#glitz elementals

[katzkreationz]

"The Glamour of the Sea"

Glitz is quickly becoming one of my favorite OCs to draw XD

Did a little updating with his outfit and all. Something more fitting to the dramatic flair of his personality.

[rootedinrevisions]

Off the Red Carpet

SUMMARY: You accompany Glen to a red carpet event, and you get to watch him be in his element- the chaos of flashing cameras and the glitz of the red carpet- firsthand. As Glen navigates the spotlight, you remain behind the scenes, quietly proud of the star he's become, all while cherishing the connection between you that exists when the cameras aren't on.

A/N: This idea was originally from @hunterthecharmer thank you for the idea and for giving me the okay to try my hand at writing this! Hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: None. This one is pretty fluffy.

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

The hotel suite hummed with quiet activity, a mix of soft music playing, and the occasional murmur of conversation from the main room.

The golden hues of sunset filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm light across the space. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing the gown over your hips. The fabric felt luxurious under your fingers, flowing softly into a gentle train. The way it hugged your figure made you feel like you belonged on the arm of someone like Glen, even if the thought of stepping into the spotlight still set your nerves on edge.

You took a deep breath, adjusting one of the delicate straps before reaching behind you to zip up the dress. Your fingers fumbled, unable to grasp the tiny pull. Frustration mixed with your growing nervousness, and you let out a soft sigh, glancing toward the closed door.

As if on cue, there was a knock.

“Babe? You almost ready?��� Glen’s voice carried through the door, warm and familiar, a grounding force amidst your swirling thoughts.

“Almost,” you called back, your voice a little breathless. “But…I might need some help.”

The door creaked open, and Glen stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding you. The room seemed to still for a moment as his gaze swept over you, his usual easy smile softening into something more profound.

“Wow,” he said quietly, the word barely more than a breath.

You felt your cheeks warm under his stare. “Think you can help me with this?” you asked, turning slightly to show him the unzipped back of your dress.

He stepped closer, his movements unhurried, and gently brushed your hair to one side. “Of course,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he took hold of the zipper.

The soft tug of the fabric and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. When he finished, his hands lingered for a moment, resting gently at your waist before he turned you to face him. His eyes roamed over you, and the quiet awe in his expression made your heart skip a beat.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a step back, as if needing to take all of you in, and shook his head slightly, almost in disbelief. “I think,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, he reached up, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. “Seriously,” he added, his tone soft but earnest. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

The emotion in his words made your chest tighten, and when he leaned in to kiss you, it wasn’t just an affectionate peck. It was slow and deliberate, his lips lingering on yours like he wanted to make sure you felt every ounce of what he couldn’t put into words.

“Glen,” his manager called from the other side. “We need to get going.”

Glen pulled back, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Guess that’s our cue.” He smiled down at you, taking your hand in his. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, though your voice carried a hint of uncertainty.

The soft click of the hotel room door echoed as you and Glen stepped into the hallway. The plush carpet muffled the sound of your heels, but walking in them while managing the delicate train of your gown was proving to be a challenge. You tried to discreetly gather the fabric in one hand, balancing it while taking careful steps, but the effort was less than graceful.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Glen glance down, his expression shifting to one of quiet amusement. Without a word, he slowed his pace, gently reaching for the trailing fabric of your gown.

“Here,” he said softly, gathering the train in one hand with practiced ease. “Let me take care of that.”

You blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Glen, you don’t have to—”

He cut you off with a small shake of his head, his lips curving into a warm smile. “I know I don’t have to,” he said, his tone light yet sincere. “But I want to. Can’t have you tripping before we even make it to the car.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, the sound easing some of the lingering nerves in your chest. As you resumed walking, you felt the gentle pressure of his other hand resting lightly at the small of your back, guiding you with an ease that felt so natural, so him.

When you reached the elevator, Glen shifted slightly, keeping hold of your gown as he pressed the call button with his free hand. The doors slid open with a quiet chime, and he gestured for you to step inside first, his hand never leaving its spot at your waist as you did.

Inside the elevator, you turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his. The golden lighting highlighted the soft yet focused expression on his face. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice filled with genuine gratitude.

He tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart flutter, and you found yourself leaning into his touch ever so slightly as the elevator began its descent.

Glen caught the movement, his thumb brushing lightly against your back in response. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and just for you.

You nodded, feeling the corners of your lips tug upward. “Yeah,” you replied softly. “I just…I feel lucky.”

His smile widened, and he leaned down, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to your temple. “Funny,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of playful charm. “Because I was just thinking the same thing.”

The elevator chimed again, signaling your arrival at the lobby. Glen stepped aside to let you exit first, but not before giving your waist one last gentle squeeze.

The lobby was alive with a low hum of activity, hotel staff bustling about and the faint chatter of guests mingling in the background. As you and Glen approached the doors, the distant sound of cameras clicking and voices calling out his name grew louder. Paparazzi were stationed just beyond the entrance, their flashes already bouncing off the glass.

Glen’s security team, always a step ahead, intercepted you both before you reached the main doors. One of them leaned in to speak quietly. “The parking garage is clear. We’ll take you through there to avoid the crowd.”

Glen nodded, his hand still resting lightly at the small of your back as the team led you toward a side corridor. The bright, polished floors of the lobby gave way to the dimmer, utilitarian lighting of the garage. The quiet hum of fluorescent lights above and the occasional echo of footsteps replaced the buzz of the crowd outside.

As you stepped into the cool expanse of the garage, your heels clicked softly against the concrete. You walked side by side with Glen, his presence steady and reassuring, until you came upon a patch of water glistening under the overhead lights. It stretched across the pathway, and your gaze dropped to the delicate hem of your gown, worry flickering across your face.

Before you could even voice your concern or attempt to maneuver around it, Glen reacted instinctively. “Hold on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Without hesitation, he bent slightly and swept you up into his arms as though you weighed nothing. A surprised laugh escaped your lips, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he carried you effortlessly around the puddle.

“Glen!” you exclaimed, though your tone was more amused than admonishing. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

He glanced down at you, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let your dress get ruined before you even make it to the event?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with warmth.

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Still, I could’ve managed.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk as he set you gently back on your feet, his hands lingering at your waist to steady you. “But why make you do it when I’m right here?”

You shook your head, still smiling, as you adjusted your gown. Just then, his security team opened the back door of a black SUV with tinted windows. 

“Milady,” Glen said with a playful smile, gesturing for you to step in.

“Thank you,” you replied, matching his tone as you carefully slid into the plush leather seat, mindful of your dress.

Glen followed suit, settling in beside you and closing the door behind him. The faint hum of the engine provided a soothing background noise as the driver pulled out of the garage and onto the city streets.

For a moment, you were quiet, staring out the window at the lights of the bustling city. Glen shifted beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned closer.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with concern.

You glanced at him, offering a small nod. “Just…nervous, I guess. It’s a big night for you, and I don’t want to—”

“Be ridiculous,” Glen interrupted gently, flashing his trademark grin. “You’re not going to ruin anything. Trust me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“There she is,” he said, nudging you playfully. “See? You’re going to be fine. You’re not even walking the red carpet, anyway. You get to stay behind the cameras and sip champagne while I do all the work.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call posing for photos and answering questions work,” you teased, arching a brow.

“Oh, it’s brutal,” he said, feigning seriousness. “All those flashing lights, having to keep this face from looking too shiny…”

You shook your head, smiling, but the fluttering in your stomach didn’t entirely subside. Glen seemed to notice.

His hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours with ease. His thumb began to graze over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, his tone softer now, his teasing dropped. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m really happy you’re here with me tonight. It means a lot.”

You looked at him, his expression earnest and filled with something deeper than you could put into words.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand. “I’m happy to be here with you, too. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Glen’s lips quirked into a small smile, his thumb continuing its comforting motion. “Well, don’t make me cry before we even get there.”

As the car slowed to a stop outside the venue, the energy in the air shifted, electrified by the flash of cameras and the distant sound of fans calling out names. You could feel the thrum of excitement radiating through the air, reverberating in your chest.

Glen adjusted his bow tie, his jawline sharp under the streetlights. He turned to you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Ready for the madness?”

You nodded, even though your nerves had returned. The line of cars ahead crawled forward, one by one releasing a parade of celebrities who were met with the cheers of the crowd and the blinding strobe of camera flashes.

When it was finally your turn, Glen stepped out first, his polished shoes meeting the pavement. The crowd erupted, calling his name as the flashes intensified. He turned to wave, flashing that Hollywood smile that had charmed audiences all over the world.

Then, as if the chaos around him didn’t exist, Glen turned back to you. He leaned down, extending a hand through the open door. “C’mon,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise.

You took his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you as you stepped out. For a brief moment, the two of you stood together, a quiet connection amidst the frenzy. Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, his thumb brushing your skin in a silent promise before he stepped toward the red carpet.

“See you inside,” he said, and then he was gone, the lights and cameras swallowing him whole.

His manager appeared at your side, her touch gentle as she guided you away from the chaos and toward the media’s edge. Here, you were safely tucked behind the lines of reporters, photographers, and onlookers, shielded from the prying lenses but still close enough to see everything.

From your vantage point, you watched Glen stride onto the red carpet like he owned it. His confidence radiated with every step, and the cameras adored him. He paused in front of the wall of flashing bulbs, effortlessly shifting his stance to give them what they wanted—his signature smile. He turned slightly to the left, then to the right, his jawline sharp under the bright lights. The tailored suit he wore fit him perfectly, exuding the kind of polished charm that only he could pull off.

He looked every bit the Hollywood Leading Man, and for a moment, you found yourself caught between awe and adoration. Glen was always himself with you—gentle, playful, sincere—but here, he embodied the star the world had come to know. And yet, there was a thrill in knowing that beneath the flawless exterior was the man you knew better than anyone.

Your attention lingered as he moved seamlessly into an interview. He leaned in slightly, his posture relaxed but engaged, as the interviewer asked their question. You couldn’t hear the words over the buzz of the crowd, but you could tell by the way his brow lifted and a small smile tugged at his lips that it was something lighthearted. And then it came—the laugh. His shoulders shook just slightly, and his expression softened in a way that made your heart swell.

As he finished his response, Glen straightened and glanced around, his eyes scanning the crowd. When they landed on you, a grin spread across his face. He gave you a quick wink, just enough to send your stomach fluttering before he turned back to shake the interviewer’s hand and move on.

Your smile grew as you watched him continue down the carpet, stopping now and then to interact with fans pressed against the barriers. He greeted each one with genuine warmth, signing photos and posters, crouching down for selfies, and even exchanging a few words with those lucky enough to catch his attention.

One young fan, no more than ten years old, handed Glen a scrapbook of drawings they’d made of him. He thumbed through the pages, his expression shifting to one of quiet amazement. You could see his lips move as he said something to the child, who nodded enthusiastically while clutching a pen Glen had just handed back.

“Thank you so much,” you heard him say clearly to another fan as they gushed about his latest role.

This was a side of him that always took your breath away—the way he gave so much of himself to those who supported him. He didn’t just exist in their world; he connected with it, leaving pieces of himself behind for everyone to cherish.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, his gaze found yours once more. This time, it lingered, a soft yet electric connection that sent a wave of warmth through you. His lips curved into a smile, not the polished one for the cameras or the fans, but one meant just for you.

You raised a hand in a small wave, your heart beating a little faster as he gave you a subtle nod before turning back to the next group of fans.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” his manager said, leaning toward you with a knowing smile.

You nodded, your gaze fixed on Glen as he moved gracefully through the crowd. “It’s surreal. But he… he makes it look easy.”

“That’s Glen for you,” she said with a chuckle. “Always knows how to work a room—or a red carpet.”

You laughed softly, but your attention never strayed far from him. He was magnetic, every movement deliberate yet natural, as if he’d been born for this.

This was his moment. After the whirlwind year he’d had—the long days on set, the relentless press tours, and the skyrocketing success—he deserved every bit of the recognition coming his way.

And while you were more than content to stay in the background, watching from the edges of his world, you couldn’t deny the pride and love that surged through you as you saw him shine.

The buzz of the red carpet faded the moment you stepped into the building. The quieter hum of conversation and the elegant glow of the interior lights replaced the chaos outside, offering a reprieve from the cameras and shouting fans.

Glen’s manager stayed close by, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she led you through the foyer. “He should be coming in right behind us,” she said, glancing back at you with a reassuring smile.

You nodded, your fingers fiddling with the delicate strap of your clutch as your nerves began to settle. But before you could think too much about the evening ahead, you felt it—a warm hand sliding around your waist.

“Miss me already?” he teased, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your lips curved into a smile as you looked up at him. “Always.”

There was a brief pause, and then Glen offered you his arm, his tone light. “Shall we?”

You accepted without hesitation, slipping your arm through his as he led you further into the building. The buzz of the outside world felt like a distant memory now, replaced by the quiet elegance of the venue's interior. The soft lighting and low hum of conversation seemed to make everything feel more intimate, even amidst the crowd.

“So, how did I do?” Glen asked with a teasing edge, clearly eager for your opinion.

“You were perfect,” you said honestly, giving his arm a small squeeze. “I’ve never seen you look more confident. Like you belonged there.”

He chuckled, his voice warm as he turned to face you. “Well, it’s a bit easier when I’ve got someone like you cheering me on.”

You couldn’t help the flush that crept up your neck, but you gave him a smile in return, silently grateful for how grounded he made you feel in the midst of the chaos.

“Seriously, though,” he added as you made your way through the foyer. “I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want to do this without you by my side.”

As the two of you continued through the space, the evening ahead felt less intimidating, more like an opportunity to savor the quieter moments together. While the world outside might never fully understand the dynamic between you, it was moments like this—away from the cameras, just the two of you—that made it all worth it.

The night ahead would be full of attention and flash, but the most important thing was that, despite the world around you, you were right where you needed to be—by his side, without needing to make a spectacle of it.

[geotjwrs]

Hey do you think u can do Jenna Ortega x male reader. The reader is a professional soccer player for AC Milan

goal!

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; injury??

Y/N was living the dream as a professional soccer player for AC Milan. His days were filled with intense training sessions, thrilling matches, and the camaraderie of his teammates. But amidst the glitz and the grind, Y/N had a secret that kept his life balanced and his heart content – his relationship with Jenna Ortega.

