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palettesofrenaissance · 24 days

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𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 (𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞)

"On your knees."

His taunting grin falters, lessens, a flicker of realization crosses his face seeing that she's serious. He squeezes the edge of his desk he's leaned against behind him, clears his throat and raises his chin in defiance.

His pants are still open—from when he'd instructed for them to be undone when she'd already been pulling his dick out; and from when she'd squeezed him hard, causing him to shudder before beginning to pant as she worked him in an unforgivingly tight grip. He had to bite his lip and bite his words as she took over, completely ignoring his previous air of dominace and pumping him like a torturous punishment.

Between his choked breathes then, he knew that she knew he liked it.

Now, his dick bobs after her command; dark curls rest at its base, leading to the little trail up to his naval.

She glares. He swallows, a momentary struggle of fighting for dominance or giving in plays across his face before he nods once and submits, lowering to his knees before her.

From this angle, his heart speeds up and he resists the urge to reach for her. Instead, he softly glares at her as if annoyed.

She runs a hand through his hair. "Good boy," she praises—she teases—and is surprised to spot the glimmer of a plea beside the bewilderment in his eyes and spots his dick jumping at that: He likes this.

Slowly, her hand slides down to craddle his cheek at the same time a knee raises to his shoulder. Wide eyes that boarderline confusion and excitement glance from her thigh to her face.

"I want you to please me."

A shuddery exhales leaves him. His dick jumps again, and stiffens further. With only a half-hearted glare, he adjusts her leg as she balances with a hand on the desk beside them and he pulls up her skirt and pulls aside the bridge of her panties. She isn't wearing pantyhose tonight.

He's trembling the slightest bit as he watches her moisture create a thin line connecting the panties to her warm lips. The panties are slid down her luscious legs to the floor in front of him where she steps out of only one hole. His breaths, hot and shallow and rapid, hit her thigh he does an impatient and quite improper attempt to skim kisses up her thigh.

He burries his face inside her greedily, with groans to match and a tight hold on her ass to keep her there. Her free hand dives into his hair near instantly, her grip tightening as he eats her out selfishly, sloppily, mouth wide and tongue darting, licking, lapping at anything and everything that's her.

Gone is that previous, smug, dominant hat he wore and is instead indulging in a role previously much submerged and hidden.

While pleasing her, his nose presses against her swollen clit and she cries out suddenly, making her grip painfully tight on his hair but he only groans gutterly and pulls her impossibly closer by her ass. Unabashed, he moans against her, the vibrations causing her breath to catch and for her to keen.

There's going to be sore, finger-shaped bruises by the early morning, she knows. He bumps her clit again with his nose, realizes, then does it again purposely, shaking his head for good measure, wanting to pull all types of noises from her—noises he's never heard her make before, noises he hopes she's never made for anyone else. She sounds wonderful, like music and fueling his own lust.

When she's bitten her bottom lip and is humming comfortably, he breaks apart only for a moment to insert a finger into his mouth, wetting it, before sliding the long digit inside her gripping cunt. The instinctual flutter of muscles and the high-pitched gasp of pleasure she elicits fuels his ego and his decision to insert a second finger. And then a third.

He groans about her tightness and ease due to her wetness.

She's whimpering now—a sound he's always imagined to hear from her—and had a death grip on the desk in an attempt to control herself and not aggressively hump his face to orgasm. She's stubborn and doesn't allow herself the self-fullfilling like that often; he notices she's holding back so, while still tapping against her sensitive spot within her gripping, slippery pussy, he rapidly flicks his tongue across her clit, trying to get her there anyway. Harshly presses his tongue against her clit. Sucks it while gazing up at her, almost daring her.

He longs to touch himself, to squeeze his cock and pump out the load that's nearing the brim just from her and this alone, but he doesn't. Instead, his cock stands between his legs, leaking shamefully, suffering, and almost harder than he can stand. Her hand in his hair maneuvers his head to pull back. He flicks his tongue at her clit, laps at her labia, then pushes against her hand to return sucking her off. Every now and then he humps the air pitifully.

High-pitched and lust-filled, she sighs, "Yes! Just like—oh, god! More! Keep on... More!"

Of course, he obeys.

She still stiffles her noises by biting her lip, by pressing her palm to her mouth, by throwing her head back and swallowing her own moans, turning them into breathless sighs and whines.

He laps and flicks and sucks while her hand pulls at his hair unforgivingly—

He longs to have her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing just as tightly—

His eyes flutter at the pain that mixes with his pleasure. His cock is painfully hard, his one hand is soaked in her juices, his other is sunken into plush of her ass, gripping like it's a lifeline. All he can hear and all he can feel and think of and smell is her, her, her.

But just as he's getting completely lost, just as he's thrusting his hips into the air in a pathetic chase for relief, she pulls away. His mouth is forced to disconnect, creating a loud suction. And he's panting—they both are—and he's glistening from his spit and her slick from his nose down his chin, and he looks disheveled overall, with a dazed glaze to his eyes and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Please," he begs, which she never thought he'd do; it both surprises her and pleases her.

