#Velvet Heart Shaped Purse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whore4abby · 11 months

Note

heyyyy vannyyyyyy i love u sm i promise i'm not being a lurker

what abt model reader and abby at like a designers party (yk the devil wears prada 👀)

i'm too obsessed with everything u write is there like a support group or something for whore4abby addicts

ferny fern ur brain !! this idea is so yummy 😵‍💫 i love u MORE !! thank u for this hope u don’t mind me switching it up a lil mwah mwah !! NO ONE would join that damn support group bffr wrote this at 3am let’s not talk abt it

high fashion;

kinda a part two of this !!

warnings; smut - sex in a public bathroom, strap-on usage (r!receiving), choking (with abby’s tie), mdni

wc; 1.7k

“abs…c’mon, baby…we gotta leave in a few minutes.” you call out to your wife who’s spent the last 30 minutes making sure she looks absolutely perfect, not one hair out of place in her braid, making sure her new tux was absolutely spotless.

“i’m coming, doll…gimme a minute.” she calls out softly and you laugh and roll your eyes playfully at her antics. the ongoing joke that she spends way more time getting ready than you do slowly but surely starting to become a reality.

you smooth out the fabric of your almost sheer, black satin dress and slip on your jimmy choo heels, grabbing your purse from the dresser before looking up just as abby walks out from the bathroom. you swear you feel your eyes turn into little heart shapes as you see her.

she looks nothing short of absolutely perfect in her sleek, tailored black tux paired with her shiny black dress shoes, her muscular forearms filling out the sleeves of her suit jacket and her long hair slicked back from her face. you're absolutely smitten as you rush over to press your lips against hers repeatedly, “god, you’re so pretty…” you sigh, words coming out as a breathless whisper as you press your face against her chest, closing your eyes and breathing in her familiar scent.

before you know it you’re gathered in a spacious studio for a small, intimate gathering of some couture designers to showcase their new up-coming works. you’re surrounded by mannequins displaying gorgeous designer clothes, along with an assortment of clothes scattered around the room, from elegant ballgowns to sophisticated suit jackets.

the windows are covered in velvet drapes, allowing a small amount of natural moonlight to flood the room. everyone whispering discreetly amongst themselves, scanning the surroundings and taking in all the lavish clothing and glittering accessories.

you wander off away from abby for a little while, you’re quietly minding your own business checking out some artist sketches that are carefully hung up on the wall when you feel a presence beside you. “beautiful aren’t they?” a heavily accented voice causes you to look away from the framed pictures and you turn your head to see a familiar italian designer.

“yeah…they’re gorgeous! are they for the new spring-summer collection?” you query, you head tilting curiously in his direction. “yes, that’s correct…these pieces should be out within the next couple of months.” he smirks and leans in closer to you.

“i was actually just thinking about you.” he places a hand on your shoulder and you resist the urge to shudder in disgust. “oh, please…i’m not that special.” you force a stiff laugh and shake your head, after all this time you still find it hard to believe that you have become a well-known, household named model.

“im serious! i saw you at that runway show a couple weeks ago…and let me say, it’s been driving me crazy ever since. ive been dying to get in contact with you-“ he chuckles, his gaze drifting down towards you body. he takes your hand in his, a cunning smile spreading wide as he leans in to kiss your cheek. you shake his hand curtly before pulling your hand back and jerking your face away from him.

he continues to flirt with you, his eyes finding yours and locking onto them. “perhaps you’d be interesting in catching a drink tonight?” he looks down at your shoulder and casually caresses it with his hand. “my hotel is just a couple blocks away, and i know you’re staying in the city the whole weekend. so whatdya say?”

you start purposely clinking your perfectly polished wedding ring against your half empty champagne glass, hoping he gets the hint. “i’ll actually be busy with my wife….in our own hotel room, thank you very much.”

you catch a glimpse of abby across the room, she instantly feels a pang of jealousy as she watches him openly flirt with her girl practically right in front of her face.

her brow begins to furrow and she discreetly ends the conversation she’s having and makes her way over to you, she obviously saw the guy kiss you, and she’s clearly not happy about it.

you watch his smile falter a little at the mention of your wife, and he directs his gaze towards abby as she approaches, obviously intimidated by her height and stature. “everything okay, my love?” she asks, her eyes still watching the designer. you lean in to kiss her briefly before pulling away and nodding, wrapping your arm around her bicep.

he finally gets the hint and laughs, taking a step or two back. “hmm, well isn’t that a shame?” he says with a grin. he turns to walk away, before stopping and turning back to face you. “well if you ever want to get in touch, here’s my card.” he holds out a small business card with his details on it and smiles at you, abby quickly pushes his hand away and speaks in a passive-aggressive manner, “my wife and i won’t be needing that, thank you.”

he laughs cockily, obviously slightly amused before turning on his heel and walking off to probably shamelessly flirt with another married woman.

abby leans into you, resting her head against yours, taking the champagne flute out of your hand and placing it on a nearby silver side-table. her eyes still watching the designer as he saunters away. “i don’t like how he was looking at you, darling.”

you roll your eyes at her comment, giggling slightly. “babe, calm down,” you say, squeezing her hand. you look over at her and smirk at her. “but you’re really the only one who i’ve got my eyes on, okay?”

“you’re mine…all fuckin mine~” her voice is rough, and she still can’t shake her jealousy from that designer looking at you. abby leans in and kisses you on the neck, her lips gently sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin.

abby smiles wickedly at you, before grabbing you by the hand and quickly dragging you to the back of the boutique. you find yourself in a fancy, private bathroom and abby quickly locks the door behind you. she pulls you in for a heated kiss and you can feel her firm body pressing against yours.

abby’s tongue gently plays against yours, her hands caressing your face and your body, slowly pulling you closer to her. she bites down on your bottom lip slightly, but not hard enough to hurt you.

she pulls away for a second before diving back in, kissing you passionately and with more force than before. “all mine~” she whispers in your ear, her breath hot on your neck, her fingers finding their way down to hike your dress up over you ass, bending you over in the sink counter.

you hear the zipper of her pants being yanked down and the rusting of her shirt being untucked before she pulls your panties off your body and discards them onto the floor before nudging your legs apart with her knee.

you whine as she swipes the tip of the strap-on through your sticky folds, gathering up your slick before pressing the head of the dildo against your slit. “say it…tell me who's the only one who gets you this wet~” she pushes in slowly, groaning at the sight of your pussy greedily taking her cock. “you, abs…fuucck- only you!”

she thrusts herself fully inside without warning, all seven inches of black silicone right up to the hilt making you cry out, feeling every vein and ridge flush against the walls of your cunt. the stinging stretch causing your face to contort in a mixture of pleasure and pain as she pulls out until just the tip remains inside, then slams back in. she roughly manhandles you, slamming you back on her cock. “nnhhggg…a-abby~”

you hear her fumbling with something before you suddenly feel pressure around your throat, the silky material of her tie digs into your neck as she wraps it around your throat and yanks you back to make eye contact with her in the mirror. “look at me while im fucking you, yeah?” she growls through gritted teeth, her eyes dark and filled with jealousy fueled lust.

you’re gripping onto the marble counter so hard that your knuckles are starting to lose their colour, strangled moans leaving your lips, the perfectly applied lipstick now smudged around your mouth in messy splotches.

she drops the tie onto the counter and you gasp for some much needed air. she snakes her free hand down to rub at your clit lazily as she snaps her hips into yours at an eye-rolling pace. “a-abby! oohhh…my god…fuck…” the fingers of her unoccupied hand dig into your hip, holding you in place as she starts to pound into you relentlessly, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing in the small bathroom.

she groans, picking up the pace, the friction from the harness against her clit making her moans grow louder and more desperate, hips grinding into you in-between thrusts as she chases her own release.

you thighs start to clench and shake as her pace picks up even more, leaving you gasping and grabbing at any surface you can find to ground yourself. “you feel that? only i can make you cum like this, yeah?” you’re babbling incoherently as the the head of her cock keeps bumping into that sweet spot until it has you letting out a loud pleading cry as you cum on her cock.

she keeps thrusting, prolonging your release as she helps you ride out your own orgasm, her thick fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

“fuuccckk~” she pants heavily, leaning forward to rest her head against your back, the harness still grinding against her clit and making her cum hard whilst still buried inside you.

she lets out a loud groan as she pulls out with a pop, looking down at the mess between your legs and the cum dripping from your clenching cunt. you turn back to face her and she brings your mouths together in a brief, heated kiss before pulling away and carefully helping you clean yourself up.

she tucks her strap-on back into her pants and neatens her tux up before picking up your discarded panties and shoving them into her pocket before holding her arm out for you to take. “c’mon, baby~” her chivalrous action a stark contrast to the way she just fucked you into oblivion not even five minutes ago.

you smile coyly, adjusting your dress and grabbing onto her forearm as she leads you out of the bathroom and back out into the main studio space, not even caring about the skeptical looks and the un-approving stares of the people around you.

an; model!reader has me in an absolute chokehold right now😵‍💫if u have any ideas for more PLSSS leave me a request !!!!

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆.ೃ࿔myfics⌨️#⋆｡˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚requests🫙#abby anderson #abby tlou #tlou abby #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby the last of us #abby x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson smut #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby x you #abby anderson x y/n

484 notes · View notes

simplydannie · 6 months

Text

Velvet & Veneer Fanfic

"Back to the Underground: Poisoned"

Story Arc || Part 1 || Part 2

@jules0511 It's been two weeks. The twins have now been doing any means necessary to survive. The hunt for them isn't over....but a new problem occurs causing more struggle for Velvet and Veneer. We also learn that a small little Trolls has been held captive in the under city of Rageous.

“Boss… she’s on the other line..”

Shank sat at the chair center of his base: an underground run down old subway terminal. Huge screen monitors displayed across the walls.

“Put her on.” He gestured towards the screens. They lit up: her face was shadowed, all you could see was her graceful neck, down to her waist as she sat behind her desk. From what he could see, her hair was long with a deep purple hue. Her skin was like porcelain, light purple porcelain. She wasn’t at all pale as those in the under city, she was definitely from the upper atmosphere…. What was attractive was her voice. He couldn’t put words, but her voice sounded like a friend, loving, someone you can trust… but she wasn’t. Shank yelled for everyone to get out… he was to talk to her alone.

“Mistress.” He greeted.

“I’m not here to make small talk. Do you have my twins or not?” She asked. Today she wore a black velvet blouse, it tightened her bosom but fell loose around her arms. This was her… the twins old manager. The puppeteer behind the green haired puppets.

“They decided to make a mess of things and off one of my guys. What do you say to that?” Shank asked her.

Her smile was cunning, vicious, yet beautiful.

“Did you know what they would do?” He asked her.

“After whats happened and the amount of Troll essence they absorbed, I had my theory. You’ve seen the effects of Troll poison first hand.”

“But nothing like this. This is different.” He responded. “It cost me a guy, and a drone? I expect more compensation.” Shank sat back in his chair, crossing his legs.

“Oh so you expect me to pay double for your idiot henchman and your stupid machine? Honey, I can easily find someone else to do it in a heartbeat. But because of our past, I decided to give you chance. You haven’t let me down. If I recall, YOU were the one to tell me about them in the first place, am I wrong.”

Shank began to scowl at her words.

“If you can’t handle this, honey, I’ll gladly take it off your shoulders. But I am not paying you anything for a fallen idiot and robot. You’re dealing with the wrong girl here.” She finished.

“FINE!” Shank groaned in annoyance. “If that will get you to shut up. I don’t understand, why them? Cant you get other loons to fill in their place? The boy basically ratted you out.”

“He ratted themselves out. He knows what would’ve happened if he DARED mention my name. My interest in the twins is none of your business. All you need to know is that they’re special….very special.” Mistress replied.

“Whatever. You better pay me the amount you had said.”

She moved closer to the camera revealing her face, her beautiful heart shape face. Her dark purple lips pursed into a smile; her bright green eyes staring intently at him as she rested her chin on her hands.

“Thank you, hun. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Now, I can pay you back in other ways as Ive done before.” She winked biting her lips seductively. “Just come up here and pay me a visit when you can.”

“Well, I can’t deny that form of payment. Can I now?”

Time passed.

It had been two weeks since their return. Two weeks they spent in the underground subway trying to figure out where they could go.

