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tfcaptions2 · 10 months

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He has no idea that it's happening to him, caught in the enchanting whirlwind of transformation that sweeps him away in its sensual embrace. In the heart of a bustling department store, amidst shelves adorned with alluring fragrances and shimmering bottles, our unsuspecting protagonist stands, blissfully ignorant of the extraordinary journey that has already set its course. An unassuming white man, his every feature cloaked in average simplicity, he holds in his hand a small metal bottle containing a sample of cologne. Little does he know that this innocuous vessel holds within it the magic of metamorphosis, a potent elixir that will mold him into something entirely new, something achingly desirable.

With a casual air, he unscrews the cap, a whisper of scent escaping to mingle with the air around him. The initial spritz of the cologne feels cool against his skin, a sensation that gradually ignites an electric tingling, unfurling beneath the surface like a dormant ember awakening into a blazing inferno. The change is subtle at first, imperceptible as it coils around his being, tendrils of enchantment sinking into his very core.

His reflection flickers in the mirror, and he blinks, perplexed. Was it just his imagination, or did his face appear slightly different? A closer look reveals the first whispers of transformation. His once smooth and mundane complexion takes on a warm, sun-kissed hue, a cascade of color washing over his skin like a painter's brush. It's as if the essence of Arabian sands and desert sunsets have infused him, reshaping his identity with every passing second.

The change surges forth, a symphony of sensations playing a bewitching melody upon his senses. He feels a prickling at his jawline, a sensation that intensifies into a pleasurable tingling. His hand instinctively reaches up to touch the source, only to discover that a shadow of stubble has emerged, dark and virile, igniting his cheeks with a flush of arousal. The stubble sprouts into a luxuriant carpet of facial hair, a beard that unfurls with a vigor that betrays its mere moments of existence. It grows dense and opulent, enveloping his jaw and chin in a thick, masculine embrace, the embodiment of rugged allure that beckons admirers with an irresistible promise.

His lips part in a dazed gasp, the thrill of metamorphosis pulsing through his veins like a wildfire. As the beard flourishes, his upper lip remains adorned with a dark, sensual shadow, a mustache that asserts its presence with an air of tantalizing mystery. The transformation casts a veil of exotic allure over him, the features of his face undergoing a gradual yet mesmerizing shift. His nose takes on a sculpted elegance, his cheekbones grow more pronounced, and his eyes deepen in color, a rich shade of coffee that speaks of depth and intensity.

But it's not just his facial features that succumb to the alluring dance of change. His body stirs with newfound vitality, a subtle ripple of transformation cascading through his muscles, coaxing them to awaken from their slumber. His shoulders broaden, a sinewy strength pulsating beneath his skin like hidden thunderstorms yearning for release. Each breath he takes seems to inflate his chest with a burgeoning virility, a masculinity that surges forth with unrestrained potency.

A low, sensual moan escapes his lips, his eyes darkening with a mixture of awe and arousal. His shirt, once a bland emblem of ordinariness, undergoes its own captivating transformation. It molds to his physique, hugging his torso with an affectionate embrace, revealing the swell of his newly sculpted chest and the tease of his furry forearms. The fabric shimmers and shifts, a tantalizing red hue replacing the mundane tones of before, and upon his head, a scarlet Under Armour hat materializes as if summoned by his very desires.

His lower half is not immune to the enchantment that envelopes him. His pants, once unremarkable, tighten and shape around his thighs, accentuating the powerful muscles that have taken root there. His socks and shoes undergo their own metamorphosis, the fabric of his socks hugging his calves with a newfound sensuality, while his shoes adopt a sleek yet sturdy design that complements his burgeoning strength.

And then, his eyes meet his own reflection once more, the culmination of the transformation evident in the confident smirk that graces his lips. The metamorphosis is complete, a metamorphosis that has turned an average man into a magnificent, virile Arab Adonis. His gaze sweeps over his hirsute body, the proud expanse of his muscular form commanding attention and admiration. With a flex of his newly empowered muscles, he revels in the surge of power that courses through him, a sensation of liberation and conquest that ignites his very being.

Unaware of the enchanting spell that has woven its magic around him, he saunters away from the mirror, his strides imbued with a newfound confidence and allure. The store's patrons cast appreciative glances his way, drawn to the undeniable magnetism that now radiates from every pore of his transformed being. As he disappears into the crowd, the echoes of his metamorphosis linger, a sensual and irresistible aura that leaves a trail of longing gazes and hushed whispers in its wake.

#male transformation #male transformation caption

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mrs-fatu · 15 days

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Blossom in Summer

Chapter 1: Why me?

Paring: jey uso x Jasmine (fem!reader)

Warnings: Language, anger, confusion

WC: 2,824

Summary: Jasmine wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom with no memory of last night. Who is this man? And why did he pick her?

As I slowly opened my eyes, the morning sun cast a warm glow across the lavish bedroom, bathing me in a soft, golden light. The silk curtains, adorned with intricate patterns, seemed to dance in the gentle breeze, and the sweet scent of dior Sauvage wafted through the air, filling my senses. But as I sat up, my head began to pound, and I was hit with a wave of confusion. Where was I? This wasn't my bedroom. The silk sheets tangled around my bare legs felt luxurious, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was a stranger in this unfamiliar surrounding.

I forced my eyes open again, taking in the room around me with a sense of disorientation. The walls were a deep, rich blue, accentuated by traditional lavalavas hanging in beautifully crafted frames. To my left stood an antique black armoire, its intricate carvings telling a story of elegance and sophistication. The plush blue rug beneath the massive four-poster bed seemed to have been imported from a far-off land, and I felt like I was sleeping on a cloud.

As I sat up, holding my throbbing head in my hands, memories of the previous night began to trickle back. The fancy cocktail bar with my friends, doing shot after shot of tequila until the night blurred into a haze. Stumbling into a swanky hotel suite afterward, though I couldn't remember exactly how I'd gotten there. Who did this room belong to? And where had they gone? The questions swirled in my mind like a whirlpool, pulling me under.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up on shaky feet, clutching the bedpost for support. My head felt like it was going to split open, and I needed to figure out what happened and get out of here. As I looked down at myself, I saw that I was still wearing the silky black dress from last night, now wrinkled and creased. It was then that I noticed something heavy on my left wrist - a tennis bracelet so bright it almost blinded me. What was it doing there?

Just as I was trying to make sense of the strange circumstances, the door on the side of the room swung open, and a tall figure emerged. He stood at 6'2", his chiseled physique on full display as he walked towards me. His ebony shorts clung to his toned thighs and waist, accentuating his inked legs and tribal tattoos that glistened against his damp skin.

His hair was styled in a seductive mullet, and his lips sported a perfect shade of color, revealing his dazzling grillz as he parted them. It was like he had stepped out of a steamy romance novel, and I felt like I was staring at a character come to life.

"Morning," he spoke, his deep voice low and husky.

I stood there in shock, unable to form words. He walked around me, opening a drawer from his dresser to pull out his clothes. My eyes followed him, mesmerized by the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

"I'm sorry, who...?" I stuttered before I could finish.

But before I could even get the words out, my stomach began to churn and I felt like I was going to vomit. I stumbled backward, but it was too late. The morning sickness washed over me, and I threw up right on the floor.

He darted towards me, concern etched on his face. "Shit, you good?" he asked as he brushed away a dangling curl from my face.

"I'm sorry...I'm..." I spoke, feeling tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

But before I could finish speaking, he ushered me towards his bed and sat me down on the edge. "Sit down," he said softly.

As he left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and emotions, I felt like my world was spinning out of control.

I just wanted to go home, to crawl back into my own bed and forget the reckless night I had just endured. But instead, I found myself in a luxurious bedroom, surrounded by the opulent trappings of a life that was not my own. A diamond tennis bracelet glinted on my wrist, a constant reminder of my foolishness. How could I have been so irresponsible, drinking so much that I ended up in this strange and unfamiliar place?

As I sat on the bed, trying to gather my thoughts, my phone began to ring. I picked it up from the nightstand, hoping for some semblance of normalcy in this chaotic situation. "Hello?" I spoke, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Girl, where the hell are you?" asked my best friend Natasha, her voice laced with concern.

"I...I don't even know," I replied, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm with a man, and...and I threw up on his carpet, so..."

Natasha's laughter came through the phone, followed by a gasp. "Wait, is he sexy?" she asked, her tone playful.

"Um, well...he looks like he's from some kind of Pacific Island or something," I replied. "He has all these tribal tattoos and lavalavas on his wall."

Natasha's squeal of excitement was music to my ears. "Don't stop there, bitch! Tell me more! How does he look?"

I took a deep breath before launching into a detailed description of the mans handsome features. "Well, he has a short-cut mullet, and he's kinda muscular. His thighs are thick...and he has bottom grillz...and his voice is low and smooth."

Natasha's reaction was immediate. "Oh my god, Jas! You're in trouble!"

I glanced up to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "Shit, I gotta go," I said hastily. "he's back."

"Okay, girl, let me know if you need me to pick you up," Natasha said, her voice dripping with concern. "I love you, be safe Jaz."

The line went dead as Natasha hung up, leaving me alone with him once more. I felt a sense of trepidation wash over me as he walked towards me, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.

As I stood up from the bed, I felt a sense of unease wash over me. He had just finished cleaning up the spot where I had vomited, and now his eyes were locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I met his gaze, my mind still foggy from the previous night's excesses.

"I'm really sorry...I need to leave," I said, trying to sound apologetic as I began to step into my shoes.

His eyes darted as he stood up, his expression unreadable. "You just gonna forget about last night?" he asked, his tone laced with accusation.

I hesitated, searching for the right words to say. The truth was, I didn't remember what happened last night. It was all a blur of music, laughter, and tequila shots. But I knew that I couldn't keep it up forever, not when I had no idea what had happened or who this man was.

"I don't..." I paused, feeling a sense of embarrassment wash over me.

The man let out a huff, his expression turning annoyed. "Damn, you don't even remember," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment.

"I am very sorry," I said, trying to apologize once again. "And...the bracelet. You can have it back, I'm sorry."

I started to unhook the bracelet, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as I handed it back to him. But instead of taking it from me, he spoke up again.

"Just keep the bracelet, Jaz. I don't want it back. If you want to leave then go, the door is over there," he said, his tone hostile.

I was taken aback by his words. "I'm sure you spent hella on it," I said, trying to reason with him. "I don't want to..."

But he cut me off again. "Bruh, keep it, Jaz. I gave it to you for a reason."

His words were laced with aggression, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized that he was genuinely upset with me. But why? What had happened last night?

As I stood there, feeling a sense of unease wash over me once again, he spoke up again.

"And I bet you don't even remember my name huh?" he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.

I lightly shook my head, feeling a sense of shame wash over me. How could I have forgotten someone's name?

He sucked his teeth in disgust before speaking up again. "It's Joshua, Jey Uso," he said agitatedly. The name sounded slightly familiar but not quite.

With that, I grabbed my purse and made my way towards the door. As I left the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. I had no idea what had happened last night or who Jey was or why he was so upset with me. All I knew was that I needed to get out of there before things got any worse.

I stood on the sidewalk of the penthouse, my head still throbbing with a dull ache. The morning sunlight was harsh, and I winced as I squinted up at the towering skyscrapers. I pulled out my phone and dialed the familiar number, hoping that my friend Tiffany would be able to come and rescue me from this situation.

As I waited for her to answer, I took a deep breath and tried to clear the fog from my mind. What had happened last night? Who was Jey Uso, and why did he seem so angry with me? And why, for that matter, had he let me keep the diamond tennis bracelet? It didn't make any sense.

The phone rang again, and Tiffany's cheerful voice answered. "Hey, what's up?"

I took a deep breath before speaking. "Hey, can you come get me? I'll send you the address."

Tiffany's voice turned serious. "Yeah, I'll see you soon. Be careful."

The line went dead, and I was left standing alone on the sidewalk, feeling like I was in a fog. Who was Jey Uso, and why had I ended up in his penthouse apartment? What had happened last night, and why did I have such a pounding headache?

As I stood there, trying to make sense of it all, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car approaching approaching. It was Tiffany, looking stylish and put-together as always in her benz.

"Hey, girl, get in" she said, concern etched on her face. i stepped into her car and took a deep breath, "What happened?"

I shook my head, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as I handed her the keys. "I don't know," I said. "I don't remember anything from last night."

Tiffany's eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "I don't know who Jey Uso is or what happened. But I need some coffee and some crackers. Like, right now."

i rubbed my temples in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing headache, my friend Tiffany's eyes lit up like a bright light bulb. "JEY USO?" she yelled in question, her voice piercing the morning air.

