#and also the gently pink colors within the painting

[fishsticksart]

Claude Monet, The Cliff, Étretat, Sunset, 1882-1883, oil on canvas

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- exploratory

it’s giving anakin and padme in the fields in that one scene from attack of the clones except add in smut 💐

warnings: smut, virgin!reader, loss of virginity, missionary (also yes i am aware that this is fantasy and theres no protection here, she's not gonna get pregnant from this time because i say so lol i make the rules!)

Under the vast expanse of the open sky, the gentle clip-clop of hooves resonated through the serene countryside. You and Ghost rode side by side on your horses, the wind playing with your hair as you explored the winding trails and rolling hills of Kastron. You were rarely let out of the castle, so this little day trip with Ghost was meaningful to you. You were excited to see the natural beauty of Kastron. There was an air of freedom around you, the two of you escaping your responsibilities just for today, finding solace in the beauty of nature. 

As you rounded a bend, the landscape before you transformed into a breathtaking sea of color. A ginormous flower field stretched out like a living painting, petals swaying in the breeze like waves on a tranquil sea. Your eyes widened in awe, a delighted gasp escaping your lips. You reined in your horse, a large grin forming on your face. 

“Simon, look at this!” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with excitement. 

Ghost pulled his horse to a stop beside you, his gaze following your pointing finger. The corner of his lips quirked up as he studied your reaction, his normally stoic expression softening in the presence of your sheer delight. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice warm.

You turned to him, your eyes sparkling. “I've never seen anything like it! I’m going to see it up close.” You slide off the saddle, patting your mare before turning to face the fields. 

"Of course," Ghost replied, his tone holding a hint of amusement. He sits high atop his horse, studying your form. 

The scent of flowers filled the air, wrapping around your body as you entered the field. The world was a carousel of colors – vibrant reds, delicate pinks, and radiant yellows, – all coming together to create a rainbow. 

Unable to contain your enthusiasm, you let out a joyful whoop, throwing your arms up in the arm. You spin around, your arms outstretched, face upturned to the warm sun. Your laughter blended with the rustling of greenery in the breeze. Turning your gaze to Simon, you found him watching you with an affectionate glint in his eyes. Your elation mirrored his expression, and a comfortable silence settled between you.

With a mischievous grin, you whip around and take off running through the field, your feet sinking into the soft earth with each step you take. Simon’s gasps for a moment, watching you take off. He jumps off his horse, following you as you twirl and skip amidst the flowers. His heart swells in his chest at your joy, in your simple infatuation with the fields of flowers. You’re dozens of feet ahead of him, your dress whipping in the wind as you frolick. 

Yet, as you looked back to see where Simon was, you stumbled over your own feet, your laughter mixing with a surprised yelp as you fell to the ground. Simon’s heart lurches, and he breaks out into a sprint towards you, his concern immediate. 

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asks, chest heaving, falling to his knees beside you on the ground. 

You roll over onto your back, your hands hiding your face. He can’t tell if you’re laughing or crying. 

“D- don’t cry,” he says gently, hands hovering over your form. 

You bring your hands down over your mouth, and he sees your eyes are filled with mischief. 

You burst into laughter, unable to contain the amusement bubbling within you. As your eyes meet his concerned gaze, you can’t help but laugh even harder, your mirth contagious. 

“I- I’m not crying, Simon!” you manage to get out between fits of laughter.

Simon blinks at you, clearly confused by your reaction. Relief starts to mingle with his confusion as he watches you laugh, and then his lips slowly curl into a reluctant smile. 

“You scared me for a moment,” he says, letting out an exhale. He looks at you, your smile, your beautiful face, and it suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. He rips his balaclava off his face unexpectedly, catching you off guard. You look up at him, mouth slightly agape as your laughter dies down. 

Suddenly, he straddles you, swinging his legs on each side of your body. He presses his hands into your shoulders, fingers gently squeezing your soft skin. You gasp at the feeling of his body on top of yours, and you bring your hands up to hold his wrists. You grin up at him, your eyes dancing with amusement. The flowers you’re laying in surround you like a colorful crown. The sight of you laying amongst them makes Simon’s heart pound. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just clumsy…” you murmur, brushing his tousled hair with your fingers.

He just looks at you. Your eyes flit to his mouth, his lips slightly parted. He hovers over you, unspoken desires hanging in the balance of the moment.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all day,” you whisper, trailing one of your hands up his chest. 

Before he could respond, you closed your grip on his tunic and gently tugged, pulling him down towards you. The surprise in his eyes turned to a mixture of warmth and anticipation as your lips met in a soft, tender kiss. 

He groans quietly into your mouth, his hands drag up from your shoulders to cup your face. 

As you pulled away, Simon’s lips curved into a genuine smile. "That was worth tripping for."

You chuckled, your fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of his tunic. "Definitely worth it."

He kisses you again, pressing his hulking body on top of you. He slides his tongue into your mouth, his hands cupping your cheeks to deepen the kiss. You gasp into the kiss, eyes instinctively screwing shut because you’re so full of anticipation and your body has gone to jelly because Simon is engulfing your senses, so big and strong, so perfect, as he kisses you. 

The warmth of his body against yours ignites a fire within you, the moment intensifying as he gives you more, more, more. Every touch, every caress means something more than it ever has before.

He breaks away from the kiss, panting with his face flushed. He licks his lips, pupils blown as he stares at you with nothing but adoration. 

“Si, please.” 

That nickname, the breathy please that fell from your lips. 

It was over for him. 

In an instant, he’s latched onto your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along your skin, hands running down the sides of your body. He presses his hands into your sides, squeezing your soft curves. He lifts his head up from your neck when you let out the quietest, breathy moan. He looks down at you, your mouth slightly agape, his eyes search your face. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You lick your lips, nodding your head.

“No, no, darling, I need to hear you. Use your words.”

You shudder at his words, at his implications. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Good girl.”

He delves back into your neck, sliding his hand behind your head to push you closer to him. 

“Wanna make y’feel good,” he mumbles into your neck between kisses, nipping at the sensitive skin. Warmth floods your face as he speaks, your core growing wet with arousal. You press your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the growing pressure in your core, your clit throbbing as he kisses you. 

Your hands brush over his broad shoulders, swallowing as he works on your neck. Suddenly, he starts sucking hard at your skin, putting pressure into the curve. He kisses a trail from your neck, up to your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You gasp quietly, and he pulls away, admiring his work. The feeling of his feather light breath on your skin makes you shiver ever so slightly, arching your body up into him. He lets out an amused huff, running his fingers through your hair. 

“What do you want, lovie?” he coos, twirling your hair in his fingers. 

“Everything,” you moan lightly, your fingers finding their way into his hair, pulling him close to you as your heart races. 

He nods once, then tilts his head to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. He’s so gentle with you, methodical and patient in a way you’ve never experienced or expected from someone like him. 

“‘M gonna take my time with you,” he says gently, searching your eyes. “Tell me, please, tell me if it’s ever too much at any point.” 

You cup his face with your hands. He flicks away a stray flower petal that fell into your hair. 

“I trust you,” you smile at him, stroking a thumb along his cheek. 

With that, he slowly makes his way down to your legs, hands pressing into your ankles as he starts to lift your legs over his shoulders. He starts to bunch up the skirt of your dress, pulling it up ever so slightly to give him access to your dripping core. 

“Wait, won’t someone—”

“No one will see, I promise,” he says firmly, giving you a reassuring squeeze before delving under the skirt of your dress. “Besides, there's no one around here for miles,” he chuckles under your skirt. 

The anticipation nearly kills you as you feel his hot breath on the insides of your thighs, your pussy throbbing for pleasure. He peppers light kisses on the insides of your thighs, calloused hands gripping onto your supple skin with purpose. One of his hands cups your clothed sex, a finger tracing the thin cotton of your panties. You’re so wet already, and he had only kissed you.

“S’ wet already,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.” 

You gasp, hands reaching out to your sides in the earth as he slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulls your panties down your legs and around your ankles. 