Word would have spread to Under Rageous already about the infamous Velvet and Veneer: the frauds of Rageous.

No one would hire them, work with them. No one would trust them and now, they are being hunted down. If there was one way they were going to make ends meet, they would have to revert to how they survived down here before… thieving.

Velvet had done her share the past week. She stole only the necessities, and now it was Veneer’s turn. Velvet knew her brother was more than capable of handling his own; his innocence would cause people to turn a blind eye, but ever since the encounter they had with those thugs when they first arrived….she worried. Every time Veneer would leave, her heart would stop in anticipation for his return. They gave each other a time limit: if they were not back within the hour, they would go looking for each other.

Velvet sat on the small used up couch in their hideout. She leaned her head back staring up at the ceiling.

30 minutes. Veneer had 30 minutes to return or else she would go find him.

She glanced around at their temporary home….How was it that they came back…to this? They were at the top. Their names known throughout ALL of mount Rageous. They were immortal, gods to them. All the young of Mount Rageouns worshipped the path they walked on. They had it all…the money, the fame, the luxary. And now they were back down here.

The images of that day replayed over and over in her head…. and the more they did, the more it fueled her anger. Her anger towards one specific person in general: Veneer. Velvet clenched her fists tightly at her sides. Stupid, stupid idiot! She thought to herself. He ruined everything for both of them, and for what? They weren’t safe. They weren’t better off than they were before. He just sent them back so they could live like rats again. What was he thinking, she began to fume.

It began feeding on her rage. The voice began to spin and murmer in her head. It’s his fault. Traitor. Coward. Weakling. You sent us back. Traitor. Velvet grasped the side of her head.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” She screamed, but the voices kept talking. You know it’s true. He only thought of himself. Maybe you should have let that thug kill him. You can still go back….Go back….Go back. A pink hue began to glow in her eyes….

Veneer made his way back down into the underground subway, his bag filled with more things than he should have gotten. Before hoping over the tracks, he waited and listened, making sure he wasn’t followed. When all was clear he ran across the tracks in back into their deep hideout. As he got close to the door he did the secret knock he had taught his sister. He listened in carefully….He could hear her voice whisper, as if she were talking to someone.

“Vels?” He called out as he opened the door. “Vels, I got the necessary stuff. Buuuutt I may have snagged a few “extra” things. I had an idea for that drone and….Vels?” His expression changed from enthusiam to worry....Velvet sat on the couch, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth whispering to herself. He walked closer to her, but stopped as he did….He saw her eyes…Her glowing pink pigmented eyes. Veneer’s heart began to race as he began to slowly walk back towards the enterance.

“….Coward.” He heared her say.

“What was that?”

“Coward. You’re a coward Veneer!” She clenched her teeth staring at him with anger on her face.

“Vels please…..” He begant to say.

“You’re a coward! You’re a traitor! You took everything from me!” She stood up facing him, eyes still glowing pink. Veneer was to stunned for words. What could he say to her? It was his fault, but he didn’t want to be living a lie, he didn’t want to kill Floyd.

“We can finally talk about this. So let’s sit down and talk.” He said calmly.

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK!” She leaped at him, knocking him backwards onto the floor. Talking one fist she punched him across the face causing pain to seer through his left cheek.

“Velvet! Stop!” He cried. She pinned him down using her knees, taking her other fist she struck him across the face again…and again….and again.

“I HATE YOU! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! I SHOULD HAVE LET THAT THUG KILL YOU!”

SMACK….SMACK…SMACK…. She could see blood flying everywhere.

“PLEASE STOP. I’M SORRY!” He cried…. She heard the voice of a child…She heard his voice when HE was a child. Veneer crying and begging for his aunt to stop….and that’s when Velvet paused, the pink glow slowly leaving her eyes, her mind starting to come back, the poison loosing its grip again.

What did I do?…She blacked out…

The smell of food is what woke her.

Velvet found herself lying down on the single bed they shared, pillows engulfing her in an embrace. She peered through midway opened eyes to find her brother hovering over a small pot over a fire, heating up whatever food he managed to collect.

“Ven?” She called out. Her vision was still a blur as she slowly started to wake up.

“Hey! FInally, you’re up!” He walked over to her with a plate in hand. “Not the best, but it’s something.”

Velvet gasped as soon as he got close to her; she finally saw the damage she had done. His left eye was swollen shut, bruises and cuts filled his face, a gash was on his upper lip. He saw the look of horror on her face.

“Oh! It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks.” He smiled.

“I….I did that….” She stared at her hands, “Oh my god…..I….I could’ve killed you….”

“But you didnt! Vels it’s…it’s not that bad.”

“Shut up!” She cried. “Just shut up! Look at yourself! I could’ve killed you! I was so angry…I AM angry…but …I don’t know what happened…Ven, I’m so sorry…”

He was speechless; she never apologized…ever. Veneer didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know how to react. All he knew at that moment was that something was wrong with her, that she needed help. Using the Troll left her mad, left her crazy. Maybe the ones who would know about this would be the Trolls, but they were far gone. Even if the twins were able to make it out of Under Rageous, they didn’t where to look or where to even start. The best thing he could think of at the moment was placing a hand over hers, hoping she didn’t push him away….she didn’t.

“…We’ll figure this out. Using the Troll, it didn’t leave you right Vels. Now you know why I had to stop it? Why I had to says something?….I was loosing you..” Veneer said in almost a whisper.

“How are we going to figure this out?” She asked as her voice shook. For the very first time, Velvet was afraid, she was completely afraid…only her brother was able to calm her and give her some sense of peace in this hell hole.

“I don’t know Vels…but we will.”

Their small little footsteps echoed in the giant empty hallways.

The little Trolls ran as fast as they could. Feeling the ground shake beneath them they knew they were being followed…a Rageoun not to far off.

“Over here guys!” Branch called out as he neared a vent. Who didn’t know where this lead? But wherever it lead was safer than where they were. He opened the vent signalling them to jump in. One by one, each freed Troll went inside. The last Troll was a Funk Troll about his age.

“What about you?” He asked.

“I’ll distract them. This isn’t my first rodeo with giant goofballs like them.” Branch stated. The voices begant to get closer. The Funk Troll gave him a nod.

“See you on the other side, man.” He jumped through the vent and was gone. Branch made his way to the center of the hallway as the Rageons grew nearer. He quickly took in his surroundings seeing where he could exit. Whatever he did, he had to try and lead them away. Within moments two Rageons where in his line of view, one male and one female, both sporting the same pale skin and dark blue hair.

“Found one!” Cried the female as she glanced at Branch.

“You did. But can you catch me!” He ran right towards them. What Branch remembered when he faced the twins on their yacht was that Rageouns were big, but their movements were slow compared to that of a Troll. He moved with ease right underneath them, causing them to trip and stumble over each other. Branch also remembered how long their limbs were, how they could easily reach and grasp with ease, but he was prepared. Using his hair, he wrapped it around the neck of one Rageoun causing her to panic as he swung around her and slingshotted himself towards the forehead of the boy…a move he learned from Viva.

The male Rageoun fell backwards in a daze, knocking himself out as his head hit the cold floor. Branch continued to swing around the female’s neck. He released and wrapping his hair around a metal pole nearby, he sling shotted himself once more towards the center of the girl’s forehead. The force was greater causing her to fall unconscience that moment. Branch landed with a small THUD at the foot of the two Rageouns. The groaned and moaned in pain.

“That’s what you get! Morons.” Branch ran back to the vent lifting it up. He could hear more voices grow near as more Rageouns approached. “I’m coming home Poppy.” He jumped into the vent.

He could feel himself twist and turn in the darkness as he fell straight down. Branch reached out to grab something, anything as he felt fear enter him. He let out a small yell as he finally his the floor. The vent had lead to the outside of the building they were in. The small Troll rubbed his elbow as he looked around cautiously.

“Guys.” Branch called out to the other Trolls who escaped before him…silence. He saw small footprints leading away. Okay, they made it out, but where did they go, he wondered to himself. It was dark, it was muggy, the atmosphere of this place felt eerie and distant. Branch heard the small bustling of music and saw glimpses of lights flash above him. He looked up and his jaw dropped in surprise.

“That’s…..that’s Mount Rageous.” He murmured looking up, up, up towards the upper atmospher of was Mount Rageous.

“If that’s Mount Rageous…then what the heck is this place.” He walked up the small hill that over looked the under city. Lights also shown down here, but something about the artificial lgihts made it seem dark and sad, unlike the lights and the clouds of Mount Rageous. The city above completely covered any light, any rain, any clouds from entering the city below. And I thought Rock Trolls were gloomy, he thought.

This was unknown territory, he had to tread care fully. He hopes he can meet up with the other escaped Trolls somewhere, but his main goal was to find a way out and get back home….get back to Poppy.

47 notes · View notes

writing-fanics · 1 year

Text

. wild uncharted waters .

Prince Eric x Fem!Reader

(Chapter One: Fathoms Below)

taglist: @ladynoiree @bambi-horror @or-was-it-just-a-dream @jakesullylvr

Table of Contents

»»———-　Five Years Ago　———-««

The sound of laughter filled the beach as two young teens played in the ocean. They joyfully splashed water at each other, their merriment echoing in the surroundings. It was heartwarming to see two young friends having fun without any worries. They played together on the beach with the water reaching their ankles as they playfully splashed each other with water.

“Oh, I got you something.” He said, causing her to stop and look at him. “Really? What?” She asked, curiously looking at him. He smiled reaching into his pocket and pulling out a velvet box.

As she gazed at the stunning necklace, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. "Eric, it's absolutely beautiful but..." she trailed off, glancing up at him. Concern etched his features as he held the necklace out to her. "But what?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. Worried that she might not be pleased with his gift, she reminded him that he need not bring her anything. He chuckled and rolled his eyes in response.

"I've noticed that you've enjoyed all the gifts I've brought back," he remarked. She briefly averted her gaze before returning her attention to the necklace. "And it happens to be your birthday," he added. A gentle smile crept across her face as she nervously played with her fingers.

She jokingly remarked, "I thought you'd forgotten." He scoffed. “How could I forget your birthday? ” He said, looking at her and she smiled looking at him. “Now, do you want the necklace or not?” He asked, and she stared at him and pursed her lips.

"Of course I'll take it," she replied with a smile as he assisted her in putting on the seashell-shaped necklace. Her heart skipped a beat as she observed the grin on his face.

As she turned to face him, their gazes locked and he appeared captivated by her beauty. Breaking the silence, she inquired, "What?" Startled, he shook his head and snapped out of his trance. With a nervous expression, he replied, "Oh, nothing," while stealing glances at her, causing his heart to skip a beat.

Something seemed to draw them closer as they stood there alone on the beach. Her heart pounded against her chest as she stood on the beach beside him. “Y/n.” Eric said, looking at her causing her to look at him. Nervously, her mind raced with so many things that he could say and things she'd want him to say.

Her voice quivered as she timidly responded, "Yes?" Her heart raced as she gazed up at him. He hesitated, muttering softly to himself, before taking her hands and meeting her gaze. His heart beat fast in his chest. "Um, I..." he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

She stared at him curiously waiting for what he was going to say, “I-I..” He was about to say before, “Y/N!” a voice shouted, causing the girl to sigh in annoyance groaning as her hands slipped from Eric’s hands.

"Sorry, I have to go," she said with a hint of sadness, gazing at him. He nodded and gave her a smile in return. "Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked, her hands resting behind her back while she looked at him. "Absolutely," he replied, prompting her to beam at him. "Goodbye, Eric," she said as she turned to depart, heading towards the person who had called her name, leaving Eric behind on the beach.

As she walked away, he couldn't help but watch longingly. Her figure grew smaller and smaller until she disappeared from his sight. He let out a sigh and took a seat on the sandy beach, gazing out at the endless ocean. A frown crept onto his face as the waves crashed against his shoes.

»»———-　 Now ———-««

The crew shouted raising their harpoons and throwing them into the water, at what they thought was a mermaid swimming alongside the ship. Groaning in annoyance as they missed it, “More harpoons!” One shouted, an elderly man leaned over the ship and stared down into the water, “Hoist and kill her before she comes aboard!” the elderly man shouted, looking down at the water. A young teen peeked his head through wanting to hopefully catch a glimpse of the mermaid.