I winced, feeling a wave of pain wash over me. "Goddamn girl, my head," I groaned, trying to hold onto my sanity.

Tiffany's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I'm sorry, but you said his name is Jey Uso, right?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

I nodded my head, feeling a sense of resignation wash over me. "Yeah, why? Then he let me keep this bracelet," I said, holding up my wrist to show her the diamond tennis bracelet.

Tiffany's reaction was immediate. She squealed like a little child, her eyes wide with excitement. "YOU STAYED WITH JEY USO AND HE GAVE YOU A TENNIS BRACELET?" she repeated, her voice rising to a near-shriek.

I palmed my face, feeling a sense of embarrassment wash over me. "My head. Please stop screaming," I begged.

Tiffany's laughter died down, and she looked at me with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Oh, girl, I'm sorry. Jey Uso is the WWE wrestler, and he's fine as hell!" she exclaimed.

I gave her a skeptical look, feeling a sense of unease. "What? Come on, you can't tell me he's not sexy. He's main event Jey Uso. And God, the way he flicks his tongue... We have to go to the supershow tonight, you gotta see him in the ring," she said.

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a sense of trepidation. "I mean, he's okay, but he was kinda rude. If going to the show will make you happy then sure. But I really need some fucking coffee," I said.

Tiffany rolled her eyes. "Fine, we'll get you coffee and then get ready for the show," she said before driving off into the morning traffic.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of confusion. Who was Jey Uso, and why did he seem so angry with me? And what had happened last night? The questions swirled in my mind like a whirlpool, refusing to be silenced.

But for now, all I could think about was getting home and getting some coffee into my system. Maybe then things would start to make sense again.

—

I knew that having a hangover wasn't the best, but coffee always seemed to come in handy.

I reached for my trusty brush and gel, and began to work my hair into a sleek, curly ponytail. The hard bristles of the brush glided effortlessly through my locks, leaving them smooth and tamed. I then moved on to my eyebrows, using a precision brow pencil to reshape them into a thin, arching shape that I preferred. The gentle strokes of the pencil seemed to calm my frazzled nerves, and I felt a sense of clarity wash over me.

With my brows in order, I turned my attention to my makeup. I carefully applied a light foundation to even out my complexion, followed by a subtle blush to give my cheeks a healthy glow. A swipe of mascara added depth and drama to my lashes, and a swipe of lip balm left my lips feeling soft and hydrated.

As I finished up my makeup routine, I stood up and surveyed my reflection. I was pleased with the results - my hair looked luscious and bouncy, and my makeup was understated yet effective. I then gathered my clothes, selecting a nice outfit that would see me through the day.

As I dressed, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the simple pleasures in life - a hot shower, a good cup of coffee, and a fresh start. The night moonlight streaming through the window seemed to hold promise, and I felt a sense of renewed energy coursing through my veins.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror, smoothing out any wrinkles or creases in my outfit. Satisfied with the result, I headed out into the night, ready to face whatever happens.

As I emerged from the hotel, I was greeted by the warm night and the sound of Tiffany's horn blaring in the distance. I rushed towards the car, my mind still foggy from the lingering effects of the night before. As I slipped into the passenger seat, Tiffany flashed me a bright smile. "You look good, girl!" she exclaimed.

I smiled back, feeling a sense of gratitude for her kind words. "Thanks, you look good too," I replied, taking in her stylish outfit.

As we hit the road, Tiffany began to drive, her eyes fixed on the windshield. "Okay, so remember, we're going to see Jey tonight. I got us front row tickets, so at least cheer when he comes out, because I definitely will," she said, her voice filled with excitement.

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a sense of confusion wash over me. What was up with this man? Why did women like Tiffany drool over him so much? I mean, I got it - he was hot as hell - but I didn't understand all the hype. The traffic lights seemed to be flashing in sync with the diamond bracelet on my wrist, and all I could think about was why me? What had happened? Would it all come back to me?

As we navigated through the crowded streets of Las Vegas, my mind began to wander back to the night before. The anger in Jey's eyes as I told him I didn't remember anything was still etched in my memory. It was enough to keep me away from him, to make me realize that I didn't need another angry man in my life. Not again.

After dealing with Aaron, I had promised myself that I wouldn't dare let another angry man into my life again. And now, as I sat in the car with Tiffany, I knew that I had to keep my distance from Jey Uso. Maybe after the show, I could find him and give him the bracelet back - never look back. It would be for my own good.

As we pulled up to the venue, I took a deep breath and let my thoughts settle. I had five days left in Vegas, and I was determined to make the most of it. No more worrying about waking up in a random man's bed. No more drama or stress. Just me, myself, and a fresh start.

#fanfic #jey uso #wwe fanfiction #jeysuso #main event jey uso #wwe #jey uso fanfiction #series #jey uso x oc

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pwlanier · 3 months

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A FINE PERSIAN MALAYER PRAYER RUG WITH CYPRESS C. 1860

The elegant field design with lobed floral vase issuing a large central cypress filled with ascending herati designs and a smaller central cypress in ivory surrounded by intricate and active designs of stylized florals and foliates with palmette meander, the rich dark blue field having jewel-tone foliate meander and interspersed blossoms is framed by a wide robust border with dynamic ascending flowering plant form on saffron ground in rich saturated jewel-tone colors overall. This exceptional Persian village weaving created in the middle period of the 19th century. with wide main border being flanked only by a narrow inner guard stripe is unusual and impactful.

Soulis s Auctions

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csuitebitches · 1 year

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Interiors: Basics of Styles

The 9 Styles of Interiors are maximalist, brutalist, coastal, minimalist, rustic, art deco, Hollywood Regency, midcentury modern and modern organic and they all have unique characteristics. Let’s dive in.

Maximalism

* Bold colors.

* Bright wallpaper.

* Mixed patterns with contrasting motifs, like animal print, geometric shapes, or florals.

* Ornate accents, like chandeliers.

* Layered fabrics.

* Statement pieces.

Notable people: Kelly Wearstler, Martin Brudnizki, Dorothy Draper and the Greenbriar Resort

Brutalist

* Raw Materials. At its core, Brutalist interior design honors raw materials—showcasing the honesty of construction

* Geometric Shapes

* Textured Surfaces

* Unadorned Minimalism

* Focus on Function

Notable people: Le Corbusier, Marcel Breuer, Moshe Safdie

Coastal

* Natural Light

* Crisp whites

* Layered blue tones

* Jute textures

* Stripes

* Linen upholstery

Notable people: William Pahlmann, Amy Aidinis Hirsch, Brett Sugerman and Giselle Loor Sugerman

Minimalist

* Simple lines.

* Monochromatic or neutral color palettes.

* Limited furniture.

* Limited decorative objects.

* Storage solutions that keep the space uncluttered.

* Open floor plans.

* Natural light

Notable people: Donald Judd, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, David Chipperfield

Rustic

* Main Colors: Wood grains or browns, beiges, or warmer shades

* of white.

* Accent Colors: Muted colors - tans, reds, blues, greens, yellows,

* and grays.

* Shapes: Rugged, imperfect lines and silhouettes.

* Fixture Finishes: Iron, pewter, copper, or brass.

* Aesthetic: Imperfect but warm and inviting. Decor/Art Style: Animal hides and fur, antlers, throws, pillows,

* and rugs with simple motifs or patterns.

Notable people: Alexander Waterworth, Grey Walker, Katherine Pooley, Bill Hovard, Jean Stoffer

Art deco

* Streamlined, symmetrical forms.

* Geometric designs as ornamentation; it's common to see shapes such as: Trapezoids

* Rich material and textile palettes

* Ornamental light fixtures such as chandeliers or sconces.

Notable people: Jacques Ruhlmann and Maurice Dufrène, Eliel Saarinen

Hollywood Regency

* richly layered textures

* high contrast patterns

* metallic finishes

* vibrant colors

Notable people: Dorothy Draper, George Vernon Russell, Douglas Honnold, John Woolf, and Paul R. Williams.

Midcentury Modern

* clean lines

* muted tones

* a combination of natural and manmade materials

* graphic shapes

* vibrant colours

* integrating indoor and outdoor motifs

Notable people: Arne Jacobsen, Charles and Ray Eames, Eero Saarinen

Modern Organic

* The modern organic interior design style mixes minimalism, midcentury modern, and boho flair

* Clean minimalism and sleek lines meet nature-inspired shapes, organic textures, and rustic elements

* By adding natural textures and shapes, the modern organic decor is warm, inviting, soulful, and elegant.

#c suite #powerful woman #strong women #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #q/a #getting your life together #balance #cultural education #rich bitch guide #interiors

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thewriterwhowritesnot · 9 months

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To Have and To Hold

A/N: I know y'all sent me asks. I saw them but I HAD to write this or I was going to burst. This is 2K words and less than 5% of what I have in store for this. If you'd like to be added to the taglist don't hesitate to ask! Enjoy!

Warnings: yandere!Alucard, fem!reader, nightmares

Summary: You travel to Dracula's Castle to help the owner get the place registered as a historical landmark and enter into an overwhelming relationship with Alucard.

Chapter One

Standing in front of one of the oldest castles you've ever been near, you marveled at the vast structure. This Castle dated back to the 1400s and was suspected of possibly being centuries older. To be the youngest historian in your class (and current job) and be given the opportunity to examine this place was amazing. There were rumors of this being the very castle that Dracula himself had inhabited. Not a firm believer in the supernatural, you regarded the legend with fascination and fearless curiosity. Inhaling the early morning air, you place the toe of your boot on the first step and a rush of chills runs through your body. The shock makes you slightly dizzy and you wait a moment before attempting to ascend the stairs again. This time there's no chill and you continue on, ignoring the gnawing feeling in your gut.

The doors of the structure are taller than any you've ever seen and you gingerly rub your fingertips against the hard door and the gothic dragon's head door knocker that hangs just beside your head. You lift it and let it fall with a heavy clang that somehow urges the massive door to open with an echoing creaking sound. Pushing the door open enough for you to slide through you look around and quietly step further into the room. The floor is made of sleek dark wood and spread out in one of the biggest foyers you've ever seen. There are pillars leading all the way back to a grand circular staircase. The middle of the floor is covered with a rich velvet rug surrounded by smaller circular and diamond-shaped rugs on the sides of it. There are several elegant seating areas and lamps decorating the room.

"Hello?" You say loudly. Your voice echoes through the hall and you stand still to hear some kind of movement. You're met with silence. A little unsettled you begin to turn around and nearly run into what you think is the prettiest man you've ever seen. He stands at about 6'2. Dressed in a black turtleneck and smooth black dress pants. Blond brows furrowed in a frown over honey-colored eyes burning with suspicion and what you suspected was disapproval. His bright hair falls lightly around his shoulders and the elbows of his crossed arms. His lips are pressed together in a firm line as he looks you over swiftly.

"Can I help you?" His voice is low and travels down your spine, resting in the deep pit of your womb. You breathe loudly, searching for the words to explain your presence.

"Uh..I-I was-, I'm supposed to be-, I'm here to see the castle." You hold out the papers in your hand that stated you had been sent by the agency that had contacted and received the consent of the owner of this property to come here.

The blond took the papers quickly and looked them over silently.

The land this castle was on was connected to a portion of the nearby town that the government was looking to modernize. In order for this place to be protected from future lawsuits and any other issues that might arise in reference to the land the owner of the castle had struck a deal with your organization. Getting this place registered as a historical landmark and privately owned property would ensure its security which is why you had been sent.

After a moment, he folded them back up and handed them to you. You took them back and shoved them into your bag before looking up at him again. Though the original suspicion had subsided, the intensity of his gaze had not. You bit the inside of your cheek silently as he stared you down.

"There are parts of this castle that are under construction. Places you will simply not be able to visit for your safety. Do you understand?" You nod quickly. His eyes narrowed slightly and you swallowed, hoping he couldn't hear the speed at which your heart hammered in your chest. "I've had a room set up for you and I'll do my best to provide you with whatever you may need while you stay here. Come." He turned swiftly and headed toward the large staircase towards the back of the room.

It took you making it to the steps to gain the courage to begin a conversation. "This place is so large and beautiful. How long have you lived here?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes and subtly picks up his pace. "I was born in this place."

"Wow, that's amazing. Have you lived here your whole life?” You skip forward a little to keep up. He audibly sighs, seemingly exasperated with your questioning. You were used to people getting bothered by your questions so you patiently waited for his answer. He seemed to recognize you were probably going to press on because he slowed down and looked at you more pointedly. “On and off throughout my life. I was raised here and traveled in my adulthood and have returned. This place is my home.”

