, swallows and reaches for the cardboard monstrosity, his fingers trembling slightly as he rips the packaging off.

He is very much not disappointed, because it ends up being exactly what he suspected it was.

A broom.

It's not a new broom, Tim can feel the scratches on the handle when he runs his fingers over it. And, realistically, he should probably be at least a little put off by having a second-handed gift given to him, but he can't bring himself to.

Because it's not a kiddie broom. It's an actual, real broom, a Cleansweep that's a bit too old but is still evidently well cared for. With no restrictions about speed of height or anything.

Tim takes the rest of the cardboard off of his new treasured possession, running his hands over it again, just to make sure it's not an illusion. It takes him a few minutes to come back to reality and notice a piece of paper that was also inside the poor excuse of a box. Tim thinks he knows who sent it either way, but he still picks it up, unable to get the happy grin off his face.

So next time you can join us, the slightly different sized, wide letters say, Happy Birthday, Tim! And, below that, a completely different, stern, and pointy handwriting adds, Please, make sure you have an adult supervising your first flight. There are disillusionment charms applied to this broom, as well as a notice-me-not charm, so you don't have to worry about any unwanted attention. We hope you have a very nice birthday! - Best wishes, Fenton family.

Tim thinks he is going to cry because of how happy he is.

...Although, he probably won't be able to follow that advice about adult supervision. It's not like his parents are ever home long enough to watch over him. But, on the other hand, Minky has been a Drake's elf for a few generations now, hasn't she? She's gotta be old enough to count.

He can't wait to try it out.

—☆—☆—☆—

Vague visual vibes for Tim's room and the library at Drake manor:

As well as the drawings (I swear I spent more effort on editing that first one than I did on actually writing the piece)

[Picrew] [Pic of the broom found through Pinterest, I couldn't find the artist]

—☆—☆—☆—

Other notes on random things:

Part 1 of this AU was set in late spring, part 2 was happening in early summer, and part 3 took place on Christmas Eve, what with the 'Winter Ball' and all. Which means we are now more than a year into this story and Tim just turned 9 years old (his birthday is in July, so he was still 7 y.o. in part 2 but already 8 y.o. in part 3). Danny's birthday is October 31st, by the way, so technically Tim is older than him by a few months.

There's an running joke in the Brown family that they've clearly named the wrong child Lavender since Steph is absolutely in love with the color purple in all shades and hues.

One could argue that a camera is bordering on a muggle-related gift, which should probably be considered sketchy in pure-blood community, but a) Mansons don't give a shit, b) Tim doesn't give a shit either (granted, it's because he doesn't know he should give a shit), c) canonically, Harry had a whole photo-album with pictures of his parents and their friends, so I'm under the impression that it's an acceptable level of muggle technology incorporated into wizarding world.

The gift from Diggorys was a pair of sapphire cufflinks that Tim literally has nowhere to wear, and the gift from Malfoys was a book on pureblood customs because Lucius likes making vague hints about Malfoys being better than all those other, lesser families.

Also, trust me, that poll really was relevant, I'll get to that in the next part, where we'll be meeting the Waynes, finally.

[<- part 3 | part 5 ->]

[ltwilliammowett]

Fishing net glass floats

These beautiful glass balls that many collect today have been around since about 1841, an invention that originated in Norway where old glass and or old bottles were blown into these balls or oval floats to hold fishermen's nets on the surface. However, from the early 20th century, Norway was replaced by Japan as the main producer, where old sake bottles were reused, which is why we are more likely to find these than european models today.

Japanese glass floats

The production process initially required much more skill than one would expect. After blowing, the floats were removed from the blowpipe and sealed with a button of molten glass before being placed in a cooling oven. While the floats were still hot and soft, markings were often stamped on or near the sealing button to brand the floats.

Garnblåser or glass floats

In a later manufacturing method, wooden moulds were used to speed up the float-making process. The glass bottles were blown into a mould to make it easier to achieve a uniform size and shape. The seams on the outside of the floats are a result of this process. This makes it easy to distinguish whether it is a hand-blown float or a float that has been blown into a mould.

Old fishing nets with glass floats hanging at a boathouse wall in Norway.

Most floats are in shades of green because this is the colour of glass from recycled bottles. However, clear, amber, aquamarine, amethyst, blue and other colours have also been produced. The most prized and rare colour is red or cranberry. The production of these colours was expensive as gold was used to produce the colour. Other brilliant colours such as emerald green, cobalt blue, violet, yellow and orange were mainly produced in the 1920s and 30s. Most of the coloured cars available for purchase today are replicas. Originals are difficult to find today. In the past, they were often found on the beaches because they had become detached from the nets and then washed ashore.

Sources below

Glass Ball, A comprehensive Guide for Oriental Glass Fishing Floats found on Pacific Beaches by Walt Pich

Beachcombing for Japanese Glass Floats by Amos L. Wood