“Where is she let me see?” The young teen shouted, looking down. Another crew member was about to throw the harpoon at the mermaid until, “What’re you doing?” [Y/n] asked, having grown up quite a bit since that day on the beach five years ago. Her hair became much longer, and keeping it held up in a ponytail. She still wore the necklace around her neck.

Eric came up behind her walking towards the crew looking down over the side of the ship, and seeing what’s supposedly is a mermaid tail. For it to only jump breaking the surface of the water revealing it to be a dolphin. He then takes the harpoons, “Tonight the coral moon.” The elderly man said, looking at Eric as he took the harpoon away.

“They say, this is when the sea king calls his mermaid daughters together to lure men to their death.” The elderly man said looking at Eric, who tossed the harpoon on the ground behind a wooden barrel. [Y/n] listened, as she tied a rope around the side of the side.

“Is that what they say?” Eric asked, as he turned back towards the side of the ship where the crew was, “Aye!” the elderly man shouted. [Y/n] couldn't help but scoff at the lore of mermaids, “Not even the strongest can resist their spell.” the elderly man said, looking at Eric, who held a harpoon in his hand.

“Just an old lore.” Eric said to the man when suddenly a strong gust of wind hit the side of the ship. Causing water to splash on everyone, a few to lose their balance and fall on the ground, or others to quickly grab onto something.

Everyone went silent for a moment, “Back to work!” Eric shouted, his hand gripping on the side rail of the ship. “See there?” The elderly man said, causing the young prince to glance at him, “See what, Hawkins?”

“Cross wind gust kicked up the tops thats all.” Eric said to the man, looking out at the ocean. The elderly man still wasn’t convinced deadset on the fact that it was the work of the sea king.

“That’s the sea king.” Hawkins said, as he followed Eric up the stars to the upper part of the ship. “He’d pull us under himself if he could.” He said following him.

After adjusting the ropes, [Y/n] smiled at Max, Eric's dog, and gave him a good scratch behind the ear. This caused the dog to wag his tail happily. Grismby asked where Prince Eric was, and [Y/n] pointed towards the ships bow. "Up on the bow, Sir Grismby," she replied, and watched as he quickly made his way towards the front of the ship.

Y/n felt disheartened as she prepared to celebrate Eric's twenty-first birthday with him. Despite knowing him for years and receiving expensive gifts from him, all she had to offer was a seashell necklace she made from materials found on the beach. It paled in comparison to the valuable necklace he had gifted her five years ago.

»»———-　 Hours Later ———-««

Prince Eric's birthday was being celebrated by the sailors who were happily dancing and drinking rum. They even sang a sea shanty. [Y/n] sat next to Eric holding a mug filled with rum, smiling. She still had the necklace in her pocket and hadn't given it to him yet.

“I'll tell you a tale of the bottomless blue” Mulligan sang, cherrifully the other sailors aboard the ship joining along.

“An' it's hey to the starboard, heave ho!

Heave ho!” Sailors sang shouting raising their mugs full of rum.

“Look out lad, a mermaid be waitin' for you.” Hawkins sang..

“In mysterious fathoms below” [Y/n] sang joining in on the sea shanty, smiling and laughing enjoying the party aboard the ship. Everyone, just having a great time celebrating. She smiled watching as he danced. “l'll sing you a song of the king of the sea” Eric sang, and was suddenly grabbed and everyone else continued singing.

“An' it's hey to the starboard, heave ho!

Heave ho!” Everyone sang aboard the ship,

“The ruler of all of the oceans is he” He sang…

‘In mysterious fathoms below’

‘Heave ho! Heave ho!’

‘Heave ho! Heave ho!’ the sailors song as they lifted eric upn, lifting up and down off the ground.

Grismby's abrupt shout made the sailors release Eric. [Y/n] observed with disappointment as Grismby separated Eric from the rest of the crew for a private conversation, causing the sailors to groan in irritation. She hesitated as she touched the necklace in her pocket, wondering if it was appropriate to give such a cheap gift to him.

She couldn't dwell on her thoughts for long as heavy rain started pouring down and Eric's voice boomed through the ship, calling for all hands on deck to secure it from the approaching storm. Everyone stopped what they were doing and hurried to fulfill their duties.

Everyone, needed to work quickly to fufill their duties securing anything that couldnt prevent them from securing the ship from the storm. Running around on the ship scattering to help others. The heavy rain obscurring some of the sailors vision, and making it harder to see yet they continued to fulfill thier tasks.

A big wave it the ship causing her to fall on her back but she immediately picked herself up and continued, doing what she needed to do. The necklace falling out of her pocket and sliding towards the mermaid, that was watching the events unfold mere inches away from her. Her eyes widened, noticing the rocks straight head that the ship was heading straight towards.

Eric attempted to move the ship away from the rocks, resulting in a violent shaking that caused people to lose their balance and objects to fly off the ship, while some individuals fell overboard. Amidst the chaos, a rope that held up lanterns broke, causing one to crash to the ground and ignite a fire, which then spread and engulfed the entire ship. Eric stood up and instructed his crew, "Abandon ship! Get to the lifeboats!"

As the other sailors leaped towards the lifeboats, [Y/n] observed the scene. Right before Eric and [Y/n] were about to follow suit, they heard barking and looked around to see Max.

"Quick, get to the lifeboat," he urged her. She gave him a questioning look. "But what about you?"After he told her he would follow, she hesitated knowing he was stubborn. However, she eventually agreed and jumped into the water to swim towards the lifeboat. As she did she didn't notice the necklace that was once around her neck, had fallen off and sank into the ocean. One of the sailors helped her onto the lifeboat while urging [Y/n] to hurry.

Time seemed to drag on forever, but [Y/n]'s heart leapt at the sight of Eric carrying Max and heading towards the railing. Eric held the dog over the edge, allowing him to swim towards the lifeboats. [Y/n] called out to Max and cheered him on as he swam towards her lifeboat. She eagerly reached out to him as he swam faster, eventually lifting him up and embracing him warmly. She smiled as she petted Max while holding him close.

“Eric!” Grimsby shouted, causing her to look up and see him about to climb over the railing to land into the water. To only lose his balance and fall backwards out of view.

#jonah hauer king x reader #jonah hauer king x you #jonah hauer king x y/n #jonah hauer king fanfiction #prince eric x reader #prince eric x you #prince eric x y/n #prince eric fanfiction #slight angst #fluff #romance #x reader #fanfic #the little mermaid live action #the little mermaid 2023

336 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Text

Unexpected 11

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

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

You laze in the afterglow, content to enjoy the good while it lasts. What little you can wring out of this dysfunctional union you will be certain to cling to. Even if it’s only orgasms and the occasional foot massage.

You hear Lloyd moving around, the speck of his shadow in your peripheral as you dab your glistening forehead. Your thighs tingle with his absence as the charmeuse agitates your over sensitive skin.

“Ah, here we go,” he announces over a crinkle.

You sigh and glance over at him, the radiating glow fading to the edges. You lay your hand weakly on your stomach and watch him present the large gift bag; two overlapped hearts pierced with a single arrow on the white cardstock. You nearly roll your eyes. It’s like a child handing out Valentine’s cards at school.

He comes to you and reaches to set it on your other side. You scrunch your nose and reluctantly sit up, dragging your ass up the bed.

“What is it?” You grumble.

“That’s not how surprises work,” he smirks, “go on, open it.”

“Mmm,” you purse your lips and take the bag, placing it on your skirt. The red tissue paper peeks over the top like flames. It’s heavier than you expected. Oh joy, maybe he got you a gun so you can end this before it begins.

He strips away his white jacket and loosens his red bowtie as he watches you. You look over at him and he nods encouragingly. He takes stiff, straight steps as his pants bulge with his excitement. He’s not that kind of stupid. It’s definitely not anything you would deem useful.

You reach inside as he removes his cummerbund. He really went to the nines. You can’t help but note the surrealness of it all. Lloyd, the man who disassembled your marriage, fractured your life, made you his personal sex toy, and even tortured your ex within a breath of death, he was standing there beaming at you like a virgin shaking to pop his cherry.

“Alright, well–” you close your fingers around the shape and choke on your words. You scoff. It’s not– it can’t be–

You narrow your eyes as he sits to untie his shoes. You notice how he nearly winces as he does. Well, he is rock hard and isn’t regarded for his patience. You lift out the silicon toy attached to the leather harness. The toy has you gaping as you hold it up, dumbfounded.

“One for me, one for you,” he winks as he pulls of his velvet shoes.

“Lloyd, I– don’t think I could–”

“Ah, come on, like you haven’t wanted to shove something up my ass all this time,” he stands and undoes his fly, “you should be flattered, honey, I don’t think I’d let anyone else bend me over–”

“You’re kidding. It’s a joke–”

“Look,” he crosses to you, pants open as they slip slightly down his hips. He takes the toy and points to the curved arm, “this one goes in you and this one–”

“I get the idea, okay?” You shake your head.

“You get a little something, I get a big something,” he shrugs, “I dunno, thought you’d be into it.”

You blow out a raspberry and arch your brows, “and if I’m not?”

“Well…” his eyes drift away and he chuckles, “uh, I mean, I’m primed and ready.”

He grabs his pants and shoves them down to his ankles. He kicks them away. No underwear underneath but he’s a commando sort of guy. He turns and spanks his own ass, kneading the flesh as he pulls apart his cheeks. You snort as you see the stem of the plug lodge in his hole.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you guffaw, “Lloyd, you’re fucking with me. I– I’m too tired for this.”

“I’m not. In fact, you’d be fucking with me,” he clears his throat as he faces you, his dick bobbing before him, “sweet cheeks, I’m not asking, put it on.”

You stare at him. He takes a deep breath and crosses his arms. His jaw ticks as the humour drains from his face.

“I’m still daddy, baby,” he sneers, “and daddy wants his ass fucked.”

You keep from another chortle. The edge in his voice is enough of a warning. He’s bared his ass to you, quite literally, and if you push him any further, the tables can turn easily. You nod move to the edge of the bed.

You get up and turn around, “get the zipper.”

He tugs it down gracelessly and you catch the loose straps. You shimmy out of the sheath, the twisted thong still caught in the crease of your thigh. You quickly peel it off, naked but unready. He grips your hip and turns you. You let him move you, parting your legs as he kneels to figure out the toy.

You really can’t fucking believe you’re doing this. He pushes the tip of the silicone against your tender cunt and slips it inside. You groan and he has you hold the toy as he fixes the straps. Your cunt clenches around the toy as the other part of it nearly jabs Lloyd in the head.

He pinches you and stands. He looks down and wiggles his hips, hitting his cock against the silicone one. “Hey, we match.”

You cover your face and drag your hands down it slowly. He cups your tits, surprising you as he steps closer as you drop your arms, then kisses you. You let him as he rolls his thumbs over your nipples, humming into your mouth. He pulls away.

“Well, I still don’t got tits as nice as yours,” he gives a final squeeze, “but you’re lucky I got a nice fucking ass, baby.”

He turns and goes to the table against the wall. He stirs around in the basket there, a rainbow of toys and bottles in the wicker.

“Mom’s a life saver, she got lube,” he says as he takes a bottle.

“Alright, let’s not mention her,” you wave him off.

“Right,” he breaks the seal as he comes back to you, “here.”

He hands over the bottle and you take it, reading the label to hide your discomfort. He reaches behind him and grunts, sucking in a breath and letting it out gradually. He sighs as he slides the plug out and drops it on the bedside table.

“Fuck, use lots,” he says, “and be gentle with me, baby.”

He brushes by you and you stay as you are. You listen to the bedframe shift and you tighten your hold on the bottle. You test the spout, pushing it down several times, before you turn. Finally, a spurt flows out and hits the floor. You move closer as Lloyd sits on his knees. You really don’t know what you’re doing.

Be a man? Or dom? Or whatever.

Wait, that’s it. Be Lloyd.

You slap his ass and he grunts in surprise. You do it again, harder, and he growls. You squeeze and angle the spout along the top of his crack. You push down and watch the oily flow ooze out. He snarls and you hush him.

“Shut the fuck up,” you say, surprising even yourself up.

“Huh–”

“I said shut up, daddy,” you repeat mockingly, “you wanna get fucked? Then close your pretty little mouth and bend over.”

“Oh, baby–”

“Another word and I’m gonna fuck the voice out of your throat,” you dig your nails in and he rumbles, “now bend over for mistress.”