You gasp excitedly. “Well, that’s wonderful! You’re the best person to talk to about the history of the place.” You pulled out your notepad and pen. “When exactly was this place constructed?” He frowns slightly, eyes scanning the walls as he thinks. “It’s very old. Perhaps sometime in the 1100s.”

“That’s so long ago! To create this kind of structure in that century is amazing. It’s futuristic. Who’s responsible for the build and the design? How many people did it take to put this place together? How long did it take to build?”

In the span of you speaking you both had stopped walking and he was staring at you with a peculiar expression on his face. “Are you always this animated?”

You shrug. “You should see me after I’ve been caffeinated.” His eyes soften and the corners of his mouth curve upward. He resumes walking and you follow. “Is that bag the entirety of your luggage?”

“There was a bit of a mixup at the airport so my bag should arrive in the country sometime tomorrow. They’ll call me when it gets here. Thankfully it was only clothes. Everything else I need is in this carry-on.”

“The cellphone reception here is very difficult. The airport will contact the nearest mailing office in town and they’ll call me on the landline. I’ll let you know tomorrow if they do so.” You nod as he stops in front of a tall door with a rose on it. He opens the door unceremoniously and steps aside so you can enter first. It’s larger than your studio apartment and the apartment next to it combined. The floor is littered with what you thought could be hand-painted flowers and beautiful swirls. The ceiling was dark and seemed to reflect the brightness of the art on the floor. A canopy bed was pushed against the farthest wall with large nightstands on either side. There was a smooth cream chaise with orange flowers embroidered on the cushion beside the fireplace. In the back of your mind, you can feel his gaze on you as you continue to marvel at the place. “It’s so pretty.” Gently dropping your bag on the floor, you turn to look at him. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here. It’s wonderful, truly.” He nods. “I’ll be back to collect you for supper.” He shuts the door and you listen for his footsteps as he walks away.

After you’re sure he’s gone you skip around the room looking at every detail before plopping on the bed and sighing. The soft blankets enveloped you and before you knew it your eyes were heavy and you were drifting.

It was lonely in the dark. Clinging to the walls like your life depended on it. The whispers urged you to run to get away as soon as you could. Run. Run. Run. They urged. But you couldn’t. Your legs were noodles beneath you and he was coming. Too fast. So fast you gave up and plummeted down, down deeper into the dark as fear swallowed you whole and his hot breath scorched your neck.

You jump awake as your body is shaken. Pulling you into consciousness. The room comes into view and so does the worried face of the man you’d met earlier. Slowly, you become aware of the feeling of his right arm under you, holding your body to his as his other hand rests on your forehead. You take a deep breath, noting the soft scent of his cologne and the feeling of his breath brushing over your skin like a shy kiss. “Hi.” You whisper. He chuckles shakily. “Hi. I thought you were-, you were shouting. Were you having a bad dream?” You blink in confusion. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry for disrupting you.” He shook his head, letting his hand slide down the side of your face before allowing you to sit up. “Don’t worry about it, Y/N. Dinner is ready. You look famished.” He rises without another word and heads for the door. He leads you toward the kitchen. The kitchen was just as beautiful as the other parts of the castle you’d seen. The floor was lined with black and white checkered tiles. The sink was larger than any modern one you’d ever seen and the small table in the middle of the room had five chairs surrounding it with a vase full of yellow flowers in the middle. There were several medium-sized dishes with baked chicken, vegetables, and mashed potatoes placed around it. There were two places for both of you to sit.

“I hope you don’t mind eating in close quarters. The dining room is rather large and I rarely use it except for gatherings.” He glided past you and pulled out a seat for you to sit. You smile shyly and take your seat, allowing him to push the chair up. “Did you make all of this?” He sat across from you and unfurled his folded napkin. You watched as he elegantly laid it over his lap and began to fill his plate. “Some. My cook, Marguerite, helped with the side dishes after setting your room up.” “Ah.” You murmured absently as you watched the way he delicately grasped the dishes. He placed the food on your plate without asking and you made no move to protest. Too mesmerized by the prettiness of your host. He avoided your gaze, keenly aware of your eyes on him as he sat the last dish down and began to fill your glasses with some fizzy drink in a sleek bottle. It was then that it dawned on you that you had yet to exchange names but he had already called you by yours. “How did you know my name?” He looks at you then.

“Hmm?”

“My name. You called me by name earlier. I don’t remember me telling you or you telling me yours.” He resumed cutting the meat on his plate. “It was on the paper you handed me earlier. Both of our names.” “So you’re Adrian.” You said slowly while scooping up a bit of mashed potatoes and tasting a bite. “You sound so surprised.” “I am. I thought you’d be some old guy. You look really young to own a place like this. Don’t you have any family?”

His movements slow, staring at his plate.

“I’m alone.”

The words are a whisper and the quiet in the room is deafening. “Me too.” You say quietly. “I’m an orphan.” His eyes find yours and you give him a small smile before turning your attention back to your food.

As the night continues, you begin to see Adrian’s cold exterior melt away as you talk about his memories of this place (careful to avoid the questions regarding his family and how he lost them).

You learn of the history and take note of it in order to write it down later. At the end of the night, you’re drowsy and Adrian takes you to your room. Before you enter he points towards a big black door at the end of the hall. “My room is there. If you need anything throughout the night just knock.” You nod and watch him enter his room before entering your own.

Tag List: @hoppershoe @c-crow-chatters

#adrian tepes #castlevania alucard #castelvania #alucard (castlevania)#alucard x reader #castlevania fanfiction

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soulofapatrick · 8 months

Text

Enchanted Pages - Jameson Hawthorne x Reader

Summary: Jameson joins you in the Hawthorne estate library

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: none

Notes: I hope the anon requesting Jameson likes this! It was fun to write!!

Y/N's POV

The Hawthorne mansion library is a sanctum of wisdom, a hallowed ground where the scent of aged paper and the soft whisper of turning pages permeate the air. The room is vast, its shelves towering like ancient sentinels guarding the knowledge within. The mahogany bookcases stretch from floor to ceiling, each shelf adorned with leather-bound tomes that seem to hold the secrets of centuries.

I sit settled in a plush armchair, my fingers delicately tracing the embossed spine of a weathered classic. The soft glow of antique lamps casts a warm hue on the room, highlighting the ornate patterns of the Persian rug beneath my feet. The crackling fire in the hearth adds a touch of comfort, its flickering dance a silent companion to the tales contained in the countless volumes that surround me.

My gaze sweeps over the library, absorbing the grandeur of literature that spans genres and eras. Shakespeare stands shoulder to shoulder with Austen, while the poetry of Frost beckons from a distant corner. History whispers from dusty tomes, and the works of philosophers, both ancient and modern, share space on these sacred shelves.

The sheer magnitude of knowledge captivates me, and a sense of awe settles in my chest. Here, in this haven of words, I feel a connection to the countless souls who sought solace, inspiration, and escape within the pages of these books. It's as if each volume holds the echo of the minds that once dared to dream, to question, to imagine.

I had choosen a book at random, its spine cracked but well-loved. As I open its pages, the scent of history mingles with the musky perfume of aged paper. The words transport me to another world, a realm where time is fluid, and reality is shaped by the strokes of a writer's pen.

Before I can really get into it, the rhythmic click of polished shoes on the library's hardwood floor interrupts the quiet symphony of the written word. A familiar scent wafts towards me, a subtle blend of cedarwood and a trace of old books—Jameson's unmistakable fragrance. Without looking up, I feel the magnetic pull of his presence drawing near. The rustle of pages and the soft creak of the chair next to me signal his arrival. Jameson, with his tall and lean silhouette, leans against the bookshelf. His dark eyes, reflecting the wisdom accumulated through countless narratives, are fixed on the pages before me.

”Finding solace in the tales of the past?" he inquires, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. His voice, a velvety timbre, resonates with the same richness as the literary treasures that surround us.

I glance up, meeting his gaze, and invite him to join me with a nod. Jameson gracefully moves to the arm of my chair, a place that feels both familiar and intimate. His fingers, cool and elegant, find a stray strand of my hair, wrapping it around his digits absentmindedly. It's a subtle gesture, one that transcends the boundaries of mere physical touch. Each twirl of my hair seems to weave a connection between us, binding us in a shared moment within the tapestry of the library.

As he sits beside me, the warmth of his presence envelops like the embrace of a well-told story. The characters in the book come to life, their struggles and triumphs mirrored in the unspoken understanding between Jameson and me. The juxtaposition of the fictional world and the reality of his touch creates a beautiful paradox—a seamless blend of imagination and tangible connection.

Jameson's fingers, light as a whisper, move to ghost over my cheek. A shiver courses through me, a response to the delicate caress that seems to bridge the gap between fiction and reality. The characters in the book, once mere ink on paper, now witness a narrative unfolding before them—the story of two souls drawn together by the invisible threads of connection. His touch deepens, his fingers hooking under my chin with a gentle insistence that demands my attention. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he lifts my gaze, and suddenly, I find myself ensnared by his eyes—dark, fathomless pools of green that hold the weight of a thousand stories. Time seems to stretch, and the distance between our faces becomes negligible.

My breath hitches, caught in the delicate dance of anticipation. The paradox of our connection intensifies—the very real presence of Jameson Hawthorne and the fictional worlds we explore converge in this suspended moment. In his eyes, I see reflections of characters who have loved, lost, and found redemption, mirroring the silent tale unfolding between us.

As our faces draw closer, the boundary between reader and character blurs, and I become a protagonist in a story that transcends the pages of the books that surround us. The library, once a haven of literature, transforms into a stage where the chapters of our own narrative unfold.

In the charged atmosphere of the transformed library, Jameson's voice, low and laden with an emotion I can't quite decipher, breaks the silence. "You don't know what you do to me," he confesses, his words hanging between us like a promise written in invisible ink. His fingers, delicately holding my chin, tighten ever so slightly, an anchor in this moment. In the depth of those fathomless green eyes, I sense vulnerability, a rare glimpse of the man behind the enigmatic exterior.

The anticipation lingers, and then, with a tenderness that defies the rough edges of his life, Jameson leans in. His lips brush against mine, a touch so gentle it's as if he's unraveling the layers of his guarded self. The kiss is a revelation, a tapestry of emotions woven with threads of longing and a touch of sweetness that catches me off guard.

I taste the rich complexity of him, a blend of desire and restraint, as if every stolen moment has led to this, a communion of souls beneath the watchful gaze of literary giants. His kiss tells a story—a story of passion restrained, of emotions laid bare in the quiet expanse of a library transformed into a stage for our intimate narrative.

As our lips continue their passionate dance, each touch becomes a stanza in a poem of desire. The flame ignited by our connection dances through the chambers of my heart, casting a warm glow that reverberates through every beat. In this stolen moment, I become a keeper of Jameson's story, feeling the weight of the untold chapters that reside in the recesses of his being. The dance of tongues is a language of its own, a symphony of whispers and sighs that transcends the limitations of words. In the quiet library, our connection becomes a narrative, written not in ink but in the shared breaths and lingering echoes of our kisses.

Then, with a tantalising slowness, Jameson pulls away. The separation is a breathless pause, and in that moment, I catch a glimpse of a blush colouring his cheeks—a rare vulnerability that adds another layer to the enigma that is Jameson Hawthorne. His eyes, still reflecting the fire of our shared passion, hold a depth that defies easy explanation.

A tender smile curves his lips as he leans down to kiss the crown of my head. His lips press into my hair, a silent promise and a gesture that speaks volumes. The library, once a stage for the intensity of desire, now becomes a sanctuary of shared intimacy.

He settles back next to me, the warmth of his presence a comforting embrace. A smile lingers on his lips as he presses them into my hair, and I feel the echo of our shared moment lingering in the air like the fading notes of a beautiful melody. The pages of the book in my hands wait patiently, as if knowing that our own narrative has become a story worth telling—a love story written in the quiet corners of a library that has witnessed the blending of passion, literature, and the tender moments that make life extraordinary.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

TAGS: New Tag List Form

The Inheritance Games Masterlist

#the inheritance games #the inheritance games x reader #the inheritance games x you #inheritance games x y/n #the inheritance games fluff #the inheritance games smut #the inheritance games angst #jameson hawthorne #Jameson hawthorne x you #Jameson hawthorne x y/n #Jameson hawthorne x reader #Jameson hawthorne smut #Jameson hawthorne fluff #Jameson hawthorne angst

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henrywintersdearestgirl · 6 months

Text

@celestialpoetry ‘s request, thank you for the support dove<3

I kind of based this character off of Meredith from If We Were Villains, which is my current read:)

summary: Henry meeting an embodiment of seducement and finding himself lusting after her

Temptress

Henry’s point of view:

The first time I saw her, I thought that it was the cigarette that clouded my vision. It even went through my head that I only imagined her.