And then, as soon as he fully pulls your panties off, his mouth is on your core, licking a single stripe up your wet pussy. A light moan slips from your lips as this newfound sensation, grasping the grass and flowers around you, pulling at the flimsy stems for support. Simon starts to run his tongue in circular motions around your clit, applying pressure into it as he expertly explores your pussy. You moan louder now, more freely, as he applies pressure, thighs quivering as he sucks on you, lapping your wetness like a man starved.

You can’t take it anymore, you pull your dress off his head, raking your hands through his hair as he laps at your sweet cunt. You watch as he delves in and out, watch as his nose presses against your clit just right, his tongue pressing into your hole ever so slightly. Your back arches as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, tugging his hair as you moan. Simon flits his eyes to you, still lapping at your pussy with an eagerness as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. That cheeky bastard. 

“Si,” you whimper, a plea for a moment to take in what you were feeling. You make another sound, a mix between his name and a moan, all high pitched and breathless, and he groans, his pants feeling extra tight and restricting. He exchanges a groan into your core as he holds you tighter.

“Taste s’ good f’me,” he grunts against you, “such a beautiful girl."

His groans are muted but dripping with desire against your wet cunt, pulling and sucking your clit into his mouth. You writhe under him, moans freely slipping from your lips, pressing your core up against his face as you arch your back into him. You can feel him salivating against you, worshiping you like a man starved, like you were the most precious thing in the world. You are to him, though. You’re everything and more to him.

The coil deep within you starts to build towards a climax, your muscles tightening as he works on relaxing you, on helping you reach the pleasure that you so highly deserved.

“Let go,” he says against your clit, squeezing your thighs in encouragement. The huskiness of his voice, the way his tongue expertly explores your core is enough for the coil in your abdomen to unravel, and you cum on his tongue. You moan breathlessly, muttering his name, chest heaving as you let go. 

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he breathes as he pulls away, licking your dripping wetness from his lips. “Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You keen at his praises, tugging at his hair harder as he lifts up from your core. His cheeks are flushed, lips swollen. You’re panting, heart racing, staring up into the sky, blissed out from your first orgasm. You whimper as you watch him lick his lips, and you reach your hands out for him to come to you. He immediately obeys, and as he hovers over you, you can see how his cock is straining against his pants. You push yourself up onto your elbows, eyeing his bulge for a moment before he kisses you, hard and deep. He shoves his tongue in your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

“So good,” you say in between kisses. Your hands dragging up to the collar of his shirt. You start to paw on it, wanting him to take it off. 

“Take this off, please,” you beg, fingers sloppily moving to the buttons of his shirt. 

The way you say please so prettily, he’ll do anything for you. Anything.

He doesn’t wait to unbutton each of the buttons of his shirt, so he rips the shirt off, popping the buttons off as he rips the shirt off. 

“Ohhh-kay,” you whisper, taking in his bare chest. This wasn’t like when he fell into the lake, no, no, this was better. You run your hands over scars littered across his coarse skin, feeling him shudder under the touch of your soft hands. He lets you just, touch him, feel him. It’s quite nice, honestly, he thinks. He studies your face, your eyes growing wide as you run your hands across his chest and up to his broad shoulders, and squeeze them tightly. 

Absent-mindedly, Simon reaches up by the side of your head, plucking a rather large wildflower from the ground. Slowly, he slips the flower behind your ear, pushing away stray strands of hair from your face. 

“So beautiful, darling,” he sighs contentedly, his voice confident and full of pure affection. 

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade away. A warm blush creeps onto your cheeks as you smile at Simon, your heart fluttering in your chest. His touch is gentle, and his actions speak of a tenderness that leaves you breathless. You find yourself lost in his deep, brown eyes. 

“I’m yours, Si,” you murmur, as you start to slip the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders. “All yours.”

He watches, entranced, as you pull your sleeves down lower and lower, and immediately he reaches up to help you. He takes the fabric of your gown into his hands, and he shimmies it up and off your frame, casting it to the side. 

His breath is caught in his throat as he takes in your naked form, eyes unabashedly raking down your body. You swallow the lump in your throat, the nervousness once taking a hold of you dissipating as he looks at you with nothing but adoration and devotion. His hands trace down your shoulders to your breasts, an animalistic desire to take you then and there strong. But no, no, he was going to take his time, be gentle, focus solely on you. 

“You really don’t understand what you do to me,” he says, kneading the pillowy flesh of your breasts in his hands, tweaking your nipple, pulling a string of light moans from you. 

He lowers his head down, latching onto your nipple with a contended hum. His hand grazes from your side, past your thigh, and down to your dripping core. His fingers tease your clit, and you gasp with a jolt. He chuckles against your breast, mouth moving to your other. His finger traces down from your clit to your entrance, and just before he pushes a finger in, you gasp out. 

“I– I’ve never—”

He raises his head immediately, looking at your flushed face. You bite your lip, eyes looking away with embarrassment. Simon’s face morphs into a gentle, reassuring smile. 

“Shh, shh, I understand. Let me take care of you, darling,” he coos, stroking your skin. “Relax f’me.”

With a breath, you nod your head, and try your best to relax your muscles, breathing in and out steadily. You stare up into the sky for a moment, grounding yourself, watching passing clouds casting shadows all around. 

He agonizingly slowly plunges a single finger inside you, stilling for a moment as he feels you adjust. You shudder for a moment, your mouth open slightly as you take in his thick digit.

“Good, good girl,” he encourages, slowly pumping his finger inside you. Your back arches involuntarily, your hand sweeping in the flowers, plucking some out of the ground from your grip.

Simon grabs your hand with his free hand, allowing you to squeeze it as he works his way into you with a second finger. He starts curling his fingers inside you, reaching places you never knew existed. You let out breathy moans, gripping his hand as he picks up the pace, fucking you with his fingers. 

“So perfect,” he mutters, pressing his thumb into the thumb of your hand, massaging it slightly. 

“Simon, feels good,” you manage to spit out, your eyes fluttering closed as you just feel. Your wetness is gushing around his fingers.

“That’s it, lovie,” he encourages, voice sickeningly sweet. “Just one more.”

He plunges a third finger in, and you have to hold yourself back from screaming. 

“My perfect girl,” he praises as you take in his third finger, now reaching deep inside you. A deep set moan releases from your throat as you take in three of his fingers, wincing just a bit from the large adjustment, but feeling pleasure nonetheless.  Simon remains the embodiment of thoughtfulness and care, taking you in as you are, knowing that he has the privilege of being intimate with you. The way he stares at you in amazement, in awe, in affection has something growing even deeper within him. He loves the way he can make you come undone, the way he’s the only one who is allowed to see this side of you, the way he’s the only you trust fully and completely like this.

And with that, he can’t hold back anymore. He kisses you deeply, his fingers working in you slowly, methodically. 

“Simon, please,” you beg, panting between kisses, your core aching for more than just his fingers, “need you.” Your clit is throbbing as he presses into it, building up another orgasm. The way your fingers flutter around his fingers makes his cock jump, suddenly painfully aware of how badly he wants to be inside you right now. 

“I know, darling,” he soothes, yanking his pants down, his aching cock springing free from the confines of the fabric. You start to feel your muscles pulling, your wetness building up as his fingers hit a spot inside you, beckoning you to cum.

“Cum on my fingers,” he grunts, the pressure of your velvety cunt around his fingers making him move faster, reach deeper. You swallow heavily, your hips bucking into his hand a few times before cumming, soaking his fingers. 

“I need you, Si,” you’re practically crying, pawing at his chest for more. Your clit is throbbing, cunt aching for his cock. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he says again, sucking your slick off his fingers with a satisfied hum. You watch him, mouth agape. 

“Please,” you groan again, wrapping your legs around his waist, beckoning him towards you. 

In a rush, he’s checking you over, making sure you’re comfortable in the plush grass before lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance.

Slowly, he pushes the tip inside you, letting you adjust to the size of his cock for a moment. Your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head as he barely pushes his way inside you, but this feels better than his fingers. Much better. The stretch wasn’t without some pain, but you bear with it, gripping onto him as he starts to push himself inside you further.