He does as you say. You’re taken aback by the surge that rolls over you. Power. A degree of it. As much as you’ll ever have with him.

You spread the lube around his hole as you squeeze more on to the large toy protruding from the harness. You toss the bottle on the bed and slicken the silicone until it’s shiny. You step closer, another flicker of uncertainty before you set your feet.

You lean over him, hand on his back as your other angles the toy. It adds to the pressure inside you and you can’t help but moan. You rest the tip against him and slowly dip into him. You thought the day had reached peak oddity but here you are. As you stretch him, he lets out a low growl.

You graze your hand down and slap his ass from the side. He clenches and grunts through his teeth. You sink it further, watching him open around you. You rock, easing your way in as he grips the blankets tightly. As you thrust, the toy moves inside you, eliciting another smokey moan from you.

“You might wanna grab a pillow to bite, daddy,” you channel your best impression of him, “cause I’m gonna fuck you silly.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #unexpected #the gray man

346 notes · View notes

coqxettee · 1 year

Text

How to be like

🧁 Cat Valentine 🎀

Tips on how to be like the cutest, pink, sugar frosting girl in the whole wide world.

Cat Valentine!! 🍭💖👄🌸🍰💝🍥

MORNING: ☀️ Start every day with a positive attitude! Cat is fun loving, free spirited and sweet. Wake up and put on your snuggliest, pinkest, fluffiest pyjamas! Snuggle with a stuffe in bed for a while and read a book/check your phone to wake you up 💘

Try and always be in your own world. Cheery and optimistic as possible 💘

Eat sweet, sugary cereal for breakfast! I imagine cat likes lucky charms and have it with some chocolate milk! 🌈

Have a shower and use the sugariest, sweetest shower gel, body lotion and products you can find 🧁 We want to smell like a cupcake all day long, so make sure you use a body cream, hand cream, body sprays/perfume and a lip balm so you radiate cotton candy energy all day 💘

WARDROBE:🎀 ANYTHING pink! Floral print, denim jeans, pink zip-up hoodies, flats & pumps, floral dresses, pink mesh skirts, peplum tops, pink tanks, cardigans, tracksuits, anything with frills and lace, babydoll dresses and anything that gives a soft, vintage, feminine feel! The list is endless! 💘

HAIR: 🎀 Section your hair into a side part and twist the two pieces you have sectioned behind your head. Fasten with small hair pins/small claw clips. (Cat uses those exact ones!) Lastly, using a curling iron, tightly curl the ends of your hair. Lots of tight, springy ringlets! Finish with hairspray and your done! Easy Cat Valentine hair 💁🏼‍♀️

MAKEUP: 🎀 A full face of the cutest makeup you can find! Go heavy on the blush and add a line of eyeliner to your lid. Use glittery eyeshadow if you have it and use pink, sparkly lip gloss on your lips! 👄💖

Have a cute school bag/stationary/supplies. Never be afraid to customise and make everything look adorable and PINK 💗

Listen to pink, bubblegum pop-music! Put your earphones in and listen to some 2013, girly throwback music. Ariana’s album “Yours truly” is great for this, and so is her song “put your hearts up” she once said in an interview that she feels that if Cat had a single, it would of been “put your hearts up!” 🎶💗

Eat sweet, sugary things! 🍭🧁🍓🍰 Cat looooooves sugar. Especially Bibble! There are loads of “Bibble inspired” recipes online made with popcorn, but if you are in the UK, you can also buy “Rainbow Drops” from any food store! They are basically Bibble and they are soooo sweet and crunchy. They are also colourful too! 🌈 Cat loves candy, sugary breakfast cereal, ice cream and red velvet cupcake! Always carry around candy with you and offer it to others when you can! 🍭🌈💖

Carry a stuffed animal around with you. You don’t have to do this ofc, but even if it’s a cute little keychain to your backpack or bag! 🐰💘

Wear cross body bags/purses in the shape of animals or cute things. Clip a bunch of cute keychains and badges to them to customise them and make them yours! 💘

Have a cute phone case and add a cute phone charm too! Organise your phone layout and have something pink and sugary/something that makes you happy as your lock screen! 💘

Always wear cotton candy/sweet scented perfumes and body sprays so you smell like a sugar girl allllll day long 💘

Cat Valentine Activities: Watch kids cartoons, colour in colouring books, read fairytales, go to the beach, go to a dessert shop, sing, sew, study, go to the fairground, and spend time with friends! Have fun everyday and don’t be afraid to bring out your inner child. Cat is all about healing her inner child 💘

Have a pink colourful room! Cat’s room is AMAZING. Even though it’s split in half with Sam’s, she has everything she loved scattered about. Pink, glitter, sweets, stuffed animals, rainbows and more! Add some of these into your own room to give it that Cat Valentine feel 💘

Collect stuffed animals! Cat has a HUGE collection, she also has a lot of the “TY beanie baby’s” and unicorn plushies! She even gave them names and birthdays🤣💘

NIGHT: 🌙 It’s time to unwind after a long day of being ditzy and adorable. Have a relaxing bath/shower using your favourite scented products and get into a fluffy onsie! Cat has candy jammies! 🍭 Warm up some hot coco or milk to help you relax. Chill out and watch a comfort cartoon show/movie, read a book and snuggle up with your stuffies. Drift off to dream happy, sugar frosting dreams 🌈💖🍭🌸🐰

And there you go! 🍭💖

I hope this was fun to read! I mainly wrote it to get my thoughts out and because I love the character. Cat is a great character to take inspiration from because she is so cheerful and has her friends best interests at heart, therefore she is so fun and lovely to be around. I hope this post helps you radiate her ditzy, cutesy energy at the very least 🎀💖🍭🐰🌸🌙🌈💘

264 notes · View notes

thestuffedalligator · 2 years

Text

See the scene as the raven sees it:

A long and level field, stretching to the horizon in all directions. In the summer, this is an ocean of grass and brush, which rolls in waves of silver on the wind. In winter, snow has already started to fill the hoofprints which have sliced through the earth in a swath a mile wide.

The snow also settles on the bodies.

They are sprawled across the field in every direction like dolls tossed by a child, half-buried in mud and blood and snow. Some clutch with death-locked hands at swords, or spears, or tattered banners from a distant kingdom.

It’s a silent scene. The only sound comes from the ravens and carrion birds, croaking and flapping and arguing amongst themselves.

There’s also Baba Yaga.

She pecks and bobs amongst the dead in her mortar, only hopping out when a glimmer of treasure catches her eye. A wedding ring. A sword passed down from a grandfather to a grandchild. A pendant with a lock of a lover’s hair.

She scoops the pendant into a pocket and eats the hair. When she swallows, she stops and sniffs the winter wind.

Iron teeth gleam in her smile.

She says, apparently to the snow and the freezing sky: “I know you’re there.”

Snow whispers in the wind. A raven croaks.

Baba Yaga tears off a dead soldier’s boot. There’s a love letter hidden inside, and she pockets it. “And now you’re thinking: ‘If I stay still, she won’t see me. If I stay quiet, she won’t hear me.’”

She nods and purses her lips. “And maybe – maybe. But I can smell you, little doll.”

Somewhere in the snow, a body tries to move.

“Oh yes, little doll. Your shame – your despair.” Her tongue flicks out to lick her iron teeth. “I could smell you if you were at the bottom of the sea.”

The body tries to push itself up. It can’t move around the spear in its gut.

“I know you, little doll,” Baba Yaga says. “I’ve seen your story before. Every household is to send one able-bodied young man to the front. And something itches in your heart for valour and honour, and you march to the front with all the good soldiers.”

She waves a hand to the winter field. “Well done,” she says. There’s something like grease in her tone. “Now like all the good soldiers, you get to die here.”

“Help me.” It’s said through a mouthful of blood.

Baba Yaga’s iron teeth gleam again. “I might.”

—

For as long as Vasylyna has known, there have been the horsemen.

The grandmothers of her village talk about them to warn their grandchildren away from the fields during the midday and the windows at night. Close the shutters, they say. Keep close to the hearth. Be a good child and stay in the home.

When she’s seven, Vasylyna tries to steal one of their horses.

It’s not something she plans on doing. One night she hears the clink of a harness outside her window, and the flint in her heart thrums in her chest. When she dares to peek through the glass, she sees the black horse, steaming in the freshly fallen snow and chewing at its bit.

Heart drumming in her chest, she puts on her birchbark slippers and steps out into the night, the cool air prickling at her skin.

The horse is still there and still real. It looks at her with a sort of patient calm she’s never seen in such an animal.

The reins are silver, and gleam like toothache in the darkness. She reaches out and grabs them.

“That’s mine,” says the dark.

Somehow Vasylyna keeps a grip on the reins as the horseman steps out of the darkness. A long black cloak glittering at the edges with frost makes him look like a scrap of night sky cut into the shape of a man. Silver and steel whisper under the material.

He has no eyes; he’s wearing one of the conical, pointed helmets of the past century, with chainmail covering his face and hanging below where his eyes should be.

There are stars there hanging in the velvet darkness instead.

“You have a very nice horse, sir,” Vasylyna says, squeezing the words around the pounding in her heart.

The chainmail jingles. The horseman tilts his head. “Thank you,” he says. “And again, it’s mine. So if you’d be so kind–”

The nightsky cloak moves aside. A gauntleted hand in silver reaches forward. Vasylyna feels herself move to give him the reins.

The flint in her heart thrums again. Snow crunches under her birchbark slippers. “No,” she says.

The chainmail jingles. “No?”

“Not yet,” she says, quicker this time. She sets her free hand on her hip and tries to raise a defiant chin. “Not until — not until you answer my questions.”

She’s seven and dressed in a nightgown, and armed with nothing more dangerous than her birchbark slippers. He jangles with armour and steel under his night-sky cloak, and looks like every nightmare her grandmother put into her head.

“We appear to be at an impasse,” says the horseman. The cloak shimmers with stars as he settles down onto the snow. “Ask your questions.”

—

These are the things Vasylyna learns from the horseman:

There are three horsemen who ride in Baba Yaga’s lands (“This is Baba Yaga’s land?” Vasylyna asks. “Is that one of your questions?” the horseman asks. Vasylyna shakes her head.)

The first horseman rides in the day, is dressed in white, and curses the workers in the field with heatstroke. The second horseman rides with the sun, is dressed in red, and sets the fields and woods ablaze. The third horseman rides in the night, and is dressed in black. (“Grandmother says you steal the souls of sleeping children,” Vasylyna says. “Grandmothers say stupid things,” the horseman says. Vasylyna nods.)

Baba Yaga made the first horseman by catching a devil and clipping its wings. She made the second horseman from the corpse of a forgotten god.

“How did she make you?” Vasylyna whispers, her breath full of ghoulish delight.

The snow whispers on the wind. Ice crystals prickle.

The horseman stands. “You’ve asked your three questions,” he says.

“You never said I had three questions.”

“There are always three questions,” says the horseman. And Vasylyna is aware of a shift in the air – the trees groan under the darkening shadows, and what was once a prickling chill turns into white-fingered, squeezing cold.

The gauntleted hand thrusts out of the cloak again. This time she gives him the reins without question.

The stars gleam in the horseman’s helm as he settles into the horse’s saddle. “Remember this,” he says. “Not all the old things in the world will be as kind as me. Never again trifle with the old things – gods, devils, or horsemen.”

Vasylyna’s teeth are chattering, and her whole body is starting to hurt from the cold, but the flint in her heart gives her enough heat to say, “And Baba Yaga?”

“And especially not her,” the horseman says. He snaps the reins. The black horse rears up, screaming, hooves scraping at the winter air–

And then it’s not as though the horseman and the horse disappear, but where they had stood turns into black night sky, their outline preserved for a second by the frost-covered trees. Vasylyna blinks, and the illusion disappears entirely.

She looks down. Hoofprints are already starting to disappear under the wind-whipped snow.

Her mother wakes the next morning to find her daughter sleeping on the floor, curled around the black, pot-bellied stove.

—

From that night on, Vasylyna sees the old things at the edges everywhere.

There are little house spirits, not much wider than a pencil line, living in the creaking floorboards of the house, reaching for scraps with skinny arms. There are silver shapes under the water in the river; when they bob to the surface, she sees they’re attached to froggy eyes and long, silver beards.