But, it instantly cleared my doubts when I saw her multiple times later.

I only saw her from far-apart, and as time went by, I started to know more about her from here and there. She was in theatre, she dropped in mid-semester, no one knew where she came from and why she came to Hampden. Her hair was golden as the Sun, and always made in a nice way. Depending on how her hair was styled I knew what phase was she going through. If she was busy with exams, memorizing lines and running from practice to practice, her hair was trapped in a french twist. If she was relaxed and free, her hair was framing her face and back like a lion’s huge mane.

Her face, oh, her gorgeous face. She was beautiful, and the fact that she was aware of it and knew how to use it made it all better. Thick eyelashes, delicately curved nose, full lips caught between teeth, lusty eyes. Her body had curves that I wished I could grip into, her silky looking skin was hugged by silk or lace or fur.

She was sex on legs. A nymph. A goddess of seducement. A temptress.

No other woman had as much of an effect on me like she did. She lit a fire up within me with a single gaze of those eyes. She made me jealous of the people and even the wind that surrounded her. I wanted to suffocate any man that came closer to her.

The only contact I had with her was when our eyes met here and there. Whenever they did, she wasn’t shy, she let her eyes run up and down my body, she licked her those plush lips, bit them and let a sly smirk rest upon them. I smirked back at her and winked at her, I threw my manners out the window and checked her out.

Until one night, it was a cold night. I had an urging need to write, but my apartment couldn’t make the atmosphere I felt most inspired in. I put on a wool sweater instead of a shirt and I made my way toward the college’ library in my car. In the parking lot, I saw a blood red vintage car. The secluded library’s window showed that the fireplace within was lit up, someone was in there. I was fine with it as long as the person didn’t bother me with any annoying little habits.

I immediately felt my body relax at the warmth of the library, the warmth coming from the centre. The centre had a fireplace, a big rug in front of it and leather couches and armchairs that I was quite fond of. So, I made my way over to the centre.

My heartbeat quickened when I heard the voice from far apart.

“As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.

But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;

And for her sake do I rear up her boy,

And for her sake I will not part with him.”

Her honey-sweet voice hit my ears, she was practising her lines.

A few seconds later, she came into my vision. She was walking around on the rug, in front of the fireplace, a lit cigarette stuck between her slender, elegant fingers and her nails were painted blood red. How I wished that those fingers were caressing my skin and stroking my co—

“Hello there, Winter.” I was too lost in my perverse fantasies to notice that she turned around and now was looking at me with those seductive eyes of hers.

“Good evening.” I nodded and sat down on one of the couches. “Practise?”

She sat down on the same one as I did and took a long drag of her cigarette. “Trying to, if I’m honest I didn’t even come here to practise.”

I looked at her with awaiting eyes, gesturing to her to continue.

She streched her slender body and tucked her knees into her chest, I couldn’t help but glance down where her knees pushed against her delicate breasts. I wanted to devour her completely, I felt my trousers tighten at a million more fantasies of how I could make her mine and mine alone.

“The apartment above mine is having a gathering.”

“Are they drinking and stomping?”

“Almost, they are having an orgy.” She smirked at me, while taking a big gulp out of her flask.

I chuckled softly. “Good for them, I suppose.”

There was a comfortable silence between us. I looked at her to steal a glance, only to find her already looking at me with hooded eyes. She had a little smile on her lips, she suddenly reached up toward me and offered me her flask. I didn’t even care what she was offering me, she could have given me poison in it and I would have drank it eagerly. It sent a heatwave down my spine when I put my lips exactly where the print of her lipstick was.

“It’s a dirty martini.” She said when I gave it back to her.

“I could tell, it’s really good. Did you make it?” It really was good, the olive taste and sweetness mingled perfectly together.

“I’m glad you liked it, yes I made it. I have too much fun making all kinds of cocktails. When I was in my late teenage years, I worked in a bar, that’s where I learnt it all.” She was looking forward, as if she was telling tales to the fire. Her hands blindly reached for another cigarette, and so did I.

I couldn’t help, but smile at her. When she was talking about something she was enthusiastic about her eyes weren’t holding that lustful gaze of hers, more like wider, adorable eyes that reminded me of a doe.

I lit my cigarette with ease, and I noticed that her lighter was refusing to light up. “Oh damn it! It’s out, little fucker.” She mumbled under her breath.

Suddenly, she turned her head around to look me in the eyes..

There was something about her at that moment. Her hair was long and big, I wished to stroke it and pull it at the same time. The cigarette was between her lips that were painted a dark red. Her skirt rid up to the top of her thighs. I was lured in, and lured in deep.

She slowly crawled towards me from across the couch, when she got close, she supported herself on my knees. She leaned closer to my face, with a sultry look that made me want to fall to my knees at her every wish.

“Henry?” She whispered.

“Y/N?” I whispered back to her.

She leaned into my ear, I could smell her sweet scent all around me, I wanted to drown in it. My arms tightening with the need to just wrap themselves around her and show her pleasure on earth.

“Would you light my cigarette, please?” She leaned away and giggled, she was very well aware of the effect she left on me.

I lit my lighter up and she leaned into it, lighting the ashes to life. “You know what this means? When you light someone’s cigarette?”

I shook my head softly, there was an adoring smile on my face. She slowly got up and gathered her things, she stopped in front of me and said the answer.

“I’m your bitch now.” She smirked, everyone wanted her to be their bitch, I was no different. But, at the same time I was, I wanted to give her the world and worship her.

“And are you?” I smirked back at her in challenge, I was always up for a game.

“Do you want me to be?” She tilted her head in front of me, looking me up and down discreetly, there was hunger in her eyes, she had hunger for me.

I put my cigarette down and took hers too. I stood up and towered over her, my broad body nearly swallowing hers up. I let my fingers caress her hair and then wander to her cheeks, it was like caressing silk.

“I want you to be.” I whispered. “Let me take you out on a date, treat you nice, show you how you should be cherished. Let me give you the world.”

She closed her eyes, she loved to hear the words I said, and she loved that I was the one who said it. Behind that sultry gaze, I saw that she wanted me, and wanted me deeply.

She got up on her tiptoes and her lips were hovering over my ear. “If you want me, show it to me, show me that you really mean what you said. And then, if you are a winner, you may claim your prize.”

My blood stopped when I felt her plush lips press against my neck.

After many long seconds, she leaned away, winked at me and made her way out. From the window I could see the red vintage car driving away, of course it was hers.

I took my previous seat and watched the fire. She was playing hard to get, I loved it. I wanted to work for her love, I was fucking game.

I took my writing notebook out and I wrote one thing on the top of the page.

Temptress.

I found my muse.

———————

Yes, this will have another part dw I got you<3

Please, let me know what you think and thank you for reading:)

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mayullla · 2 years

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Title: Golden Mirror

Character(s): Mirror Demon(?) (Unnamed character/original work)

Summary: You were a princess, beautiful and lovely you weren't meant for the bloodshed of the king's seat. Cautious of when a knife would go through your chest you choose to make a deal with a mirror once forgotten in one of the many old storage rooms.

Warnings: Fem!reader, general yandere themes, violence and blood, horror elements

You hate the mirror on the wall. You hated what it has turned you into.

You should have cast it away when you had the chance. Burn it calling it but a witch's catalyst. Yet you were too naive, too naive to its promises and words.

It gave you everything yet nothing at the same time, your dreams of becoming a queen of a nation it gave, riches, money and fame it gave but as payment, it took away your freedom.

You were a small child when you roamed the halls that were the castle's walls. You were a princess, one of many in the family. Ignored and uncared for your title was mere decoration compared to your older brothers and sisters who wished to be rulers of the kingdom.

You played often in the huge gardens when you didn't have lessons, and you roamed around the library in search of an interesting book to read. Travel along the castle in search of places you have yet seen before. One such place is a small storage room filled with antiques forgotten by everyone.

It was a treasure cove in your eyes, interested in finding a treasure or hidden gems but everything was old and rotten after years of abandonment.

All except one.

It was an elegant mirror once covered by a rug till you took it off, clean and polish the frame was made out of gold roses and rubies so beautiful that you could only gasp at how pretty it was. “Pretty!” you said in enchantment when you heard a voice chuckling and then eyes appearing in the mirror you could only scream in fear as you ran away from it scared of something lurking behind it.

You never went back to that room after that day, too scared to come back when something dangerous hid in it. You choose to forget, choosing to be ignorant of the monster in the storage closet. After all everyone looked at you weirdly when you told them about that room, stating that there was no such room in the first place...

Time passed and you grew up to be a darling princess, bright and happy people would say yet it was far from reality. You were ignorant… Spoiled as a princess wanting love yet unable to understand how to get it.

They looked down on you.

You weren't the only one to grow, your father the king so soon, so suddenly passed away leaving the throne and crown empty.

Many tried to take the throne you were thrown into the chaos as well whether you like it or not. Targetted as a potential threat to a future your sibling wants.

You wanted to run away but most of all you wanted to survive.

It has been too long since you stumbled upon the storage door late at night. Alone you want a place of privacy for you found even your bed hard to sleep in.

The mirror was the first thing you see, the blanket that once covered the mirror was still on the floor moved away by your young self. The gold frame and mirror itself didn't even have a lick of dust despite it.

You didn't run away this time when you heard a voice greeting you in mirth. You asked what they were yet they didn't answer. But they gave you something else instead.

A deal.

They would let you become queen, and they would help you survive in this cruel castle where all your sibling want is your neck.

They will keep you safe all in exchange for your blood.

You were too desperate for all you want is to survive. All you want is to live, to see the next day for you feared death and pain.

On the floor lies a knife stained by blood as you let the blood from the long cut on your palm drench the mirror's reflection.

You didn't understand that you signed your soul to them. Bound by them forever even after death and they would never let go.

A promise it kept drenching the walls of the palace with blood and screams. The pain and anguish as you watch your siblings killed one by one, gore and pain were everywhere your ears ringing by their pain. You wanted everything to stop, you want everything to stop as you begged them to stop.

Yet all they did was coo at you softly taking gently forcing you into a corner talking as if it was obvious that you be scared. Stay here. They were only fulfilling your wish.

You can't see where they were. Their hands and body were invisible to the eyes but there was a way to see them look in the mirror and there you can't help but shiver as you make eye contact. The smile on their face, wicked and delighted still cooing at you as you watched them touch your cheeks keeping your head in place from looking away from the mirror. You didn't remember what they said, pretty little thing so frightened that they could not move.

They told you that they would bring you the throne. That they will place you on the top where no one can touch you but them, that you will be the queen of the kingdom and they would never leave your side.

You didn't want this you didn't want this at all. Yet you can't stop it, no matter how much you beg.

They told you to smile, a whisper that only you could hear for they fulfilled their contract and you are now the queen. The little touches they left in your arms felt like the wind which you let yourself believe as you passed by mirrors that littered the walls. Big and small you choose to ignore the shadow following you, near you.

When you headed to the hall where the king, your husband and the people waited. Hollow things, as death took them long ago leaving nothing but puppets for the monster to use to their amusement. Nothing in this castle truly belonged to you, and nothing in this kingdom belonged to you after all you didn't ask for anything but to save your life.

Note: This is somewhat inspired by the mirror and the evil queen in snow white hope you like it!!

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macbethsymphony · 12 days

Text

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 5

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 3.1k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1] [2] [3] [4]

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 5: The knife

The gentle caress of the sea breeze tousled your hair as you savored the rich aroma of your morning coffee. You’d woken up unusually early today, the prospect of getting your hands on steel again, to start creating, firing your spirit. Something had shifted in you after that argument, you felt free. No one had admonished either of you for the outburst, laughing and teasing you about it instead. It felt as though they were happy you’d finally let go of your reservations and let your true self peek through. You leaned on the railing of the quarter deck as you observed the activity below you.

Your eyes couldn’t help but follow the shirtless swordsman as he practiced his forms. You may hate the man, but you could see why Sandai Kitetsu had chosen him. It pissed you off to admit it, but you were sure he also had every right to Wado Ichimonji and Shusui. There was a rugged elegance to his movements, raw power that demanded attention. The fluidity and control of his haki coursing through the blades was incredible. You were more than certain he was deadly in a fight.

“Hey! Asshole! Show me your swords.” You called out to him.

He glanced up at you, a scowl forming on his features at the interruption. “No,” he shouted back.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned further against the railing, your irritation mounting. “Aw, come on. Don’t be such a fucking prick about it.” You retorted, your words laced with frustration.

The swordsman’s only response was his middle finger before he turned back to the movement he was trying to master.