His shirt is rumpled, his hair in disarray, and his pants are still undone. A puddle of precum rests on the floor beneath his exposed, achingly hard cock, the proof of his pent-up frustrations.

Running on autopilot now, his hips thrust into the air once more before a hand of his begins working his cock urgently.

Reaching out for her with his other hand, he repeats, desperate, "Please."

But she backs away out of reach and his hand falls pathetically, him still in that submissive haze.

After wiping her mouth, adjusting her panties, skirt, and outfit, she breaths weakly, "That's it."

He's confused. And so close.

"That was..." She clears her throat, forcing her composure despite her body prickling with arousal heat and her pussy screaming for her to stay. "I'm leaving. I have to go. Have a... Goo—good night."

On unsteady legs and in uncomfortable wetness, she leaves him—still on the floor, still staring after her.

- - - -

it is 6am -_-

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noodleslugworth · 2 months

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The Absinthe Attempt

Tags/Warnings: Dark Willy Wonka, Yandere Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka Played By Timothée Chalamet, Drunkenness, Obsessive Behavior, Boss/Ex-Employee Relationship, Some Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Light Smut

Contains: Dark!Willy/OC (who's a background character from the movie)

Don't forget to leave a AO3 comment if you read!

Summary:

“I like looking at pretty things. And like any other person, I like keeping some of them around. Is there any harm in that?” He grants himself the luxury of dragging his leering eyes down her back. “Can I keep you?” he laments in a soft and soothing low voice as his fingers dance down her spine, to the dip at the end of her back. He doesn’t sound like himself and instead sounds more predatory. “I think I’m gonna,” he hums, hands making their dastardly slow way to the small of her back. “Willy? What’re you doing?” “Promise me you won’t leave me for so long again. Be mine and only mine.”

Or,

[ ALTERNATIVELY - Willy finally gets the courage to pursue his now-ex employee but believes he needs the help of absinthe. He's determined to have her by any means, even seducing her by force. ]

Part 3 of Dark!Timothee!Willy Wonka AU

#dark timothy chalamet #willy wonka x oc #wonka timothee #wonka fanfic #dark timothee chalamet #dark willy wonka #dark wonka #palettewrites #Timothee chalamet x black!oc #wonka x black!oc #Willy Wonka x black!oc

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palettesofrenaissance · 4 months

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I thought to drop a link this fic here too because

I have been in a writing rut for over a year

Thought to branch to a different source material and branch out from my usual fluff and happy romance by trying to get into dark fics

I made a one-chapter that's more of a concept about this canon compliant AU

Saw this new film and fell in love with the lady with a beautiful voice that showed up for only like five seconds

Pretty please check it out and let me know what you think.

It's Permanent Marker on my ao3

This could be the start of more content with potentially darker material starring this background character

If you like this please let me know. If you didn't, please be helpful with your words

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palettesofrenaissance · 5 months

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I'm drinking and there's so many sarah bucky ideas I want to write but fear I never will

The mermaid au

Continuing the "melting/passion" fic, and jealous!bucky

Continuing "say please" about sarah very very subtly teasing bucky in oublic

Sarah "I like a man in uniform" wilson

Scenerio, at work: "Ms. Sarah has been out for the past two days. Is she okay? 😥" Bucky: "She's just fine. Just sleeping it off. 😏" Sam: *gags*

Queen!Sarah and Thief!Bucky (yes like Once Upon A Time)

Finishing this fucking reincarnation fic that no one wants to read

Finishing this 40s Bucky lives AU LFTSL fic but hurry it up to where HYDRA comes in and inevitably so does the US government and Daniel Sousa and Howard Stark and co and then the baby is born as the first natural super soldier and it's a whole lot of ahit and also that Steve Rogers lives in this AU

I need need need to finish the rest of the chapters of vanpire!michelle j Watson who joins the cult that Sarah wilson is at, and she hires her personal human assistant James bucky barnes thst she thinks looks so delectable she could drink him through a straw... but not that way

Parent/teacher meetings with cass and aj

"You live with HIM?! That must be so cool! Or dangerous!" Cass or AJ: "....Yeah. it's not. He's a big fucking nerd. And an old man oh my god, we had to teach him what roblox was and then the concept of a digital world. 🤦🏾‍♂️ I haven't played my game in a week."

Sarah finding joy again, probably watching from afar of her two sons now finding happiness with this man out of time whom she never in a million years thought she'd be with. But when he smiles at her, her stomach does summersaukts.

Sarah wilson being loved on and doted on by bucky barnes

help

#sarahbucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sarah wilson #sarah wilson #tfatws #fleurdelouve #palettewrites

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palettesofrenaissance · 2 months

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I have a long list of potential titles for fanfics I keep in a document. I don't think I'll ever use them all. Some of these you will see I've already used for fic titles. I realize that some are misspelled

Why am I posting it? Don't know. For interaction would be a good idea. Like in the way to: send me a title, genre, a fandom and/or characters and I'll come up with an idea/summary

Tag me if you use

#palettewrites

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palettesofrenaissance · 22 days

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📄

Desc: Stormy middle of the day, gray and full of thunderclouds, stuck inside alone and needing to feel cozy, tea kettle on to boil, pile of unread books

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 (𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞)

The sky outside is a dark greyish-indigo as the setting sun reflects through the thick clouds that are heavy with an impending, angry thunderstorm. The telltale humidity is strong in the air; it wafts through the room from the opened window. Despite, inside it's quiet, calm, and she's cozy, wearing an oversized, knitted cardigan with its sleeves tightly rolled up to her elbows.