Sometimes, when the clouds roll overhead, she sees the smiling, sleeping face of a forgotten god.

She also catches the Lesovik and traps him in a nesting doll, which is a story of its own which we have no time to tell here.

She never sees the red horseman, but one day in summer she sees white armour gleam in a shimmer of hot air stalking the edge of the field. She runs out with water for the workers, and as they drink she watches with grim satisfaction as the white shape disappears.

She realizes – not all at once, but in a slow way that takes more shape every time she thinks of it – that they had always been there. They had blended into the world too well for her to notice, but now her mind’s eye catches the edges she never saw before.

It reminds her of the way the black horseman and his horse had turned into a scrap of night sky.

And the horseman is never gone, either. Sometimes when she tries to sleep, she hears a clink of a harness, or the clatter of hooves at a time when no man should be riding.

The first few times it happens, she looks through the window and stares at the moonlit forest, straining to see a scrap of darkness between the trees moving wrong. She never does.

The seasons turn. The long summer is cooled by a brief autumn, and then frost-fingered winter rolls across the country again.

Her mother withers and dies. Her father remarries. Vasylyna never spots the black horseman, and eventually stops trying to see him again.

Until…

—

Her feet are bare, bleeding, and bristling with pine needles as she runs through the snow. Her birchbark slippers had been shredded on a stone maybe a mile back.

The forest parts, and in the clearing ahead she sees a huge, high mound of frozen earth sprouting out of the frost. She throws herself onto it, climbing madly, feeling for roots to grab under the snow, even while her hands scream in white pain. Numb toes feel for purchase, and then in one heave, Vasylyna pulls herself up onto the top of the mound, scrambles forward, lies on her back in the snow, covers her mouth and doesn’t dare to breathe, while her lungs ache and her mouth tastes like blood.

The forest holds its breath. The heavy hoofprints and the hot, crackling laughter of the red horseman fill the clearing – and then pass.

Snowflakes fall and sting her face. She thinks they’re stinging her eyes as well until she angrily wipes her face and realizes that she’s crying.

She hasn’t cried ever since her mother died. The realization knocks some stone in her heart aside and the dam sunders and bursts.

In the branches overhead, the ravens and the carrion birds politely pretend not to listen.

She must fall asleep on that mound, because when she opens her eyes again the grey winter sky is turning bruise blue, and the trail of blazing hoofprints in the snow has long since cooled.

She shuffles down from the mound, looks at the blue-blackness between the frosted trees, and chooses a direction at random.

The grandmothers of the village would say that if you got lost in the woods, you would find yourself at Baba Yaga’s hut on chicken legs.

She’s counting on it.

#fairy tales #narrativia #short story #writing #fantasy writing #baba yaga #second part coming soonish

291 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 7 months

Text

Cupcakes: Jeff Clarke x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @witches-unruly-heart @telepathay @iworldlywriter @caffeinatedwoman @winchesterszvonecek @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @upsteadlogic @skyesthebomb @neapolitantoebeans @olymosity @stxrryswvrld @courtney-elizabeth93

When you need cheering up Jeff brings cupcakes, ones with icing decorated in the shape of roses because he knows how much you love them. The guys on Squad always tease him but he doesn’t mind the ribbing, you’re worth any amount of crap he gets off them.

It’s been a terrible twenty four hours for you.

A kid had been rushed into the ED after consuming a bag of meth he’d found in his mother’s purse. You’d held his hand as he slipped away because his parents were too busy trying to find their next score. They’d been arrested a couple of hours later, whilst you were watching their six year old son being zipped up into a body bag.

You’d been despondent when he’d picked you up from the hospital, exhausted and overwrought. He’d taken care of you, tucked you into bed, held you as fell apart. Things were better this morning but he could still sense the weight of it, you carry it around the same way he does. He thinks that’s why this thing between the two of you works so well. You understand each other, the highs of the job and the lows.

“I thought this might make you smile.” He says when he turns up at your apartment and pulls the cupcake box out from behind his back.

He sees the delight in your features when you open it. It’s red velvet, your favourite. He watches as you use your fingertip to scoop a blob of icing before you lick it off your finger. His cheeks colour just a little as a flush of heat runs through him and you give him that look.

“How long do we have?” You ask him, tilting your head towards the door where the rest of his Squad wait inside the fire truck. He smiles as he leans in close.

He can taste the sugar on your lips as he kisses you. You moan just a little and he can feel himself stirring within the confines of his trousers as he backs you up against the work surface, slotting perfectly between your legs.

“About five minutes.” He says regretfully, his thumb ghosting along the line of your jaw. “But I can come back tonight, when my shift is over, make it up to you.”

“I’d like that.” You tell him and he smiles before kissing you again. “I’d like that a lot.”

Love Jeff? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#jeff clarke x reader #jeff clarke x you #jeff clarke #chicago fire

20 notes · View notes

chic-a-gigot · 2 years

Photo

La Mode illustrée, no. 9, 2 mars 1863, Paris. Toilettes de Mme Vignon-Chauvin, r. de Rivoli, 182. Passementeries et Gants du Min de la Fileuse, Rue du Bac, 84. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

Description de toilettes:

Toilette de concert pour jeune fille. — Robe de taffetas blanc, à minces filets roses, formant des carreaux fort rapprochés; le bas de la jupe est garni avec un volant tuyauté à très-gros plis, ayant 8 centimètres de hauteur, surmonté d'une bande de taffetas rose, uni, piquée de chaque côté en soie blanche, et ayant 6 centimètres de largeur. Le corsage, modérément décolleté, est orné de bandes en taffetas rose, également piquées en soie blanche, et disposées, d'abord en forme de veste Figaro, puis en échelle sur le devant du corsage, et finalement en cœur, sur le bord supérieur du corsage, garni à l'intérieur avec une chemisette décolletée, plissée, en mousseline blanche, à bord traversé par un ruban de velours rose; manches très-courtes, composées d'un volant tuyauté, en taffetas rose, piqué, sous lequel passent deux bouillonnés en mousseline.

Robe de taffetas noir. — Jupe bordée d'une bande de velours noir, ayant 20 centimètres de largeur; le corsage est en forme de veste Figaro, boutonnée au cou, s'écartant sur la poitrine, s'arrondissant en passant sous les bras et beaucoup plus courte que la taillé; celle-ci est serrée par une large ceinture à point, bordée de velours noir; la veste, le jockey et le bord des manches, les poches aumônières, sont bordés avec une bande de-velours noir, brodée de gros pois en soie maïs, imitant des clous dorés. Bonnet de gaze blanche, orné de touffes de ruban en gaze mauve. Les manches de la veste ne sont guère plus larges que les manches des vêtements masculins; elles laissent passer un bouillonné de mousseline blanche, terminé par une ruche de dentelle blanche.

—

Concert ensemble for young girl. — Robe of white taffeta, with thin pink threads, forming closely spaced squares; the bottom of the skirt is trimmed with a fluted frill with very large pleats, 8 centimeters high, surmounted by a band of plain pink taffeta, stitched on each side in white silk, and 6 centimeters wide. The bodice, moderately low-cut, is adorned with strips of pink taffeta, also quilted in white silk, and arranged, first in the shape of a Figaro jacket, then in a ladder on the front of the bodice, and finally in a heart, on the upper edge the bodice, lined inside with a low-cut, pleated chemisette, in white muslin, with an edge crossed by a pink velvet ribbon; very short sleeves, composed of a fluted frill, in pink taffeta, piqué, under which pass two muslin bubbles.

Black taffeta dress. — Skirt lined with a strip of black velvet, 20 centimeters wide; the bodice is in the form of a Figaro jacket, buttoned at the neck, spreading out over the chest, rounding out as it passes under the arms and much shorter than the cut; this one is tightened by a wide pointed belt, lined with black velvet; the jacket, the jockey and the edge of the sleeves, the purse pockets, are edged with a band of black velvet, embroidered with large peas in corn silk, imitating golden nails. White gauze bonnet, decorated with tufts of mauve gauze ribbon. The sleeves of the jacket are hardly wider than the sleeves of men's clothing; they allow a swirl of white muslin to pass through, ending in a ruffle of white lace.

#La Mode illustrée #19th century #1860s #1863 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #color #description #Forney #gown #evening #concert #taffeta #Modèles de chez #Madame Vignon-Chauvin #Magasin de la Fileuse

93 notes · View notes

sobbingscripter · 2 years

Text

CLARK KENT X READER

WARNING: 18+

MINORS DNI

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

Clark Kent x Reader

Tags: [spicy] [hushhushhushblushblushblush] [welp] [petayras]

×××××××

"You know, I don't celebrate Thanksgiving right?"

Y/N's voice was annoyed, to say the least, as she walked behind him, arms crossed over her chest as she surveyed the farm, inhaling the sweet air of wheat and corn and animals.

"I know but I promised Ma that I'd make dinner. And then, I realized that I don't know how to cook a turkey. But my beautiful girlfriend and future wife, definitely knows how. So, here we are."

Clark smiled as he unlocked the door, and only then did she notice that the driveway was empty of the old flame red pick up that the Kent family used.

"So, we're breaking into your parents house so, I can make them dinner? Talk about historical accuracy." She murmured causing him to frown, as he pushed open the door and let her enter first.

"Don't do that. Don't make me feel bad." He spoke, lips pursed and eyebrows low, an expression which resulted in her cracking a smile before pinching his cheek.

"I don't blame you for the way your enslavement is rooted and stitched into your being. Just like you won't blame me for stealing your grandma's ashes after this."

She looked around, noting the pictures and various frames on the wall, all filled with images of Clark's life from before she was even in it.

"Aw, who's the Asian broad? She's pretty cute." Y/N pointed to Clark's prom picture, and watched as he turned from the kitchen, having placed all the ingredients needed on the counters.

"Lana Lang. She was my high school fling." He answered and Y/N made an 'O' shape with her mouth, before looking for other pictures on the wall, any that commemorated a significant moment of his life. So many pictures.

"You know, my parents don't even have pictures of my sibling and I. We're on the walls of their hearts." She stated, before rolling up the sleeves of her shirt and popping her knuckles, eager to get done with the meal and leave.

"Well, when we get married, we can have all the pictures on the walls that you want."

"None of me, though. That big head's got a shit ton of pictures of me in that big ass house. Says it keeps the sanity going." Y/N stated and he laughed loudly, following her into the kitchen before coming to a halt.

A sharp scent pricked his nose, completely unnoticeable for the nose of a human but for a Kryptonian, as easy as the scent of a rose.

Slowly, Clark stepped towards her, watching as she creased her brows, leaning her back against the counter.

"What's wrong, Kent?" She asked, and he stepped closer, watching her crane her neck to meet his gaze, as he cocked a grin.

Barely noticeable, he slipped a thigh between hers, and she gulped.

"We're in your parents house. It's disrespectful." She whispered, heart pounding in her chest but deep down, she knew. She knew he didn't give two shits about respect.

"But you want it, though. The shame of it'll get you right off, wouldn't it, moonshine?"

His voice was low, the deep velvet tenor causing her to inherently shiver, watching as he came closer, hands placed on either side of her, fingers spread evenly on the wooden counter.

Lowering his head to hers, she unconsciously lifted her chin, capturing his lips in a hot, passionate collision.

[04:33] [tired asf]

Tongue running along her bottom lip, Clark's hand moved, from the wooden countertop, to the small of her back, pressing their bodies together. She gasped, shuddering moans escaping from her lips as hand moved down her back, before his fingers effortlessly ripped the back seam of her jeans.

"You son of a- oh my god.." She moaned, brows twitching as he felt her through the thin, flimsy fabric of her underwear, relishing the feel of the dampened cloth on his fingertips.

"Holy shit, bub. Your sweet cunt's darn right dripping." He smiled, his voice low and a husky breath, before moving her underwear aside, slowly pushing his index finger into her sopping cunt.

[Fromdabackfromdabackfromdabackfrodabackfrodabac]

She moaned, finger nails digging into his rippling flesh, skin stretched over a flawless marble carving of the perfect muscle, cords marvelously placed.

He hummed, free hand tipping her chin before lowering his head, placing sloppy kisses down the slope of her neck, rubbing his teeth along the delicate tendon of her shoulder.

"You're so good at taking my fingers." He spoke into the golden flesh, lips burning the words onto her skin as he slowly added another finger into her, the coldness of the band sending a shrill up her back.