Their romance had blossomed quietly, away from the prying eyes of the public. They cherished their stolen moments, the late-night calls, and the occasional secret rendezvous whenever their schedules allowed. Despite their different worlds, they made it work, keeping their love under wraps.

One sunny afternoon, Jenna managed to sneak into Milan unnoticed, her excitement bubbling beneath the surface. Today was special – she was going to watch Y/N play live for the first time. Disguised in a hoodie and sunglasses, she found her seat in the stands, trying to blend in with the crowd.

As the game began, Jenna couldn't help but cheer for Y/N, her heart swelling with pride every time he touched the ball. She captured videos on her phone, whispering words of encouragement that he couldn't hear but she hoped he could feel. It was thrilling to see him in his element, commanding the field with skill and confidence.

But not everyone in the stands was oblivious to Jenna's presence. Some fans began to murmur, their curiosity piqued by the young woman who seemed particularly invested in Y/N's performance. Whispers spread, and soon enough, Jenna found herself under discreet scrutiny.

Y/N, focused on the game, was unaware of the stir Jenna's presence was causing. He was having a stellar match until an opposing player, known for his rough play, started targeting him. During a heated moment, the rival player approached Y/N with a sneer.

"Hey, Y/N," he taunted, his voice low and mocking. "Your girlfriend's watching. Would be a shame if something happened to you."

Y/N's eyes flicked to the stands, briefly catching sight of Jenna. Panic and anger flared within him, but before he could react, the opponent made his move. A hard, deliberate tackle sent Y/N crashing to the ground, pain shooting through his leg.

The stadium erupted into a mix of cheers and gasps. Jenna's heart plummeted as she watched Y/N writhe in agony. The medical team rushed to his side, assessing the injury and signaling for a stretcher. Jenna's first instinct was to run to him, but she knew she had to stay put, keeping their secret intact.

Back in the locker room, the atmosphere was tense. Y/N was being examined by the team doctors, his face contorted in pain. His teammates hovered nearby, concern etched on their faces.

One of his closest friends on the team, Luka, knelt beside him. "Hey, man, hang in there. We'll get you through this."

Y/N nodded, trying to stay strong. "Thanks, Luka."

Meanwhile, Jenna paced anxiously outside the stadium, her heart aching for Y/N. She wanted nothing more than to be by his side, but she knew she had to wait for the right moment.

She sent him a quick text instead: "I'm here for you. Stay strong. I love you."

Hours later, Y/N was back at his apartment, his leg bandaged and elevated. The injury wasn't as severe as it had initially seemed, but it was enough to sideline him for a while. He was frustrated and in pain, both physically and emotionally.

A soft knock on his door broke his thoughts. Jenna peeked in, her eyes filled with worry and love. "Hey, superstar. How are you holding up?"

Y/N's face softened at the sight of her. "Jenna, you're here. I'm... managing."

She crossed the room and sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I wish I could've done something."

He squeezed her hand gently. "You being here is enough. I just hate that we have to keep this a secret."

Jenna leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "We'll find a way to make it work. I promise."

They spent the evening together, Jenna doing her best to lift Y/N's spirits. They talked about everything and nothing, the comfort of each other's presence a balm to their souls. Despite the pain and the secrecy, their love felt stronger than ever.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N's recovery was slow but steady. Jenna stayed by his side as much as she could, supporting him through the tough moments. Their relationship remained a secret, but the bond between them deepened with each passing day.

...

The next game was a pivotal moment. Y/N was back on the field, and this time, Jenna was determined to be there for him, publicly. She donned an AC Milan jersey with his number on it and made her way to the VIP section, a spot that would inevitably draw attention.

As the game progressed, Jenna cheered for Y/N with all her heart, her excitement palpable. She didn't try to hide her face; she was there to support the man she loved. Fans and cameras quickly picked up on her presence, and the speculation started to spread like wildfire.

Y/N, aware that Jenna was in the stands, played with renewed vigor. Her presence was a source of strength, reminding him of what truly mattered. As the match wore on, AC Milan gained momentum, and Y/N's performance was stellar. His passes were precise, his tackles were solid, and his energy was contagious.

Late in the second half, with the score tied, Y/N saw an opening. He sprinted down the field, weaving through defenders with incredible speed. As he approached the goal, he took a deep breath and struck the ball with perfect precision. The crowd erupted as the ball sailed past the goalkeeper and into the net.

Jenna jumped to her feet, screaming and cheering louder than anyone else in the stadium. Her heart swelled with pride and love as she watched Y/N's teammates surround him, celebrating the crucial goal.

The final whistle blew, signaling AC Milan's victory. The team gathered on the field, their joy palpable. Y/N's eyes scanned the stands until they locked onto Jenna's. Without thinking, he ran toward her, his heart pounding with excitement and adrenaline.

Jenna didn't hesitate. She climbed over the barrier separating the VIP section from the field and ran to meet him. They collided in a tight embrace, and for a moment, the world around them disappeared. Y/N pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers.

"Jenna," he whispered, his voice full of emotion.

She smiled up at him, tears of joy in her eyes. "You were amazing, Y/N. I'm so proud of you."

Before he could respond, Jenna leaned in and kissed him passionately. The crowd around them gasped and then erupted into cheers and applause. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment that was sure to make headlines.

As they pulled apart, breathless and smiling, Y/N felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Jenna was by his side, and he didn't care who knew. Their secret was out, and it felt liberating.

Theo and a few other teammates approached, grinning widely. "So, this is why you've been so secretive, huh?" Luka teased, clapping Y/N on the back.

Y/N laughed, pulling Jenna closer. "Yeah, this is why."

Jenna smiled at the team, her eyes twinkling. "You guys played an incredible game. I'm just happy I could be here to see it."

As the celebrations continued, Y/N and Jenna stayed close, their hands intertwined. The media buzzed with excitement, and social media exploded with the news of their relationship. But Y/N didn't care about the attention or the speculation. All that mattered was that he had Jenna by his side.

...

Back at Y/N's apartment that evening, the two of them cuddled on the couch, reliving the day's events. Y/N's leg, though still sore, was a small price to pay for the victory and the joy of sharing his love for Jenna with the world.

"Today was incredible," Y/N said, pressing a kiss to Jenna's temple. "I'm so glad you were there."

Jenna snuggled closer, resting her head on his chest. "Me too. I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

They stayed like that for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet. Eventually, Jenna looked up at Y/N, her expression serious. "Are you ready for what comes next? The media, the attention..."

Y/N nodded, his eyes full of determination. "As long as I have you, I'm ready for anything."

Jenna smiled, her heart swelling with love. "We'll face it together, just like we always do."

And with that, they settled into a comfortable silence, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, their love would guide them through.

[eridonna]

Why ruin something that was already perfect?

Literally every newer non-german production with a quarter of a budget of VBW has tried to incorporate something new into the source material. I'm not saying every interpretation or costume/staging worked in favour, but at least there's effort and a certain vision.

VBW has no right to keep serving us a watered-down version of a genuinely spectacular and deeply beloved musical.

(Also the audacity to call it the Celebrated Schönbrunn Version 🤔)

The vines in the Heinrich designs were created to represent death and decay. Sissi wore a dirndl in Wie Du as she hailed from Bavaria. The set design incorporated elements inspired by Habsburg carriages/hearses.

So what exactly do the new changes bring to the table?

Der Tod's veil is stripped away and replaced with a meme-worthy toy. He went from having 4 stunning well-crafted outfits to ONE painfully boring fit in the entire show.

Tod and Rudolf's relationship is diminished to the point where it no longer represents its original depth or significance.

Rondo is a misfit and doesn't even appear anywhere else in the show unlike the intended Japanese/Hungarian versions.

There is no glitz, no glamour, and most importantly the storytelling is compromised. Literally everything the musical stood for is reduced to nothing.

Most upsetting of all is the clear disregard VBW shows for the audience, who adore the musical and deserve more than this cheap execution, and for the immensely talented cast, who deserve a production worthy of their skills.

[the-offside-rule]

Mick Schumacher (Alpine WEC) - A Ferrari Affair

Requested: yes

Warnings: none

The cold London air was crisp as Y/n Irvine stepped out of the sleek black car, her Ferrari jacket zipped up against the chill. A sea of fans gathered outside the O2 Arena, waving banners, flags, and memorabilia as they eagerly waited for a glimpse of their favorite drivers. Y/n adjusted her collar, the embroidered number 7 catching the light, a tribute to her father, Eddie, who had debuted with the same number in his F1 career.

Beside her, Mick exited the car, dressed casually but with a quiet confidence. Their relationship had blossomed in recent months, but most fans still assumed they were just lifelong best friends. As the pair moved toward the entrance, the crowd erupted into cheers. "Y/n! Over here!" shouted a fan holding a Ferrari flag. She grinned, turning to Mick. "Go on inside. I’ll catch up after saying hi."

"Not a chance." Mick replied with a smirk, following her to the barricade where fans eagerly waited. Y/n signed autographs and posed for pictures, her warmth and genuine smile making each interaction feel personal. Mick lingered nearby, and a few fans called out to him too. "Mick! Can we get a photo?"

"Of course." He replied, stepping up with his easygoing charm. As they continued toward the arena’s entrance, Y/n nudged him. "Didn't know you still had fans." She joked. Mick chuckled. "’m just your entourage. They want the Ferrari star."

Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of glitz and nerves. Drivers, team personnel, and media buzzed around as the launch event got underway. The drivers had a brief respite before the red carpet event, giving Y/n a moment to chat with her Ferrari teammate, Charles. "You look nervous." Charles teased, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit. "I’m more nervous about surviving the carpet." Y/n quipped. "You always make it look so easy."

"That’s because Alex does all the work." Charles joked, motioning toward his girlfriend, Alexandra, who was chatting with a group of Ferrari personnel. When it was time for the red carpet, Charles led Alexandra out first, the pair effortlessly posing for the cameras. The photographers shouted instructions as flashes lit up the room. "Our competition is literally a pair of models." Y/n whispered. Mick scoffed. "It's not a competition, why is everything with you a competition?" He chuckled. "It's more fun that way."

Then it was Y/n’s turn. She motioned for her parents, Eddie and her mother, to join her. Mick walked just behind them, his expression calm but proud. "Big smiles, everyone." Eddie said as they stepped into the lights. The cameras clicked furiously, capturing the Irvines in their element. The photographers then called for just the drivers and their plus-ones, prompting the Irvine couple to step aside. Mick hesitated, glancing at Y/n. "Looks like you’re stuck with me." She teased, pulling him into place beside her. "That doesn't sound too bad to me." He replied quietly as Charles and Alex came back. The quartet posed together, exuding elegance and charisma. The photographers murmured among themselves, still assuming Mick and Y/n were just close friends.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Backstage, the drivers returned to their dressing rooms to change into their race suits. Y/N sat in a chair as makeup artists and hairstylists worked around her. Mick stood with her parents, chatting casually, while Sylvia, Ferrari’s PR lead, addressed the room. "Y/n, you’ll likely get a question or two about your father’s time at Ferrari. It’s a nice tie-in, but make sure to highlight your own story and what you’re bringing to the team." Sylvia advised. Y/n grinned. "They’ll probably ask if I think I’ll get a championship before Dad did." Eddie smirked. "Where’s yours?" Without missing a beat, Y/n quipped. "It's coming, oul' fella, whereas your's must've got lost in the post." The room erupted into laughter, the tension dissolving.

As the makeup artist finished the final touches on Y/n’s look, smoothing out her bright red Ferrari overalls, Sylvia gave the final rundown. "Charles and Y/n, you’ll be the second-to-last team to go on. Stay close to the stage. The two of you will introduce the car and field some questions."

"Sound job." Y/n replied, exchanging a look with Charles. "Try not to say the Red Bull looks shit." Charles whispered. "Sure it's a drinks can on wheels." Y/n shot back, grinning. As the car reveals began, Y/n and Charles stood at the side of the stage, commenting on the other teams. "The Aston looks good." Charles noted. "You'd think Adrian would've changed the colour." Y/n joked.

When it was finally Ferrari’s turn, the F1-75 was unveiled in a dramatic display of lights and music. The sleek, scarlet car gleamed under the spotlight, its aggressive lines and unmistakable heritage drawing gasps from the audience. Charles and Y/n stepped forward, microphones in hand. "Charles, Y/n, welcome to London." The crowd erupted into cheers as the pair waved. "How has the off season been treating you both?" The interviewer asked. "Pretty good, but it's time to get back to work now. We are here to fight and here to win." Y/n replied, drawing more cheers from the fans. "Speaking of fighting and winning, let's put our attention on the car. I mean, it's a thing of beauty."

"It looks fast." Charles said simply, earning a laugh from the crowd. "The team has worked so hard on it, the engineers, aerodynamicists, car design, they have all been working hard in the factory."

"And what do you think, Y/n?" She sighed, thinking of a response. "Just to add to Charles there, it's more than fast." Y/n added. "It’s a Ferrari. This car represents so much history, and I’m excited to be a part of that legacy." The questions continued, and finally, the faithful question was asked; what does this mean to be following in her father’s footsteps.

"It’s surreal." She admitted. "My dad spent a few great years here, and now I have the chance to build my own story with Ferrari. I can’t wait to see what this season brings." Charles chimed in, "It’s also great to have such a historical name back in the sport. Y/n brings a fresh perspective, and we’re already working well together."

After the event wrapped, Alexandra and Mick made their way toward the stage. A fan with a phone captured the moment as Alexandra greeted Charles with a kiss. In the background, Mick approached Y/n, wrapping her in a tight hug before kissing her softly. The fan uploaded the video, and within hours, social media exploded with excitement.

It’s like something out of a fanfiction!

Y/n and Mick are the couple we didn’t know we needed!

Childhood friends to lovers ahhhhh

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have anything for high school cheerleading? Tips on writing sports-related work would be appreciated as well. Thank you!

Writing Notes: Cheerleading

Cheerleading - team activity in which elements of dance and acrobatics are combined with shouted slogans in order to entertain spectators at sporting events and to encourage louder and more enthusiastic cheering.

Once exclusively a sideline activity geared toward supporting school sports, cheerleading has gained recognition as a sport in its own right and often operates outside the school context altogether.

HISTORY OF CHEERLEADING

Although cheerleading is today predominantly associated with femininity, the original cheerleaders were men.

Cheerleading was connected to the emergence of gridiron football at Ivy League colleges and universities in the United States in the mid-1800s, and the growth and formalization of cheerleading paralleled that of football.