The thick, undeniable smell of blood from her prey continues to drift in from the bathroom, mixing with the smell of the oncoming rain and the tea that's been steeping on the stove.

In the kitchen, the cast iron tea kettle sits on the stove coil, still hot and lowly simmering. Also along the counters are her cutting boards with knives, her chosen seasonings lined up, an uncorked bottle of red wine for cooking, a lemon to zest, and a stew pot on the stove and a bowl to collect excess.

In the outside distance, the first roll of thunder rumbles over the city, and through the opened window a soft breeze blows, pushing aside her curls that have strayed from her high bun.

From her speakers, her calm playlist plays and she sways her hips to the music.

This is her third time doing this. She's still thinks of herself as a beginner but has learned enough from her previous mistakes to be cleaner and thorough this time. Also, she's made sure to do this when her fiancé is out.

This isn't her first time doing this; the first time had been when her beloved fiancé witnessed her, so grotesquely and animalistic. She has been in the bathtub, hunched over a dying cat in her hands. It's dying, helpless meows gripping her fiancé's heartstrings in sorrow as he helplessly watched her sink her mouth into its corpse. Tuffs of its fur haven been pulled off. Blood dripped down her mouth, thickly slicking her luscious lips he loves so much and which he's kissed far too many times to count. Back then, her fiancé sat against the bathroom wall watching, stunned, as she ate the kidnapped neighbor's cat in order to feed.

Then, her fiancé had made her promise to not do this again—even though her turning in the first place had been his fault. She'd agreed—after discarding the feline carcass and after a hot, long shower, shes agreed with her eyes downcast as if in shame and while wrapped up in a fluffy blanket.

She had promised to not do it again—

Despite her turning being his doing.

So, now during an impeding thunderstorm and calm and cozy in her home, she flips through the cook book currently in her hands and bites off a hanging nail on her thumb, nonchalantly spinning on her toes as she paces inside the small semicircle pile of books. She mentally calculates how to replace the Chateaubriand steak in the recipe with human meat.

Still lightly dancing to the music, she ventures into the kitchen and retrieves another bowl before returning to the bathroom where her meal rests, slumped in the porcelain tub and dead. She'd already skinned his abdomen, biceps, and parts of his calves and thighs to get to the good muscle and fat.

She remembers when she first saw him—on television while sitting beside her fiancé who wore a wrinkled nose of deep disgust—and that's when she decided he'd be a delectable next target. Eating him was just a bonus and a way to savor her kill.

For her, choosing him would be getting rid of two birds with one stone, minding the online threads about him containing further disgust.

Here in her home, she's already cleaned the cuts of his meat she's already sliced. Now, she pounds them with a meat tenderizer mallet, putting to use the cooking apron her conservative great aunt and uncle gifted her last Christmas. "Choose your weapon" it read surrounded by a silhouette array of cooking utensils.

Once more, another roar of thunder echoes over the city. The clouds look like dark waves rolling over the rooftops.

The books she now has stacked nearby vary from more cooking books to those of the occult variety, to bat anatomy, to global mythologies.

The song currently playing fades out and another one begins, this one from her childhood—which her mother would play loudly on the weekends she was awoken early to help clean the whole home. It makes her smile at the warm memory, pausing to take another drink from her cup of chamomile tea.

When the rain begins to pour, she closes the front windows to halfway. By this time, her home smells heavenly—of relaxing tea and the seasonings accompanying her delectable meal that's simmering on the stovetop.

Her fiancé isn't scheduled to return until tomorrow. In the meantime, she's invited a few friends for this dinner, informing them to bring over plastic bags big enough to take away leftover limbs and carcass for themselves.

They're just as excited as she, knowing she's a newbie; they became even more excited and encouraging once it's revealed who her latest target had been.

They're just as bloodthirsty as she, and who the meal is tonight makes it just all so much more delicious.

Looking to her clock, she realizes her guests should be knocking on her door in the next 20 minutes or so. So, she goes to get dressed.

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palettesofrenaissance · 13 days

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oh yeah, and because I crave conversation, constructive criticism, pleasing people and gold star stickers, here are 3 snippets from the really rough draft sequel to The Absinthe Attempt, requested by @dragonmaiden79 . unfortunately I've been struggling hell of a lot on this and the next chapter of glass hours, so I can't predict when they will drop :(

@sarifinasnightmare @kittenkattextras @idontgettechnology

#palettewrites #keep or scrap?