His fingers moved at a slow steady pace, a nearly futile attempt at loosening her up, as he massaged her insides.

His free hand, moving from the counter, tangled itself in her hair, strands wrapped perfectly and messily around his elegant fingers.

She felt her insides quiver, and felt heat pool in the pit of her stomach. She felt her toes curl in her slides as she bit back moans and whimpers. She wasn't sure why she felt her climax climbing so quickly, slowly setting her body aflame with each second she tried to fight it back. He wasn't even ghosting the rough patch, but her body quivered. But he had long fingers. Fingers long enough to reach the even deeper spot.

She whimpered, a breathy gasp escaping from her lips, her face buried in his neck as she quivered.

Liquids trickled down his fingers, pooling in the centre of his palm and he cooked an obsidian brow.

"You came so quietly, baby doll." He pulled his fingers out of her, careful not to let any drop onto the magnolia tiles as he brought his fingers to his lips. Running his tongue down the shafts of his fingers, he moaned at the taste that sated his tongue.

His other hand, busy as possible, undid the top button of her jeans, carefully awaiting for her words of refusal. But none.

She stepped out of the puddle that was her pants and undergarments, and by then, Clark was done licking her cum off his fingers.

Lifting her carefully onto the edge of the counter, and parting her legs, Clark lowered himself, dropping to his knees, placing either of his hands on her thighs, pushing them just a bit further.

"Part that pretty pussy for me, won't you, sunshine?" He breathed, peppering rough, messy kisses onto the insides of her thighs, trailing the flesh where her underwear had left impressions.

"Oh my fuck. Now, that's what I call a pretty kitty cat." He shuddered, cerulean orbs locked on the now visible flesh of her cunt, before placing a chaste, sincere kiss on her mound.

"Now, if I may," He met her gaze, glinting at her half-lidded eyes, before pressing his lips to her clit, "eat this pussy like it's breakfast."

She threw her head back, silent moans and breaths escaping her parted lips as his tongue circled the bundle of nerves, eyes lowered and entirely focused on what he was doing. She felt her knees quiver, her thighs about to snap shut if it weren't for his hands keeping them apart.

He traced the nerves of her, traced the subtle and invisible arteries, his tongue pinpoint and perfectly applying pressure to her throbbing heat.

She let out a shuddering moan, eyes doe-y as she entangled her fingers in his hair, and tousled the onyx strands. He flicked the flesh, tongue curling as he explored her folds, licking each of them clean of any residue from her cum.

Her thighs tensed, and he felt the muscle contract under his palms, internally gloating at the physical reaction he had rendered from her.

"You taste even fucking better than last time. And you smell so fucking sweet." He moaned, a desperate rasp escaping his gullet and she moaned, teeth digging into her bottom lip to keep vocalisation quiet.

He pursed his lips, placing an open mouth kiss on the reddened flesh before lifting his eyes, as his tongued swirled fast, lapping and licking. She felt hot, and needy, and his cock twitched at the expression painted on her reddened face.

A mixture of embarrassment and pleasure was an expression that was enough to turn him into a cum-leaking slut, if it was on her face. And it was.

His cock was rock hard in his pants, bulge evident and he tried to ignore the hot precum that leaked from the slit. But he couldn't. He had the deep desire to breed her, repeatedly, pounding her full of cum and cock, but not yet.

He sucked and tongue fucked, before opening his mouth and trailing his tongue down, to the leaking entrance.

Pushing his tongue into her, her back arched, fingers wavering as her hand shook, his tongue curling inside her.

She mewled, her stomach caving as he added two fingers into her, once his tongue had left the hole. He pumped, fingers curling against the rough textures cells and whimpered, her mouth quivering with want and pleasure.

His opened his mouth wide, tongue outstretched and hanging out of his mouth, before he converted it into a vibrating blur. She felt her body turn to static, her mind emptying of all thoughts and came with a hushed cry, her hand covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle.

Quickly, he dove his tongue into her, lapping up the liquid like a thirsting mutt as he quickly undid the zipper of his jeans.

Pulling away from her, he helped her into her jeans, hiding the underwear from view and shoving it into her pocket once she looked away, too dazed to notice.

"Clarky, are you in here?" Mrs Kent's voice was enough to snap Y/N back to the here and now, and her eyes widened at Clark.

"Yea, ma! Y/N's just busy with the turkey." He answered, watching as Y/N took the defrosted turkey out of its protective seal, and began to inspect it of any out of the ordinary things.

Nearly, all sides and things had been made at the house before they showed up, except for the turkey and dessert. But luckily, Mrs Kent already handled the puddings and cakes, so Y/N was left with the turkey.

"Are you two gonna come out or should we come in?" Mr Kent.

"No, Dad. Y/N's really busy with the cooking and she's exactly like you with football. So it'll mess up her game to move around." Clark lied, pumping his cock sloppily while Y/N chopped and diced things to make the stuffing.

"Oh okay, honey! We'll be in the living room if you need anything!" Mrs Kent called out and Clark nodded his head, before stepping to Y/N, kicking apart her legs.

"Are you fucking insane? Your parents are in the living room." She hissed, looking over her shoulder and not paying any mind to the way she chopped. "And hard of hearing. What's your point?" He asked, placing his hand on her back and she involuntarily arched it, internally hating herself for being so used to his quirks and habits.

"What if they come in here?" She whispered, her eyes already trained on the kitchen door and he placed a kiss on the base of her neck.

"The only person coming in here, is gonna be me and you. Now, you better keep quiet like you've been doing such a good job with, otherwise, my parents'll come in here and see you mimicking the turkey." He spoke and she creased her brows. He always spoke long stories.

Sighing heavily, he gripped her chin and forced her to meet his eyes, before glowering, "Shut the fuck up or my parents are gonna watch you get stuffed."

That was easier to understand.

She held her breath, the feel of his cock stretching her was slow and almost uncomfortable, as a low, sigh escaped his lips.

"Keep cooking, pumpkin. Don't wanna make em wait too... long.." He breathed heavy, breath hot and chest heaving, hands tight gripping her flesh above the hem of her jeans, fingers digging into her slightly pudgy stomach.

"You're so... fucking... tight.." He groaned, voice hushed and strained, cock thrusting into her in deep, slow strokes.

She squirmed, hands shaking as she slowly opened a cabinet door, taking out every spice needed with unsteady hands and weak legs. Biting into her bottom lip, she began seasoning the defrosted turkey, hands sliding over the smooth, damp flesh.

[Why is the turkey preparation so sexy already?]

Sliding his hand down the front of her torso, he unbuttoned the top of her jeans, and ran his fingers between her slick folds, coating them in her liquids. Before circling the sensitive bud of flesh, causing her to write against him.

"Kent," She panted, soft whimpers escaping her lips as she tried, and failed, to prepare the turkey.

"Clarkie! Do you two need any help in the kitchen?"

Mrs Kent's voice was loud, the sound causing Y/N's eyes to widen, at the sound of her voice and the speedy increase of Clark's circling fingers and pounding.

She moaned, before her voice strained, his other hand lightly clutching her throat, angling her head and placing a sloppy kiss on her lips. "You're so. Fucking. Good." He growled, before clearing his throat.

"No, ma! We're doing okay!" He yelled back, before taking a glance at the turkey, before humming.

"You should probably put that in the oven, bub." He whispered, pulling his liquid coated cock out of her and watching her put the lightly marinaded bird in the oven, setting the timer.

Before she could lift herself, his hand gripped the back of her neck, forcing her to remain with her hands on the handlebar of the oven, praying to God that it could support the speeding thrusts of his cock, pounding into her sopping and quivering cunt.

"You feel so good, babydoll."

He growled, the feel of his body rocking against her core sent her over the edge, and with a muffled sob, she came, legs quivering as liquids dribbled down her inner thighs.

Feeling her walls tighten around his already twitching cock, he moaned, his thrusts becoming sloppier and messy, as he came.

Filling her insides with the pearly liquid, Clark kept pounding, cum dripping out of her with each pull out and milking his own cock, using her insides to his completion.

"Holy... fuck..." He murmured, his voice a mumbling mess as he pulled out of her, cock soaked in their liquids.

***

"This looks delicious, Y/N."

Mr Kent's voice warm, but she could still feel a bit of distaste for her seep into his tone, although, it was welcome at this point.

She just got annihilated in the kitchen of senior citizens.

"Thank you, Mr Kent."

'God, I'm so ashamed.'

#clark kent x y/n #clark kent #clark kent x reader #dc comics #why god why

41 notes · View notes

fourseasonsfigs · 9 months

Text

Longines Han

I missed this fig when it was first sold, but had been keeping my eye out for it for a long time. As far as I can tell, this fig maker only sold this one figure. I'd been waiting for her to sell any remainders (holding out hope that she had some), but when I saw this little guy on Xianyu I had to grab him!

This inspiration for this fig is this picture from Zhehan's appearance on January 4, 2018 for the opening ceremony of the 8th Longines Beijing International Equestrian Masters.

You may recognize this outfit, as it is a much beloved outfit by the fans!

Zhehan looks tall, sleek, and elegant in his riding wear.

I think everyone that follows me knows that I am Team Long Hair for Zhehan, but I admit that he looks amazing no matter how long or short his hair is!

Here's a video of this event. The videographer on this has pretty singular focus, it's true!

The seller I bought this figure from just sold it as is, already stuck to a stand, without the box or any of the cards or anything with it. That's not my favorite, but this fig doesn't come up very often, so I took what I could get. Can't afford to be too picky!

Luckily, he arrived safe and sound. I had the warehouse wrap him in some bubble wrap packaging, and it turned out he was only attached to his standee stand with fig stickers, so it was easy to pull him off. One soapy bath later, all the travel had been washed off of him and he was fresh and clean!

Longines, if you did not know, is a luxury Swiss watch brand. I did not know that (I had mixed it up with Longchamps, the French purse brand). But, this is why he's modeling the watch!

I love his long boots - the fig proportions are so small that even tall boots look tiny (and adorable)!

The fig maker made sure that fig Zhehan filled out his riding breeches just as well as the real Zhehan.

This fig maker is a Junzhe fan, so we have a cute looking Samoyed on the back of Zhehan's jacket!

The short buzz cut is so pebbly looking here! It makes me giggle, it's very cute. It's a smart way to render it - you get all the texture but none of the difficulties (and breakage concerns) of spikes.

As you can see, this fig stands perfectly. The boots may help, but they're not particularly large or anything. It's just a well modeled fig.

Speaking of good modeling, the pose is beautifully done!

The fig maker also did a great job on the shape of the eyes, not to mention the hearts in them. This is really a great fig all the way around.

This is a particularly cute angle of his smiling mouth!

I'm glad to have finally gotten this fig. I wish the fig maker had made more, since she did such a nice job on this one!

One last shot of our short-haired cutie.

And that's all - again, sorry for no box cards or any special bonuses, but happy to have him at all. Actually, I do have a bonus, of a different kind! I'll leave you with this extra picture - of Zhehan for Longines in this gorgeous suit. I love it - he's still looking so tall and slim and elegant, just with a gorgeous velvet blazer and some very cool matching shoes.

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 516

Scene Count: 36

Rating: Dashing!

[link to the Master Post Index]

#zhang zhehan #word of honor cast #shl cast #junzhe #figthusiast

3 notes · View notes

geminimoonthoughts · 2 years

Text

2023 Fashion Predictions

Happy 2023! I've seen these trend prediction videos on my TikTok fyp, and they're so fun to see. Many of these trend predictions could just be things the creator wants to incorporate into their personal style. Now let's get into some of my predictions!

Seashells + pearls in accessories

Now, pearls have been having a big moment right now, so I definitely envision seashells being added to the mix to emphasize that iridescent look. I predict we are moving towards a mix between the dark siren aesthetic, and a more venus/aphrodite type of beach style. A mix of elegant and dark, similar to what we saw with balletcore. It'll also be really fun to DIY (I actually made a seashell choker similar to popular heart ribbon chokers going around).

Mix and Match Jewelry

I want to see more gold + silver jewelry, velvet or chord chokers with a long gold necklace, gem necklaces with velvet or silk ribbons, lace ribbons with gold necklaces, etc. It's a fun juxtaposition, especially at a time when people are exploring their style outside of the imaginary "rules of fashion". Mixing metals and fabrics together will be a fun way to play with different tones, textures, and shapes.