“I know, I know, you’re nearly there, sweetheart,” he coos into your ear, his deep voice rattling your eardrums.

He lets out his own moan, feeling the way your pussy squeezes him just right. Your back arches at the sensation, a gargled moan slipping from your lips, encouraging him to slide the full length of his cock into you.

“F– fuck, lovie,” he moans, his voice high-pitched and husky. “So perfect—”

He finally bottoms out, hips meeting yours as you both pant, the stretch feeling so fucking good. He stills for a moment, relishing the way you squeeze and flutter around him, relishing the way your face is contorted into nothing but pleasure. 

“Fuck me,” you plead, hands reaching to his shoulders as he hovers over you.

He grunts and thrusts himself into you as deep as he can. And it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. You can barely breathe as he sets a pace, slow yet not teasing. He works his way into you with a reigned fervor, his hands gripping onto you like you could break into a million pieces. You feel like you’re floating on air, your back arching, pressing into him as he pumps inside of you. Your eyes are half-lidded, your vision being taken up entirely by Simon. His eyes meet yours and for a moment, you swear he falters. He’s taken with you entirely, your eyes on him is all he needs to be happy in this world, he decides. 

He hisses as you drag your fingernails down his back, holding onto him as he starts to move faster, harder. 

“My beautiful, perfect wife,” he grunts, rocking into you. He beckons you to wrap your legs around his waist, yanking you closer to him. 

“So soft, so soft,” he groans, lips meeting your neck in an open mouthed, sloppy kiss. “S’ happy you’re my wife.” 

Your face flushes at his words, too flattered by his words to say anything. Pure bliss courses through you as he praises you, fucking into you like a man starved. He hits a region deep inside you, and you moan abruptly. 

“That’s it,” he groans, his own eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as he watches you intently. A coil builds faster by the second, your stomach muscles clenching.

“Si—” you manage to moan, your hands moving up from his back to cup his face.

Tears blur your vision as you stroke his cheek, and he almost stops thrusting in you at the sweet action. In a flash, he’s moving faster, the colors of the flowers around your body becoming a blur as his vision narrows in on you, you, you. 

His hands slide down to grip your waist, his hold on you tightening. Your hands move to clasp around his neck, pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck, your movements sloppy as he fucks you so nicely, so perfectly. He has to will himself to stay upright on top of you, wanting to pass out from how fucking beautiful you look, how fucking perfect you are to him. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, my perfect wife,” he moans, trying to express just how much he fucking loves this, how much he holds you in high regard. 

“I love you,” you blurt out, yanking him down on you. And then he’s pulling all the way out, just to slam into you again, and he can’t even find the proper words to respond, just absolutely fucking you into the flowers. 

“I love you,” he strangles out, bucking his hips helplessly into yours, and you press a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you, I love you,” he groans, letting you pull his face towards yours as you give him a deep, sloppy kiss. 

“I’ve loved you–” you try to say, your mind foggy as you leave open mouthed kisses along his face and neck, going down to his collarbone as he ruts into you. Simon mewls, his head dropping to your neck as you work on his skin. The coil within you is about to snap, your wetness coating his cock perfectly.

“Let go,” he says, pumping into you deeply, hitting a point that his fingers couldn’t even reach. “Let go, sweetheart.”

With that, you let out a garbled moan as you cum on his cock, clenching your eyes shut as you ride out your orgasm, the world fading away as if it's just you and him. His cock twitches inside of you as your walls flutter around him, his cock pulsating and throbbing, pent up from fucking into you. He breathes heavily, cumming into you with no remorse. God, you think you see stars as you feel him fill you up, moaning lightly as he slows to a stop. Simon is hovering over you, his hands planted on both sides of your face. 

“I love you,” you say again, wrapping your arms around his neck, prompting him to lay on top of you. He stares at you, mouth agape, blinking slowly.

“I thought I dreamt you saying that,” Simon says quietly, before letting himself drop on top of you. You grunt as he lets his full body weight rest on top of you, but you didn’t mind. It felt good. Felt so good having your husband laying on you like this, after the most intimate moment you’ve ever shared with him up until this point. 

He turns his face to press a kiss to your cheek. He picks more flowers from the side, stuffing them behind your ear, pushing stray hair out of your face so he can see you clearly. 

“I meant what I said,” you whisper, voice hoarse. You brush some stray grass out of Simon’s hair as he goes to lay his head down in your neck. 

“I know you did,” he whispers back, inhaling your scent.

“I love you, too,” he says, leaving a gentle kiss on your pulse. 

. . . 

After laying together for a little longer, he begrudgingly gets up to slide his pants back on. He goes over to your dress and undergarments, again, begrudgingly helping you get dressed again. You blush as he slides your panties back on your legs, breath seizing in his throat. When he finally pulls up the sleeves of your dress, you take his hand in yours. 

“Si, I honestly don’t think I can ride my horse back home,” you blush, securing the flowers behind your ear. 

“Ah,” he nods, looking down at you with a small smirk. “Of course.”

Suddenly, he scoops you into his arms, carrying you as though you weigh nothing. You let out a small yelp, fastening your arms around his neck securely as he makes his way over to the horses, both grazing on some grass a while away. 

As he approaches his horse, he sets you down for just a moment, reigning in your mare. With a lead, he attaches your mare to his horse. You watch him for a moment before he’s back on you, lifting you up so you can sit side saddle on his horse. With a grunt, he swings on behind you, gripping your waist so you can sit steady. 

“Thank you,” you smile, leaning your cheek on his chest. 

“Anything for you,” he says, motioning the horses to go home. 

You didn’t notice the bouquet of flowers he had shoved in his back pocket.

A souvenir to remember this day by. 

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[rainforestakiie]

before they get together Omega Adam bending down to pick up flowers, while Omega Lucifer standing behind him . His nails digging into his hands, as he tries to control himself for jumping on the first man .

Adam: Look how many pretty flowers !

Lucifer: 👁️👁️ "heavy breathing while staring at that sweet ass"

ahhhh! i love this soooo muchhhhh!!!!

let me know if this comes up alright! i wrote it on my phone not my laptop! it is a bit harder to figure out how to post it!

(also to all the wonderful anons who have sent me messages about my imp Adam au! it is coming! i am writing a oneshot it is on my list! but i am also writing little ideas for your messages!)

Nest of the Damned (Omegaverse Omega/Omega) Part 01. Part 02. Part 03. Part 04. Part 05. Extra 01.

Full Version

It was a perfect day in Eden, the kind of day that whispered of paradise itself. The air was a gentle caress, neither too warm nor too cool, just the right blend of comfort and delight. The flowers, in full bloom, seemed to blush in the soft light, their colors as vivid as the emotions they stirred. Birds sang sweet melodies, their songs weaving through the golden rays of sunlight that bathed the world below. The sky was an endless canvas of blue, unmarred by even the slightest wisp of cloud, as if painted by the most loving hand.

In moments like these, Lucifer often found himself enchanted by Gabriel’s handiwork. His younger brother, with an artist's heart, took immense pride in crafting the universe's beauty. Once, the sky had blushed in shades of pink and yellow, but Adam had confessed to Lucifer that the vibrant hues made him dizzy. Ever the doting brother, Lucifer had gently persuaded Gabriel to alter the sky’s palette. Now, it wore a soothing blue by day and glittered like a sea of stars by night—a change that Adam adored.

“Adam~” Lucifer purred, his wings spreading wide as he descended behind the human with effortless grace.

Startled, Adam spun around, his emerald eyes wide with surprise. The sight of his Archangel filled him with such joy that he couldn’t contain a delighted squeal. In a heartbeat, he launched himself at Lucifer, his happiness as bright as the morning sun.

“Luci! You’re back!”

Lucifer’s grin was warm as he wrapped his arms around the human, returning the embrace with tender affection. “Aw, were you lonely without me, my sweet Addie?”