The first organized cheerleading squad was formed at the University of Minnesota. The squad, consisting of 6 male students, was tasked with leading crowd cheers and chants at football games.

Over the latter half of the 19th century, as attendance at college games grew, large stadiums were constructed, and spectators were distanced from the playing field.

Cheerleaders—or “yell leaders,”—led cheers from the sidelines both to encourage the spectators and to serve as a form of crowd control.

Cheerleading remained a male activity until the early 20th century when women began to participate (and the first megaphone was used), leading to the formation of the first all-female cheerleading squad at the University of Minnesota in 1923.

The megaphone made it easier for the spectators to recognize and take up the battle cries. With the entry of women, the nature of cheerleading changed:

Gymnastics, dance and even acrobatic elements were incorporated into the program, and cheerleading was introduced into high schools.

CONTEMPORARY CHEERLEADING

Cheerleading remains “feminine” not only in terms of its supportive sideline function but also in the performance and appearance demands placed on women:

short skirts

hair ribbons

makeup

the expectation to smile constantly and express enthusiasm

Competitive cheerleading - even more highly feminized than sideline cheerleading insofar as there is a heightened emphasis on showmanship and performativity.

Although there are stylistic variations among the cheerleading companies that oversee competitions, competition routines are typically:

loud,

fast, and

energetic.

They exude glitz, glamour, and glitter, particularly in the all-star context: bows are extra large, makeup is extra sparkly, and dance moves are brash and sexy.

Since the 1990s, “alternative” forms of cheerleading have emerged alongside the mainstream variants discussed above.

An extensive national network of adult LGBTI (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and intersex) teams (modeled after Cheer San Francisco, the oldest and largest) perform at community and gay pride events, and “radical cheerleaders,” groups of young feminist activists, use cheerleading as a vehicle for protesting social injustice.

Although less popular and less visible than mainstream cheerleading, such alternative groups similarly use the energy, spirit, and performativity of cheerleading to communicate with and influence audiences.

THE WARM UP

The warm-up involves moving the whole body, as well as individual joints. It consists of 4 main functions:

Warming-up

Preparation

Preventing injury

Building team spirit

STRETCHING

Over time, the following 2 stretching techniques have prevailed:

Active stretching - a self-directed stretch, i.e. a muscle is stretched because its antagonist is working.

Passive stretching - an other-directed stretch, i.e. it requires an external influence, e.g. a partner, piece of equipment, etc.

Both techniques can be further divided into static and dynamic stretching.

Basically, you should stick to the following points when stretching:

Always stretch calmly and gently

Always concentrate on the muscle being stretched

Always breathe regularly and calmly, increase the stretch when exhaling

Stretching should never be painful

The practice area temperature should be comfortable

MOTIONS

Motions - form the basis of many important cheerleading movement patterns.

High V - Arms are stretched above the head in a V shape.

Low V - Arms stretch downward to form an upside-down V.

T-Motion - Arms are stretched out to the sides; arms and body form a T shape.

Half-T - Arms are still at shoulder height, but in this motion, they are bent at the elbows instead of being fully extended to the sides.

Touchdown - This motion is so-called, because the football referee performs the same action after a touchdown. The cheerleader touchdown motion is, unlike that of the referee, performed with locked arms. Extend the arms above the head, with the upper arms almost touching the ears. The hands can form a fist or a blade, the important thing is that the palms of the hands face each other.

Right Diagonal - The right arm hits a High V and the left arm a Low V. The arms should form a straight line from the right fist to the left fist.

Left Diagonal - The left arm hits a High V and the right arm hits a Low V. The diagonal runs from top left to bottom right.

Right L - The arms form an L-shape. The right arm is in the Touchdown position and the left arm is in the T position.

Left L - The left arm is in the Touchdown position and the right arm is in the T position.

Punch - The right arm hits the Touchdown position close to the right ear and the left hand is placed on the left hip. The left hand forms a fist and the back of the hand faces forward.

Clap - The hands are held in the blade position and pressed together. The fingers are together and the hands are flat. The elbows are held close to the body.

Clasp - The hands clasp each other when they touch. The elbows are kept close to the body.

You can combine the motions together, thus giving new variations.

CHANTS

Chant - a combination of words and actions.

It is a kind of speech song consisting of very few words, used for encouragement.

Unlike cheers, chants can be shouted spontaneously throughout the game.

The crowd is supposed to shout the chants along with the cheerleaders, to support the team. The cheer team shouts the chant once by themselves and the second time, the crowd ought to join in. Examples:

"Defense Go!"

Defense: Take one step to the right with the right leg, then slap your thighs twice, shouting “DE-FENSE.” Lean forward slightly.

Go: On the word "Go," bring the left leg in and the feet together and the arms perform the motions shown. After the word “Go” there is a short pause. This chant is now performed in the other direction, i.e., starting with the left foot.

"Go, Fight, Win!"

Go: On the word “Go,” perform the K motion to the left, with the head facing forward.

Fight: On the word “Fight,” bring the right leg in and hit a High V with the arms.

Win: On the word “Win,” bring the arms down from a High V to a Low V. Make a lunge forward onto the left foot. Bend both knees and distribute your body weight evenly over both legs.

CHEERS

Cheers - consist of a combination of words and movements.

Much longer than chants and are not repeated.

Always consists of several lines, most of which rhyme.

Not only longer than a chant but also has a completely different purpose.

Tell a short, appropriate story and cannot just be inserted during the ongoing game, unlike the chant.

Only performed during the official time-outs or before and after a game, i.e., during a pause.

This should always be observed, for during a cheer, the cheer team wants to ensure that they have the crowd’s full attention during the cheer. This can only happen during a break.

Should always have a positive message to motivate the crowd and the team.

Examples of Cheers

"Come on Team"

Come on: Step forward onto the right foot, keeping the back straight and leaning forward. Outstretched arms are crossed in front of the body, knees are bent.

Team: The left leg is pulled into the pose, the left foot is next to the right knee so that the left knee points forward. The right arm hits the Touchdown motion and the left hand is placed on the left hip. The left elbow points backward.

"Let's be Proud"

Let's be: Make a lunge forward onto the right leg, so that you are kneeling on one knee, while crossing the arms in front of the body, and bending the head toward the floor.

Proud: The arms are stretched up into the High V position. The upper body is straight and the head is raised. The tip of the right foot touches the ground.

JUMPS

The role of the cheer team is always to entertain the crowd and to provide a good show.

A well-executed jump is particularly eye catching, and a successful, well-synchronized jump is a real crowd-pleaser.

Jump Phases

Every jump can be divided into 4 phases, and the cheerleader must master all four.

Preparation

Lift

Execution

Landing

Examples of Jumps

Tuck - In this crouch jump, the upper body remains upright and the legs are tucked up toward the upper body, with bent knees. Make sure that the feet are together. Take off from and land on both feet. The arm position can be changed and means that the arms can be held in either the High V or the Touchdown.

Toe Touch - Extend legs to the side immediately after take-off, and tilt her hip forward. The legs should be brought up as high as possible, making sure that the knees face upward and not forward.

Pike - The legs should be parallel to the ground. Immediately after takeoff, the legs are raised and straight. At the same time, bend your chest toward your legs. Straighten the arms and touch your toes with your hands. Don’t deliberately try to touch the toes, as this can prevent you from jumping as high as possible. In the Pike, both feet are together for take-off and landing.

DANCE

Dance has become the most important component of cheerleading for many teams. These teams are called dance teams. Most commonly used dance styles:

Jazz

Hip-Hop

Funk

Novelty

Character

STUNTS

Stunts - the formation of pyramids of various sizes with at least two people.

Double stunts - usually carried out by two people.

Partner stunts - by 3-4 people

Pyramids - by as many people as desired.

These numbers do not include spotters, of course, who must always be present at any kind of stunt.

In every stunt, there are 3 different roles:

Base - the person who remains on the ground in a stunt; supports another cheerleader (the mounter) on her hands, shoulders, back, arms or legs

Mounter - the person who does not have ground contact during the stunt, as she is standing on one or more other people

Spotter - additional person who supervises the whole proceedings but does not take part in the stunt; always stands where the mounter could fall, and, when necessary, intervenes and catches the mounter

Every stunt consists of 3 phases:

Set up

Execution

Dismount

STYLING

Hair and make-up naturally help to create a unified appearance, and they are part of the dress code along with clothing.

Every team decides for itself which hairstyle the members want to wear and how they want to make themselves up.

It is not necessary for all team members to wear the same make-up, as skin type, face shape and eye color differ from one person to another, so it is difficult to find make-up that suits everyone.

Deciding on a certain lipstick color and the intensity of the make-up can already go some way to ensuring a unified look. But these decisions are made by the team and the coaches. There are also teams whose cheerleaders wear identical make-up, which is also fine.

The main thing is that everyone understands the decisions and that everyone is totally present. Presence shows as soon as you step onto the field or the stage.

OTHER ELEMENTS

Music

Formations

Props

Tumbling

Tips on Writing about Sport

Tell a story. Sport is all about what-happens-next – an open-ended form of storytelling in its own right, presenting rags-to-riches parables, fairy stories, farces, thrillers, tragedies and cautionary tales, sometimes all at once. Books about sport should aspire to the same sort of narrative excitement. Triumph and disaster should remain in play until the final whistle.

Tell a larger story. While the game, the race or the tournament is afoot, sport can seem all-encompassing. But the best books manage to place sport in a larger frame. Write sport as something that ripples beyond mere winning and losing.

Have a central character. Imitate the action of the traditional novel by narrating the trials and tribulations of an individual life. It is not easy for stories about team sports to attain the level of human drama that belongs to individual adventures.

Take us behind the scenes. Readers love to peek through the curtains of what we see on television to glimpse real stories, real voices.

Look behind you. Modern sports pages have become promotional vehicles: today’s newspapers describe tomorrow’s games. Live TV coverage has replaced ordinary reporting, leaving a gap in the market for detailed retellings. Sport is theatre, so dramatise, dramatise.

Write about sport as if it matters greatly – and also not at all. Its struggles are only figuratively life-or-death, and failure is just as gripping as success. It is in these gaps (between sport’s importance and its triviality) that irony and humour can take root and ripen.

Strive to avoid back-page jargon. Sports punditry is dominated by ex-pros who agree that everything is the referee’s fault, and articulate this in terms that have already been much parodied. So it is important to refresh the vocabulary. Not every opportunity has to be “golden��; not all penalties are “hotly disputed”. In fleeing from these, it is also important also to avoid the language of art criticism. Banging on about beauty, the sublime and the paradoxical sounds boastful when the subject is … darts.

Accept your niche. In the name of populism it is tempting to woo readers who don’t care for sport with populist or self-deprecating gestures. But aiming a book about motor racing or boxing at people who dislike such pursuits will only alienate those who might have enjoyed it, while failing to engage the attention of the non-interested. By the same token, never talk down to readers: safer to assume that they know more about this than you ever will.

Break some or all of the above rules, when necessary.

In sport, as in life, something is always hidden.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Thanks for the request. This was so interesting, I learned a lot. Hope this helps with your writing!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 1

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

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

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.

It’s your first day at work. Your nerves have simmered over to a nice whirlwind. Even as you sit at your desk, going through the various training materials. You haven’t managed to calm down. Your heart is beating so fast.

Everyone’s been nice. You don’t know why you’re jittering. Like your mother says, you’re overthinking, and like your father says, you need to sit still. You grab the armrests and try to make yourself stop moving. It only makes you want to boil over.

You swivel back and forth and look at your coworkers. They’re all so busy like bees in a hive. They know exactly what they’re doing and you still feel lost as you sift through endless SOPs and corporate training videos.

You see a woman with purplish red curls with a mug, steam curling over the brim. Ah, that’s a good excuse for a break. You still need to figure out the office coffee machine. Daniella, your supervisor, briefly pointed it out during her tour. It’s one of those fancy industrial pod brewers.

You stand and nearly skip between the desks. Be cool. You slow your pace and hold your shoulders straight, your squared toed kitten heels clacking on the tile. You poke your head into the kitchen and find only one other employee inside.

The man’s shoulders are broad and straight as he stares silently at the coffee machine. It grinds and spurts out dark coffee. You come up next to him to peruse the spinning rack of pods, tapping your chin as you think. You peek over at him.

“Hi,” you smile, “any recommendations?”

His pale blue eyes meet yours for an instant before quickly flicking back to his cup. A plain black porcelain mug without any decoration or glitz. You already know which cup you want to bring in; the one that looks like a honey pot and has a small lid resembling a bear sticking his head out with a little honeycomb stitch between his ears.

You take one of the paper cups and a pod of the butterscotch twist. You stand back and wait your turn. He scowls as if mentally urging the cup to fill.

“I’m…” you introduce yourself, “I just started over in Research and Development.”

He doesn’t respond. He puts his hands behind him, clutching them tightly as his forearms tense. The tendons bulge out beneath his skin. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, a grey button up with black trousers. A bit grim but an aesthetic for sure. There’s several rings on his fingers as they curl around each other.

“It’s my first day,” you continue the one-sided conversation, “so… that’s why you never saw me before.”

He growls and grabs his cup as the machine dings. He doesn’t acknowledge you as he turns on his heel and marches out. You watch his back and shrug, blowing out between your lips. You get it, some people aren’t the social type.

You put your cup under the spout and tap the touchscreen. It takes you a lot of poking around to figure out how to brew the coffee. You step back and wait. Caffeine should definitely help your nerves… fuel them at least.

💗

Lunchtime comes and you grab your bento box and head down to the cafeteria. Daniella said you could eat your desk if you wished but you need a break from the screen. Besides, you notice that most people don’t.

You enter the cafeteria. There are tables here and there but they’re already crowded. You notice a few people from your department and head over to that table. Tammy moves her bag onto the seat before you can claim it. You frown and apologise as you back away.

Hmm.

You look around. You don’t know anyone. You don’t mind making new friends but it’s like high school all over again. Everyone has their clique and you’re just wandering in between.

Your gaze falls on the only table with more than one seat free. There’s a single person sitting at it, his head down as he runs his hand over his close cut hair. Hey, it’s… that guy. He didn’t give you his name.

You cross the room and near a chair, putting your hand on the back of it as you hover by the table.

“Hi, um, do you mind if I sit here?”