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palettesofrenaissance · 13 days

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please don't ask me why. I won't have an answer.

was listening to a song that's highly inappropriate for the mood of this piece (but what are you gonna do? 🤷🏾‍♀️) and for some reason it got me to buckle down and finally jot down these two scenes I've had since creating the premise for this dark au

is this motivation for something new? no. this is solely to get them out of my head

and does this align with the current timeline of the au? idk that's up to you. BUT - and I put this in caution red for this specific purpose - this may contain spoilers for if you want the au to go this route. like everything in this au it's governed by your wants; this below is simply are hastily written ideas that aren't set in stone

if not, that's also up to you. putting this under a cut just in case @dragonmaiden79 @sarifinasnightmare @idontgettechnology @kittenkattextras @/anyone else who wants free content and to hopefully help me grow

(visuals: who I imagine ruby to be: bailey bass)

“Well, it’s nice to see you again, sir... You say you’re not alone? But you’re the only person I see here—there’s even one chair. What do you mean?”

A small, sad grin spreads across his face and he gazes down on the ring on his hand—during their conversation, he’d periodically caress it or glance at it before answering. It’s a gorgeous piece of jewelry, ancient and worn from years of wear. On it are two large jewels, one blue and the other red.

“Yes,” he starts slowly, sounding almost pensive. “Here... Here is my precious wife, Sapphire, and my darling daughter, Ruby...”

The man who asked rubs it off to being the years of age and loneliness taking its toll. “Oh, those are mementos?”

“Mementos?”

“Yes—blue for Sapphire and red for Ruby. Their names—it fits.”

“Oh, mementos. Sure...” He doesn’t argue or tell the truth that the two aforementioned are actually trapped inside their corresponding jewels. It’s not like anyone would believe him if he were to say, anyway. “You know,” he continues, unprovoked, “it was my idea to name her Ruby—because of this very ring. Her mother wasn’t fond of it at first, but I made her come around to it eventually.”

None the wiser, the host smiles. “That sounds like a heartwarming story.”

“You tell me...”

* * * * * *

Young and innocent, Ruby is strapped to a long, flat surface, bound by her wrists and ankles, spread out preventing any possibility that her desperate scratching at the ropes would help free herself.

She’s spread vulnerable, captured, and afraid. Her chest heaves rapidly, the sobs she tries to stop are only softened, fat tears rolling down from the corners of her eyes into her hairline and her ears.

Standing at her side is her father wearing a turbulent mixture of opposing, complicated emotions on his face. In his raised hand is a black, sharpened blade.

Ruby looks from the blade to his face again. “Please don’t do this,” her lip quivers.

He doesn’t change positions; he inhales and exhales shakily, cheeks puffing. He’s hesitating.

Ruby pulls at her restraints once more, wriggling across the flat surface, feeling exposed and like a helpless worm as a human foot lowers overhead.

His eyes travel over her once again. She’s so young, hardly even a teenager yet, and here she is about to die. But she has to—it’s either her or him. And since before her conception, he planned for her to take his place—that was what he conceived her for, it was her sole purpose. But since he’s gotten to know her...

Since he’s gotten to know her, against his better judgment and despite his plans...

“Please, dad,” she sobs as more tears fall.

He swallows thickly, justles the blade in his hand. After all the years, after chasing her mother who hid Ruby from him, and getting to this point, he finds he’s having a difficult time enacting his final plan.

“I...”

He always thought her eyes looked just like her mother’s as they share the same color, but now... He feels like he’s looking in a mirror—Ruby has her mother’s color but his eyes’ shape. It sends something strong and terrifying through him.

“I don’t like... Killing,” which is true. “I’m not a murderer,” is whispered, it convincing himself more than for her comfort.

Ruby openly sobs now, finally breaking down, her small body wracking violently with it.

“I’m not a murderer,” he repeats.

Ruby was meant to be a sacrifice, and already he can sense his magic, the malevolent presence, that hungers calling for him to give it a soul—her soul. His daughter’s

He adjusts the blade in his loose fist, still hesitant to enact what he’d been planning for years.

But why? And why now?

For the first time in what feels like to him in years, a pain strums and pulls within his chest, its sharpness rivaling the blade’s. He’s ventured and traveled for years, been bitten, and experienced close calls of being nearly poisoned, drowned, and murdered on numerous occasions, and yet this hurts just as badly if not more.

But why, he wonders, perplexed.

Before him, Ruby wails, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Every so often, she flinches, anticipating the killing blow. Her father only watches... Then begins lowering his hand.

“I can’t do it,” he admits, too quiet for her to hear.

But giving up isn’t what he was supposed to do, and because that dark presence isn’t satisfied, it grabs a hold of his arm, wanting to drive the blade through Ruby’s chest.

Startled by this additional change of coarse, he grabs his arm with his other, free hand to prevent it from acting. With eyes still closed, Ruby bawls as her father fights against his own hand.

And with that pain in his chest, his vision begins to blur due to tears that confuse him.

He stumbles back, attempting to put space between himself and his daughter, but the malevolent magic—the same magic he’s used all his life to create happiness and goodness—grabs him and pulls him back, his shoes slide across the floor like ice.

“No!” It draws his arm back—and he tries to simply drop the blade but it keeps his fingers tight around its handle—it forces him to prepare the killing blow. He fights it with all his strength, continuously stepping back only to have himself be dragged back, gripping his own sleeve, his own wrist to stop his own hand.