“I’m always lonely without you,” Adam murmured, his voice soft and honeyed. The scent of lemon and mint clung to him, a fragrance so intoxicating it made Lucifer’s wings flutter involuntarily. “I missed you so much! Lilith doesn’t share my excitement when I talk about the new things I discover in the garden.”

With a teasing smile, Lucifer cupped Adam’s face, a gentle purr rumbling in his chest. “Oh, my darling, did you find something new? Show me, if you wish.”

“Would you really want to see?” Adam asked, his voice filled with sweet uncertainty.

“Of course,” Lucifer replied, his smile widening. “I’d love nothing more. Have you given them names yet?”

Adam shook his head, pulling back slightly but not letting go of Lucifer’s hand. The angel entwined their fingers, his heart swelling as he watched Adam’s excitement build. The human was utterly adorable, his vibrant energy palpable as he practically buzzed with anticipation. Those mesmerizing emerald eyes, flecked with gold, never failed to captivate Lucifer. He often lost himself counting the flecks, a pastime as soothing as it was intimate. Adam’s cherry-red lips curved into a crooked smile as he tugged Lucifer toward a nearby hill, eager to share his latest discovery.

To Lucifer, Eden hadn’t changed much over the eons. The trees, the grass, the flowers—everything seemed just as it had always been. Yet, something had captured Adam’s attention so deeply, and Lucifer found himself falling even more helplessly in love with the human. The urge to wrap Adam in his wings, to shield him from the world and keep him close forever, surged within him.

But in the back of his mind, Lucifer could almost hear the disapproving voices of Seraphiel and Michael, their stern lectures about Adam’s delayed presentation echoing in his thoughts. Lilith had presented as an Alpha nearly two summers ago, while Adam had only just begun showing signs of becoming an Omega. Sera was thrilled, and Michael had sighed in relief, but Lucifer couldn’t help but worry. He had noticed Lilith’s growing interest in Adam, something that made his protective instincts flare.

Lilith had once ignored Adam, dismissing him as insignificant, and Lucifer had found solace in that indifference. It meant he didn’t have to worry about the Alpha tainting his precious Omega. The one comfort Lucifer still clung to was Adam’s clear disdain for the woman. For now, at least, Adam was still his, and Lucifer intended to keep it that way.

"Look at these, Luci! They just appeared out of nowhere!" Adam’s voice bubbled with excitement as he pointed to the delicate blooms nestled beside their beloved red roses. "I was admiring our roses—I adore them so much—and suddenly, I noticed these new flowers blooming right next to them!"

Lucifer’s eyes widened in surprise. A new flower growing among his roses? Those red roses were more than just flowers; they were one of the few treasures Lucifer had secretly brought into Eden, a passionate gift for Adam, laden with deep, unspoken meanings that had blossomed alongside their growing bond.

"I haven’t named them yet, but look, they’re the same color as our roses! Red!" Adam’s voice was almost a song, his green and gold eyes sparkling with curiosity. In that moment, with the sun casting a tender glow on his face, Lucifer found him breathtakingly beautiful. "Remember what you taught me?"

Adam gasped, placing a hand over his chest, his cheeks flushing a lovely pink. "Red roses are a powerful symbol of love and passion. They’re the ultimate flower of romance, expressing the deepest emotions."

"Exactly," Lucifer murmured, brushing a soft feather along Adam’s side, delighting in the way his human blushed at the touch. "Red roses are the quintessential emblem of romantic love. They convey intense feelings and are often given to someone with whom one shares a deep, abiding connection." His voice was a warm whisper, each word woven with affection. "The vivid red speaks of passion, making these roses the perfect expression of desire and attraction."

"But they mean even more than that," Lucifer continued, his tone growing slightly more serious. "Red roses also symbolize respect and deep admiration. They can represent enduring love and commitment, often marking significant anniversaries or milestones in a relationship."

Adam listened, entranced, nodding as he absorbed each word. "Red roses are our flower. They represent us."

"Good boy, such a clever Omega," Lucifer teased, his eyes gleaming with pride. Adam beamed, his heart swelling at the praise, the warmth of Lucifer’s love enveloping him like the softest embrace.

With eager anticipation, Adam led Lucifer to their cherished patch of red roses—a secret sanctuary where the two Omegas could tend to their garden and enjoy each other’s company without the interference of other Archangels or the prying eyes of Lilith. As they approached the vibrant blooms, Adam’s face lit up with pure joy, his happiness as radiant as the sun that bathed them.

"They’re always blooming, never withering," Adam sighed, his voice soft with contentment as his smile deepened, brimming with sweetness, affection, and unmistakable love. "I really love our roses."

Lucifer couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride swell within him. He longed to nuzzle against Adam, to scent him and claim him as his own, but he restrained himself. He was an Archangel, and Adam was the first human—barriers that kept them apart, no matter how much his heart wished otherwise. Besides, they were both Omegas, and Omegas weren’t supposed to be together... but oh, how Lucifer wished the world had been different.

"Look, these are the new flowers," Adam said with a bright smile, bending down to examine the tiny blossoms nestled among the roses. "They’re red too, just like the roses. They’re so pretty and smell so lovely. They remind me of you—they smell like you."

Lucifer’s gaze softened as he peered at the delicate flowers. They carried his scent? And Adam cherished them because of that? His heart fluttered with a quiet, joyful tremor at the thought. Stepping closer to inspect them, Lucifer’s focus shifted abruptly as something else entirely caught his attention.

Oh.

Oh, heavens.

Adam was fully bent over, his position offering Lucifer an unintended yet utterly irresistible view. The sunlight danced across his skin, highlighting the soft freckles on his buttocks. Lucifer’s breath hitched as he found himself entranced, wondering just how many freckles adorned Adam’s tender flesh. A shiver ran up his spine as desire coiled tight within him, making his fingers clench until his nails dug into his palms, the sting a necessary anchor to reality.

No, he couldn’t allow himself to look, to give in to the temptation of Adam’s adorably exposed behind. Adam wasn’t his—not yet. He should be, but in this moment, he wasn’t.

Lucifer’s mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard, tugging at the collar of his robes in an attempt to regain some semblance of control. "Um… y-you should pick a name for them…"

"Really?" Adam hummed, oblivious to the effect he was having on the Archangel, wiggling his hips slightly as he shifted on the balls of his feet. The innocent gesture sent a surge of heat through Lucifer, nearly undoing him. Adam tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Oh! I’ve got it! Carnations! Red Carnations! Another beautiful flower that represents us!"

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to maintain his composure. The urge to reach out and touch Adam’s perfect, freckled skin was overwhelming, almost unbearable.

"T-That’s great! So great!" he stammered, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

He was hopelessly, irretrievably smitten

[miguelswifey04]

we got barbie movie w miguel now we need noir to watch it he’ll be pointing at all the vibrant colors like 😱😱😱😱

WHOEVER COOKING UP THIS IDEAS, I LOVE YOU 🫂🌱🌈

with a sense of delightful irony, you and Spider-Noir found yourselves in a movie theater, about to embark on a rather unexpected cinematic experience - the Barbie movie. the contrast between the vibrant, fantastical world of Barbie and the monochrome universe he hailed from was as stark as night and day.

as the lights dimmed and the screen flickered to life, you couldn't help but steal glances at Spider-Noir, curious to see his reaction to this colorful world. he, too, seemed intrigued, his eyes scanning the screen as the vivid shades of pink, purple, and blue danced in front of him.

throughout the movie, he pointed out each vibrant hue, his unique perspective adding a layer of appreciation to the colorful scenes. with every vivid burst of color, he marveled at the bright landscapes and the shimmering Barbie outfits, a sense of wonder slowly dawning in his eyes.