You scoffed. Didn’t matter, you’d decided today was going to be a good day. You pushed yourself away from the railing, heading towards your forge with a spring in your step. The fires had to be hot enough now to get started. You hummed to yourself, smile bright on your face.

The heat of the forge enveloped you like a warm embrace as you stepped into the small workshop aboard the Thousand Sunny. Beads of sweat formed on your brow, a testament to the intense heat radiating from the roaring flames. With a determined expression, you approached your sturdy workbench, where a stack of raw steel awaited your skilled hands.

Your eyes wandered across the multitude of options presented before you. They stopped on a smaller slab, it seemed to call to you. Taking a deep breath, you picked it up. The familiar coolness of the metal felt nice in your palm.

“What will you be?” You asked the bar, eyeing it gently.

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight in your grasp, finding its core, its essence. You turned it a few times in your hands, feeling for its quirks, its personality. You smiled as a picture formed in your mind.

“A knife, huh?” you said to the steel. “You want to be useful, don’t you?” You could honor that. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you a most passionate owner,” you told it, Sanji passing your mind.

You examined the steel more thoroughly. It was mild steel, its low-carbon content would make it perfect for the outer shell of a kitchen knife. You’d still have to reinforce it with a high carbon core to ensure durability over the years. Good. It wouldn’t be too hard, the perfect project to test this new forge.

You donned on your leather apron and gloves, taking a long linen cloth to cover your hair so it didn’t burn at the contact of the imminent sparks that would scatter in the workshop. The steps were now clear in your mind, you wasted no time in getting started, eager to craft a blade worthy of the chef’s culinary skills.

With a steady hand and focused mind, you retrieved a length of high-carbon steel, feeling its weight and potential beneath your fingertips. You immersed it into the searing heat of the fire, precision and purpose in your quick movements. The rhythmic cadence of the flames cast a familiar warm hue on your face as you impatiently waited for the steel to turn from a dull gray to a glowing fiery orange.

When the steel attained the desired temperature, you carefully took it out of the fire, setting it on the anvil with care. Your hand went to the hilt of your hammer, its familiar weight feeling like an extension of your very being. You closed your eyes, letting go of the turmoil of your mind. You took a deep breath in as you drew from the strength of your soul, allowing haki to flow through you, infusing your tool with power. As you exhaled, a sense of calm washed over you, your focus honing to a razor-sharp point.

With a resounding clang, the first strike of your hammer against the hot steel sent a shockwave of power rippling through the air. Sparks erupting in a dazzling display, mingling with the crackling dark spirals of your haki as they danced around you. Each strike was a symphony of strength and skill, the metal yielding beneath the relentless force of your blows.

Once you were satisfied with the core’s shape, you turned your attention to the mild steel. As you worked, the heat of the forge faded into the background, replaced by a singular focus on the task at hand. Time seemed to blur as you lost yourself in the rhythm of the forge, outside world melting away until only you and the metal remained into existence.

With a final strike on the combined metals, the shape of the knife was complete. It was time to start the grinding process. You allowed your eyes to look out the door momentarily, eyes squinting against the brightness of the midday sun. A tray with a pitcher and some food had been left on a small bench, you realized with a start that you’d missed lunch.

As you devoured the offering hastily, you couldn't help but feel slight anxiety at the hope the cook would like this gift. The scorching heat of the forge brought you back to reality. You were ready to lose yourself in your work again, eager to see how the patterns of the steel would show up as you would grind away the scales that had formed on the surface of the cooled steel. With renewed vigor, you turned your attention back to the knife in progress.

With a flip of a switch, the grinding belt hummed to life, its rhythmic whir echoing in the confined space of the workshop. You took a moment to admire the patterns emerging on the surface of the steel as the scales were meticulously ground away. Each pass revealed the intricate layers, a testament to the fusion of high carbon and mild steel. The blade began to take on a life of its own, its unique design coming to fruition under your skilled hands.

Hours passed, the repetitive sound of grinding becoming a soothing background melody as you lost yourself in the meditative process. The knife, once a mere slab of metal, now started to embody the essence of your craftsmanship. The curves and edges spoke of precision, a harmony born from the dance of the forge.

With the grinding phase completed, you moved on to the critical step of heat-treating the blade. You carefully heated it until it glowed a vibrant red, then plunged it into a quenching oil bath, the sizzle and hiss filling the air. The transformation was underway, the blade evolving from raw potential to sleek excellence.

As the knife cooled, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The next steps involved the delicate processes of polishing and etching, adding the final touches to your creation. The blade was brought to a fine shine, and you meticulously etched a decorative mermaid pattern onto its surface, a subtle yet captivating addition that shined when the light hit it at the perfect angle.

Now, the knife was ready for its handle. You sifted through your collection of materials until you found a rich, dark wood that complemented the elegance of the black blade. With practiced hands, you shaped and polished the handle, ensuring a comfortable grip for its future owner.

The final assembly brought together the blade and handle in a seamless union. You marveled at the completed knife, a fusion of craftsmanship and passion. It held a story within its layers, a narrative of hours spent in the forge, shaping not just steel but a piece of your soul.

As you cleaned and arranged your tools, you noticed the sun beginning to dip below the horizon. The workshop was now bathed in the warm hues of the sunset. You couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment as you wrapped the finished knife in a clean linen cloth. You wondered for a moment if it was too late in the day to present your gift to the cook but the echo of laughter coming from the galley told you otherwise.

Your feet carried you to the door of the kitchen eagerly, anticipation making your hands tremble in the slightest way. You stopped in front of the door gathering your courage as you listened in on the loud conversation.

“Did you see the way (Y/n) was handling that hammer? It was like magic!” Luffy exclaimed, his voice full of excitement.

You shifted awkwardly at the praise.

Usopp chimed in, his tone filled in awe. “Yeah! And did you see the sparks flying everywhere? It was like she was conjuring magic right before our eyes!”

Sanji’s smooth voice drifted through the air. “Ahhh, (Y/n) may have been covered in soot and sweat, but the elegance she was exerting was as captivating as a siren’s song.” He mused.

“I have to admit, I knew you weren’t lying Luffy” Nami said taking a pause to find the right words. “When you said she was impressive, I didn’t doubt it, but I never could have guessed it would be so extraordinary.” She finished, tone stunned in awe.

Your hand stilled on the doorknob, blush heating your cheeks at the words of admiration.

Robin’s gentle laughter followed. “Indeed, she possesses quite the unique ability. Watching her work is delightful.”

Franky’s booming voice resonated next. “I’ve seen my fair share of blacksmiths in action, but none compare to (Y/n)! Our little firecracker’s skills are really SUPER!"

Chopper’s enthusiastic squeal added to the chorus of praise. “I can’t believe how talented (Y/n) is! She’s like a superhero! I wonder what she’s been making.”

You took that as your sign to come in, opening the door.

“Oh! (Y/n)! You’re finally out!” Brook said delighted by your presence.

“You’re just in time for dessert,” Sanji said with a smile.

You cleared your throat. “Uhm actually Sanji, I have something for you.” You said. He turned back to you, curiosity in his eyes. “I really want to thank all of you for taking me on, I just… guess you’re the first person to receive my appreciation.” You continued shyly as you handed him the wrapped blade, apprehension keeping your body taut.

Sanji’s eyes widened as he unwrapped the finely crafted knife. The black blade gleamed in the warm light of the galley, mermaid pattern glowing in a purplish hue. Sanji gave it an expert twirl in his hand, feeling the balance of the blade. The handle, polished to perfection, felt smooth and comfortable in his grasp.

“For me?” Sanji asked, his usual playful demeanor momentarily replaced by genuine surprise. The crew fell silent, their eyes fixed on the knife, its aura demanding all the attention.

“I know you already have amazing knives, but I thought maybe you’d have some space for one more?” You said nervously.

“(Y/n)! This is incredible! I’ve never seen anything like this. Thank you so much!” Sanji exclaimed with a childish smile.

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, all tension leaving your shoulders.

“Let me see!” Usopp said excitedly.

“Me too!” Chopper chimed in. Everyone fighting playfully to see your hard work for themselves.

As you settled into your chair, weariness seeped into your bones, a heavy weight after a long day of forging. The lively banter of your crewmates provided a comforting backdrop, but you couldn't shake the sense of exhaustion that washed over you like a tidal wave.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the swordsman's gaze lingering on you, an unknown intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Yet, in your current state of fatigue, you lacked the energy to address the unfamiliar tension. With a resigned sigh, you loosened the bindings of your hair, allowing it to cascade in soft waves over your shoulders, a small act of surrender to the fatigue that engulfed you.

Just as you began to sink into the solace of relaxation, Nami's voice pierced through the tranquility of your mind, jolting you back to the present. "By the way, (Y/n)," She said. "We've spotted the next island today. We'll probably make a stop tomorrow, but it looks like a Navy base," she informed you, her tone laced with a hint of concern. "We're getting pretty low on food, so we'll have to steal some from them. The whole routine is pretty standard to us, but we were wondering... Do you know how to fight?" She asked.

Her question hung in the air, casting a sobering shadow over the jovial atmosphere. It was a stark reminder of the choices you’d taken. And yet, amidst the uncertainty, there was a glimmer of trust in her inquiry, a silent acknowledgment of your role within the crew.

You paused, considering her words carefully. “I’m not a fighter, if that’s what you’re asking.” You said. “But I know how to defend myself.”

“Good! We’ll add you in the roster then!” She responded. “We usually let chance pick the different teams for those missions, so don’t worry too much about it! You might even get to stay on the ship!” She smiled at you.

You smiled back. A navy base, huh? That would prove interesting.

Roronoa Zoro couldn’t help the irritation stirring within him as the shitty cook unveiled the knife. His brows furrowed as he watched the genuine expression of delight on the chef’s face as the man twirled the blade skillfully in his hand.

He scoffed inwardly at the display. The blade was black, haki infused. His fingers twitched. He hated to admit it but how he longed to hold the blade. He shifted uncomfortably, his scowl deepening at the excitement around him. His gaze wandered to the door, contemplating slipping away unnoticed.

But then, his eyes landed on you.

There you stood, a faint smile playing on your lips as you watched Sanji’s reaction with a mixture of relief and nervousness. Your hair was wrapped in a white linen cloth, soft strands had escaped the confines of the binding, opting to cling to your sweat covered skin. A soft blush of happiness adorned your rosy cheeks mixed with streaks of ashes. You hadn’t really bothered cleaning up before coming in, your eagerness to give the knife surpassing all else. Your eyes met his briefly as you let the bindings of your hair go. Zoro couldn’t help the strange flutter in his chest, a strange sensation he couldn’t quite place. His irritation redoubled, ready to fight. You were lost in a conversation with Nami.

With a scowl Zoro stood up, grabbed a random bottle of booze, and escaped the cheerful ambiance of the galley for his usual peaceful nook in the crow’s nest.

That morning, they had all been surprised as the first clank of your hammer against steel had resonated in the air. A wave of energy had coursed through their bodies, Zoro’s concentration shattered instantly. The air had felt thick, the wind had halted, it was as though time had stopped. Then your hammer had hit steel once again and existence had resumed.

He had been caught so off guard by the display of power that he hadn’t been able to get his concentration back for the rest of the day. He’d sheathed his swords and headed to the crow’s nest with every intention of sleeping the day away. But like everyone else he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to observe you in your mastery. His eyes had remained glued to your form, observing you from high up.

With a frustrated groan, Zoro took a swig from the bottle of booze he’d taken with him. The familiar sharp bite of the alcohol burning his throat in a comforting manner. He leaned back against the railing, his gaze fixed on the twilight sky as he attempted to push aside the turmoil of his thoughts.

The wind ruffled his short hair as he attempted to draw out his haki, trying to mirror the way you inexplicably had done earlier in the day.

“Damn it,” He muttered under his breath as he let go in failure, taking another swig out of the bottle as if to drown out his thoughts.

But try as he might, he couldn’t shake the image of you standing there amidst the chaos of the forge, soft strands of hair plastered against your neck, face streaked with sweat and ashes. The raw power dancing around you had been mesmerizing.

Zoro watched as one by one, the crew went to bed. He itched to see the knife for himself.

Giving in to the temptation, he entered the kitchen. His gaze immediately caught the knife. The black blade glinted in the soft light of the moon. As he approached, he could feel the subtle hum of haki emanating from the metal. His hand hesitated momentarily before picking it up.

His rough fingers traced the edge of the blade, the smoothness of the black steel beneath his touch sending a shiver down his spine. For a moment he was lost in the intricate patterns etched on its surface, the mermaid design captivating his attention. He gave it a hesitant twirl. Once. Twice. The balance was stunning, the sharpness of the edge deadly. It was a blade born not just from skill but from passion, a fact that irked him more than he cared to admit. He let his hand clench around the handle of the knife. The shape was perfect, it felt like an extension of his arm.