Hearing his scrambling, Ruby opens her eyes to see her father, who has hardly felt strong emotions towards others for years, is crying. “I can’t!” he announces to open air. “Stop!”

But he’s no longer in control, and is now a slave to his own magic.

#palettewrites #dark au #dark!au #ruby mellowcut #oc fic #oc fanfiction #original female character #black oc

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palettesofrenaissance · 21 days

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Not gonna lie, I've been thinking about this since receiving this request, and it may be because I'm stressed af and tried to remedy that earlier tonight while it's also 1:24am at the point I'm starting this post and I'm watching the French dispatch that's playing on tv that is surprisingly hilarious and i feel like I'm about to fall asleep very, very soon and I also need to wake up early

But tbh the initial first thoughts I had—which will likely change ngl, I haven't even read gotten the chance to start on this because I can't seem to figure out HOW to handle this entire setting and conclusion—but I have had thoughts about your request for him being a power bottom and having the shit rode out of him. He wanted to talk a big game but she just... Saw straight through it. Sold him to shut up and pushed him down onto the nearest flat surface, grabbed his collar and kissed him angry and rough. He's of course stunned. And as he's attempting to form a sentence—a question, more like, because this isn't like her despite him yearning after her for so long—he's flabbergasted.

She rides the fuck out of him, something akin to an angry fuck and she just wants him to shut up. But he's gazing up at her like she's an angel and despite it all, he's saying sweet nothing's to her that he knows will get to her, which he knows will make her soften after years of knowing her.

And after he feels her finally relax and she's sighing in contempt and finally letting him kiss her everywhere he's longed to—her jaw, her throat, her shoulders, her cleavage—when she's getting dazed by lust, he asks her to rest her hands on his throat and apply her weight there. She isn't certain at first but he soon convinced her.

He likes to be choked, she finds out, a lopsided grin on his face and his eyes roll back as he approaches his pinnacle of no return. She's close too, brought there by his insistence and then by his breathless, continuous, "Please... Please... Please... Please!"

He begs to cum. He begs to please her, to give her everything he has. He begs to feel her convulge and milk him dry and then to keep going. Begs that if she doesn't let him, he'll die.

--o--

Or, alternatively, he smiles at her nicely and while she's talking and trying to stand on business, he gets her to loosen up. Gets her all soft and compliant, sighing and confused and breathless when he squeezes her thighs and pulls her close, making ber back arch on reflex. And then he pulls her on top of him. He's kissing, sucking, and nipping from her jaw down her neck, smirking smugly all the while.

About him being aggressive: perhaps he's holding her hips in a grip that's so tight it hurts, she leaned over him, her hands planted near his shoulders, her fingers digging into the surface under him, as he bucks his hips up into her so rapidly and so forcefully. He knows that she doesn't allow herself self-fullfilling pleasure all the time, so as her back arches above him, he forces her to indulge in pleasure and coos into her ear, "Feels good, yeah?"

She whimpers, a sound she would not really be too proud to emit in front of him.

"I wanna hear you—need to hear you say it. Say it feels good," he pants evilly, and it feels like his grip on her hip tightens and his hips move faster, making her hiss, and she can feel every vein, every inch that plugs her up completely and rubs against her g-spot. "Say that I make you feel good. I make you feel good, yeah? Tell me I make you feel good!"

Just barely, she whispers out, "Yeah! So good!"

Her hands would dig into the surface he's laid across underneath her, and he'd nip under her jaw again, leaving pretty bruises as trophies of accomplishment he'd gaze at, smugly, come tomorrow.

She cries out at being forced to endure this, at being forced to experience such hightened, intense pleasure without barriers or restraints or excuses.

And when he squeezes a hand between their overheated, sweating bodies to find her clit, she tosses her head back and feels tears beginning to prick the edges of her eyes. He doesn't give her mercy until she's wetting him due to her orgasming.

Once more, she tries to push him away, the aftershocks and sensitivity intense and near overwhelming, but he simply grabs her wrists and continues fucking up into her.

She cums again, tears finally rolling down her cheeks, and he kisses their wet tracks before gently turning them over, raises her hips, drapes himself across her back—but not before tying a scarf around his neck and wrapping the other end around her jelly-loose hand to pull to her delight and control—and then he's fucking her from behind.

During it, she does tug his neck forward via the scarf, earning his delight.

- - - - -

idk. these are just scenerios and interaction ideas. I feel like because I'm tired and it's late, I missed your mark. so pls feel free to correct me @dragonmaiden79 . if there's parts you want me to change, rearrange, or whatever have you

in the meantime, I'm still trying to decide if she should remember anything from The Absinthe Attempt or not, like what would she be at his shoppe so late for like in the ending?

#palettewrites #timothee chalamet smut #timothée chalamet smut #wonka smut #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka smut

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palettesofrenaissance · 1 month

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Here's another one! finally had time and the inspiration to begin on dragonmaiden79's next prompt:

with regards to permanent marker, I would love to see sapphire suffer quite a bit for the sake of protecting ruby from harm and wonka's tactics. I'd like to see him using ruby as a pawn that will give him power over sapphire-- give him easier access to her once he realizes who she is.