“darling, look at those golden locks," he whispered, nudging you gently as Barbie's iconic blonde hair cascaded across the screen. "in my monochrome world, such vibrant hues are but a distant dream. but here, they come to life, as if painted across a vibrant canvas."

you couldn’t help but smile, caught up in the charm of his observations. it was a stark reminder of the stark contrast in their worlds, and how beauty could take on such different forms.

as the movie progressed, Spider-Noir's curiosity turned into genuine enjoyment, a childlike excitement shining through his dark eyes. he reveled in the lively songs, the whimsical storytelling, and the joy that radiated from the screen. his laughter mingled with yours, as the movie took you on a colorful journey that transcended your expectations.

by the time the credits rolled, Spider-Noir turned to you, a wide grin spreading across his face. "thank you for sharing this with me, my dear. i never thought a Barbie movie could hold such wonder and joy. the vibrancy of this world, even for a fleeting moment, has breathed new life into my monochrome existence."

in that moment, you realized that sometimes the simplest of experiences could bridge the gap between two worlds. it was a reminder of the beauty in embracing the unfamiliar, and the endless possibilities of love and adventure that awaited you both. as you left the theater, hand in hand, you carried with you the memory of this unique escapade, ready to explore even more vibrant horizons together.

and just maybe, in the midst of the colorful tapestry of your shared experiences, Spider-Noir would find a new appreciation for the splashes of color that awaited him, not only in the world of Barbie but also within the depths of your heart.

———

a/n: he’s so dreamy like he would definitely call you his darling, honey, hun, sweetheart, sweetstuff, sunshine 🫂

[sweetestofchaos]

Blackthorn Modern Day Teaser | K.NJ

summary - Welcome to Kim's Flowers & Apothecary! Did you need a bouquet or spell today?

pairings - namjoon x jungkook

warnings - sol, mentions of a past life, crying, hybird familiar!jungkook, warlock!namjoon

wc - .8K

a/n: Someone (@kokosg) wanted to chose violence yesterday, so I had to retaliate. Here's a little sneak peak of Blackthorn!Namjoon during the modern era. Also, Namjoon's outfit is shared at the bottom, if you would like to see what mans is working with now.

The modern day version of Blackthorn hasn't been started yet. I am still working on the Min dynasty half of Blackthorn. If you haven't read it, please do! Yoongi is a prince and Agust is his dragon spirit!

taglist: @thickemadame @loisje123

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The sign out front read Kim’s Flowers & Apothecary. The store itself was right out of a novel, a building that stood out on the street. The building was massive, built in an earlier time that had seen better days. The stone was darkened by rain water and time while the wooden door jam, windows and pillars were a deep oak with details painted in gold. It was a building that normal folk stirred clear of while those who still dabbled in magic eagerly seeked out. Plants and bottles of all shapes and sizes took up space in the large glass windows, to quip the interests of those who passed by.

Through the doorway, the room gave way to vine covered walls and an open glass ceiling that turned the inside to a grand solarium of sorts. It was magical with floating lanterns, inlaid bookshelves stacked to capacity with long forgotten text and scrolls; and cabinets filled with glass jars of Atropa belladonna, Verbena officinalis and more. The tiled floors were a lighter color to offset the darkness from the plants and blurred the reflection from the lanterns, creating a subtle glow from overhead and down below.

There is a hallway decorated in cream and green vintage wallpaper and wainscoted walls that leads to the garden; a large outdoor space with a greenhouse attached farther down the yard, past the miniature maze that was built for fun. Within the green hedges, Namjoon keeps a relic from a past life at the center of the maze. Surrounded by a magic halo, a large blackthorn tree sways gently in the breeze. Its trunk is wide and strong, showing its scares of the past to anyone who will look. A story that Namjoon will always recall whenever it rains.

Back inside a large oak cashwrap separates guests from accessing the more lethal ingredients that are kept behind an emerald velvet curtain in the backroom. A spiral staircase hidden in the back room that led to the upstairs where Namjoon and his partner resided after a long day's work. The homely apartment above is much more updated than down below.

The floor is tiled all throughout in soft grays, beiges and creams while the wooden furniture throughout is a deep purple with hints of lighter colors. The kitchen is large, the counter cabinets all a matching purple with lighter wooden butcher block countertops. There are floating shelves built into the walls, cluttered with plants and nick nacks from all throughout time.

The rest of the home is built much the same, softer tones brighten up the darkness of the purple and pull a renewed warmth into the atmosphere. The bedroom is the only difference, the walls were hand painted by Namjoon’s lover, Jeon Jungkook. Different shades of blue and pinks come together in a colorful and serene abstract mosaic that brightens the whole room on an accent wall. That same wall is where the bed is pushed up against with thick purple and blue bedding. Gold accents are littered through the room and bed, creating a galaxy like ambience.

Down stairs, Namjoon waters the flowers. A thick vine hovering nearby in case the warlock drops the watering can. Namjoon has changed through the years and yet stayed the same. His blue hair is now a striking blond and cut short, tapered close to his scalp on the sides and long around the top of his head. His skin is still dusted in a warm caramel from his time in the sun and his body has grown stronger, larger. The hanfu and hanbok of the Joseon dynasty have been updated to match the modern times, but are worn only when Namjoon is meeting with friends of his past. Namjoon now wears colorful capes, velvet robes, double breasted overcoats that have elaborate embroidery on them with simple slacks that match whatever color he wears.

Today he wears an all black double breasted suit and a black button up with a silk tie that he didn’t bother to fasten fully looped loosely around his neck. He has somewhere to be in an hour, so his long black overcoat is hanging on the hook by the garden door, with black and gold thread embroidery that swirls to create an illusion of a tiger and flowers. Namjoon speaks softly to the plants, his black shoes moving carefully as avoids stepping on any little critters that have made a home of his garden.

The door to the garden is ripped open and Namjoon jumps, his hand losing on the watercan as a green and white blur rushes at him. The vine is quick to catch the falling can but not fast enough to save Namjoon from tumbling a few steps backwards.

“Kook? What’s wrong, love?”

Namjoon’s arms wrap around his lover’s waist without a second thought, moving without his mind even telling them to. In his arms, with his face smashed into Namjoon’s face, Jungkook cries. His tears soak through the fabric of Namjoon’s shirt, the blond of his hair, tickling under Namjoon’s cheek as he rocks from side to side.

“H-Hyung!” Jungkook hiccups as he pulls his face away from Namjoon’s chest, his green triangle ears flicker around on his head as he stares at Namjoon with big, teary doe eyes. “H-Hyung….s-she’s here! She’s here!!”

[peacehopeandrats]

In Class

Belle glanced at the piece of paper taped to the craft store's window and squeezed Rumple's hand. "Why don't we give it a go?"

He blinked at her, tipping his head back in surprise before making a gesture at the shop and then the sleepy city around them. "You want to give up our evening stroll for painting?" Mirth mingled with the words, making each become a sound of pleasant disbelief.

"And why shouldn't we?" Belle thrust her hands to her hips and tilted her head to the side. It had been a while since she and Rumple had time to be on their own. Even longer since they'd had an evening stroll like the ones they used to take in Storybrooke. The atmosphere only served to fuel her playful banter. "Unless you think you couldn't do it."

"Of course I can do it." Her husband wrinkled his nose as he would have back when she first knew him. The mask didn't stay on long, however. After a breath, his eyes had softened. "I just don't want to take away from our limited time together."

Belle gave him a warm smile. "We can hire more sitters for Gideon," she reminded him. "All you have to do is ask."

He looked at the store, eyes narrowing at the activity happening beyond the glass. "I suppose we could see if they are still taking students."

With a giggle, Belle reached for the door and gave it a gentle tug. It responded with a rattle so loud that every head within the craft store turned their way.

One woman, brows knitted tight, strode forward and pointed at a sign in the window opposite to the one the Golds had been focused on. "Sorry. We're closed."

"We were hoping it wasn't to late to sign up for the lesson," Rumple called out kindly. "We're traveling through town this week. We'd be willing to pay full price for whatever you have left to teach tonight."

A thoughtful hum could be heard on the other side of the glass while several of the students leaned close to whisper to each other. Eventually the lock clicked and the door swung partially open.

"I think we could allow that exception."

* * *

The golds learned a lot about the town that night, and a lot about Miss Lanette, their instructor. They also learned a lot about each other and themselves.