“It’s a stunning blade, isn’t it?” Robin’s voice shattered the silence.

He let go of the knife in surprise. The clank as it fell back down on the counter, loud in the stillness of the night.

“It is,” he admitted turning to face her.

“Sanji’s a lucky man,” she said with a soft smile, taunting him.

He didn’t answer.

Robin rolled her eyes at his stubbornness.

“Why don’t you let her look at your swords?” She asked as he was about to pass her. Zoro stopped in his tracks. “None, of your business,” he snapped, irritation lacing his words as he left the galley.

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

#the swordsman and the blacksmith #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x reader #charlou writes

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cadere-art · 7 days

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The 'kjighd are one of the surviving native peoples of the lands conquered by the Senq Ha Empire. They inhabit the southern slopes of the Matar mountains, hunting and gardening on the lands too rugged to interest their colonizers, a much smaller territory than that which they used to roam. Their reduced territory has forced them to abandon much of their agricultural practices, but many 'kjighd have also taken up the raising of tsut as a means to supplement their subsistance.

The 'kjighd used to be a prosperous people. The occupation of their lands by the Qot colonists and the Gichan striped them of most of their territories and riches. The greatest 'kjighd population subsists at the frontier of the Gichan and Qot territory, taking advantage of the lawlessness of the frontier yet living in fear of being caught in their crossfire.

The 'kjighd were renowned for their technically complex weavings and elegant and sophisticated sculpture. Death and theft have robbed them of much of this legacy, and modern 'kjighd struggle to keep the cream of their craft alive. Many 'kjighd sell their art to the Qot and the Gichan against goods they now lack, or offer them as an attempt to appease the conquering powers. In dire times, tribes may resort to trading away precious heirlooms, contributing to the erosion of their traditions.

#worldbuilding #peoples of uanlikri #uanlikri #antiole world #'kjighd #mountainfolk

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thepenultimateword · 8 months

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Claws and Fangs Part 2

CW: Discrimination, essence of racism and hate speech (just with made-up terms because its supernatural creatures)

Part One

[Vampire!]

The little girl standing tiptoe in the doorframe sprang at the vampire's chest, nearly knocking them backwards down the long flight of stairs. Luckily, Fangs managed to catch her under the arms and swing her weight back toward the door just in time.

"Aggie!" they cried, matching her energy. They rubbed noses with the child as they shifted her to the crook of their free arm and reached behind them to find Claws’s arm again.

The child, Aggie, clung to their neck. "Daddy said you weren't coming!"

"Plans changed." They gave the little girl an extra squeeze before smoothly positioning Claws in front of her. "This is [Werewolf]. They're staying the weekend with us."

The little girl lit up for an instant but then froze, sniffing the air and wrinkling her nose. "Why do they smell like that?"

"Aggie!" a new feminine voice scolded, this one older, huskier. "That's no way to treat a guest."

A tall, raven-haired woman in a long red dress appeared in the doorway. Claws only needed a second to recognize her as another vampire. She carried the same red-eyed glint and predatory elegance as Fangs.

Her gaze roved up and down, taking in their utter unvampireness, but she still smiled as she met their eyes.

“Excuse my daughter. She hasn't had much exposure outside a clan.."

Aggie wriggled out of the Fangs’s arms and darted past her mother's legs and into the house.

"I'm [Vampire's] sister, Nerezza. You must be [Werewolf]."

"You know me?"

"Of course, we've been trying to get them to invite you for a dog's age." She gasped, covering her mouth. "I am so sorry."

Fangs covered their face with one hand. "Nerezza."

Claws's face heated. Apparently, their identity was no mystery. "Er, it's fine. I didn't really notice."

"Until you made a big deal out of it," Fangs said.

"Excuse me, [Vampire] for being careful," Nerezza snapped. "I didn't want to offend them before they even got through the door, and I only just remembered that dog is a derogatory term!"

"You can say dog, just don't call them one."

Nerezza glanced at Claws for confirmation, as if she only trusted the explanation from the source's mouth. When they nodded, she noticeably relaxed.

"Well come on in before you catch a cold standing here. Just leave your bags by the door; the staff will take it up to your room. Now. Let's introduce you to everyone else."

Fangs squeezed their hand as they crossed the threshold. "Here we go."

The house was even more beautiful inside than out. Rich red rugs swathed pearly marble floors. The walls and banisters were dark chocolate wood decorated in tapestries and oil portraits of vampires that looked suspiciously similar to Fangs and Nerezza. At the end of the hall, Nerezza turned through an arched entryway into a great, round sitting room. The sofas and recliners were draped in white fur throws and a rose and silver-leaf garland hung over the hearth, the hearty, pine-scented fire within accenting the room with an orange glow.

"Evening everyone!" Fangs said

Several vampires twisted their heads around as they entered, one man on the end of one sofa with his dark silky hair pulled into a bun immediately began sniffing the air.

"What in burning silver is that smell?"

The man beside him, looking nearly identical except for his hair--pale blonde and plaited over his shoulder, promptly punched him in the ribs.

"Told you, told you, told you!" Aggie sang from the floor where she was very meticulously putting together a puzzle of a frog pond.

Fangs's hand slipped out of Claws's grip and settled more protectively around their waist, seeming to forget for a moment that their partner was over a head taller and a few palms bulkier than they were. Though they wouldn't deny that having that supernatural vampire strength wrapped firmly about them was comforting.

"This is [Werewolf]. You know about them. My...er...well, we're engaged. Sort of."

"Sort of?" Man Bun said condescendingly, this time blocking his brother's fist.

"I haven't actually asked yet, but we both already know--"

"You're going to," Claws helped. "It just hasn't officially..."

"No, not quite yet."

"Soon though?" Claws tipped their gaze meaningfully toward Fangs’s face. Standing in front of their family for the first time probably wasn't the time or place for hints, but they couldn't help it now that the topic was out in the open. They had been waiting for a while now.

"Oh, yes, yes, very soon!" Fangs said, and they both strained smiles at the room. Fangs clapped their hands together. "Anyway. Aggie and Nerezza greeted us at the door, this is my brother-in-law, Gabriel."

The vampire he gestured to was in fact the only one who had not bored holes into Claws upon entering. Mostly because he was reclined all the way back in the biggest armchair, snoring. Claws still committed his enormous frame and the pink elastics in his auburn beard and hairline to memory.

"My brother Renwick,” Fangs moved on, introducing the blonde man. “The especially rude one is Lauden." They pinched Man Bun's cheek and turned their tone babyish. "Our baby."

Lauden swatted them away. "Shut up, I'm grown! ...Unless the last blood custard is up for grabs, then I'll gladly be the baby."

"My mother and father, you can call them Jacqueline and Valerian.

Jacqueline strained a smile, but Valerian was as still and austere as one of the oil paintings in the hall. Claws could definitely tell who had the strongest genes. Jacqueline's blonde hair and storm gray eyes had passed to Renwick, but the rest of the siblings shared their father's raven hair, amber eyes, and delicate bone structure. They still needed to get used to vampire parents looking nearly as young as their children.

Fangs gestured to a regal, middle-aged man in the armchair closest to the fire, not a recliner for how stick straight he sat, pale hand planted firmly around the gold knob of his cane. His dark hair was a mane brushed straight back and streaked at the temples with silver.

"Grandfather Ambrose," they mumbled quickly and then immediately brighter, "And that’s everyone!”

Before Claws could reply so much as 'pleased to meet you,' Fangs's strong arms dragged them off balance, plopping them both on the floor beside Aggie, Claws in the center of Fangs's lap.

Claws looked at the floor. It still wasn't the full moon, but the phantom sensation of a tucked tail and ears plagued their body. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. The air of awkwardness and disapproval was worse than being alone.

"So, [Werewolf]," Nerezza said, breaking the quiet. "How long have you and [Vampire] been together."

"W-we met a year and a half ago. So I guess officially...a year? How long have you known about me?"

"A year sounds right," Renwick said, leaning his elbows forward on his knees and resting his chin in his hands. His eyes seemed intent on dissecting Claws bit by bit. "You're name came up several times, but [Vampire] has always been a closed trap on the topic. Now I know why."

"Not that it matters, of course," Nerezza piped in quickly.

"Of course," Renwick agreed, though his tone was much less concerned. "How old are you?"

"Er, 27."

"Ah."

What was that supposed to mean?

"Ren," Fangs warned.

"What I'm just getting to know them. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that why you brought them?"

"This a probationary meeting. For if you ever get to see them or me again."

Claws melted closer to the floor, tracing the pattern of the rug with their eyes.

Aggie tugged on their sleeve. "Can you help me find the froggy eyes?"

She pointed to one of the background frogs on the box, his eyes only the corner of a mostly pond puzzle piece.

"Of course, let's see..." They sifted through several nearly identical, greenish-gray pieces. "Ah ha! One set of froggy eyes!"

Aggie's amber eyes lit like embers as she fit the piece into place. "And the dragonflies?"

Claws slowly slid off Fangs's lap and sprawled onto their stomach. "Pink or blue?"

"The pink."

"Ah, those ones are tricky, huh? Well, it looks like they're an edge piece, so can you help me find all the pieces with flat sides like this?"

She nodded adamantly, and together they made a small pile. Claws already saw the dragonflies, but instead of handing the piece to her they said, "See any pink ones?"

Aggie bit her lip mildly with one fang, flicking her eyes back and forth like a cat stalking a mouse. All at once, she pounced, finger landing on the center of the piece.

"Right there! Right there!"

"You found it!"

Aggie giggled. Claws was vaguely aware of a slight back and forth of their hips, habitual even with the absence of a tail.

"Look at them wriggle, just like a--"

"Why don't we all change for dinner," Jacqueline said, cutting Lauden off. She stood with a flourish, fluffing the skirts of her creamy vintage evening gown. “Lauden, dear, come with me, and I’ll help you with your tie.”

“What are you talking about?” the young man said, crinkling his pale brow. “I know how to tie—”

“Come.” Her eyes flashed like lightning in the violent storms of her irises, and Lauden quickly got up to follow her.

***

Claws threw themselves on the bed, giving a luxurious stretch as they stared up at the rich velvet canopy. They rolled on their side as Fangs closed the door.

“Alright, infamous outfit change #1. Help me, my love, what am I ever supposed to wear?” They tossed their head and pressed the back of their hand to their forehead.

Instead of playing along, Fangs sat on the edge of the bed and took their hand. “Do you want to go home? Because one word, and we’re out.”

"Hm?"

"We've only just arrived, and they're already being rude. It's going to get worse as they get more comfortable."

Claws crawled the couple of feet between them and flopped their head on their legs. "I’m not so much of a coward that a few mean words can chase me away. I’m from a wolf pack, you know. We deal with rough every day. Besides, I’ve been through worse.”

“Like what?”

“You.”

“Ow. What?”

“You were not pleasant when we first met. In fact, you called me the d-o-g word. Multiple times.”

“Because I was stupid! And I didn't know it was a slur! I didn't exactly talk to werewolves yet."

Claws reached up and smoothed the creases out of their face. "I know. The point is I can handle it. I'll let you know if can't."

Vampire wore a pout but nodded. They pointed at the suitcases. "It's the grey suitcoat with the red cravat. I'll help you tie it."

"You think I can't do it on my own?"

"Oh, I know you can't. Now stay there and sit still. I'll explain a bit about dinner."

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516 @tobeornottobeateacher @talesofurbania1 @sweetsigyn

#I had some more but it was gong to make this really long #so i decided to break it down some more #creative writing #writing snippet #vampire x werewolf #fantasci #supernatural #fantasci writing #claws and fangs #writing #writing community #writers of tumblr #writeblr

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raineandsky · 10 months

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#44

The trail to the supervillain’s office is, to put it lightly, trashed.

Lampshades have been knocked off the walls. The wallpaper is torn. Scraps of the supervillain’s iconic black coat are scattered on the floor. The rug lining the corridor is mangled beyond repair.

The villain is standing outside the supervillain’s office door, staring at the claw marks as long as he is tearing through the wood. He’s been standing there several minutes, not too inclined to find whatever carnage is inevitably waiting on the other side. There’s a splatter of blood flicked on the door handle.

He pushes the door open as gently as he can muster, careful to not get any of the chaos on his hands. He can see the supervillain’s overturned chair from here.

His hand is inside his coat before he even gets the door open. The thing creaks dramatically on its hinges, making the villain cringe, and something inside knocks the desk over in alarm. Papers and the supervillain’s computer tumble to the floor. With a deep breath and the comforting shink! of his blade, he finally butts the door wide enough to get a full view inside.