His eyes dart up and he says nothing. He shrugs and sits back, smoothing out the pages of the book in front of him. You sit, your bento box clanging loudly as you do. You give a sheepish smile as he clears his throat but doesn’t look at you.

You flip back the clasp and pop open the lid. He shifts in his chair as you take out your plastic cutlery from the little compartment. You try to be quiet but you can’t help but hit the fork off the side.

You look over at him. He has only his empty mug and a half-eaten protein bar. You look back at your colourful medley of food. Maybe he’s on a diet.

“Do you like hummus?” You ask.

He doesn’t look up. You bite your lip. You’re just being friendly but maybe he’s not hungry.

“Um, uh, you remember me?” You poke at your couscous, “from the kitchen? I didn’t get your name.”

He sighs and turns the page. You nod. Not much of a talker. You let your fork lean on the edge of the bento and grab the sides of your chair, scraping it closer. He snarls and finally looks at you.

You stop and show your teeth like a threatened animal. His jaw clenches and he refocus on his book. You stir the couscous and take a bite, swallowing as your curiosity piques.

“What are you read���”

“I’m not,” he grits and shuts the book without marking the page.

He stands and pockets the protein bar, swiping up his mug and book. You gape at him, stunned. You don’t know why he’s so upset. You’re just trying to be polite. He storms away and you frown at your food. Well, you’ve always got a friend in snacks!

[lacunafiction]

I recently received these two fun questions from the Forum: 

“1 - will there be a second tea vs cocoa vs coffee showdown in B2?, and 2 - Is there an in-universe reason as to why Ruby is specifically called Ruby?”

So, I thought I would make a quick post to share their answers here too! :D

1. The MC's drink choice will indeed come up a few times during Book Two! A tea party will require them to indulge in some tea one (1) time, but I'm certain the individual who meticulously planned it included something for your MC's tastes. A minor spoiler: For certain readers, Judith (the little girl you can meet in Book One) will weigh-in on the battle of hot drinks. It can be a cute/funny scene to trigger. 😀

2. Here's what I've said about Ruby's and Reese's names when revealing part of why I selected them. All of the names in TFS tend to have deeper meanings. 

Ruby

It has Latin origins from 'ruber' (red) or 'rubinous', but both mean a deep red precious stone. This name holds a certain sultry elegance along with the stone itself that has had more staying power than other names that relate to jewelry or precious materials.

Reese

Meanings such as ardor, passion, and fiery are all embedded in this name, which pairs well with R's character, especially if you read a particular exchange with Mrs. Dorran in Book Two during an evening excursion. It has a Welsh origin. 

These names just seem made for R as a character! Although I think they can take on even deeper meanings on their romance route where they can express ardent feelings for the MC and show how much they treasure them above all of the Verner glitz. While their character color is more so black than red, we do see a link with Angelique and how R does also favor reds, purples, and more traditionally aristocratic pops of color. There is also a spoiler element to R's name that I'm sure will hit many of you in the feels once you figure it out. 🙃 It's fully revealed in Book Three, but there are hints even in Book Two. 

_ _ _

Hopefully, you're all doing well! 

My relative silence on social media might make some of you wonder if I am in fact lost in Fernweh. 🌲The answer is a resounding 'yes'; I've been engaging in a constant and steady writing blitz to then hopefully return to answer questions and better engage closer to a demo drop and tentative release date, etc. It brings me so much happiness to write; it's my outlet, so that's my utmost priority aside from some family care-giving/time together and my cat*, of course.

(*Yes, he is also included in the family. He just gets a special mention.)

Thank you for your patience, support, and understanding! 💚

[hollowsart]

@president-alpine I know you intended this for my sideblog and more for a general Doc Ock & Mysterio.. but this is all I could think to answer it, I hope you don't mind?

Anyways, here's my Beck working together with my Otto to create a new "Doc Ock costume". It was Beck's idea to try and spice up his look lol It's comfortable and practical and has a bit of octopus motifs if you look closely!

+ two alternative colorations. Beck got a little carried away

Otto does prefer simple, practical, and comfortable. He's not really a glitz and glamor type. And while he doesn't exactly see why he would really need a new outfit when his old one works just fine, Beck insisted he make something for him.

Beck couldn't help himself but add the extra pizzazz of textures/patterns into the costume, but he toned them down a bit so it's not too much. He wanted to really tap into Otto's "Doc Ock" title and add octopus elements, but Otto thought it'd be too much. The results are what they finally settled on!

[logansargeantsbabymom]

A Love Worth Fighting For

Bodyguard!Lando Norris x Fem!Actress!Reader

CHAPTERS 3, 4 & 5

Genre: Forbidden Bodyguard to Lover

Warnings: Smut (Not yet), This is (MY VERSION of) a Slow Burn story!

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

Instagram

Chapter 3: Lando

From the moment I was assigned to protect Y/N L/N, I knew this job would be different. She wasn't just any client. She was one of the most famous actresses in the world, a superstar known for her roles in the Avengers movies and her solo Marvel films. But beyond the glitz and glamour, she was also a target. There had been multiple kidnapping attempts, and it was my job to ensure her safety at all times.

When I first met her, I was struck by her beauty and poise. She was everything I expected and more. But as the days turned into weeks, I began to see the real Y/N – the woman behind the fame. She was kind, compassionate, and surprisingly down-to-earth. And despite the walls she had built around herself, I could see glimpses of vulnerability that made me want to protect her even more.

But no matter how strong my feelings grew, I had to remind myself of my duty. My job was to keep her safe, not to get involved. And as long as I was her bodyguard, I had to maintain a professional distance, no matter how difficult it became.

Chapter 4: Lando

Y/N had a close-knit circle of friends, and one of her best friends was Daniel Ricciardo, a driver for Red Bull Racing. When she told me she wanted to attend one of his races, I knew it would be a logistical nightmare. But I also knew how important it was to her, so I did everything in my power to make it happen.

The day of the race was hectic, to say the least. Security was tight, and the crowds were massive. But Y/N was in her element, cheering for Daniel and mingling with other celebrities. I stayed close, my eyes constantly scanning the crowd for any potential threats.

As the race ended and we made our way back to the car, I couldn't help but notice the sparkle in her eyes. She was genuinely happy, and it was a sight that warmed my heart. But as we drove back to the mansion, I couldn't shake the feeling that this happiness was fleeting. The dangers that came with her fame were never far away, and it was my job to ensure she stayed safe.

That evening, as we were leaving things took a turn for the worse. A group of men, clearly intoxicated, approached us with aggressive intentions. They recognized Y/N and started hurling insults, their behavior quickly escalating.

I stepped in front of her, my body tense and ready to defend her at any cost. "Stay behind me," I instructed, my voice firm.

The men continued to advance, their intentions clear. But I wasn't about to let them get any closer. With a few swift moves, I managed to subdue them, ensuring Y/N's safety.

As the police arrived and took the men away, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anger. This was exactly why I needed to be by her side at all times. The world was full of dangers, and I couldn't let anything happen to her.

Chapter 5: Y/N

The next few days passed in a blur of interviews, photo ops, and public appearances. Lando was always by my side, his presence a comforting constant. Despite the hectic schedule, my mind kept drifting back to the confrontation at the race track. Lando's bravery, his unwavering dedication to my safety – it all made me see him in a new light.

We were back in my mansion, preparing for a quiet evening. I had invited Blake Lively, Ryan Reynolds, and Taylor Swift over for dinner. They were my closest friends, my support system, and I needed their company now more than ever.

As we sat around the dining table, laughing and sharing stories, I noticed Lando standing discreetly in the corner, his eyes never leaving me. It was like he was always on high alert, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.

Taylor leaned over, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, Y/N, how's it going with your dashing bodyguard?"

I blushed, glancing at Lando. "It's...fine. He's very professional."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "Professional, huh? Is that code for 'I have a crush on him'?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "No, it's not like that. He's just...different."

Ryan chimed in, a grin on his face. "Different how? Come on, spill the beans."

I sighed, feeling the weight of their curiosity. "He's always there, you know? Always looking out for me. It's...reassuring."

Blake's expression softened. "It sounds like he cares about you."

I glanced at Lando again, my heart skipping a beat. "Maybe. But he's made it clear that he's just doing his job."

Taylor placed a hand on my arm, her voice gentle. "Just be careful, Y/N. It's easy to confuse gratitude with something more."

I nodded, appreciating her concern, but deep down, I knew that my feelings for Lando were growing stronger with each passing day.

After my friends left, I found myself alone with Lando in the dimly lit living room. He was standing by the window, staring out into the night. I walked over, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Lando," I began, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to thank you for what you did at the race track. You saved me."

He turned to look at me, his eyes softening. "It's my job, Y/N. I would do it again in a heartbeat."

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. "But it's more than that, isn't it? I mean, you could have been hurt."

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

I stepped closer, my eyes searching his. "Why?"

For a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. "Because I care about you, Y/N. More than I should."

My breath caught in my throat. This was the moment I had been waiting for, the moment when he finally acknowledged what I had been feeling all along.

"Lando, I..." I began, but he held up a hand, stopping me.

"We can't," he said, his voice firm. "It would compromise my contract. And more importantly, it would put you in danger. My job is to protect you, not to be with you."

I felt a pang of disappointment, but I understood. He was right. Our relationship was complicated, and there were too many risks involved.

But as I looked into his eyes, I couldn't help but hope that one day, things might be different.

And with that thought lingering in my mind, I knew that this was just the beginning of a long, complicated journey. A journey that would test our resolve, our feelings, and ultimately, our fate.

---------------------

Feedback and Suggestions are ALWAYS welcomed.

Taglist:

[lis-likes-fics]

Would You Mind?

Pairings: Blue Jones x Reader Word Count: 7.5k words Kink: Begging Warnings: NSFW, dubcon elements, overstimulation, oral (m!receiving, brief f!receiving), face fucking, fingering, begging kink, praise kink, degradation kink, name calling, insinuated prostitution, dom/sub elements, dirty talk, spanking (briefly), very brief breeding kink (blink and you'll miss it), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia... A/N: I've been trying to write a Blue fic for a while so this was fun. The song featured in this fic is Would You Mind by Janet Jackson. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much! Merry Christmas!

“Baby, would you mind touching me ever so slowly?”

Blue stares at the stage with a hard look etched into the features of his face. He flexes his hands at his sides, stuffing them in his pockets as he watches. The oiled up bodies of his girls twirl and grind against one another, a frivolous act put together by Madam Gorski, full of glitz and glam and leather and lace.

The fabric, the darkest blue and shiniest silver sticking to your body, is tight. Blue is sure it'll leave imprints in your skin, the lacey patterns of feathers and flowers in your stockings, the waistband of your tiny, tiny skirt, the lines of your tiny brassiere. You dance in too high heels like it's nothing, and he wants to take you in his hands and crush you with the weight of his desire for you.

“You're making me quiver and, baby, would you mind undressing me?”

You look right at him when you sing that, your melodies standing out against the harmonies of your backups currently surrounding you in their crouched levels. The feathers of your headdress fall over some of your face, huge and fluffy and adding to the seduction of your smooth, addictive voice. Your eyes flick away from him, as though you never even saw him.

His eyes never tear away from you. He's drunk on your song, as he always is when you open your pretty little mouth and become his own personal little songbird.

He watches intently as the girls pick you and hold you over their heads, turning you in a circle as though you were flying. They support you through your steady, hypnotic vocalizations, like you're sounding a mating call in an attempt to have every man in the theatre flock to you like vultures circling their prey.

They set you down as a few men enter the stage, some taking partners as a couple of them come to your sides. Their bodies flush against yours, standing firmly there as you lean against one and caress a hand down his chest, his hands coming to touch you as the other does the same.

Blue feels his heart battering against his ribs, the anger building inside of you at the way the men touched you. He watches your eyes flutter as your breath hitches and you continue to sing.

“I just wanna touch you, tease you, lick you, please you, love you, hold you, make love to you…”

Your hooded eyes meet him again, and he knows that you know what you're doing.

You sink to your knees, your back against one of the men as he watches you descend. You turn, placing your free hand on his thigh and making your way back up as you tuck your nose underneath his chin. His hand smooths along your side until he's dipping down to grab your thigh. He hosts you up and maneuvers you like you've practiced a million times before until you are hanging upside down, your legs on his shoulders and the back of your head resting against his lower stomach.

And you're so skilled, your voice is level and controlled as you continue.

“I just wanna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you feel you, make you cum too.”

The man's lips caress the inside of your leg carefully, the other man coming up too close so you're trapped between them. He dips down to hold you under your shoulders, slowly bringing you back up so you're balanced on the other man's shoulders with your crotch in his face as his strong arms hold you up.

Blue watches your fingers intertwine with his hair and clenches his jaw so tight, he feels like he may pop a vein. You move your hips in a rhythmic grind, though you never make contact with the man's face. It's all an act, Blue knows, but the thought of it alone makes his blood boil.

“Baby, would you mind kissing me all over my body?”

Blue is interrupted from his thoughts when someone's hand claps him on the back. He turns around, readjusting his posture.

“P, sweetheart, how've you been?” a man says jovially, a cigar between his thick fingers.

“Pleasant,” he corrects quickly. “I've been fine, Mr. Benny. How about yourself?” He fights the urge to clench his jaw. Benny comes at least once every week to get a look at the songbird. Every week he asks for a night with her, and every week he is denied. Blue really isn't in the mood to argue over the specifics of her ownership with this man, and he feels like heads might roll if he's forced to endure a moment of it tonight.

“Listen, I've been great,” he chuckles heartily. “I just came by to check up on you, see how you're doing.” He massages Blue's shoulder as he speaks, trying to coerce him as he does routinely. “See if your mind’s changed at all, because the price has.”

He sighs internally. “Has it now?”

“It has,” he hummed.

Blue’s irritation is getting the best of him. He's missing his favorite show.

“Look, Mr. Benny. If we could talk after this act, I would love i–”

“I'll give you 15 thousand for her.”

Blue almost chokes—and not just because you're on your knees again singing into one of your partners’ crotches about sucking and tasting him.

The price has tripled since last time. Fifteen thousand dollars, just for a night with you? You are certainly worth it, Blue would have to admit, but, Christ, was it a big jump.

“Fifteen thousand? One-five?” he clarifies, turning his body to face one of his clients.