It turned out that Rumple was the better painter, which had surprised him, but not Belle, who insisted that his talent came from years of flourished hand gestures. Belle was much more capable of sketching, making short work of copying the form of the flamingo they would be working on. Deciding to work together on one piece meant that they were able to catch up to the rest of the class quickly and were soon as comfortable with the others as if the class were taking place in Storybrooke.

"Now, these lighter feathers should pick up a little of the darker color, but not much. We want a brief, gentle blending, not something muddy."

Belle tucked her lip in her teeth and studied the work they'd done so far. It looked good, or was at least recognizable, but what she liked most about it was the true blend of technique. It was obvious that the painting was a collaboration. Her strokes clashed in look with Rumple's. Yet the spread of their work, the way her strokes and his gently alternated, made it beautiful.

"I'm going to ruin this," she said.

Rumple shifted position so that he stood beside her and reached out to take her hand and the brush in his own. He pressed close and murmured into her ear. "Then we'll do it together."

"I think we found a new hobby," Belle whispered as he helped her make the first, careful stroke.

Her husband's chest vibrated as he let out an approving hum. "Perhaps we have indeed."

* * *

"Where'd that come from?" Alice pointed to a painting of a pink flamingo leaning against the wall. It clashed so horribly with the rest of the house that she couldn't imagine it had ever belonged in it.

Gideon turned to see what she was pointing at and his eyes instantly clouded over, filling with memories Alice would never know. "My parents brought that home after one of their dates. I was too little to remember everything, but I know we were in a small town and they found someone to watch me while they were out. When I woke up the next day it was in our hotel room and they couldn't stop looking at it."

Alice imagined Rumple, the way he would melt at the mere thought of Belle. She could easily picture that expression again; a man dissolving at the thought of whatever romantic moment caused the purchase of such an interesting item that was not at all his style. It was harder to picture Belle exactly, but she could piece together something from all the stories Gideon had told. She would be sipping tea, elbows on the table, one arm brushing Rumple's. As Gideon munched on his morning oatmeal, his parents would lean into each other until their heads touched and stare at the haphazard feathers that made up their bird...

And everything would be whole in their universe.

Based on the flamingo and city at night images at the Monthly Rumbelling post here:

[sillybaekgu]

Rosy cheeks and sunsets

‑ ‒ – — ― ‑ ‒ – — ― ‑ ‒ – — ― ‑ ‒ – — ― ‑ ‒ – — ―

Pairing: non-idol!Sunoo x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff, friends to lovers, love confession, cute

Warnings: Mentions of rooftop, not entirely proofread

Summary: The warmth you’d usually feel from the sunset was nothing compared to what two people in love irradiated.

Word count: 0.5K

a/n: I WAS IN THE TRENCHES WRITING THIS. I wanted it to be perfect but I just couldn’t get it right! But finally it is here!! Hope you enjoy! You can always reblog with feedback, commentary or anything you’d like to say!! Also, while I was writing this all I could think of was Sunoos short golden hour cover so pls have that bgm in mind for this scenario!

‑ ‒ – — ― ‑ ‒ – — ― ‑ ‒ – — ― ‑ ‒ – — ― ‑ ‒ – — ―

This was your last year of high school, the nostalgia washed over you as you hung the decorations for your last carnival at school. Within seconds a voice broke the little bubble you were in, turning your head immediately following the sound you encountered Sunoo. He had his backpack over his shoulder, handing yours to you with a warm smile like he always did. It was a little past five and the sun was soon setting, decorating the sky in beautiful orange and pink colors, the warm sunbeams sneaking through the windows painting the classroom in a beautiful orange tone, some of the light reflecting in your eyes. Sunoo couldn’t hide his feelings anymore, the way he stared and saw the world in your eyes made his heart weak, he finally gathered the courage to break the silence “Come with me, there’s something I want to show you!” He smiled and held your hand without warning, you could feel the warmth of his hands in your cold ones. To you, this was exactly what Sunoo represented, the warmth to your coldness, the light in the dark; he was warm, he made you feel warm and loved, it was hard for you to understand if it was just his personality or the fact that you were head over heels for him. As you made your way quickly through the empty halls, you tried to store every second of this in your memory, Sunoo’s warm touch, the sunlight shining on him only seemed to make him look even more ethereal, the way your heart skipped a beat every time he looked at you and smiled. Fast forward you finally reached the school’s rooftop, Sunoo turned to you “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I love sunsets as much as I love you” you froze, you couldn’t have possibly heard that properly, right? He just confessed but it was just a friend coded <<I love you>>, right? You looked at him, eyes wide open, heart pounding in your chest, your words trembling as they left your mouth “Do you mean it?” You looked at him, you felt as if your chest was opening up and showing your most vulnerable form to him, your vision got blurry because of the tears forming in them. You looked at him, an intense stare and asked once more “Sunoo, do you mean it? Do you love me more than you love a friend?” Your heart was about to escape out of your rib cage. His eyes deep into your soul, he came closer to you, grabbed your hand and put it on his chest “I mean it, every single word.” He then pulled you into a hug, a tight hug. He fixed your position to rest his forehead against yours as he wiped the tears escaping your eyes “I love you and I would never forgive myself for not telling you how I feel. Every last cell in my body is smitten to you.” You held him tighter, resting your head against his shoulder while staining his shirt with your tears “Thank you…thank you for brightening my life, for being my sun and for making me feel warm.” You faced him and saw his tainted cheeks being illuminated by the last bits of light from the sun set, you couldn’t hold back anymore, at this point you were agonizing and just had to have his lips on yours. You gently cupped his face in your hands, admiring his features you pulled in and finally connected your lips sealing your love under the beautiful sky.

[esculentevil]

Ektalas the Sharpest Point, wife/hero of Thranduil and mother of Legolas

Day 5: Elves | Pastels | Grief | Portraits | Archetypes Written for @lotrladiessource​‘s Lord of the Rings Ladies Week!

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆💎AO3/Pillowfort🌲☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆

“Ai, ni dur o--!”

Legolas looks up half guilty and half giggling as his father huffs down at him and the right mess he’s made of the older elf’s inner chamber office--that is: the desk ill-advisedly tucked into the corner of his personal quarters’ drawing room where Thranduil often gets lost in paperwork not suitable for reading in his throne room. It’s hidden behind a half-curtain (currently open because Legolas didn’t close it) designed by the wonderfully talented royal weaver, Legolas’ honorary grandma, Towolain, and the fact that the first thing anyone sees when they enter the room is the opposing wall--or, rather, the lack of one.

His balcony is the other reason Thranduil deals with the more sensitive papers here, in his chambers, where he can just look up and be soothed by his woods.

This is, of course, most likely the reason he’s come to them now (there are, Legolas sees, papers clutched in his hand--the one not holding his staff--and Gelpili, a majestically albino Peregrine Falcon and his father’s messenger bird, perched elegantly upon aforementioned hand’s linked shoulder--meaning that, rarely, something has arisen that both demands his father’s undivided attention and the privacy of his personal rooms); and why, obviously, it should be empty.

(Instead of stolen into by his young son and his... o stars...)

~

“What is all of this, khin nia?”

Gelpili screeches softly in equal confusion, gently fluttering down to peek and peck cautiously at the colorful papers surrounding Thranduil’s son. Legolas grins and giggles at the large bird, shifting so it can more easily see the bright images smeared over the leaflets, before turning his innocent gaze to his irked father, “I’m draw-ing em’g!”

“Emig, gwinig,” Thranduil automatically corrects, his eyes wide and lips round; his entire countenance, in fact, shocked and shook and shallow of color.

He is as pastel as the paints his son has pasted himself with.

(As the ones he, himself, once mourned his home with.)

~

The painting is almost too painful to look at.

~

Petal pink cheeks stare back at him, their rosiness reminding him of laughter and life under the light and love like he fears he will never know again.

Soft sage clothing form forested furrows upon the bottoms of most of the pages, their messy ridges resembling the mountain ranges he played in as a child and reminding him of a time long passed when he and his father still smiled. Meanwhile, gentle gold accents summon the sun’s rays upon those mountains, reminding him of his people’s heartbroken journey to sail beyond the gray and just how GREEN he learned the world can still be if he has a new home within it.