What the fuck, is the first thing to come to mind.

There’s a fucking wolf in the supervillain’s office, scrambling for the open window with the elegance of a dying horse. It whines miserably as it fumbles on the windowsill. The thing has blood crusting around its lips, drawn back to unveil a row of teeth twisting into a cruel snarl.

The villain has not a clue what to do with this. The office is as much of a tip as the corridor outside; rugs and wallpapers shredded, furniture overturned, scratches decorating the rich wooden panels against the walls. He steps forward, blade brandished, and the wolf makes an expression that looks remarkably like a scowl.

The window isn’t big enough. It’s goddamn huge. It gives up with something akin to an irritated growl, hunching back down into the office with a defensive bristle. The villain inches ever closer, though he’s not sure what to do once he reaches it—would stabbing it work? It’d probably maul him before he even got a chance.

The wolf clearly thinks the same thing. It leaps at him, flaunting its giant teeth and claws, sinking its feet into the rug not even a metre away from the villain. He staggers back, unprepared. It sweeps its tail at him—the bundle of supposed fur is as solid as concrete, and it hits him with the force of such. The punch sends him tumbling, the tears of the carpet ruched into the villain’s back. His knife clatters to the floorboards loudly in surprise. The wolf is on him in a second, its paws digging into his shoulder so hard he thinks he might have a permanent paw print stamped into his skin.

Fucking hell, its teeth look even bigger from here. They’re practically as long as his arm. It snarls, oh-so-kindly spraying spittle into his face. Its breath wafts over his face, the stench of the rotting nightmares in its stomach turning his own. It doesn’t attack him, or bite his head off, or annihilate his shoulder with its claws (even though it kind of already is) like he was accepting the moment he hit the floor; it just stares, expectant, waiting, patient.

A moment of courage lets him glance up at the beast—it’s entire cruel demeanor is gone; it isn’t snarling as much as it is sticking its tongue out at him. Its whole body is shaking, and with a glance past the hunk of fluff keeping him on the floor he can see its tail wagging with enough force to make a hole in the wall.

Its paws are leaving crimson stains in his coat he knows he’ll never get out. The villain risks another look at its face—its eyes are bright, almost human, searching his eyes right back. Its gaze flits to the tatters of the supervillain’s coat before turning back to the villain, hopeful. Two and two suddenly make the grand number of four, and his eyes widen at the beast stooped over him with disbelieving horror.

“Wh– [Supervillain]?” the villain chokes out, and the beast wags his tail harder at the recognition. The villain is rewarded with a lick across the cheek that feels as repulsive as it smells. What the fuck, crosses the villain’s mind for the second time this evening. “What– how— what the fuck happened to you?”

The wolf—the supervillain, what on god’s green earth—growls indignantly at his language, as if that matters right now. “[Supervillain], my god, tell me what’s going on!”

The supervillain finally lifts the weight of the sun off the villain’s shoulder, and he gasps in relief like he couldn’t breathe. The other trots to the window overlooking the frankly absurd amount of land in his territory, huffing as he tilts his head out the window. He waits with a lot less patience than before as the villain slowly gets to his feet, more than happy to reclaim his beloved knife from the floor.

The evening is beautiful. A refreshing summer breeze ruffles the trees and sweeps the office in cool air. Stars speckle the darkened atmosphere, twinkling idly against their silken backdrop. Amongst them all, like the centrepiece to the night sky, is—

“A full moon?” the villain comments uncertainly, and the supervillain gives him a nudge of agreement. “Are you a fucking werewolf or some shit?”

Another growl of disapproval rips into the peace, but he gets another nudge all the same. He cannot believe this. Of all days to discover this—he was meant to be going home early today. “How long have you been a goddamn dog without anyone noticing?”

The villain gets a front row view of the supervillain’s bared teeth. Maybe insulting him when he’s practically made of weapons isn’t the way to go. He turns away regardless, pawing at a piece of paper on the floor—a piece of the calendar, the months torn from the binder. The one under his foot, decorated with colourful flowers that the supervillain would rather die than admit liking, reads ‘SEPTEMBER’.

“Five months?” He almost shouts in his dismay. “[Supervillain]!”

The supervillain makes a huffing noise vaguely resembling a laugh. “And… and you’ll be back to normal tomorrow?”

The supervillain nods. It looks unnatural on a wolf. “Thank god. I’m not buying you kibble.”

The supervillain snarls again, visibly disgusted at the thought, and the action pulls the villain’s gaze back to the blood sinking into the matted fur at his mouth. He grimaces blatantly.

“God, please don’t eat me over this.”

The villain comes across the supervillain in the hallway the next day. The slightly smug grin the villain wears only grows at the supervillain’s cold glare.

“If you tell anyone of last night,” the supervillain hisses, his voice threateningly low, “I will kill you in the most violent way possible. Understood?”

Can't kill him without telling everyone why. “Sure thing, paw patrol.”

#writing #creative writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #writblr #heroes and villains #werewolf #what is a werewolf if not a glorified dog #this one took me like 3 days idk why

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chicxxonaa · 4 months

Text

Hi. This is the first text post I’ve made relating to writing. I wanted to challenge myself to make prompts for my favorite fandoms. So like this is my first one. I’m still an amateur. So I hope you all enjoy and give me good feedback 🙏🏻. (This is JJK related btw)

Content: angst. some fluff lol. this is from Gojo’s perspective. (Will post Geto’s version sometimes today or this week)

I thought of you again today.

And I decided to look for you.

…

I tried looking for your eyes first. Christmas has passed again without you. So I thought the low glow of the festive lights and lanterns could guide me to them.

Your eyes always spoke of something alluding to longing. They’re dark as the ocean at night. When I looked far off into the bay when the moon was nearing its new phase, I thought of how your eyes used to look at me. Stare at me back, like how I stare out into the abyss of the sea. They were black, cold, full of melancholy. Yet when you smiled they would scrunch up and wrinkle your temples.

…

I tried looking for your ears next. When I last saw you, you were still sporting those black gauged earrings that would hang like the ears of Buddha. I always teased you with a statement and in return you’d give me a hard hit in the arm. So I visited shops less known to the public where they did ear piercings. I’d look at their displays and see if anything stuck out. I saw beautiful designs. Black was always your signature color. And I may not be the most fashionable in this area, but you always reminded me of the color of royal blue. The kind of blue you see on pictures of nobles. The kind of blue that shows elegance. I think something like that would make you look like royalty.

…

I then decided to search for your mouth. Your voice. Your lips. Your teeth.

You never were much of a smiler. My jokes would only arouse a boring expression or you rolling your eyes away from me. Always so stoic. Only making slight little smiles when something was interesting. Or when you were trying to smooth talk your way out of trouble with the headmaster. A polite, small, gentle smile.

But when you smiled at me. It was so distinct that I could still draw it a million times in my head.

You would show your top teeth when you smiled at me, followed by a laugh. And what a laugh it was. It was dark and rich like chocolate. Your lips, thin and slightly chapped, stretched to form a marvel on your pale mooned face. It would savor in my mind for days on end. I never wanted such a taste to go away. So I made it my priority to make you laugh and smile as much as I could.

So I searched for that same sweetness in the places I would make you smile the most. The arcade. The little coffee shop with just three small tables. The alley with stairs and rails where I would attempt to glide down without loosing my balance. And in return, you’d join. Finding amusement in my foolishness. What a fool I have become so.

…

I searched for your body and hair. You were always so well kept. You always wore a bun, dark strands slicked back with a few falling to the front of your face. The color was black like raven feathers. You were pale, unblemished, and not a sign of age to your features. Like the glow of the moon above fresh, untouched snow. You weren’t always the best eater. Other than your favorite dish, Mak-guksu, you couldn’t really come around to eating everything and anything I got you. “I can’t get rid of that taste back there.” You’d say. Alluding to your abilities.

So I went looking for you in temples. Where I would see nests of crows circling around me. Death’s messengers. Near the temple, I’d see worshippers come in with white robes that would blend with the snow. With their dim lanterns, the shadows bounced off radiating a warm glow from their holy attire. A pure being, no matter what you did.

…

The last thing I searched for were your hands. Slender, rugged, brittle. Calloused and tender. Your knuckles would go white every time you were writing out a report for class, because you would be so focused you’d forget to let your fingers relax after each pen stroke. Your fingernails were clean, despite the dirty work you’d do. But I loved your hands. I loved the way they’d come close when you passed me something like a dropped pen, a cup of tea. Or that night during the summer solstice, when we would go out to downtown for festivities and we left the group to go find a better spot to watch the fireworks. When we found a small ledge just off the edge of river where the show was beginning, we watched in awe. Smiling, the sound of the whistles that ended with a loud bang as an array of sparks and flames danced in the air.

And that’s when your hands,

your warm hands, crept their way, sliding carefully across the rail bar where the ledge was, temptingly to interlace with my own. Like the call of the siren I couldn’t resist such a moment. It started with our pinkies overlapping, testing the waters. Then it soon became our ring and middle fingers intertwined like stitches. And surely, your hands clasped with mine and for a moment, the world seemed still. I could see from the corner of my lenses that you weren’t looking at the sky anymore. You were looking at me. The hue of bright blues, purples, greens and yellows illuminating such a heavenly sight. You looked at me, like you knew me for a thousand years. You saw me. And I saw all of you. Your hands, skin, hair, ears, mouth, nose and eyes, were all I saw. And they painted the most beautiful of all living things that this earth has given me. And you leaned forward to share the warmth of your love, as I couldn’t hear the sounds of the world, and only the sound of your breath slowly rising as you planted a kiss on my lips. Forever marking me as yours.

…

I searched for the that same warmth that night so long ago on the same ledge, at the same time it all happened.

I place my hand on the cold, snow covered rail bar, to see if you would take it.

But you never did.

I looked forward to see anything of your likeness.

But I saw nothing.

I shut off all thought, muted the outside world as much I could

To hear your sound, a voice, a whisper.

But there was silence.

And in that silence, I only heard the sound of my heart, becoming more numb under the freezing night. I can only hear my breath, visible to the icy air.

…

I searched for you today, Suguru.

I failed, but I’ll try again next time I think of you.

#jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #satosugu angst #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jjk

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jobean12-blog · 1 year

Text

The Devil’s Masquerade

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader (Mafia/Vampire/Soft!Darkish AU)

Word Count: 2,965

Summary: You didn’t even want to go to the Holiday ball in the first place but turns out you never really had a choice.

Author’s Note: This is for the ‘Tis the Season to be Thot-y’ writing challenge! 🥰My gift is for my love Ali @maladaptivexxdaydreaming and my dialogue prompt was: “oh hey, mistletoe” (which I changed only slightly), and my festive device was ‘Christmas Party.” And my babe was Mr. Andy Barber. I hope you enjoy this my sweet friend. The Mafia/Vampire/Soft!dark themes are subtle but I do hope it all comes together. I was so happy to write this for you! Love you so❤️ Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always!❤️❤️❤️ DIvider by my sweet Daisy @firefly-graphics Thank you love!💕 And the edit below is one of my faves done by my lovely friend Nix.

Warnings: light soft!dark maybe implying stalking, vampire induced haze bc you know they do that lol, maybe implied smut, mafia themes- anything I missed let me know :)

EDIT IS NOT MINE: My friend Nix made this edit and I love it to the moon and bag! Thank you beauty! 💕

“Do I really have to go to this party?”

Your friend and coworker, Nat, turns your way, her eyes narrowing. “Yes and it’s really more like a Holiday ball!”

“Who hosts a ball on a Friday night?” you ask with a frown. “I’m tired!”

“Oh stop,” Nat says, waving you off. “We bought that gorgeous dress last week and you’re going to look amazing and have the best time!”

“We don’t even know him! He never comes to the office and we only hear whisperings about him. I bet he doesn’t even show up to his own party!” you state.

“Complain all you want babe. You’re going because I’m going and you can’t leave me alone!” she says, her face full of determination.

“Fineeee,” you draw out with a sigh. “But when you find me asleep with my champagne it’ll be your fault!”

You’re just touching up your make up when you get the notification the car is here to pick you up. In a flurry of flowy fabric and rushed footsteps you make your way down the steps of your apartment and onto the street.

“I can’t believe they sent cars to drive everyone,” you say on an exhale when you slide into the backseat next to Nat.

“I know!” she squeals. “So fancy!”

When you arrive at the estate you’re momentarily rendered speechless. The wrought iron gates are intricately designed and swing open with ease to allow the car to drive up the winding gravel road. The house looms in the distance, sitting atop a hill, framed by large evergreen trees that are all decorated for the Holidays.