Peachy tones

I'm feeling like this will be big spring/summer as the peach tones will complement everyone's sunkissed skin. I can see it being in crochet, ruffled, silk, pleated, and mesh tops often. Style-wise, it could work with both silver and gold accessories. A muted peach that leans more toward nude, would look good with silver jewelry, diamonds, or even pearls. The warmer, more orange-toned peaches would pair nicely with a stack of gold jewelry.

3-D floral details

I know the big floral chokers have started to make their way onto the scene. Because of that, floral pins, necklaces, and straps will be a fun addition to this. This is gonna be another trend that will be easy to customize and DIY because all it takes is some glue or a sewing needle to turn your basic items into a floral statement piece.

Magenta with dark tones

I love magenta clothing, it's so stunning and really draws you in. This year I want to see people play around with the color more, maybe pair it with darker colors and neutrals. I'm talking deep red, black, brown, and silver. Baby pink has been pretty big right now with the ballet core and coquette style, I'm ready for magenta to have a similar moment.

3-D heels/mules

Little charms, butterflies, flowers, etc. right at the top of the shoe is gonna be a fun way to let the shoes be the star of the show. I can see these being the next thing people look for when buying heels secondhand. Either that or people will get crafty and DIY their own little 3-D heel charms.

Play purses

Printed purses with a bunch of embellishments and funky hardware or plain purses with a bunch of keychains and accessories are gonna be a great addition to any simple outfit.

Asymmetrical drapey/tattered hems

Going along with this transition into Venusian kinda beachside mermaid aesthetic, the long hems that kinda look like a tail will make for an interesting silhouette. *Bonus prediction is that green will be a pretty frequent color used in this style*

Face Masks

It goes with every outfit, it keeps your face warm in the winter, and most importantly, it protects you and others from the spread of covid and other illnesses! To me, that sounds like a staple accessory that should not be left behind. I've seen plenty of cute disposable face mask designs, ombre, graphic print, cartoon characters, or just solid colors that complement the rest of your outfits.

In conclusion...

I'm excited to see what I myself and many others will be exploring in this new year. This year everyone is going to continue to have a lot of personalized/customized items (crocheting, sewing, bejeweling, embroidering, etc.)

#fashion #fashion trends #trend predictions #2023 fashion #here she go #2023 predictions #2023 trends #style ideas

7 notes · View notes

kettlequills · 2 years

Note

Ok since I’m a hoe for this pairing, 16 for Elenwen and Vira too please

16. a kiss that never should have happened. Tw: drunken dubcon kissing, torture references, power imbalance, nsft

“Elenwen,” says Lady Sinahl the next morning, beautiful and proud, “What do you remember of last night?”

Elenwen, on her knees with a pounding in her head and her heart, licks her dry lips. “Well, I…”

Lady Sinahl is silhouetted, gilded by the morning sun. Her hands are perfectly still on the low railing of the balcony of the sixth-floor study. The sky around her is pale duckegg blue, still tinted by dawn’s blush, but already her white hair is perfectly coiffed into her signature double bun, held by a glittering emerald pin. Her dress is velvet green today, contrasting with her fire-and-honey eyes framed by striking black lines. The set of her ears is relaxed, her mouth pursed and inexpressive. She does not look like a woman who has roused herself on two hours sleep after a night of cacophonous partying that still sees her estate full of semi-drunken guests passed out in varying states of undress and scandal.

But Elenwen remembers. Remembers being pressed up between Lady Sinahl and her husband, Viraneminwe’s beringed hands squeezing her the meat of her biceps approvingly and her liquid purr whispering wicked things in her ear to make her squirm, shiver as Faseladil Sinahl crawled atop her near-paralysed body, his beard scratchy against her chin when he stole a kiss from her lax lips. She was so drunk her body had barely listened to her, and her memory is swollen and faded round the edges, like a black eye. She remembers the kiss, remembers Viraneminwe’s incendiary mockery breathed like pure aphrodisiac into her pulsepoint, how her body firm and warm trapped her against the hands of her husband, beautiful, jewel-dripping Faseladil slinking over her with the grace of a predator, the way they undulated together when she gasped against his skilled tongue. She remembers Viraneminwe’s derisive laughter as she pulled her husband out the room to bed her by his cravat, Faseladil’s hungry eyes being the last thing to leave Elenwen as she doubled over and vomited the wine from her burning belly.

“Have you taken a lover before, Elenwen?” Lady Sinahl interrupts her. The only sign of her tension is whitening knuckles on the grip she has on the railing. “Before last night, have you ever kissed?”

“No,” Elenwen says, the tips of her ears pinking with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Lady Sinahl, I…”

Again, Lady Sinahl interrupts her. “It should not have happened,” she says, rigidly, laying the words down one after one like a commandment, like it will rewrite the past. It is not quite an apology.

Elenwen hesitates, and believes she sees the shape of the issue. Guilt lingers unbelievably in the tension of Lady Sinahl’s shoulders, her muscles straining the fine samite. She tracks the fall of the fabric over the swell of Lady Sinahl’s backside, her cane, ivory today, gleaming like teeth, and feels her mouth dry out. She remembers exactly how strong Lady Sinahl is, strong enough to catch her and hold her like a pinned butterfly to her plush chest, her silky hair against Elenwen’s feverishly clammy neck, her tender lips and her cruel words setting Elenwen alight one hungry inhale at a time.

Swallowing the acrid taste of wine still in her throat, she tries for a brave gamble. “I wanted and enjoyed it. And I would not have minded… if it had been you too.”

The austere head turns. Incandescent, her glare can cut through bone and certainly through the knees of Elenwen’s nascent courage.

“Lady Sinahl,” Elenwen adds hurriedly, dipping her head subserviently. Her palms sweat, and she tenses, preparing herself for a swift, vicious strike of retaliation.

It doesn’t come. Instead, the swishing of silk. Pulse in her throat, Elenwen stares as Lady Sinahl’s cane stops right before her. The pearl-inlaid handle is warm from her hand when she uses it to lift Elenwen’s chin up. The buttery leather is soft on her skin, but the considering look in Lady Sinahl’s burnt orange eyes is anything but. The sunlight blazes in her hair like a corona, a halo stroking down her cheeks and lighting every freckle. Elenwen inhales shakily before she can stop herself, and nearly whimpers when Lady Sinahl’s dark, weighted gaze narrows.

“I assumed one of your peers would have taken this task upon themselves,” she murmurs in her characteristically soft way, so quiet it makes Elenwen strain forward to hear her, “but I suppose this is a part of your education I have … neglected to cover.”

She tilts her head in cold amusement, and tips the handle of her cane under Elenwen’s chin up to close Elenwen’s breathlessly parted lips. Flushing furiously, Elenwen scrubs at her cheeks, unaware her mouth even slipped open.

She continues as if nothing is amiss, busying herself searching a cupboard. “There will be many in this society who are, as my husband is, attracted to … a certain kind of insecurity. They will use hesitancy as an invitation; whatever your decision is, be sure that you make it assertively and if need be, forcefully. You already know how to prevent an unwanted intrusion, but you must learn how to control yourself. There are certain expectations of behaviour among the upper class that someday, you may need to perform to achieve your goals. Do I make myself understood?”

Two shot glasses in hand, Lady Sinahl raises an eyebrow at Elenwen in clear expectation of an answer.

Elenwen nods at once. “Yes, Lady Sinahl.”

Lady Sinahl turns away and seats herself on the loveseat, folding one leg over the other and reclining. One hand smoothing her skirts down, the other curls under her chin. The shot glasses she places on the small table in front of her, procuring a tiny bottle from a hidden pocket in the folds of her skirt. White wisps of smoke curl away from the bottle when she pops the cork and pours a generous measure in each glass. She hooks the cane over the armrest of the seat and eyes Elenwen.

Then, bizarrely, she pats the seat next to her.

Freezing, Elenwen delays a moment too long in obeying her, and Lady Sinahl’s lips purse.

“Come here,” she says firmly, in a tone that brooks no argument, and Elenwen scrambles to her feet. In a single graceless second, she throws herself down next to Lady Sinahl, one flailing foot kicking the table and making the shot glasses rattle. Lady Sinahl’s only reaction is a small sigh, but Elenwen withers anyway.

Lady Sinahl takes up one glass, waiting until Elenwen, cheeks still pink, imitates her. “An antidote against most forms of poison spreadable through saliva,” she informs Elenwen quietly, and then downs it in one.

Elenwen makes the mistake of sipping the chalky liquid. It tastes foul and she splutters, about to spit it out, but Lady Sinahl’s hand swiftly covers the bottom of the glass, forcing her to swallow or choke. When the liquid is all gone, she takes the glass, leaving Elenwen to thump her chest and grimace.

“That’s disgusting,” she snaps, forgetting herself a moment. She goes still, waiting for a punishment, but again the axe does not fall.

“Mint?” Lady Sinahl offers, and thoroughly bemused, Elenwen takes the small white pill and chews. It helps, a little, to cover the taste lingering in her mouth.

She is still unprepared for Lady Sinahl turning to face her, propping her elbow up against the back of the loveseat. At once, Elenwen becomes aware of how closely they are sitting, so close their thighs nearly touch, so closely she could reach out and feel the expensive brocade of Lady Sinahl’s corset. She can smell her rose perfume, and a faint glimpse of the previous night’s wine. Her stomach flips pleasantly, and she averts her eyes in embarrassment as she feels her ears prick interestedly. Her desire has to be written all over her face.

“Kiss me,” Viraneminwe tells her.

It is no less a command for how gently she says it, but this is finally a step too far.

“What?” Elenwen says dumbly.

“Say ‘pardon’,” Viraneminwe corrects, “You sound common. I told you to kiss me.”

Convinced she is trapped in some perfect dream, Elenwen clumsily leans forward, into Viraneminwe’s space. Her hands stop short of touching her and hover awkwardly in the air above her waist, uncertain of what is permitted. As Viraneminwe’s breath warms her cheek, Elenwen shudders. This cannot be real. She is so close Elenwen can see the cracks in her skin. But she does not push Elenwen away. Impossibly, her face remains still, unmoved, and she does not strike to punish her for even this temerity.

Her confidence dies.

“I don’t – I don’t understand,” Elenwen whispers, ashen, and Viraneminwe exhales faintly out of her nose. The barest hint of her disappointment is as crushing as a blow, and Elenwen cringes, hope and anxiety warring terribly in her knotting guts.

“Did you not say you would have preferred myself, too?” says Viraneminwe. “It should not have happened. You are not required to choose me for this, but if you are amenable, I will teach you how to do it properly, so you will not be caught by surprise again. I will teach you control.”

Elenwen swears she is pitching her voice lower so it sinks like a heated rock into the pit of her thighs. She squirms involuntarily at the last word, and Viraneminwe’s pupils dilate as her eyes darken. She is still not brave enough to touch Viraneminwe, not without encouragement, so she plants her hand against the armrest of the loveseat, shuffling forwards on her knees to get close enough to reach her face. Elenwen isn’t certain of how to position herself, and Viraneminwe is no help, watching Elenwen with a placid expression and ravenous eyes as she remains still in the circle of her arms, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. Stomach churning, Elenwen plucks up her courage, screws her eyes shut, and goes for it.

She nearly misses Viraneminwe’s mouth, but at the last second Viraneminwe inclines her head and saves it, and then they are kissing. Tentative brushes of their lips at first, then harder when Viraneminwe does not throw her away in disgust. Frantically, Elenwen rakes her brain for the memory of Faseladil’s lips on hers and clumsily tries to imitate it. She catches Viraneminwe’s soft bottom lip between hers and sucks on it, releasing her immediately when Viraneminwe hums quietly in the back of her throat.

“Continue,” Viraneminwe murmurs when Elenwen, panicked she has done something wrong, searches her face. “Be assertive, Elenwen.”

Assertive. Elenwen clears her throat. Slowly, she places her hand on Viraneminwe’s waist, near-hyperventilating at the feeling of the silk dress, the warmth of her body, the steady movements of her breath. Viraneminwe’s face does not change, tacit permission. Emboldened, Elenwen slips her other hand around Viraneminwe’s neck, resting her thumb against her nape. Viraneminwe’s skin is very warm here, and when Elenwen strokes her thumb over the back of her neck, she can feel wisps of her hair tickling her wrist.