Opalescent orange hair spreads in warm waves across the pages, like faint fire blooming upon the horizon as the sun, itself, arises and bathes the world in love and light and life as fragile and fierce as bloody clouds taking her soul upwind...

Upon the fluttering wings of butterfly blue eyes curled with love and laughter, shining like cold stars in the summer sun--pale, hollow, and lifeless...

~

Nothing like they should be.

~

Not, mind, that the image, itself, is much like she had once been.

His wife was never so pale as to flush so much so needlessly: in truth, ruddiness like this was a rarity for her as she was born and boldened and blossoming millennia before the darkness of Sauron’s shadow encroached upon their lands and so her face--in fact: the entirety of her--was a beautiful, deep, rich tan which, most of the time, held her blood rushing blushes at bay.

She had also preferred much warmer colors than that of their wood’s name: browns were her favorite to wear and she only ever wore green to celebrations--especially, he remembers, his father’s birthday as Oropher was all about green--and to sleep (where in she would actually take a page from him and steal something from their passed father’s closet to curl up and seek comfort in); although, the gold is very much on point as yellow was her favorite color, period.

(There is also probably something to be said about her status as a warrior and hunter: someone whom roamed their lands more than their trees and, therefore, would have needed to blend in more with the ground/dirt/EARTH than leaves.)

Her hair was also not actually orange or even red: it was TINGED such colors, especially during sunrises and sunsets, but the true hue of her hair was a deep and dark brown enriched by a warmth that the sun loved to imbue itself in.

~

Her eyes were not blue; period.

~

“They weren’t?”

Thranduil’s eyes blink, his lips having formed the thought into voice and publicity long before he had even been able to realize it, and gasps softly as his knees give out--no longer able to support him--and he ends up sharing his study’s floor with his beloved son, somber bird, and fallen hero; formal documents forgotten.

Thickly, he swallows.

Then, he softly shakes his head, “No, ion, they were not...” before slowly, reaching out and taking hold of a pale yellow color, the somewhat off-white hue of corn, and presents it to his curious and eager son, “They were like the sun.”

~

“Pretty...~!”

Thranduil smiles softly as Legolas gently gasps in delight, tiny fingers touching the slightly damp paint with care and caution. The Elvenking’s own fingers continue as they were: caressing the forever image of his long gone wife, Ektalas, which resides evermore in his mind, and imprinting it on the leaflet before him.

Both the paper and the person.

“Yes, she was...” He speaks so softly and with such affection that Legolas turns and looks up at him with earnestly inquisitive eyes. Thranduil almost laughs: blue her eyes may never have been but that gaze... she often had it, too.

(Especially back when she was still a child and they’d only just met...)

“Is that why you loved 'er?”

Thranduil blinks down at his son and pointedly raises his eyebrow, “Is prettiness any reason to love someone?” He’d meant it to be somewhat rebuking; but, then he realized just how cruel that was when Legolas just purses his lips and brows, confusion clearly evident on his entire person like a beacon.

Legolas had never even known how pretty she was.

So, how could he know there was more to her?

~

“Your mother was a wild one,” he says at last, mottled hands fighting the urge--the NEED--to pet back his young son’s hair, “Just like you.”

Legolas perks up, eyes bright with joy at the idea and comparison for he can, once again, hear the pure affection and warmth in his father’s voice. He loves it.

Thranduil smiles and mixes some more pastels into his painted wife’s hair, making it a flaming brown; “I met her one heated horizon--I remember not which hours it was, set or rise--as your grandfather and I guided our remaining people west towards the last rays of light... the last bits of color in our lives...”

He trails off, eyes far away as he recalls that day. The sun was burning the sky and mountains down--meaning it probably WAS sunset when he had met her--as it floated behind them, bathing their passing party in red, orange, and gold.

Or, at least, that’s what he KNEW was happening.

As an elf suffering grief and hearing the call of the sea... all he really saw was gray.

~

“Until I saw her in the corner of my eye: this little spark of light in the leaves;” Thranduil smiles and kisses his son’s head as he adds more pale yellows--golden corn--to his wife’s hair as haloing highlights: exactly as he met her; “Exactly like you, little leaf.”

Legolas giggles gayly and claps his hands with childish glee, happy to hear that; clearly. His father chuckles at him, enjoying his joy, and ignores the splattering such action incurred. (They’re in their dressing gowns, anyway, so it’s fine.)

“I had thought she was a flame--thought the trees were on fire--flittering through the leaves--I did not think she was a part of the sunlight for, to me, it was...”

“Gray?” his son fills in, half unsure and half understanding. He’s head the stories and knows what sea-longing is; he’s also aware that, generally, his kind of elf (Silvan) doesn’t experience it and, chances are, he never will, too.

Legolas will never understand what it is to see the world gray.

And that honestly makes Thranduil incredibly happy.

~

“She was the first bit of color I saw,” Thranduil confesses, voice quiet and quivering as his elf-soft fingers mix some yellows and oranges and greens thereby making a lovely and warm light brown--perfect for Ektalas’ skin tone; “And I thought I was loosing my mind.”

He adds the mix to the half-dried base layer of off-white he’d used to form her shining face, allowing what was still wet to lighten as it will while he shades and warms and contours the shapes of her lifted cheeks, the strength of her jaw, and the slope of her pointed nose. He breaths slowly as he falls back into time, remembering long ago when he would lay upon the greens of their meadows, Ektalas stargazing beside him, and trace these solidities with such serenity.

To think that now, after both so long and so little, he would do the same...

In paint and pain and pastel.

~

“Did em’g find it for you?”

Snapping out of his memory ridden trance, Thranduil blinks down at his son and raises an inquiring eyebrow at his question. He almost looses it when Legolas, adorably, raises his own little brow back. (He has the sweetest boy, he swears.)

“Is that why you loved her: she found your mind???”

The Great Elven King really does loose it then.

(So cute!!!)

~

“No, khin nia...”

He pauses as he calms himself and wonders, honestly, what he means by that: what is he really saying no to? Technically, she DID find him his mind, his sanity, as well as his will to live--to REMAIN. She found his reason to stay for she was it.

Still... “That is not why I love her...”

That’s why she’s his best friend.

~

“I had thought I was seeing things,” he finally starts back, tracing the strong brow of his wife’s image with the same color he used for her hair with notes of black; “For the light I was seeing was too pale to be flames and I remember, too well, the red of true fire and the heat of dragon fire--I will never forget these things; nor will I ever forget the pale light of your mother smiling through the leaves.”

“Like she is here?” Legolas asks, pointing his plastered finger at the painting.

Thranduil follows his gesture and smiles back at the memory gazing back at him, “No, khin nia: she had been but a child for this.”

Legolas’ eyes widen comically as he gasps.

~

“Back then, she was a tiny young thing; and, with her hair aflame with the sun resting into the west (the color of which I knew but could no longer see...), Ektalas had looked, for all the world, like a sweet sapling aburn--and I feared.”

“Was she ok?” Legolas asks, eyes wide and worried; and his father quickly nods and kisses his head once again.

“She was fine; it was all a trick of the light; but, the splash of red where I knew there should only be green grays, caused me to panic and, truly, not even see what I was seeing; I could only think: O Stars, she’s on fire!

“And act on it.”

~

“W’at did you do?”

Legolas leans against his father’s broad chest eagerly, eyes peering upwards brightly, and Thranduil smiles as he gazes back down at his little leaf.

Then, quite suddenly, he’s laughing--mostly at himself.

“I threw water on her!”

~

“We’d been collecting rain water, in case we needed it but couldn’t find a river or other such source, and storing it in sealed amphorae which we kept tied in carts--along with other necessities like food and clothes and bedding--and to animals;” Thranduil expanded, well after he’d finished laughing at his son’s scandalized and spluttering gaping; “This is what I removed from my father’s caribou and used.”

“To throw on emig???” Legolas’ face is still affronted, clearly not fathoming how, exactly, his kind and calm and courteous and keen father could ever... “And she... She LIKED it?!?!?!”