“One-five. If that's still not enough, I'll give you 20. Call it a Christmas gift.” Blue nearly chokes again. “Just one night, Pleasant, that's all I'm asking.” Benny sighed, letting go of Blue in favor of snapping his fingers to get one of his bodyguards at his side with a suitcase. “I know she's exclusive to a very special client but you can't put her up on stage like that and expect the dogs to heel.”

God, the urge to say yes was stronger than anything he could ever imagine. Twenty thousand is a lot of fucking money. The things he could do with twenty thousand dollars…

His eyes looked back onstage, and your gazes met in the middle of you laying on the floor in between a man's legs, your back arched off the polished wood as your lips formed your wishes and desires for his body. At least, he assumes it's for his body. You belong to no one else.

Twenty thousand dollars was a lot of fucking money…

“Mr. Benny,” he begins, turning to face him again as he clasps his hands. Rubbing them together, he signals one of his own guards and smiles nicely. “It's a pleasure doing business with you. My friend here will help you work out the details of this negotiation.”

Benny smiles, a big smile that flashed one of his gold teeth. He claps Blue on the back, a hearty laugh coming out of him as he takes the briefcase in his hand. “Oh, Mr. P, I'm so glad you could come around!”

Blue smiles back and conceals his annoyance at the stupid nickname Benny had insisted on calling him, nodding at his guard and watching them both leave, a hand on Benny's wide back with the other braced over the gun hidden in the guard’s coat. Blue turns back to the stage, where both men are touching you too closely, knelt in front of you like your personal servants as you sigh and moan into the microphone. Your head is raised to the ceiling and you brace yourself on their shoulders as they touch you on either side of your body, closing you in and feeling you all over.

“Oh, yeah, baby, ooh. Just like that, ooh yeah.”

You belong to him.

~

You push open the door to one of the many bedrooms lining the Pleasure Hall, flicking on the light, which casts a golden glow over the room. Shutting the door behind you, you quickly shed the top layer of your performance clothes from your skin and fold them nicely on one of two chairs.

You’d worn a special pair of lingerie tonight. You’d just had them bought special with your allowance money from Blue, and you were more than excited to show him the spoils of his good nature toward you. Still waiting, you situate yourself in front of the golden pole on its little platform, leaning your back against it with your arms crossed over your head and your fingers gingerly stroking the metal rod.

As if on cue, the door opens to reveal your wonderful sponsor.

“There’s my favorite girl,” he smiles, closing the door behind him. “How are you, Birdy?”

You smile wide, shrugging a shoulder and keeping position. “I’m doing good. Enjoy the show?”

Blue wipes a hand down his face, remembering briefly the show you put on tonight and the offer that was presented to him for you, along with the hefty donation he suddenly received in support of Lennox by an…anonymous donor.

“Your show…was fantastic. So good, in fact,” he sits back in the other chair, crossing his legs as spreading his arms over the back, “I would like my private show.”

You smile, “Whenever you’re ready then, Mr. Blue.”

You and Blue had a routine.

Ever since you joined Lennox, Blue has taken a special interest in you. Every girl he owns has a special little talent he uses to seduce men out of their money to put in his pocket. When you came to him—or, rather, when you were given to him in the hopes of putting you to good use—he was quick to discover your gift of song. He’d put you on stage for the first time, and it was the biggest kick in his business he’d gotten in years.

But Blue is selfish, and he wants you all to himself.

So after your shows, you come here, in what has now become Blue’s reserved room, and perform it once more for him and only him. He loves to hear you sing to him, to seduce him with your smooth voice and then remind you who you belong to. It fills him with such light to know he has you in his pocket whenever he wants you.

The music begins to play through the room’s speaker, and your eyes close as you feel it, swaying gently as you sink into your routine.

“Baby, would you mind touching me ever so slowly?” you whisper, letting the music fill in the spots where your stage partners no longer existed.

Blue watches you, a primal look glittering in his eyes as he grip the arms of the chair so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d left imprints in the fabric.

“Cause I'm gonna bathe you, play with you, rub you, caress you.”

You come up to him, placing your hands on his thighs and leaning into his face, your lips inches from his. “I just wanna touch you, tease you, lick you, please you, love you, hold you, make love to you.” You sink to your knees in front of him, stroking your hands along his thighs and whispering dangerously close to the bulge in his pants as he watches you, enchanted by your voice. “And I'm gonna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you, feel you deep inside me, boo.”

“Oh, Birdy,” he rasps under his breath, his hands moving to cover yours as you stand once again, your ass in the air and your lips hovering over his own.

When you turn and make your way back to your pole, he has to catch his breath again as you sway your hips to the rhythm of the music.

The things you do to the pole could make him cry. He needs you so badly, he needs your little body to rub against his. You manage to hoist yourself up on the pole as you’d done with the boys on stage, supporting your weight upside down as your legs wrap around the top end of it. “Baby, would you mind tasting me? It's making me all juicy, feeling your lips on mine.”

Blue is so hard in his pants, he thinks he might burst just looking at you. You grind on the pole, and he knows he saw you make contact when your eyes flutter and your voice wavers just a bit, blending with the moaning lyrics of your song.

You keep teasing him, giving the pole everything he’s wanting from you, telling him everything you want to do to him but keeping your hands off of him all the while.

Blue raises his hand and curls his fingers to get you to step closer. And you do, making your way toward him too slowly to wrap your hands around his thighs once more. You lean forward and whisper in his ear, “I just wanna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you, feel you, make you cum too.”

A shudder runs down his spine as he pulls you back to look at you, a hand hooking around your inner thigh as your breath hitches a little. The music begins to go wherever it wants as you divulge into the ending, breathy moans and whispers and pleas for him to keep going when all he’s doing is putting his hand on your thigh and stroking it.

“Just like that, ooh yeah,” you breathe. “Shit, oh, oh, my, yes, oh, oh.”

Your face contorts with an imagined pleasure, your O-shaped lips and clenched shut eyes illustrating how you would look if he gave in to the song already. You’ll give him this—he lasted a lot longer than you thought he would.

The music finishes off, and you’re still unsatisfied. Blue’s face lingers away from yours, watching the pleasure in your face sink away as you look at him. His knuckle strokes your jaw, dipping behind your ear and easing down the side of your neck before hooking underneath the strap of your lacey bra.

“This is new,” he rasps.

You nod. “Mhm,” your voice is breathy. “Bought it just a couple days ago. Do you like it?”

He moves you to stand to your full height, towering over him in his seated position as he keeps his hands at your waist and turns you around to get the full view. It’s blue, all lace and no support, hiding nothing from him so he can see what you’re working with. The color is perfect with your skin, and the size is one too small so that it hugs tight to every inch it “covers”.

“I love it, babygirl,” he says, losing breath.

You preen under the brief praise, turning around again. “I’m glad.”

He pulls you close, digging his nose into your hip to smell you. His eyes close as he holds you still. “Mr. Benny came to visit you again.”

You frown. “I don’t like Mr. Benny. He’s pushy, and he smells like gas.”

“I know you don’t, baby bird,” he sighs, looking up at you again as you set your hands on his shoulders. “But I have a little gift for you.”

“What is it?” you ask, your eyes glittering at the prospect of a gift.

“Mr. Benny won’t be coming around anymore,” he smiles. “And he left us alone with a nice, big donation.”

You bite your lip, hiding your tiny grin. Good. You hate that scumbag. Whenever he managed to get close, he’d grab your arm or your thigh and touch you however he could. He was sticky and smelled like gasoline and was too warm.

“What’d you do to him?” you wonder briefly.

His thumbs rub circles into your sides. “Don’t you worry about that, little bird. He’s gone, I’m raising your allowance, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile wide. “Okay, Blue.”

“Now, what does my Birdy want tonight?” he asks.

You pretend to think, conjuring your song in your mind as you bent down to his lips. “I just wanna…touch you, and tease you, and lick you, and please you, and love you, and hold you, and make love to you.”

“Is that all?” he chuckles. “What else?”

“I wanna,” your voice is softer, breathier as you whisper in his ear and let your noses bump one another as you speak, “kiss you, and suck you, and taste you, and ride you, feel you…make you cum too.”

He shudders. “Yeah?” You nod, humming in his ear. He opens his fluttering eyes to look at you, his smile going sour as a new look takes his face. Primal and dangerous and the same look he gave you when you were on stage, rubbing your body against those boys while you looked directly into his eyes. “You’re gonna have to beg for that, baby bird.”

“Please?” you mutter. “Please, can I have it?”

He shakes his head, holding your elbows in his hands and caressing the length of your arms. “No… No, you can do better than that, can’t you? Beg me.”

You step closer between his legs. “Please, Blue, can I kiss you?”

He shakes his head. Letting go of you, he sighs. “You know, I don’t think you’re really wanting me, are you?”

You nearly whimper, sinking to your knees quickly as you kneel between his thighs, your hands on his knees as you set your cheek against the inside of his leg and look up at him.

“Please, Blue, please can you kiss me? I want you so bad, please.”

He considers for a moment, but he’s weak when you’re kneeling all pretty between his legs. He takes your chin in his hand and pulls you forward until his lips can crash against yours in a bruising kiss. You immediately sink into it, humming against his lips and becoming putty in his hands as you kiss him back.

Your hands find the buckle of his belt, and he stops you. “No, no, no. You gotta beg for that, too, baby. You gotta ask for the things you want. Isn’t that right?” he teases, though he’s completely serious as he stares you down.

“Please, Blue–”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts. “I let it slip the first time, but you’ve gotta do it properly.”

“Please, sir,” you correct immediately. “Please, can I suck your cock? Please?” You sound like you’ll cry. You’re probably aching with need right now, he can smell it off you…

“Well, how are you going to suck my cock if my cock is in my pants?” He casts you a dark grin, leaning back and shrugging his shoulders. “I think you skipped a few steps, Birdy.”

“Can I please take off your belt?” you ask, the frustration reaching your eyes.

He smiles slyly. “Yes, you may.”

You do, forcing open the buckle and ripping the belt from its loops to be rid of it. The heady scent of his cologne is sinking into your senses and driving you crazy. “Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please can I pull your cock out?”

“Go ahead, baby,” he relents, watching you with hooded eyes as your hand disappears into his underwear and comes back with his cock in your hand. He almost moans at the sight, his hard erection leaking precum already in the grasp of your little hand. Your thumb begins to stroke the length of him and his hips jerk slightly as he reprimands you.

“Have—fuck.” He takes a moment. “Have you asked for that yet?”

It takes everything in your power not to groan and roll your eyes at his insistence. “Sorry, sir,” you whisper. “Can I suck your cock now?”

“Please?” “Please?”

“Please who?”

“Please, sir.”

“Now put it all together.”

You’re going to lose it, and he can tell. He loves teasing you like this, he loves how impatient you get and how much more impatient he can make you still. The gentle squeeze of his cock drives him insane as he fights not to let it show.

“Please, sir, can I please suck your cock? I wanna make you cum so bad. I wanna be your good girl. Please?” you whimper. His head spins at your little rant, imagining every little detail your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

God, the things you do to this man.

“Well, since you want it so bad,” he sighs. “Go on, baby bird. Get what you want.”

You immediately begin stroking his cock, encouraging the precum pooling at his tip as you lean forward on your knees and take the head of his cock between your lips, swirling your tongue over the slit and licking up the pearly white drops gathered there. His muscles tense at the feeling of your warm mouth on him.

His hands grasp either side of your head, tangling in your hair as one adjusts itself around the back. You tease his tip, licking and suckling and driving him as insane as he’d driven you.

“Good girl,” he moans, relishing the dip of your head halfway down his length. You grip his thighs and stroke them slowly as you wrap your hands around his hips.

“Look up at me, baby, look,” he says, shifting his hand in your hair to lift your head. You stay where you are, turning your eyes up at him as you suckle around his tip. His breath shudders.

His cock slowly fills your mouth as you take him farther down, taking your time to ease him into your throat. Your nose brushes his pelvis, and he chokes when he looks down at you through lidded eyes.

Your eyes prick with tears, clouding your vision. When you go to hum around his girth, you gag a little. The constriction pulls a grunt from his throat, and he opens his eyes once again to look at you with a devious grin.

“Good girl,” he huffs again. He draws out the word just as he draws your head back a little to pull himself out of your throat. You whimper lightly, a high-pitched and breathy sound that makes him bite his lip.

His hand flattens on your head as he cards his fingers through your hair. When he grips it, pulling on the hair at the base of your skull, you feel like you'll go limp as your mouth falls open a little more.

You breathe a moan and flatten your tongue along the underside of him. Humming again, you wrap your lips around him and start to bob your head again. He guides you, tightening his grip in an attempt to get control of himself.

You listen to him, to his grunts, the way he moans like he's going to blow any second. One of your hands shifts from his thigh, cupping his heavy balls in your palm and sighing at the precum spilling over your tongue.

“Oh, fuck, Birdy,” he huffs, his hips jerking up into you as he teeters on the edge. Just as you feel him getting ready to unload, he pulls you away and leans his head back.

You sigh and catch your breath, your tongue hanging out from your mouth as the tears welling in your eyes spill down your cheeks. Your jaw aches as you move it around to massage.

Blue huffs as he looks at you and your tear-stained face. He smiles a little. “You look so pretty like that, baby bird.”

“Thank you, sir,” you smile slightly.

He lightly smacks your cheek, and you move to stand. You turn toward the bed, crawling on top of it to stand on your hands and knees, waiting for him.

Blue comes up behind you, his hand smacking your side again and pulling you back by your leg. You turn to look at him, but he just picks you up and puts you back on the floor. You look up at him, obediently awaiting his next move until he's shucking off the rest of his pants and underwear and moving to be rid of his shirt as well.

You watch him undo each button as he stares at you with his dark eyes, burning into you with a glaring dominance. “Get on your knees.”

You do, shifting your legs underneath you and rubbing your palms into your thighs. When he's naked, he steps forward.

“Beg me,” he says.

You tilt your head, looking up at him. “What do you want me to beg you for, sir?”

He shakes his head, “Just do it. I wanna hear you beg for me.”

He towers over you, looking down his nose at you as his hard cock stands stiff in your face. You bite your lip, “Please do what you want with me, sir. I want to feel you, wanna be yours.” His face doesn't shift, unconvinced. “Please, sir, please use me. Wanna be your good girl, please.”

It feels out of place, begging him for something without knowing what it is, but you obey. When he's standing over you like this, intimidating you with his height alone, you can do nothing but obey and hope he's kind enough to give you what you want.