I hope to make this installment darker than the previous ones, per request. like always, I'm open to suggestions, further prompts, and sharing what you'd like to see even if the fanfic isn't completed yet ❣️

🙇🏾‍♀️ @kittenkattextras @katiethelmie @sarifinasnightmare @dragonmaiden79 @idontgettechnology

#this is the q.#of course you don't have to imagine the same but for me corey hawkins plays russell; bailey bass plays ruby; robyn rose-li plays sapphire #if you already got the ao3 notification email I'm sorry and my bad #palettewrites #dark au #dark!fic #dark!au #dark fic #wonka fanfic #wonka x oc

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palettesofrenaissance · 2 years

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Contaminated

genre: historical fiction; reincarnation au; past lives au; canon compliant word count: 2k notes: written for TPWAOPII Marvel Au series Epic™ - also posted here. this does not have to be read with the rest of the series and is a standalone

Summary: When Wanda Maximoff first hears about the show My Strange Attraction, the first thing her twin does is turn to her, flashing a cheeky smile, and teases, “That’s you!” She subsequently blasts Pietro across the small room with a tiny burst of red mist from her fingertips.

Wanda Maximoff is born immediately after her brother—twelve minutes, to be exact. Her family jokes that Pietro had rather remained en utero than to come out into the world because how fast Wanda pushed him out the way. Pietro comes into the world a new soul, screams punching from his tiny lungs; Wanda returns to the world recycled.

Decades ago in prewar-Europe, there lived a woman born Wanda Orsós—Wanda Maximoff’s first life and even then she’s stubborn and headstrong as ever to get what she wants. Even playing along to a marriage to a man she doesn't love

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘦 — 𝘐 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩; ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘵 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱

Wanda Maximoff is born immediately after her brother—twelve minutes, to be exact. Her family jokes that Pietro had rather remained en utero than to come out into the world because how fast Wanda pushed him out the way. It’s also joked that she wanted to get her tiny fists on her older cousin from supposedly hearing him make all those negative comments out the side of his mouth about her, about the twins, about there being more mouths to feed. However, when Wanda blinks her newborn eyes against the lights of the new world, her mother’s arms go lax in startle—Wanda’s born with pale, icy eyes and it’s feared she’s been born blind.

Pietro comes into the world a new soul, screams punching from his tiny lungs.

Wanda returns to the world recycled.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* * *

“There’s a belief that a person can be reincarnated as another human. Alternatively, their souls might expel tragedy, seeking revenge on anyone who harmed him during his life on earth. Sometimes, an undeservingly tortured soul will get another chance at life, or if one dies unjustly. This doesn’t always happen or is proved—it’s merely a comfort myth, like blowing dandelion seedlings grants wishes or folding one thousand paper cranes grants a miracle.”

So, when she’s seven years old and expresses an interest in the old and unexplainable, Wanda Maximoff is merely labelled as peculiar. She wants to wear the color yellow all the time, loves the flavor of honey, kisses pretty metal trinkets scavenged from a pile of antiques, and smiles with unspoken wisdom laden dormant and secret.

For one assignment in school back in Sokovia, the class is told to choose a poem and explain what each student finds the most interesting about it, what he or she resonates with and why—their explanation explained written on at least two pages, front and back.

At thirteen years old, Wanda chooses “The Yellow Wallpaper.” She says that she relates to the female main character and goes into vivid detail why. As a result, her teacher gets in contact with Wanda’s parents and explains her suspicions and worries.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀══════ ⋄∗⧖̷∗⋄ ══════

Decades ago in prewar-Europe, there lived a woman born Wanda Orsós—Romani, short height stature, black hair, dark hazel eyes. Single child. Weaver by career necessity. Spinster by choice. Although a fighter in both lives, she doesn’t live long for her first.

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#wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #reincarnation au #reincarnated au #mcu wanda maximoff #romani wanda maximoff #wanda maximov #palettewrites #the physical world and our place in it #doctor strange multiverse of madness #marvel au #mcu au #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic

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palettesofrenaissance · 2 years

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Maria/Carol, Honeymoon fic, 800 words max, must include the word “judgement”

I've been sick so I've used this time to start catching up on some prompts to fill. I got you right here, my dude

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐨𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: maria rambeau x carol danvers

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 800 on the dot

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: fluff, a vacation quickly mentioned because of the word count.

Maria and Carol don’t get married—it’s the ‘80s, and an interracial female marriage is still something that people cannot fathom. So, Maria and Carol don’t get married—under the law—but they spend their honeymoon like they are.

One morning during a period of Carol’s stay on Earth, she wakes her love up with the sweetest kisses. She’s much more energetic from having been alert already. Carol then encourages her to freshen up, and as a bouncing ball of energy, Carol who couldn’t wait to scoop Maria up in her arms in one swell swoop bridal style and flies the two up into the clouds.

The air blowing in her face and Maria’s arms locked around her neck are perfect distractions against her glitters of nervousness that worsen by the second.

Hovering among the clouds was like being among pink-golden cotton puffs, and being there looked like a painting; colored gold, pink, and pale violet. The morning sunlight bends around the clouds to stream as a multitude of rays and warming their skin.

It was marvelous. And then, Carol proposes with a ring.