A brow twitches, but Viraneminwe says nothing.

This is quickly shaping up to be the most erotic experience of Elenwen’s entire life, including every single charged moment in the dungeons, even the one where she broke her first subject, his arms covered in cuts from her dagger and his lips spilling all he knew. Her heart skipping a beat at her own daring, Elenwen tugs on the back of her proud neck. Viraneminwe is stiff at first, but Elenwen firms her grip, refusing to back down. All at once she relents, her spine softening and permitting Elenwen to pull their bodies close.

Viraneminwe’s breasts pressing against her chest through their clothes makes her body pulse. She squeezes her thighs together, hoping it looks like she is just anchoring herself for a better angle. Viraneminwe’s eyes fix on hers, her stare so intense it feels like she’s flaying Elenwen down to the bone, and tugs on the threads of arousal from her gut to the base of her thighs. Parting her lips, Elenwen’s half formed sentence deserts her the second she sees Viraneminwe copy her and soften her mouth, leaning into her just the slightest degree.

After that, all Elenwen can do is kiss her.

It is sloppy and unpractised, and Elenwen nearly clinks their teeth together in her eager advance. She goes for Viraneminwe’s bottom lip at the same time Viraneminwe tilts her head to give Elenwen better access, and their noses bump hard enough that her eyes water. Ignoring it, she chases Viraneminwe when she tries to pull away. Her grip on her tightens spasmodically, her mouth greedy for more. Viraneminwe indulges her with another lingering, wet kiss.

She never wants to let go. She wants to be in this moment, kissing her, forever.

Elenwen’s tongue laps against the seam of Viraneminwe’s lips, and Viraneminwe opens for her, breath hitching faintly as Elenwen’s hand on the back of her neck presses them together, refuses to let her wriggle away, even though she shows no sign of retreating. She cups the back of Viraneminwe’s head and pushes in closer, forcing Viraneminwe to open her mouth for the whole of Elenwen’s explorative tongue. She tastes of the foul antidote they swallowed and mint, but Elenwen could not care less about the taste when it is Viraneminwe’s mouth she’s licking it from. Their slippery tongues slide together and Elenwen moans, squeezing Viraneminwe’s hip. At this, Viraneminwe wrenches her face to the side and breaks the kiss. She is out of breath, though the rise and fall of her chest is much less obvious than Elenwen’s panting gasps.

Her body throbs, and a wet, slick heat is raging between her thighs. Viraneminwe’s hand pushes back on her chest, and Elenwen leans back just enough for her to catch her breath. Her nerves sing anew at the pink ripening at the tips of Viraneminwe’s perked ears, and her dark, dilate pupils. The signs are small, but they are there.

The thought of Viraneminwe becoming aroused from kissing her is too much. She strangles the direction her mind is taking before she can start wondering if Viraneminwe is as wet as Elenwen underneath her priceless skirts. Elenwen closes her eyes and focuses on calming her thudding heart before it leaps right out of her chest.

“I cannot fault your enthusiasm,” Viraneminwe says dryly, wiping her mouth of their mingled spit. “Again, with more control this time.”

Hazarding a guess that ‘more control’ translates to ‘slower’, Elenwen eases into the kiss, keeping her eyes open until the last second to gauge the angle. Matching her gentleness, Viraneminwe exchanges a few nibbling kisses for longer, sweeter lip-locks. They kiss without tongue for a while, rubbing their lips together and breathing in each other’s ragged exhales. Elenwen slides her hand back onto Viraneminwe’s hip and then trails an explorative caress down over her thigh and back up. A muscle jumps under her fingertips, and Viraneminwe’s nails dig into her collar. Tenderly scratching her nails over Viraneminwe’s nape earns her a muted shiver, so she does it again, and again, revelling in her power.

Viraneminwe speaks, soft between meetings of their mouths, quiet instructions, “Less teeth,” “Slower,” “Harder, there,” and once, in a rough voice that has Elenwen’s whole body clenching with desire, “Do that again.”

“By your will,” Elenwen mumbles senselessly and then arches into her, desperate for Viraneminwe to touch her, do something to quench the increasing need drumming through every part of her. “Lady Sinahl,” she says, brokenly, to the cadence of please when they next part for breath. A spark quickens in Viraneminwe’s eyes.

She finds herself swiftly on the back foot as Viraneminwe takes control of the kiss, with the firm, steady command with which she approaches everything. Elenwen entirely fails to cut off a groan when Viraneminwe teases her inquisitive tongue between her lips with a scrape of her teeth. Viraneminwe opens her mouth wider, as if inviting more of Elenwen’s tongue, and when Elenwen takes the bait, she closes her lips and sucks, hard enough that Elenwen whimpers into her mouth. Viraneminwe inhales raggedly, and then kisses her again, harder. She kisses her like she wants to devour her, consume her, barely relenting to let Elenwen breathe, biting and sucking at her lips like she wants to brand bruises into them, reminders of herself.

Melting under Viraneminwe’s onslaught, Elenwen’s body goes pliable, wrenched upright only by Viraneminwe’s tight hold on her collar. She feels something in her brain shut off, and the unslaked thirst between her legs increase thousandfold. Every inch of skin pulses. The outside world dims and fades, until there is only Viraneminwe’s lips, her body against her, her quiet, jagged breaths.

“Vira?” Someone shouts, distantly.

Elenwen jumps, but Viraneminwe’s fingers curl around her throat, holding her still. She whimpers, eyes fluttering as she unconsciously presses herself into Viraneminwe’s hand, hoping for it to close and squeeze. Choke me, she begs silently, but Viraneminwe does not respond to the expectant tension in Elenwen’s body. Viraneminwe turns her head as if to better hear who is calling her, their cheeks brushing together.

“Vira!” It is Faseladil, calling from somewhere in the house.

“If he wants my attention, he can struggle all the way through to the end of my name,” Viraneminwe remarks disparagingly in Elenwen’s ear. The movement of her lips and breath over the sensitive flesh lights a searing line from point of contact to her clit, and Elenwen shudders. Her hips roll, seeking pressure, pleasure, and Viraneminwe pulls back, eyes black with lust.

“Control,” she says, sternly, and Elenwen quivers at the command in her tone.

“Y-Yes, Lady Sinahl.” She hears her own voice like a stranger’s, breathy and wanton. She is too far gone for embarrassment, and instead tries to catch her lips for another kiss.

They meet and part again just as quickly, and this time Elenwen cannot help the bereft little noise she makes. Viraneminwe’s breath catches as she looks down at her with wide, startled eyes, almost too quiet for Elenwen to notice, but not quiet enough. She bites her lip hard to choke back a plea. With near-savage fury, Viraneminwe claims her for another kiss, finality in the desperate flicks of her tongue and harsh little bites.

“Vira!” The shout is louder this time, but still Viraneminwe does not respond. Elenwen hears a palpable groan, audible through the walls. “Viraneminwe!”

Viraneminwe pulls back and blots her lips, as if checking for smeared lipstick, though she isn’t wearing any. She releases Elenwen, who sags dizzily against the other side of the loveseat, mind blank and head spinning. Her knees are water, and she is fairly certain there is no more blood in her brain, or water in her body except that which pools between her thighs. She can’t quite tear her longing gaze from Viraneminwe’s kiss-swollen mouth, trying to memorise how she looks in this moment so she can keep it against her heart, half-hoping Viraneminwe will kiss her again.

“In here,” Viraneminwe calls.

So quickly Elenwen is forced to confront the fact that Viraneminwe’s jealous husband was right outside when Elenwen had her tongue inside his wife’s mouth, Faseladil Sinahl throws open the doors to the study and strides in. Proud as a prince, he is dressed in breeches so tight they look poured on and a ruffled shirt open to the navel, revealing a heavily gem-studded amulet. He smirks when he catches her looking, still too kiss-drunk to reel herself in, but swiftly drops his attention to his wife.

He perches next to her, twirling her cane in one elegant hand. When he leans over to kiss her head, his shirt gapes open to reveal his smooth, muscular chest and the glint of piercings. Elenwen fixes her gaze on her lap and tries not to remember the previous night, his weight over her pressing her back into Viraneminwe’s arms, his kiss overlaid with hers. Her ears twitch.

“My love,” he begins, seductively, and Viraneminwe raises a tired hand.

“What do you want, Sinahl?”

“Can’t an elf see his wife?” asks Faseladil in an injured tone, and Viraneminwe’s lips thin.

“I have a headache,” she tells him bluntly, and Faseladil blinks. Elenwen frowns but knows better than to say anything. Viraneminwe hasn’t been acting like she has one of her terrible migraines, often brought on by her pain medication.

“Should I call Anisse?” he says, concern softening his voice, and Viraneminwe looks to Elenwen. There is a glitter of schadenfreude in her eyes; poleaxed, Elenwen realises she is being let in on the joke.

“No need to bother her with something so trivial,” Viraneminwe says, eyes still on Elenwen. It takes every inch of her willpower to strangle her smirk. “I shall simply take some rest in bed. Alone.”

Forestalled before he can even open his mouth, Faseladil graciously accepts defeat and switches track. At once, Elenwen feels the full weight of his attention bear down on her, and freezes.

“Hello again – Minnwen, wasn’t it? Something -wen, I’m sure.” Faseladil says, smooth voice dripping charm. She finds herself returning his warm smile without thinking about it, heat rising in her cheeks as she tries not to think about what she has just done to the man’s wife.

“Elenwen, actually,” she corrects, and he nods, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he pretends to write her name against his heart.

He rises to his feet and circles the loveseat, slow and sure as a prowling cat; not wanting to have him perched over her shoulder as he did Viraneminwe, Elenwen stands. She can feel her shifting arousal trickling down her thighs and blushes so brightly the heat feels visible. She resists the urge to check that the front of her black breeches is not noticeably sodden.

“You’ll have to forgive me, sweetheart, I am just terrible with names. But I remember you,” he adds. He gives her a long look from her feet to her face. “Such a tall girl you are! I believe we became acquainted last night?”

She glances quickly at Viraneminwe, but she is staring indifferently out the open balcony doors, face as warm as a locked door. Evidently, she has no intention of intervening. Elenwen gathers her advice against her heart and arms herself with it, trying not to think of how quickly either of the two powerful people in the room could have her dismissed and silenced in an instant.

“We did, Lord,” Elenwen begins, then, “You should come visit me in the dungeons sometime.”

“Should I now?” Faseladil laughs delightedly. “Well, if my lady wife approves…”

A little too quickly, Elenwen adds on, “We recently had a guided cradle put in. I’ve been just dying to test it out.”

Viraneminwe snorts, softly. Elenwen is bolstered by the merriment suddenly glittering in her eyes.

“A guided cradle?” Faseladil looks sidelong at Viraneminwe, who tilts her head indulgently and explains, “A torture device consisting of a metal pyramid over which a squatting subject is shackled.”

“Oh,” says Faseladil, wanly.

“I think you would look just beautiful spread open,” Elenwen continues, earnestly, “I would heal you after. My trainer says I am getting much better at removing all the scars.”

“My thanks for the compliment, Lady Elenwen,” says Faseladil, smoothly sweeping into a half-bow, “But I’m afraid my tastes run to a tamer side.”

“Oh,” Elenwen echoes, not needing to feign her disappointment. “Well, if you change your mind…?”

“I will not,” says Faseladil, assertively, “I shall see you, I am sure, Lady Elenwen.”

Unwilling to take orders from him, Elenwen looks to Viraneminwe, who waves a hand boredly. To his credit, Faseladil does not seem aggrieved by her deferring to his wife, only smiling at Viraneminwe fondly, as if she has done something amusing. Elenwen bows to them both. She is just turning to leave when Viraneminwe calls her name.

“Elenwen? I trust this is the last time we will have to discuss this matter personally.” There is no doubt as to what she refers. This is a one time occasion, a kiss that should never have been, and will never be repeated. Elenwen will never taste her lips again.

Swallowing a pang of something like grief, Elenwen nods. “Understood, Lady Sinahl,” she replies, with careful formality, holding her bow until Viraneminwe glances away in clear dismissal.

As the door closes behind her, she hears Faseladil ask in a plaintive tone, “Vira, why can’t we ever sponsor the normal ones?”

#inkwrites #viraneminwe sinahl #faseladil sinahl #elenwen #virawen

7 notes · View notes