He sighs, “Such a sweet girl.” He sets a hand on your cheek, the other moving to your neck as he takes another step closer. “Open your mouth.”

You do, and he lines his cock with your lips before slipping himself back into the warmth of them. His cock hits the back of your throat, and it makes you gag again when he does it again. His grip on the side of your neck tightens, and he's almost guiding you again as he slowly fucks into your mouth, his eyes focused on you and his lips parted at the sight of you so undone.

More tears begin their descent down your cheeks, your mascara running as it does. Your lipstick has begun to smudge, red lining the base of his cock and smearing over the corners of your lips.

He shudders. “The things this mouth can do is magical. It's fucking perfect, baby.”

After a rough thrust into your mouth, your hands find his hips as you pull him back a little. You gasp, catching your breath as a cough rattles your chest. He only gives you a moment to adjust before his cock is in your mouth again.

He listens to you, the sound of your hums in the back of your throat being interrupted by the tip of his cock rubbing against it. He curses under his breath, holding you by your head and keeping you still as he continues to rock his hips into your mouth.

It's when you can't breathe once more that you tap your hand against his side quickly, pushing him back when he doesn't listen. You gasp, coughing again and keeping your hand at his waist to keep him back. You wipe at your eyes to clear them, looking at him once you've calmed and watching him stare at you like a predator would a hunk of meat.

“Sorry, sir,” you mutter, stroking your hands on his thighs again to appease him. He just smiles, running a hand through your hair.

“That's okay, Birdy,” he says. “Get on the bed.”

You stand on trembling legs, crawling back onto the bed for the second time on your hands and knees. Once you're comfortable, you lean forward to press your face against the plush, red pillows on the bed.

He sighs appreciatively, fingering the waistband of your lingerie. He unhooks them from your stockings and pulls them down your thighs, revealing your sticky, wet pussy. With a hum, he rips them up to toss the fabric away. Your breath hitches.

Blue stares at your pussy, watches you clench around nothing, watching your arousal seep from your folds. He rubs his thumb through your slit, coating it in your slick as your hips jerk in response. He licks his thumb, closing his eyes and humming at the taste of you.

His hands grope your ass, smacking you a couple times. You feel the bed dip behind you, and moan when you feel his hot mouth against your cunt. His tongue flattens against your dripping folds, collecting your arousal on his tongue as he hums roughly against you. His tongue digs insistently between your folds, and you feel him suckle around your clit.

“Blue,” you sigh. “Oh, please don't stop.”

He grunts into you like a crazed beast, groping your flesh and eating you up. When he pulls away from you, you whimper and feel your body tensing uncomfortably.

He shoves two thick fingers inside of you, pressing them as far as they'll go and stroking them roughly. You bite your lip to stifle your moans, fisting the sheets as you struggle to keep still.

“Fuck, you're still so tight,” Blue sighs. “You'd think I'd break you in by now.”

You wiggle your hips slightly, not entirely of your own volition as the thought of his cock inside of you excites your rushing blood. “Please,” you begin again, almost sounding whiny with how needy you are.

“Please what?” he asks. “What do you want, huh? You want me to fuck this little hole, Birdy? Is that what you want?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, sir, please! Want you to fuck me so bad, Blue, please.”

His hands massage your hips, “You want me to use you?”

“Yes!”

“You want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, sir!”

Without warning, he shoves his cock inside of you, thrusting all the way in with one slap of his hips. You moan out, gripping the sheet tight as you feel the glorious stretch of his girth.

He bends down over you, hooking an arm around your neck and pulling you up to support yourself on your hands. He pushes his fingers past your parted lips, making you suck your arousal off his fingers as he pushes your tongue down to the bottom of your mouth.

“Fuck,” he huffs. “Love this tight little pussy.” He grips your waist, pulling out of you just to smack his hips into you once again. You let out a loud, breathy moan as he does. Feeding off your validation, his pace picks up as he begins thrusting into you at a punishing force.

You clench around him, your weak arms shaking as you try to keep yourself up. “Ah, please don't stop.” Your voice is teetering on the edge of a sob as he continues to fuck you like he's been starved of you for years. “Fuck, Blue, yes!”

“Yeah?” he grunts. “You like when I fuck you like this? Nice and rough?” His voice is low and gravely, depraved. “Does this little whore cunt like being fucked?”

You nod, letting your head fall forward. “Yes, sir!”

“I know it does.” A rough thrust comes with a low growl from him. “My cock hungry little slut needed this, didn't she?”

You nod again, clenching the sheets until your fingers start to tingle. The slap of skin on skin is loud and sharp, a rhythmic beat of slk! slk! slk! as you soak his cock in your arousal.

He pulls out of you suddenly. You whimper at the loss of his thick length, but you're interrupted when he shoves you onto your side. He lifts your leg, spreading you out as he sets it over his shoulder. His tip presses between your folds and he's thrusting again, bottoming out as the whole of him is sheathed in your warmth.

Your reaction is immediately, high-pitched moans worthy of a professional porn actress and clenching walls that squeeze his cock and make him twitch. “Fuck, look at you,” he huffs as he fucks into you. “Greedy little slut takin’ my cock. You my greedy whore? Hm?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, turning your head into the bed to stifle your moan.

“Nah-ah, talk to me, baby. Lemme hear it. You're my little fucktoy, aren't you?” He pulls your body closer to the edge of the bed, grunting.

“Yes, sir,” you huff. “‘M your little fucktoy. All yours!”

“Good girl,” he urges, shifting your legs again to close them to thrust into a tighter pussy. He curses again, you can feel each little movement of his cock inside of you and you whine as he thrusts into you, a steady in-and-out rhythm that drags along your walls and makes you light-headed.

“Fuck, sir, please. More, I need more,” you moan, giving him what he wants. His thrusts become rougher still, relishing in the delicious feeling of your pussy so tight around him. “Please can I come?” you cry. “Please, I needa cum, Blue. Please, please, please.”

He scoffs. “I don’t care, baby bird. Cum for me.”

Your finger finds your clit now that you have the permission to touch yourself in your hands. You rub tight, fast circles, ignoring the ache in your arm that quickly builds at the exertion. Your cunt tightens more and more around his pistoning cock as you get closer and closer to your own sweet release. The pleasure is so intoxicating, it melts your brain as you succumb to the pleasure.

He can feel you beginning to quiver, steeling his jaw as you do. “You gonna cum for me, Birdy?” he grunts. “I know you are. I’ve got you whining and moaning like a little bitch. Listen to yourself, so fucking pathetic.”

His words make you rub faster at your clit, building the pleasure as you balance on the edge, ready to jump off. “You wanna cum, baby? Do it. Do it for me. Cum for me, little bird.”

The coil in your belly snaps as you go flying off the edge, your release crashing down around you like a mighty wave. You cry out, moaning loudly, whining like a little bitch. “Ah—Blue! Fuck, yes, yes, yes! Fuck, I’m cumming.”

He fucks you through it, his pace quickening and his cock twitching as you clench around him, gripping like a vice. His breaths are growing louder, his control slipping piece by piece.

As you come down from your high, the sensitivity kicks in and the tingling of your release turns into a dull burn. Your clench for a different reason, reaching toward his abdomen to push him back, to no avail.

“Blue, sir,” you mumble, stuttering slightly. “Fuck, slow down.” He doesn’t listen. “Blue, please, slow down. I—Ah—I need a second.”

He keeps thrusting away inside of you, his hips not stopping for a moment as he continues to use your little hole like you’d begged him to moments before. “Blue–”

“Shh, just shut up,” he breathes, impatient. “Shut up and take it, little bird. I know you can do it. You were made for this, yeah?”

You try again. “Bl–”

He pulls out of you quickly, spreading your legs wide and turning you on your back just so he can shove his cock back into your sensitive cunt. When you whine, he slaps a hand over your mouth to silence you. His face, inches from yours, is marked with lust and impatience and something far more primal as he stares at you. “Shh,” he eases, his punishing pace immediately as he ruts into you, an unsentimental beast. “The only thing I wanna hear coming out of you are those little moans when I fuck you dumb, you understand me?”

You can’t answer, he’s got his hand clasped tight over your lips. His cock keeps pounding into you, his other hand gripping your thigh so tight, his dull nails dig into your flesh and leave little crescent marks. He’s usually not this insistent.

It takes a moment, but the sensitivity washes away into another wave of arousal as his hips keep slamming into you. You wade into the pleasure, letting it take you as you moan against his palm. He removes his hand, clasping it over your throat instead just to hold you as he thrusts. “Such a good girl, listening to me, moaning for more. You wanted it bad, didn’t you? That’s why you were on stage letting all those boys touch you like that, grinding on them like the little whore you are, huh?”

You nod, “Yes, sir.”

“You just wanted a nice fuck,” he scoffs. “You can come as much as you want, Birdy.” He punctuates his words with a finger to your clit, and your hips jerk at the feeling, not yet recovering from the sensitivity there. You try to wiggle your hips away, but he doesn’t let you as he starts with a cruel pace, playing with your clit like making you cum is a punishment.

Your moans are loud as he pleasures you, for better or worse. You clench his cock and moan his name and beg him for nothing in particular. “Blue, please. Fuck, please.”

He answers you by making his thrusts just a little harder, almost bruising with the way he slams his hips against yours. You’re light-headed as the pleasure rattles in your skull, in your bones. You feel tears pricking at your eyes as the pleasure builds, a blinding pleasure that warns another release. When you cum a second time, it’s with a whining sigh as the sensitivity carries on through his continued assault on your clit.

You’re out of breath, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to convince him. “Slow down. Ahh, fuck, Blue, please.” But he’s not convinced—or he doesn’t care. He keeps fucking you like he’ll never touch you again.

His thrusts start to become sloppy, and you know he’ll cum soon. The faster he does, the faster you get a moment to recover from your consecutive orgasms and let your body rest. You clench around him, grinding your hips to meet his thrusts as you coax him closer to his own release.

Blue’s cock twitches and he groans. Just as you’re expecting him to cum inside of you, he pulls out with a heavy sigh. He grips the base of his cock, staving off his release. He leans over you again and kisses you roughly, a hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you up enough to sit. You close your legs, but he forces them open once more as he continues to kiss you.

His hand massages the inside of your thigh, and when his hand finds your clit again, your legs jerk. He keeps them open. You gasp when his hand rubs at your clit, fast and rough and making your head spin with how wonderful and how aching it feels. Your hips jerk up to meet his hand, but you also try to move away from him as your still-fresh release hangs over your head.

With the way he touches you, you’ll come again in no time, regardless of how fast it was. “Blue, please, ‘s too much. I can’t.” He just shushes you, rubbing a little faster.

You cry out when he pulls another orgasm from you, a sharp, aching one that fills you with so much ecstasy for a few seconds and quickly falls back into a stinging pain. And just as you suspected, he doesn’t let up.

The tears fall down your cheeks, the pleasure and the pain mixing together too much for you to handle. He smiles at the sight of it, watching it roll down your face with a terrible grin. “So fucking beautiful when you cry for me.”

“Blue–”

“Shh…” His brutal pace on your clit continues on for as long as it needs to in order to bring another release from you. You cry when he does, a mix of a moan and a sob as your body trembles.

He finally steps away from you, giving you a moment to breathe as you lay slack on the bed with shuddering thighs. But he only gives you a moment.

Blue takes you in his arms and rolls you over onto your stomach. You gasp lightly, collecting your thoughts as he lifts your hips up to present you again. You whine insistently when he hooks his thumb inside of you, and you shudder when his cock follows.

“Ah, Blue!” His hands find your waist and use them to guide you on his cock, building his pace once again. You grip the bedsheets and mewl under him, your body arching into the bed when he pushes you down roughly.

He fucks you from behind hard and rough, punishing you for an unknown crime as your sensitive pussy flutters around him. It aches with a dull pain and with a mind-numbing pleasure. You’re conflicted by all the sensations, but the sense is slowly slipping away as he does what he said he was going to do: fuck you dumb.

You can’t think straight, not with the way his cock pistons inside of you. Your moans and sighs huff out of you as they wish, your pussy quivers with each rough thrust, your legs tremble as the slap of his hips make it harder to hold yourself up.

“You like this, baby? You’ve been fucking needing it.” A harsher thrust has you crying out. “Take my fucking cock like the fucking whore you are. Fuck, take it, Birdy. Just like that. Good girl. Good girl.”

The praise and the degradation mixes in your mind. You can do nothing but moan, doing as he says and taking what he gives you as you whine and moan. With the pleasure so hot in your body, the pain has numbed and left a tingly feeling that resides in your fingers, in your toes, in the tip of your tongue.

“Mmm, f-fuck, sir,” you mumble incoherently. “S’good. Feels so good.”

“Yeah? You like being fucked like this,” he says, grunting as he feels himself reaching his own limit.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, Blue.”

“You’re out of your little mind.” He punctuates his sentence with a harsh thrust. His hand snakes around your waist to play with your abused clit again. You mewl and wiggle your hips and do nothing more. He builds you up quickly, and you shudder as your release nears again. You don’t know how many times you’ve come.

“Fuck, Birdy, I’m gonna cum inside this perfect little pussy.” You moan at his words. “You want that? You want me to fuck my cum into your belly? Make you nice and round, perfect fucking belly for a baby.” His hips are getting sloppy, his measured thrusts not as rhythmic and his thrusts more shallow as he grinds inside you. A rough groan scratches his throat as he pushes in deeper and grips you harder. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby. Ah, fuck!”

He spills inside of you, hot and molten and filling you up to the brim as he shoves his cock as far as he’ll go. You shudder, a sobbing moan rising from your sore throat as you reach your own release, fluttering around him and encouraging him.

“Fucking take it,” he grunts, his voice low and gravely. “Take my—mmm—fucking cum like a—hah—a good girl.” Shallow, rough thrusts fuck his cum deep inside of you, and you whine at the sore pleasure it brings.

Blue’s breaths ease very slowly, the pleasure fading off until he can catch his breath and clear his mind. He stays sheathed inside of you, relishing in the warmth of your cunt for a little longer. He bends down, kissing the back of your neck and your cheek. He turns your head so he can reach your mouth, licking your bottom lip as he pulls you into a gentler kiss than the rough ones he’d given before.

When he pulls away, he takes your lip with him before releasing it with a dull slap back against your teeth. His hands push down on your back as he pulls out of you, sighing heavily. “Fuck,” he curses.