Carol Danvers lives a grandiose life, loses her memory, gains superhuman abilities, and loves Maria more fearlessly than before. Here, in another world where no one finds them, Carol proposes; this place used to appear only in dreams until she finds it in the perfect hour of sunrise. This place, she opens to Maria, is where she always thought would be the perfect place to love someone....

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palettesofrenaissance · 2 years

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Everything Is Fine - short drabble

Note: still thinking about that vampire!sarah wilson & familiar or human lover!bucky barnes from the list of ideas for additions to my horror au for marvel (as mentioned here) and, after seeing the invitation (2022), I got a thought “hey, what if vampire!sarah was a part of a matriarchal group of vampires?” which could serve as a preface to the vampire story, if you’d like. and so, this is what spurred from that thought:

Summary: Voicemail messages from one of the vampire group’s failed male employees.

If you read this, send words about what you think 💬💬

You have... Twenty-five new messages. First new message: Received on July fourth at 10:17 A.M.

“Hey. Made it to the new place. It’s... Fucking insane! I can’t believe they’re ‘needing’ someone here? I feel like I’m the one being treated. Was this even in the contract? I don't remember. It’s like a Playboy Mansion full of females! Well, that’s what that house is, right? Well, without the swimsuits and constant sex, and stuff. And no Playboy Bunny outfits. So, uh, yeah... You’d think they’d have everything they’d want. This place is like a fucking maze, too! The style is kind of weird—like a mix of some really old shit and new stuff.... I’d think you’d like it though.”

Next new message: Received on August tenth at 11:47 P.M.

“Calling you back. And to answer your texts... It’s... Kind of weird here, but the babes here are fucking hot! Every. Single. One. You’d feel like a king! I get anything if I sweet-talk them enough! And, everywhere I’m asked ‘how I’m adjusting’ and offered all types of shit all the time! Almost forgot I’m the one who’s supposed to be working here. I’m supposed to meet the ‘headmistress’ in charge sometime in the future, I guess...”

Next new message: Received on September twelfth at 1:58 A.M.

“I wasn’t able to get a picture of the headmistress this time either but believe me when I tell you this: The headmistress is Sexy. As. Fuck! They treat her like she’s some kind of queen or some shit. Kind of wish she didn’t dress like a grandma, you know? She’d be a lot cuter if she smiled... Hey, man... Aren’t headmistresses supposed to be, like, really old? The one here is around the same age as everyone here...”

Next new message: Received on September thirteenth at 10:31 A.M.

“This place is shit, I swear... I’m in town trying to reach you, dude, but service out here is shit too, apparently. They got me going on little shopping runs now, hahahahahaha! None of my texts are going through, either. I hate this medieval game of telephone. But to answer your question: she could be, like, the granddaughter or great-granddaughter, or whatever, of the original lady. I’ll ask one of the hotties about the headmistress. I’ll try and take pictures of the others. Trust me, dude, you’d want to save some for yourself. Hahahaha!!”

Next new message: Received on September twenty-seventh at 2:22 P.M.

“Well I’ve started that ‘job’ already, so you can shut up now, dude. Yup. They were going to put me to work sooner or later, and... I didn’t realize how much it was or how busy it’d be. Jesus Christ... [Mumbling.] I’m out in the town and everyone here is, like... I don’t know... There’s more guys here, that’s for sure. I mean, it’s nice being surrounded by women all the time, but it gets to be a point when it’s... Too much, you know? Plus... Dude, I swear to God... I hate this freaky dream last night where I could’ve sworn I saw one of those ladies watching me while I slept...”

Next new message: Received on October first at 1:50 A.M.

“Dude! Dude, something about this place ain’t right! I don’t know what it is, but, like... I don’t know how to describe it. I spoke with the other people who work here and they all gave me the cold shoulder. The one in charge wasn’t any help, either. None of them know what charm it. Some of the ladies here don’t understand it, either... Damn, I sound like I’m starting to go crazy. Forget it. Just, forget it. But, what I was saying: Everyone here gets a little too into Halloween.”

Next new message: Received on October second at 8:09 P.M.

“There’s some kind of party going on tonight. I think some distant guests are coming over, someone said. Something about some of them being relatives, I think, to some of the hot babes. You better hope some of your moves work; I’m trying them out tonight. Maybe I’ll get a chance to smash one! Maybe I will get an heir in nine months! Wish me luck!”

Next new message: Received on October third at 11:44 A.M.

“Remind me to never talk shit about any help again! There was a party, or something, last night and... We just finished cleaning up. I’m so fucking tired, man. I could sleep for, like, three days straight. The place’s been pretty quiet since, which is good... There was a lot of... A lot of, uh, stuff to clean up.... Holy shit, I’m still shaking... Hahah, everything’s fine, dude. Everything is fine. [Mumbling.] These people are insane...”

Next new message: Received on October third at 9:02 P.M.

“Call the cops! I knew something wasn’t right at this place! Call the—”

Next new message: Received on October fourth at 12:21 A.M.