“Wow,” Nat says quietly.

“Wow is right,” you agree, never taking your eyes off the scene before you.

“I mean he is the owner of the company so…,” Nat muses.

“He would be rich, right?” you finish.

She nods, her eyes wide.

The driver gets out and opens the door, taking your hand to help you out. You look around, trying to take in all the elegance that surrounds you. The house has an old world feel with towering spires and balconies made of stone and brick.

Wreaths hang from the countless windows and garland is draped over and around the door. The lights only enhance the beauty of it all. It’s festive while still being romantic.

“I can’t wait to see what the inside looks like,” you mutter.

The double doors swing open as if on cue and you step foot into the large foyer, tilting your head back to look up at the lofty ceilings.

Your friend Matt rushes over to you, his eyes wide with excitement.

“You guys are here!” he says, out of breath. “Isn’t this place insane!”

He looks over your shoulder as the doors begin to close, his eyebrows drawing together when he sees the car pull away.

“Did you guys come in a car?” Matt asks.

You can only nod, your eyes continuing to scan the interior of the house.

The walls are adorned with sconces that hold long and thin candles, their light flickering with the arrival of more guests. The hallway is framed in ornate wood molding and the rug is plush and decorative.

“That’s weird,” Matt continues. “I had to drive here myself.”

“Maybe only the girls get special treatment,” you say distractedly.

Matt’s face remains pinched together in thought and only when Nat speaks does he focus again.

“Have you seen him yet?” Nat asks Matt.

“Seen who?” you ask, still looking around the foyer.

“The boss,” Nat whispers, tugging on your arm.

Matt shakes his head no. “Not yet but wait until you see the rest of this place.”

You finally drag your eyes away and let them settle on your friends. “I told you…he probably isn’t even here!”

You’re quickly escorted from the foyer and down a long hallway, the walls ornamented with fairy lights that hang and drape over every corner and small and glittering stars that twinkle every time they catch the light.

It’s enchanting and you easily get lost in the glow of it all.

“What are we drinking?” Nat asks when you enter the main hall.

“Let’s get some champagne and have a look around,” you tell her.

You walk over to one of the many bars, thanking the bartender and sipping your drink as you continue to take the whole scene in.

“This place must be massive,” you say quietly. “I wish we could explore!”

Nat giggles next to you, her attention focused on a man across the room.

“What are you staring at?” you ask as you follow her line of sight. “Oh.”

“I know right, right?” she whispers. “He keeps smiling at me. I think I’ve seen him around the office once or twice.”

“And now he’s coming over here!” you say quickly, pressing yourself closer to her.

The man throws Nat a megawatt smile and introduces himself as Steve. He starts chatting with Nat and even though he tries to keep you included in the conversation your concentration is not on him but someone else entirely.

As if in a trance you stare at the man and a shiver runs down your spine. He’s tall with broad shoulders that fill out the jacket of his tuxedo and his full and dark beard frames a beautiful face. You’re inexplicably drawn to him, every nerve of your body alive with electricity as you hold his intense gaze.

He lifts his glass to you with a slight tilt of his head before he disappears into the crowd.

You sway with the realization that the enchantment is gone and Nat looks over at you, concern etched on her face.

“You ok?” she asks.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” you assure her, downing the rest of your drink and setting it on the bar. “I’m just going to go find the restroom.”

“Are you sure?” Nat says, eyeing you.

“I’m sure,” you tell her before giving her a wink and moving off in search of the mystery man.

You weave through the crowd, your eyes constantly scanning the room for him but it’s as if he’s vanished. It isn’t until you reach the end of the hall and meet a set of large wooden doors, one slightly ajar and you feel that familiar tingling skittering over your skin.

With a cautious push you slip through the door and instantly find yourself wrapped in darkness. On a sharp inhale you feel for the door, your heart hammering against your chest as you try to find your way out.

“Leaving so soon?”

The voice startles you even more and you plaster yourself to the wall, frantically searching the darkness for the source.

A small flame flashes at the end of the room and then as if by magic all the candles lining the wall burst with brightness, flooding the space with light and illuminating the figure standing in the corner.

“I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I think I got lost.”

Your fingers fumble along the wall in constant search for the door but your eyes stay locked on the man as he approaches.

“The door is just a few more inches to your left sweetheart,” he says softly but with a small smile.

Your hand closes around the doorknob and you turn it but find yourself unable to leave.

“Enjoying the party?” he asks with a smirk.

“This house is beautiful. I was only hoping to see more of it,” you say.

His dark eyelashes lower and he moves closer.

“Are you sure you didn’t come in here looking for me?”

Realizing you’re blatantly staring at him; you glance back at the door.

“Why would I do that?” you answer.

He gives you a light chuckle and his eyes sparkle with mischief.

“I’d love to give you a tour. I know my way around very well.”

He holds out his hand, his long fingers enticing as they beckon you to him.

“I think I should go find my friends,” you murmur.

With a raise of his eyebrows, he waits, his hand still lingering in the space between you.

“You’ll miss the garden. It’s breathtaking.”

“Garden?” you say with whispered reverence.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for him, still a bit dazed, and when his hand closes around yours a spark of heat shoots across your skin.

He grins at you, his smile knowing before he leads you toward a door at the other end of the room. He holds the door open and ushers you through then extends his arm for you to take. You hesitate but relent when he smiles warmly.

“How do you know your way around so well?” you ask as you take in the décor of the new space. “Do you know the owner?”

His head falls back with laughter and his eyes crinkle with mirth. You dip your head to hide your embarrassment but he quickly spins you to face him and presses his fingers under your chin, lifting your face.

His blue eyes are intense, the color so radiant it’s startling and when you open your mouth to apologize his fingers slip free and he presses one to your soft lips, leaving you breathless.

“I do,” he begins. “Very well in fact.”

His smile is back and his thumb swipes across your bottom lip as he releases you. He studies every feature of your face with open appreciation.

“And to answer your question…I am the owner.”

You go still, once again unable to meet his eyes, your hands wringing together over your stomach.

“Mr. Barber, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Please honey, it’s Andy.”

“I didn’t know…we’ve never met…”

“Shhh,” he says softly. “I know.”

You audibly swallow, the sound echoing in your ears, before you look up again, still flustered. You introduce yourself and start to tell him the department you work in but he interrupts your string of words.

“I know who you are,” he states. “And the department you work in. You’re excellent at what you do.”

You skin heats under his praise and you quietly give him thanks.

“Shall we?” he asks, holding his arm out.

You curl your fingers around his bicep and fall into step next to him.

He gives you a detailed tour of every room you visit, his words rich with history and adoration.

“You’ve collected quite a stunning array of artifacts Mr. Barber. I’m very impressed.”

“Please sweetheart, it’s Andy. I insist.”

You turn your attention to him and you tremble under his piercing gaze, the urge to be near him almost overwhelming. His eyes trail across your face, seeming to linger on our mouth before lifting back to your eyes.

“Andy,” you murmur before looking away and distracting yourself with a painting that hangs on the wall.

In your rush to escape his charm you fail to notice the way his eyes darken and his tongue traces over his lips at the sound of his name falling from your mouth.

Before you can ask about the painting he’s pressed to your back, his body hard against the soft contours of your own.

He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “this is a personal favorite of mine.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, swaying in his arms as you try to study the art.

“This one is titled, ‘Demon seated in a Garden.’ It was painted by Mikhail Vrubel in 1890. The original.”

Your quiet gasp has him gently squeezing your waist and humming with pleasure.

“I love to collect beautiful things,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on your waist.

He holds you long enough to leave you breathless then let’s go slowly, his hands caressing your curves in the process. He walks to the French doors across the room and stands peering out into the night.

The moonlight shines through the glass panes, bathing him in an ethereal glow and you find your feet moving of their own accord, every step taking you closer until your shoulder brushes his.

You stare out into the garden and your breath hitches, the beauty like nothing you’ve ever seen.

“I knew you would love it,” he simpers. “All your favorites.”

He sweeps his arm out, keeping his eyes on the garden even as yours widen in shock.

“My favorites…?” you whisper, the rest of your words caught in your throat. “But…”

“Come sweetheart. Let me show you.”

Without waiting he takes your hand and opens the door, the cool night breeze blowing over your skin and carrying the fragrant aroma of flowers.

The space is large, extending out past the house and into the wooded area behind, but long strings of lights hang from canopies and trees, illuminating the foliage in sparkles of light.

“Oh my god,” you gush. “It’s magnificent.”

You let go of his hand and move from one flowering plant to the next, smelling and softly touching each one.

The scene before you almost makes you forget his suggestive words from earlier and it isn’t until he speaks that you remember he’s even there.

“I’m so glad you’re happy,” he says. “I was hoping you’d love it.”

You spin around to face him and your smile fades, your unease rushing back in waves.

“I don’t understand,” you say quietly. “You don’t even know me.”

Andy steps into your space and you’re hit with the smell of something musky and woodsy then the overlying scent of the flowers drifts over you and you’re intoxicated, the urge to bury your face in his strong neck and run your fingers through his thick beard overwhelming you.

His eyes glitter as they fall to yours, tension springing between you as his gaze darkens with heat.

“I know all about you honey. I always make sure to keep a close eye on my employees.”

He leans closer to whisper in your ear, goose bumps shivering down your neck at the ghost of his words on your skin.

“Or at least the one I want.”

Your eyelashes kiss your cheeks, your body melting into his even as your mind screams at you that this is inappropriate.

“Want?” you breathe out, fighting the spell he has over you. “How do you even…?”

“I know people…I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

He doesn’t bother to divulge any more information as he presses his fingertips to the small of your back and drags you closer.

“Do you know what kind of flower this is?” he asks when he tears his eyes from yours and tilts his head back.

You pull your eyes away from him and look up, noting the drooping evergreen bush that hangs from the branch of the willow tree above you.

“Oh…that’s mistletoe.”

He nods with a smile.

“Do you know anything about mistletoe sweetheart?”

“Only that most species are poisonous and parasitic.”

You continue to look at the plant rather than him, the feel of having him so close muddling your thoughts and making your body ache with an undeniable need.

“Did you know it was once believed to have magical powers?”

“No…only that there is a tradition about kissing under it.”

When you say these last words your eyes drop back to his and his head dips lower. You swallow hard, knowing you should physically retreat but you can’t find the willpower.

“Yes and the action was believed to lead inevitably to marriage,” he murmurs, his eyes trained on your mouth.

You’re not evening listening to his words at this point, your sole focus on his lips. His eyes are hooded and his arm wraps around your waist, hauling you impossibly closer.

You both still at the press of your bodies together, your eyes locking and your breath catching at the heat in his eyes.

“The garden is full of everything you love. I’ve been paying close attention to every little detail,” he winks. “I can’t wait to show you all of it.”

“I still don’t understand,” you say, willing yourself to think clearly.

“There’s nothing for you to understand honey. I have everything under control,” he says with a saccharine smile.

“How can you know all this about me? I’ve never seen you at the office…”

You repeat your words from earlier, grasping at any semblance of control and reason.

“I’ve always been watching and as I said before…I know people.”

“But…,” you stammer, “who do you know?”

His face is only a breath away from yours and it’s impossible to wrench yourself away.

“People who help me get what I want,” he whispers.

You inhale a small gasp, pressing your hand to his hard chest and trying feebly to escape his embrace.

He smirks as if he knows how he affects you.

“And I always get what I want,” he simpers.

All your thoughts fade from existence the moment his soft lips press to yours and you can’t stop your hands from smoothing along his chest and wrapping around his neck. Your dizzy with the sensation of his mouth and hands, the smell of him, the feel of his hardness pressed against you.

You pull back only for lack of air, all of yours drained from your lungs with his kiss. He tightens his hold on you, dragging his knuckles up your arm to caress your bare shoulder before he wraps his fingers around your neck and tilts your head back.

His nose brushes along your throat, his soft inhale making you tremble in his arms and when he presses his lips to your pulse point you whimper out his name. Your blood moves like fire through your veins and when he drags his fangs across your skin you feel as if you’ll come apart in his hands.

“I’ve waited so long for you,” he murmurs into your skin. “Too long.”

@book-dragon-13 @late-to-the-party-81 @randomfandompenguin @patzammit @lookiamtrying @goldylions @seitmai @theycallmebecca @nomadicpixel @rebel-stardust @dreamlessinparis @hiddles-rose @lizette50

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber fanfiction #soft!dark andy barber #mafia!andy barber #vampire!andy barber #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x y/n #andy barber au #mafia au #vampire au #chris evans x reader #chris evans #tis the season to be thot-y

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