He lets you go, and you allow yourself to fall off the bed, your body heavy and limp. He stands, moving you over to lay on your back. He leans over your body, kissing your lips again and gently rubbing his knuckles along your cheek. You manage to look at him, offering what you can of a gentle smile as you try to stay awake, though the fatigue pulls at you.

He runs a hand along your face. “Would you mind singing for me again, little bird?”

Oscar Isaac taglist: @loki-hargreeves @hb8301 @tessarqctt @fanreader @alexxavicry @gublur @katsukis1wife @hatterripper31 @papichulo120627 @anotherblackreader @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @minigirl87 @woahhajime @notzammm Tag yourself here...

[fanaticsnail]

Uncharted Horizons

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 2,100+

Synopsis: A high-flying trapeze artist enjoys her morning practice before the assortment of rabblerousing crew joins her in her solice. Unbeknownst to her, an onlooker watching her routine was working up the courage to finally confess to his harboured feelings growing in his chest while he watched on over his morning coffee.

Themes: Buggy x Ari (One Piece Original Character), fluff, trapeze, love confession, minor sense of peril, kisses.

Notes: This is for my beautiful friend, @okanadafreakingfan, who drew me a gorgeous picture of my OC Tobiuo and Heat a little while ago. I adore writing for original characters, and I hope you like it as much now as you did when I first showed you, Okana! Divider by @/firefly-graphics. Ao3 link Here.

Not a sound nor whisper echoed within the circular arena beneath the large, red and white tent shrouding the grounds from sunlight. Morning dews covered the bleachers from the first kiss of winter, ice clutching the railing that appeared due for a polish and clean. The rays begun to twinkle through the splits in the tarp to color the ground in stripes of gold, a contrast to the nights’ manufactured spotlights that danced on the skin and sequined leotards and costumes. 

Ari was the artist, aerial mastery was her tool, and the air was her living and breathing canvas. Those witnessing a true maestro to the symphony of skies were often left astounded at the end of a whimsical performance. Her cotton candy pink hair, her brilliant smile, and the glitz and glamour that comes with being a member of the Buggy Pirates had long since left her after a week-long run of shows for the public. Now stripped back to basic black, Ari chalks her hands and verbalises her cues while readying herself for a run-through of the script and performance.

“And now presenting: the angel in the skies, taking flight as a gift from Buggy the Clown to you,” she utters, repeating her captain’s words in a soft tone. Her hands reached forward as the chalk made contact with the frayed ropes to form a tacky hold over the fibres. As she jumped up to grip the tanned ropes, she visualised more of his speech. Scampering up the ropes, she finally brushed her fingers against the circular hoop and gripped it firmly. 

Drawing up her knees to her chest, Ari thrust her heels immediately outwards to propel herself forward. Her biceps tensed and flexed as she began to swing from below her hoop. To and fro, her body surged forward until she deemed it enough to roll her stomach beneath it and anchor her hips to the base of the ring. Presenting out her wrist, the aerial performer flicked her fingers and pointed her toes in a motion depicting poise, grace, and elegance. 

Should this had been a performance night, her cheeks would be blooming with a flush as she forced a smile to crawl over her lips. She was no longer bound by such a hindrance. No smile, no laughter, no performance: simply an artist in their element as she performed for no one but herself.

At least, Ari thought that was the case. 

Under the assumption that the majority of the crew would be sleeping off their hangovers after celebrating the conclusion of a successful run, Captain Buggy sauntered into the arena, sans paint and glamor, while holding a fresh mug of his morning coffee. He would usually enjoy this out watching the sunrise, a habit he picked up from an old first mate he knew from long ago, but hearing the rocking of ropes in the arena. 

While participating in the show, Buggy was distraught to admit that he had not had the privilege of simply sitting back and watching the show he worked hard to curate. Back pressed against the pole anchoring the canvas shroud, his jaw fell slack as he gawked at Ari as she slowed the swing to a complete stop. There she was, his starlight, his performer, his woman, simply his - at least, until the lights went out. She was his everything within the arena, the stars to dust his night sky with its illuminance, and in their private lives: barely a whisper of a word to one another aside from chores and orders. 

Ari moved to sit on the ring, perching herself within the middle loop and rolling her ankles at the heels to extend her toes outwards. Her back braced against the side as she arched her arms either side of her person, legs gracefully bent at the knees as one foot gripped the ring and the other tastefully extended acrobatically below her. Slowly rolling herself beneath it, Buggy almost dropped his coffee mug while thinking she was to fall to her death, but she easily caught the ring on her knee and arched her back outwards. 

She looked so peaceful while dangling herself upside down. There was something within that easy tranquility that Buggy witnessed in her closed eyelids. She was at complete peace in her element, and Buggy was awestruck by her majesty. Tugging herself upright, she angled her hips comfortably and began to spin in slow and lazy circles. “Comfy up there, Ari?” Buggy called to her, “You almost look like a cute little bird sittin’ on a perch- Woah-!” 

Ari was startled by the sudden voice as she immediately jolted upright in reaction. Her knee lost its grip on the hoop and her hands clawed at the air to find any brace of substance. Before she began this little run through, she knew she should’ve raised the net to catch her. She had yet to have a fall since the beginning of her journey with the Buggy Pirates, and she trusted herself up until this very point.

The world moved slowly. Each claw and grab for a foundation was split from her as her breath left her body. She was too high up to survive this great drop. At least, not without a-.

“-Fuck, Ari!” The nasally voice of her captain barked at her, catching her mid-flight as his feet lay detached at his ankles a few feet below. Immediately, the infamous clown-captain cradled his pink-haired performer against his chest and slowly began his descent down. Each inch towards the ground held a raspy reprimand towards the aerial performer. 

“Ari, you need to use the nets!”

“Ari, you should’ve had someone to spot you!” “Ari, you need someone to watch over you when you perform!”

“Ari, you’re trying to kill me and yourself at this rate!”

As his ankles touched the ground, he expected his mistress of the skies to release her arms from around his neck. To his surprise, she held on tight and buried her head in the crook of his neck and took a large inhale of breath to steady herself. 

“Ari, are you-?” “-I’m so sorry, Captain Buggy,” she mumbled into his neck and sucked in a shaken breath, “I thought I was better than this. I thought I could… I just… I…” Her words left her as she pawed at him to cling to the lifeline and rescuer that spared her of an unfortunate demise. Her breath fluttered at every intake as she fully felt the impact of her earlier decision. 

Without much warning, Buggy turned to look at her bated breaths and darted his eyes over her features. His eyes met hers, his breath matching her own, and his eyes widening as she gazed up at him with an expression he had only dreamed about in the fairytales he was begrudgingly read as a child. She looked up at him like he was her everything. Everything. Someone who had the foundations of becoming the cornerstone of her soul was the expression she wore up at him.

As she leaned in, he found could not deny her of her earthly tether.

Her lips met his in a soft timidity. Slow, soft, unsure, yet desperate for a contact after the feat that nearly claimed her. She mouthed at his lips to part them with every soft swipe of her tongue and extension of her lips. Every moment she pressed onto his skin, a part of him melted away. Initially, his hands flailed at his sides as he failed to comprehend what was occurring in an expression such as this. Yes, he had been kissed before: paid whores, practicing with other young folk in his youth, but this was different. This was sacred. This was almost holy to him, and he had no idea how to react to it. 

Buggy’s hands softly cradled her lower back and drew her closer into him. He tilted his head to avoid his rotund nose from enabling a greater depth should she desire it. Buggy would take what he got from her and be glad for every breath this graced him. He did not fit the mold of a hero often, if at all, and he almost felt like he was milking this moment a little more than he intended.

He was the first to break the kiss, looking down at her with a flutter of his lengthy, blue eyelashes. His teal eyes were indecisive to which of Ari’s he found purchase, but settled on her lips as he spoke with her.

“Ari…” he exhaled softly, as subtle as a whispered confession in a priest’s booth, “...My love, I didn’t mean to yell. I never want you to fear me. I’m… I… I just… fuck.” He huffed out his chuckle and slowly drew his eyes from her heart-shaped lips to her eyes. 

“Ari. Baby, I care about you,” he confessed while drawing his hand up to cup her cheek. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead against hers and shared her breath, “You’re my little songbird, fluttering your wings and sitting on the trapeze. You’re the starlight to my darkening sky, which sounds really corny and stupid now saying it aloud.” He huffed out a small chuckle and closed his eyes. Brushing his rounded nose with hers, he removed any apprehension from his mind at his embarrassment over the bulging sphere - choosing to only focus on her. 

Ari took a moment to calm herself, finally opening her eyes and gazing up into the teal eyes of her saviour. She felt her heart swell with every passing moment, slowly finding a confession dam behind her teeth and refuse to flee them. Buggy remained patient as she hardened her resolve and looked up at him.

“All I am, all I do… I do for you, captain,” she whispered softly, leaning into his hand at her cheek and puckering her lips into his palm, “...I just want to make you proud. I want to make you happy. I sharpen my skills and train so hard in the hopes that it makes you smile - even just once. I…” Her teeth chattered and brows furrowed in her every moment, slowly taking in a breath before she found the words she wanted to say so desperately. 

“I love you.” 

Ari’s lips never found them, growing silent as Buggy articulated the phrase she was searching for. He nodded, slowly solidifying the expression while repeating them on a loop.

“I love you, Ari. I do. You’re everything to me, even if you don’t realise it,” he laughed softly with his eyes crinkling at the corners, “It’s not an act to me. Well, it kind of is considering we’re a fucking circus, but anyway-.” He cut himself off as he gazed into her eyes once more. Leaning forward, he couldn’t stop the emotion from welling up in his guts and pouring from his lips like the sentimental sailor he was born to be. 

A deep and plentiful kiss burned into her skin, initiated by her captain while he drew her ever closer. If he didn’t speak when he chose to, she would not have fallen. If he didn’t catch her when she did, she would no longer be here. He refused to let another moment depart from either of them again without feeling her body as close as she could get to his. 

Slowly backing himself into the bleachers, he continued to kiss her while cupping her thighs and settling her on his lap. He was not doing any of this to coerce her into anything ebbing on  uncomfortable, but in his lazy morning, he simply wanted to be sat while the most beautiful woman of his dreams laid her passion against his lips. Dragging her over his lap, he moved his hands from her thighs to the small of her back while unbreaking his lips from hers. 

This time, Ari was the first to separate her lips from his own. Only slowly, only softly, only apprehensively - the confidence of the performer was stripped from them both in their morning daze. Roosters in town began to crow as the sunlight trickled in to cover their bodies in the sheen of deep amber. Silence was thick between them, but not awkward as they settled into this new reality they found themselves meeting. 

Buggy had confessed his love for the pink-haired performer first, and Ari had ricocheted the affection back to the cerulean-haired clown tenfold in her actions. Where they went from here was up to them, but as the warmth of the morning begun to melt the ice from the bleacher frame, they simply dwelled in the softness of one another's arms.

[amourlyns]

❛ HEY VENGEANCE. ❜ ➜ ⁽ masterlist ⁾

✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕: in which the reader meets bruce wayne at a gala, the riddler is rampant in the city. and this gala is his next target. part one of two.

✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: mentions of alcohol consumption, and drugs. bruce is vv emotionally repressed, he’s got problems ok?

✧ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: 🦦 this is pattison’s batman influenced by matt reeves (the batman.) no use of y/n, pov switches to bruce twice in this fic. listen to 〞thank god for the rain 〞 by bernard herrman for ambiance.

⟡ ⠀ | Gotham is well (…) an odd city. An odd city with slick—tongued alley cats who roam and lurk at each corner, merging with the shadow and watching passerby dance and speak in hypnotic tongues.

You liked to call it the Gotham effect, it comes with the city of sin and crime. It’s odd, like you stated before. There’s the occasional glitz and glamor of wealthy Gothamites, galas laced with cocaine pearls and wine filled bottles (…)

Accompanied by champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvre’s to indulge in for the night.

And within this false sense of normalcy and entitlement, there’s the night. The Gotham better known for its crime and vigilantes. You see, everyone in Gotham is acting. The key to understanding it all in Gotham is the rhythm.

The people are the rhythm, the day is the rhythm. The night is the rhythm. And within this element of rhythmic chaos, there’s always something lurking. Watching the city underneath light polluted skies and charcoal clouds. When the smog seems to clog up your lungs and choke your breathing, there’s always something else to worry about.

The Batman, of course.

If anything, he highlights what Gotham is at the core. A broken city, deeply scarred and angry. Scratching at its surface to be heard. To be healed. Has Gotham always been seeking justice and light? Or is it seeking something much more carnal and sinister (…) Vengeance? A certain greed?

Whatever it was, it spoke to Gothamites. Hate the Bat, or love the Bat. He spoke for the city of Gotham, and he would always be there at every corner, watching.

Gotham is sick and venal.

You hope for the day of a real rain to come and wash off the scum from the streets. For now, it’s the Bat who takes care of the illness. Could 〞 it 〞 save Gotham?

Maybe.

It’s silly thought anyways, Gotham has been plagued with crime for decades. Some masked vigilante wouldn’t be able to stop that regardless. The thought is flimsy and useless. Something made out of hope and optimism, the kind of thing you consume in dreams. Not only that, but the Batman is more of a fable, a myth.

Besides, there was no use in consuming yourself with thoughts of Gotham and its nightly specter. For now, you’re here, at another Gala— with the same diluted faces and the same twisted smiles. Then night moves on in an odd distorted way, a blur even.

The man who snaps you out of this daze is Bruce Wayne. Gotham’s Prince, the man of the hour. You could only wonder what caused this recluse to emerge out of the manor he calls home. Unlike other notable people in Gotham, Bruce Wayne chooses to live a quiet life shrouded in mystery.

When he does remove himself from the confines of the manor, and the tabloids simply go into a frenzy. Like sharks during a feeding. It feels like everyone in Gotham wanted a piece of Bruce Wayne. Craving a flesh they surely don’t deserve.

Something tells you to draw closer to the oddity, like this would be the only time you’d be able to lay your eyes on Bruce Wayne in the flesh. So, you might as well take the opportunity to really take him all in.

Wayne eventually loses the limelight. The audience dies and you decide to pass through the sea of bodies that separate you two. He notices this of course, ever so vigilant. Some part of you expects him to flee and avoid the confrontation all together. Wary hues remain fixated on your figure slipping through the crowd.