“I swear to you, man! These people are some kind of fucked up!! There was this guy who, I guess, pissed one of the females off, and now he’s gone. Gone. Poof! Like he never fucking existed! I knew something was off here, and, I want to say they’re cannibals, but I need solid proof for the police. My camera still works, so that’s good.”

Next new message: Received on October fourth at 2:05 A.M.

“Now they want me to go into some cellar, man! If you don’t hear back from me, tell my story.”

Next new message: Received on October sixth at 7:16 P.M.

“My phone died. I’ll keep you updated, alright? Oh, before I forget: There was this one chick—who likes to hunt like she’s that Hunger Games bitch—got into talking about her trophy heads. I wasn’t really listening. But she had a couple jars of people hearts or some shit. That’s illegal, somewhere, right?”

Next message: Received on October seventh at 10:30 P.M.

[Three-minute conversation that is too distant to decipher.]

Next message: Received on October thirteenth at 10:53 P.M.

“Holy shit holy shit holy shit...! Fuck...! They’re... I was wrong, dude! They’re so much worse than cannibals!! Or, just as bad... Whatever!!”

Next message: Received on October sixteenth at 7:37 P.M.

“Hey, dude, uh...”

[Not too far away, another voice is heard: “Hey. Is everything going alright...?”]

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine—”

Next message: Received on October twentieth at 12:39 A.M.

[Four minutes of indistinct conversation.]

Next new message: Received on October twenty-fourth at 10:41 at P.M.

[Two minutes of indistinct chatter.]

Next new message: Received on October twenty-fifth at 6:45 P.M.

“Did you get my video? I was finally able to get one on camera! Holy fuck, dude! That’s one of the ones I told you about: Sarah. I don’t know her last name—oh, wait! It was Watson... Sampson... Winston... Wilson! Her last name’s Wilson! See if, like, when or where she was born. I don’t know. Maybe there’s some kind of weakness—like knowing her full name or something personal about her.”

Next new message: Received on October twenty-eighteenth at 11:50 P.M.

“Dude, none of my texts are going through again. Just know there’s another party happening in two days.”

Next new message: Received on October thirtieth at 1:22 A.M.

“You’re my only lifeline, dude! I’m literally begging you, dude. Call somebody! The address to this place is—”

Next new message: Received on October thirtieth at 2:02 A.M.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck... That fucking headmistress is here again, and she’s gone hysterical! The bitch is crazy! All the females are psycho!”

Next new message: Received on October thirtieth at 2:53 A.M.

“Holy fuck, I think I’m going to die here, man! I don’t know if you’re even going to get this... Can’t believe I’m going to be killed by some psychotic, crazy vampire bitches, man! I don’t want to go down like this! I don’t deserve this!”

Next new message: Received on October thirtieth at 3:03 A.M.

“Stay away!! Get away from me, you psycho bitch!! [Shrieks.]”

Next new message: Received on October thirtieth at 3:37 A.M.

[Five minutes of silence and muffled breathing.]

Last new message: Received October thirtieth at 4:44 A.M.

[A terrified, male scream that is abruptly cut off, followed by the cellphone falling to the floor. Footsteps are heard over the voicemail recording until the recording time runs out.]

#marvel au #horror au #marvel horror au #vampire au #vampires au #short drabble #marvel drabble #mcu horror au #palettewrites #misandry #😈😈😈

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palettesofrenaissance · 2 years

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I want Winston Duke to play a “Prince Charming” sort of character. Like, why not? He has the looks, the height, the thickness, and the charm

#winston duke #he's fine af #palettewrites #private

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palettesofrenaissance · 2 years

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pressing restart on everything starting today. by next year, I aim to be doing better, having better, and be mentally cleansed

🍀🤞🏾🍀🤞🏾🍀🤞🏾

#going to be online less and writing more too #palettewrites

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palettesofrenaissance · 1 year

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as for my writing comeback beginning in 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑:

I am going to try to not be so dedicated and stressed about comments and fic writing. I don’t want to have it be something that I give a lot of weight to anymore. so as a way to remove the stress off me, I’m going to try and think of feedback like box office earnings or box office ratings instead

meaning:

if readers like reading my fics, I’ll let their words show it, which will also give a say in a fic’s progression or not

so: if a fic or fic chapter does get comments from readers who want more, then I’ll give them more, aiming to post in a decent amount of time

if a fic doesn’t get much, I’ll delete it or I’ll leave the multi chapter fic as "discontinued" (something I’ve already done several times before)

(also if a fic doesn’t: it will update whenever. there won’t be a goal anymore. it could update a year later, it could be 5 years later, or it could never update again)

of course the "does" and "doesn’t" "box office numbers" will be in relatiation to the fandom’s or ship’s size

another reason I’ve decided this is because:

there are other fandoms, characters, and AUs I want to write and spend my free time on

for my current wips: I’ve started to fall out of love with them

for my current wips: I know how they’re supposed to end and I’m coming to terms with being okay with being the only one who knows. if no one else wants to know, then I’ll learn that that’s fine

if readers don’t want it, then I won’t post for it. it’s just that simple. I’m tired of expecting more before realizing the fic or idea isn’t deserving enough. I don’t want to waste a whole bunch of energy or time anymore

I dust my hands of all this now.

#palettewrites

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