Surely he isn't waiting (…) Right ?

Apparently he wasn’t, not like you knew of course. Bruce Wayne was a hard man to decipher after all, you couldn't tell if something compelled him to stay or if that kept him still.

For the first time tonight, you're accompanied by someone else. It'd off to say the least, Bruce is certainly a presence to behold, sure. But he wouldn't even spare a glance at you, you gaze eventually follows his line of sight.

Now? Now, all eyes are set on beacon in the sky now. The symbol of the night.

Batman is called by the city tonight, needed in the shadows once more. You could only wonder what for. You’re not one for new and tabloids but, there has been some discussion about the 〞 Riddler. 〞

Gotham’s newest deranged lunatic villain.

The man was terrifying, you’ve seen the footage. You've seen the terror and heard the screams. So how was the Batman going to save the city now? The thought of Gotham coming to its own demise (…) it was bound to, the city hasn’t had hope in a long time. You knew that very well.

Now what was he thinking? Did the Wayne believe in the Bat? In Vengeance, and his own crusade. Before you can even ask the question, he’s turning away. Maybe he’s had enough of your company for tonight.

❛ MISTER WAYNE, WAIT. Before you go, I’m just (…) curious about this one thing━━ IT’S THIS (…) BAT. VENGEANCE, do you really think he can protect the city ? Save Gotham ? His motives just seem so unclear. He’s menacing, almost reminds me of the Riddler. It’s all about vengeance, no ? Whether it’s about the city or people who’ve wronged you. ❜

Bruce does not turn back around to face you, instead he turns his head. Adjusting his gaze to you and the symbol in the night, it shifts. Once, twice than thrice. His face is unreadable. Typical.

He wants to speak, you know that much. Yet he doesn’t, for whatever reason. Bruce chooses to stare right through you.

You let him.

He doesn’t owe you a response, you know that much. Before you know it, he’s gone.

𝙱𝚁𝚄𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝙽𝙴’𝚂 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙰𝙻𝙰. A FEW HOURS BEFORE YOUR ENCOUNTER (…)

⟡ ⠀ | THE CITY IS QUIET TONIGHT. Unlike any another night, the city streets are deserted, emptied if you will. It’s all because of the recent attacks by the Riddler. There’s a few stranglers of course, sticking near the shaded roads and corners.

There’s a gala tonight, Alfred informed me on that. He wanted to me to attend because I needed to 〞 maintain 〞 my appearances for the sake of my family’s reputation and legacy. I only agreed because it would be the perfect opportunity to watch the city through civilian eyes. And give me an advantage.

The suit is less than ideal. Tight, stuffy and constricting.

Alfred is in the middle of fixing my tie when he tells me I look like my father.

I do not reply to that.

I stare into the mirror. Taking the time to analyze my polished appearance, Alfred fixes my tie and hands me my father’s cuff links once more. Now he’s watching me closely, too closely. Like I’ll break and shatter because he mentioned my father.

My face must’ve given my thoughts away, Alfred is quick to place his hand on my shoulder. Giving it a squeeze. My eyes dart between his hand and his face.

There’s that (…) sympathy again, or was it regret? Sometimes the two emotions blur and mix, all into one.

I should be kinder to Alfred.

If I could vocalize it, I would. But it comes out all raw, sore and achy. Like I’m forcing the kindness out of me. If only I could— could verbalize this gratitude. I would—

My chest throbs at the guilt. I grimace. Alfred seems to get it somehow, he can see the apology in my eyes. He lets me go for the time being, I insist to drive myself. He obliges.

The arrival is dreadful. The lights are too bright and there’s too many eyes on me. Voices ring out, calling out my name— Gothams Prince, Wayne, Mister Wayne, Bruce Wayne. They chant to me. The media swarms me like flies, and questions flood after.

I hardly keep my head above the water, I’m practically drowning. The only thing that keeps me going is that light in the sky.

The signal.

The media disperses, shifting towards the beacon of light that brands the sky tonight. From my peripheral view, I see something moving closer to me. Slipping through the sea of people. Their destination is to me. My gaze remains fixated on the bat-signal.

I have to go.

The figure besides me shifts, eyeing me down every now and then. I decide to take my leave.

❛ ❛ MISTER WAYNE, WAIT. Before you go, I’m just (…) curious about this one thing━━ IT’S THIS (…) BAT. VENGEANCE, do you really think he can protect the city ? Save Gotham ? His motives just seem so unclear. He’s menacing, almost reminds me of the Riddler. It’s all about vengeance, no ? Whether it’s about the city or people who’ve wronged you. ❜ ❜

Their words capture me for a few moments. I still. Letting the words settle into my mind. I can’t find it in me to look at them.

WHEN I LEAVE, it seems like the city mocks me. It feels like the rain corrodes my kevlar. The frigid rain seems to sink through bone marrow and nip away at skin. There’s a ferocious wind in Gotham tonight, the rain drenches everything in a torrential downpour.

Storm drains are filled and plugged, creating miniature oceans in the road.

When I arrive, the commissioner informs me on the recent developments of the Riddler. He has plans for tonight, and another letter written for me.

An explosion goes off that night.

[sweetprfct]

**AN: my fics have constant repeated side characters like the reader's bff Sara.

Permanent December (Re-published) - (18+, enemies to lovers, comfort, hurt, fluff) Summary: You and Sara have been best friends for a while now and when Sara had started dating Wes, you realized he also had a best friend. Joe. But somehow, you and Joe tend not to get along all the time. Wordcount (so far): 14.8K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

Written in the Stars - (18+, smut, hurt, comfort, angst) Summary: You are a believer in fate but after getting your heart broken, you had stopped believing it. Until you met Joe. Suddenly, it got you questioning if fate is real or not. Total Wordcount: 44.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

Is It Over Now? - (18+, smut, fake dating to lovers, hurt, comfort) Summary: Fake dating your flatmate, Joe, should be a simple thing. It meant you get to help get his ex back, and it meant you get to stop your parents' nagging about bringing someone home for once. But what happens when fake dating turns into something unexpected? Now, what? Total Wordcount: 39.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

High Infidelity - (18+, hurt, angst, comfort) Summary: Did you really have to chart the constellations in his eyes? Did you really have to tell him how he brought you back to life? Disclaimer: elements of emotional abuse, mention of harming, infidelity Total Wordcount: 16.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - epilogue

Guilty as Sin? - (18+, smut, fluff) Summary: They said there's no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk. Total Wordcount: 5.9K

part one - part two

Midnight Rain - (18+, angst, hurt, comfort) Summary: The glitz and glamour of Hollywood isn't always what it seems. When Joe had started working with you in a movie, he had started wondering as to why you, the famous Hollywood starlet, has been acting out lately. Was there some dark secret behind all the angry spoiled façade? And why was he so fascinated about it? Total Wordcount: 16.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

The Hate Formula - (18+, smut, enemies to lovers, fluff, comfort) Summary: Living in the same building, across from each other shouldn't be much of a problem, right? But how come you and Joe tend to always push each other's buttons every day? Is it because you both truly just hated each other or is it because there was something more to it? Total Wordcount: 34.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

[celaenaeiln]

what dances do you think each batkid would learn/do if they wanted to/could?

like obviously cass has ballet but i dunno i could see dick being into salsa or steph being into hiphop

oh!!!

Dick: I agree! With Dick's natural charisma, agility, and love for excitement, he's made for dances like the Rumba, Salsa, Cha Cha, and Samba. Those fast-paced dances practically embody the rush he thrives on. It's the quick, flashy movements combined with the playful flirtation and it matches his confident, outgoing personality.

It's soo easy to just imagine him effortlessly spinning his partner around with his signature grin lighting up the floor, and perfectly in sync with the fast-paced rhythm. It's the thrill, the connection, and the sheer rush of it all would be irresistible to him. For Dick, it’s about the freedom, the energy, and the glitz and glam.

Jason: Breakdancing. It would pay a homeage to his roots and he would love it because it's about power, strength, and has an element of danger. It has sharp, forceful movements that give the dancer a sense of empowerment. It mirrors his intensity.

Tim: Waltz and Foxtrot. Tim would really like those slow ballroom dances because for him it's about precision and discipline. Tim is the the partner because he always focuses on balance between his and Bruce's Batman and Robin partnership which would translate into him knowing just when to move and with elegance. He's similar to Dick but he has a quieter confidence.

Stephanie: Hiphop. Another homage to her roots but also hip hop is a diverse dance and Stephanie is a bit eclectic. She's fun and serious. She lifts people up but worries a lot. A dance that would suit her best is something that would incorporate many different styles. So she would learn a whole genre of dance that one particular kind. Steph would love the fast, dangerous element of hip hop and in many ways she's similar to Jason.

Damian: Contemporary (My favorite!). It's a style of dance where the dancer infuses meaning into the dance while they move. Damian's character is all about carving out his own place in the world and growing into his own person. Unlike the other, Damian isn't satisfied to be a preset which is why he broke free as Robin as such a young age. He thinks about things very deeply and his family and traditions mean a lot of him. Therefore, Damian would be interested in a form of dance that allows him to create his own self-expression. And this is Contemporary.

Cass: Ballet and Traditional Chinese Dancing. Cass liking ballet is canon. But I also strongly belief she would be interested in Traditional Chinese Dancing. She would love it because it's a way of connecting to her heritage but also, Traditional Chinese Dancing demands intense physical control and focus in the form of utter elegance. Cass, who's superpower is basically to read body movements of others and hone her own skills, would love this form of dance that allows her to gain meaning from slight changes in the body. This form of dance is created for story-telling through the body.

Duke: Jazz. Duke would love Jazz which is known for it's versatility and upbeatness. He's an optimist and a self-engineer. Meaning, Duke literally created his identity from scratch. He knew who he was and went forth on a path that would enable him to continue being that. He's good-natured and humorous. He's innovative and bold. Because of these personality, he would love Jazz which is composed of bold movements such as leaps and kicks but also love the freedom to improvise. It's all about the individuality with him.

[sam-keeper]

The Vourdalak (2023)

The metatextual commentary on the horror genre looms large when people talk about Funny Games (1997), and understandably so. It doesn't take long after the first literal wink to the camera for meta stuff to take over, and for the commentary on horror fans to get pointed. But I was struck, while watching, by a different aspect of the film: politeness and middle class social convention setting traps as diabolical as any Jigsaw ever designed. The characters sleepwalk their way into their gruesome torturous deaths in part through politeness and forbearance. indeed the serial killing duo that torments them seem almost like an infection spread from one household to the next via the same social niceties, polite introductions transmitting them from one group to the next.

So: The Vourdalak.

The titular monster in The Vourdalak is a puppet, and an almost muppet-esque one at that. Like, we're not talking near-naturalistic animatronics here, we're talking a puppet that can flare his eyes open, and open and close his mouth, and otherwise acts through the body language artistry of puppeteers. It's incredible to look at, and totally not even remotely a little bit believable as a person. And yet, the entire family that Ambassador from the King of France Marquis Jacques Antoine Saturnin d’Urfe encounters in the wilderness of (maybe) Serbia seems paralyzed by the apparition of the household's patriarch. Despite the man's own firm warning not to trust whatever comes back from the woods wearing his guise, they sit this grotesque, obviously dead puppet down at the table, offer it food, and force the family closeted transsexual to shoot the family dog at its behest, all while Jacques Antoine Saturnin d'Urfe sits there in his poncy white makeup and blush and wig all but looking right at the camera helplessly. It's horrific, and also completely ludicrous.

The absurdity of it is part of what makes it horrible: even though everyone involved (except perhaps the drunken, pathologically devoted son Jegor) can see something has gone catastrophically wrong with grandfather Gorcha, their filial duties render them powerless to halt what's happening. They're also profoundly vulnerable: Piotr is at minimum a cross dresser, Anja is cowed by her husband Jegor and must look after her young son Vlad, and Sdenka is trapped in a futureless morass after the murder of the stranger who promised to take her away from the village. Also, the village has been seemingly wiped out by bandits, making the Vourdalak's presentation of the bandit leader's head impressive but pointless, and rendering the cast profoundly isolated.

Even Jacques Antoine Saturnin d'Urfe is hampered by being just the wettest protagonist. The man is a floppy noodle in period accurate caked on makeup. Wildly out of his element, he summons periodically the gumption to chase after Sdenka (she responds by nearly tricking him into falling off a cliff) but otherwise just minces about rather aimlessly, too out of his depth and paralyzed by social convention to put up much resistance to the blood sucking revenant. I didn't hate him, mind--part of the humor and horror of the story comes from watching this high society guy bumble around in the 18th century equivalent of a backwoods hick horror film. It's clear he wants to do the right thing, and shows the Vourdalak's prospective victims sympathy alien both to the monster and to Jegor. He just happens to be about as effectual and plausible an opponent to the undead as a peacock dipped in a particularly muddy puddle.

This year we also watched the 2001 French adventure horror period film Brotherhood of the Wolf, and it's interesting that for all its attempts to feel contemporary to 2001, it mostly feels… very contemporary to 2001, if you get me. I mean, credit where it's due, it CLEARLY inspired a significant part of the look of Bloodborne, but in trying for a modern glitz it winds up embodying not just a bunch of aesthetics (ZOOMS! FAST CUTS! THE MATRIX JUST CAME OUT EVERYBODY LET'S SPEED UP AND SLOW DOWN THE ACTION SCENES!) that are very locked into their time, but a bunch of tropes that feel similarly dated (the Wise Native American Sidekick, the love interest menaced by a disfigured and incestuous brother, sssssome sort of position on the French Revolution that's kind of hard to figure out?).

The Vourdalak, in embracing an already "outmoded" form of puppetry, and cleaving closer to the alien high class aesthetics of the 18th century that Brotherhood replaces with their more hip take, feels like it's destined to age a bit better. The strength of the fable helps. When in one of the most truly wretched scenes of the film the Vourdalak picks up a shotgun and blasts a hole in poor Piotr's skull, it feels discordant that this gothic horror should be wielding modern weaponry. But it also feels perversely fitting: the patriarch simply makes use of whatever tools are at his disposal to keep the family disciplined. The Vourdalak is said to prey first on its closest loved ones. Jacques Antoine Saturnin d'Urfe does such a good job of being a polite guest who doesn't make waves that the Vourdalak can't help but see him as one of the family. I don't expect this narrative of being sucked (hah) into complicity losing its bite anytime soon.