Thranduil is certain he hasn’t laughed this hard in at least a hundred years.

Legolas really IS just like his mother...

(She’d be so proud of him...)

~

“No; and, at first, when I realized I hadn’t dosed her--for there was no fire anywhere; just her hair--but simply drenched her, I panicked even more and hastened to apologize.”

“As you should!” Legolas huffs upsetly at his father.

He then huffs even more as Thranduil can’t help but laugh even harder.

The Elvenking is quick to amend himself, however: “Yes; athon; and I did.”

~

“Although, it took me a while to, honestly: as I attempted my apology, she turned suddenly and took off into the forest--THIS forest--” Thranduil gestures around them and smiles at the look of awe and awareness on his young son’s face; then, he continues, “and, in my panic, I blindly followed her into the thicket.”

“Did you... scare her???” Legolas frowns with his whole face, upset but mostly just confused. He’s spent much of his young life asking his older siblings (Mallosnell and Annuigwae, mostly, as they’d been the oldest) about his mother, as she had been killed when he was far too young to be able to remember her, and everything he’d been told up until this point made her seem fearless--because she WAS.

It was one of the things he loves most about her:

She feared nothing; not even dying if it meant protecting their baby.

~

“No, khin nia, I could never make her afraid.”

He says it soothingly, at first; but, then, he chuckles as a thought occurs: that, truly, it’s too true!

“Not even when I wanted to: not even when I was the one whom was afraid and wanted, so badly, for her see that--see sense--and stay home where it is safe...

“She was never about that... She was about making it safe for everyone else.”

~

“She was a war’ior!”

Thranduil laughs lovingly and nods, using his pastel covered nail to detail lashes onto his lost love’s face in the same paint as her brows, “Yes, naed, she was.

“She was the greatest warrior I’ve ever known; strong, steadfast, a bit stubborn, but... she always made me feel safe and secure; her strength made me sound.

“And that, khin nia, is why I love her.”

~

Legolas is frowning.

Thranduil watches him for a moment, worried, as butterfly blue eyes stare down at Ektalas’ grinning visage with an expression the Elfking cannot quite see. There’s a pensiveness to the elfling that his father knows is too big for his age--

But, then, their son is looking up at him with such sorrowful sadness that, immediately and without question (and with no regard for the paint on either), Thranduil embraces his child--his baby--and holds him close to his heart.

Legolas’ voice is small but strong, just like hers: “Are you scared now, atheg?”

~

“La, ndilakhin nia; ni eʒallu thossui pi ʒar de.”*

~

“So, why’d she run away--” Legolas suddenly asks, little pastel-smeared form tucked safely into the hollow of his father’s body as though he’s hiding in a tree; “If she wasn’ afraid?”

“Ah...” Thranduil chuckles, his deep voice reverberating against his son’s back, as he carefully adds gold flecks and white highlights to the pale corn yellow orbs that are Ektalas’ painted eyes. They stare back at them with the warmth and light of the very stars and their own people’s souls when filled with healing love.

How fitting.

“She thought it was a game: I drenched her so she had to drench me; in fact, she led me straight into a lake with her run--literally: she pushed me right in!”

~

Gelpili’s feathers rustle gently as it rests in Thranduil’s (ignored) office throne.

The official papers the Elfking came in with rest (just as ignored) right under it, their papyrus bodies making a perfectly pleasant nest for its long snoozing form. Before it, upon the ground, sit--still--the set of woodland royals: The Spring King, Thranduil, and The Sweet Leaf, Legolas, and The Sharpest Point, Ektalas. Laughter fills the air as all three paint gayly together, well into the late evening, with a mix of the elfling’s pastels, his father ink wells, his grandfather’s quills, and his mother’s smiling stills; all three learning and grieving and HEALING.

Just as the Elfking once did with his father (whom always encouraged his art, even before The Fall; but even more so after realizing it helped him cope).

Just as Thranduil once did with HER (whom always saved him; still does).

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆💎🌲☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆

*Hi; yea; I tried really hard; but, I’m sure I still failed even harder; so... that one all Elvish line: “No, child I’m devoted to (who’s) mine; I (am) to be never afraid if I have you.”

Also, I have been writing this for two whole folk dancing months and STILL I only just finished and I can’t even tell if this is any good or not; I think everything but the ending is fine; literally everything but the last bit is exactly(-ish... Little Legolas interrupted so much so often UGH! Dx lol Love the lil sod tho) how I wanted it--full cathartic crushing and everything--but UGH... Forever dissatisfied with myself =/ Still, this took so much more out of me than I expected... Please excuse me as I go curl up and die around my Thranduil’s sword, thanks. Thoughts?

[artheiemis]

ARTEMIS: Hell in Heaven

It would have been perfect if they were truly matched, if only their feelings aligned. But the truth is, they don’t. Sarah, in her quiet moments, finds herself lost in hope, wishing that he felt for her what she feels for him. It’s a delicate hope; like a fragile dream that dances just out of reach.

On a serene evening by the shore, the waves roll gently, their movements small yet soothing. Sarah and he sit side by side; their silence more profound than words. The waves, though not grand or forceful, create a calming rhythm that seems to embrace them both, as if nature itself is offering a balm to their unspoken emotions. The ocean’s whispers bring a sense of tranquility, even as her heart quietly yearns for something more.

In that moment, under the soft glow of the setting sun, Sarah lets herself be carried by the soothing embrace of the sea. The waves aren’t big, but they gently cradle her soul, offering a fleeting sense of peace and hope. The evening wraps around them with a gentle embrace, and for a moment, the world seems to hold its breath, sharing in her quiet longing.

Despite the silent ache within, Sarah finds solace in the calm of the waves, and in the shared tranquility of the evening. It’s a beautiful, if bittersweet, reminder that even in the face of unrequited feelings, there is a kind of grace and peace to be found in the natural rhythm of the world around them.

If the world gave her a chance to prove herself, if it offered the destiny she’s been waiting for and granted her heart’s desire, Sarah wouldn’t hesitate to embrace it.

Sitting by the shore as the sun set, Sarah felt a flicker of hope. The gentle waves and the cool evening air seemed to whisper of possibilities. She imagined a future where her dreams came true, where she could finally show what she’s capable of. In that moment, she knew that if given the chance, she would eagerly seize it, ready to welcome whatever came her way.

They sat side by side, enjoying the view as the sun set over the tranquil sea. The soft sound of the waves filled the air, creating a peaceful soundtrack to their quiet presence. A small distance lay between them, yet their shared silence spoke volumes. As the sky turned to hues of orange and pink, they felt a deep connection in the serene beauty of the evening.

Suddenly, Julian opened his mouth and said, "The sunset is beautiful, isn’t it?"

Silence fell again. They remained quiet after he asked the question, or rather, she deliberately kept her lips sealed to avoid replying.

Julian, when has the sunset ever not been beautiful?

The setting sun slowly adorned the sky with a breathtaking blend of colors; vibrant orange, fiery red, and calming purple. Each hue seemed to be painted with gentle strokes; creating a view that not only pleased the eyes but also soothed the soul. Over the calm ocean, the waves rolled softly, breaking the silence with a rhythm that whispered like a secret message of peace from nature, a peace that never stopped pulsating.

The cool evening air wrapped around me gently, refreshing both body and mind while the last rays of the sun still offered a faint warmth, as if giving a final farewell before disappearing beyond the horizon. The tranquility of the moment felt like a delicate balance between light and dark, warmth and cold.

Wasn’t the sunset, with all its beauty and serenity, simply too perfect not to long for? As if this moment was a miracle of nature, created solely for us to admire—brief, yet leaving a lasting impression on the heart.

However, she knows what he means

Still enveloped in silence, she felt the breeze gently tug at her long hair; sending it dancing in the twilight. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried by the evening wind, savoring its cool touch. As she sat there, she couldn’t help but reflect on the end of their story, wondering what it would be like.

The sunset painted the sky with warm hues; a beautiful backdrop to her thoughts. Despite the calm beauty surrounding her, an unresolved question lingered in her mind. How could she end a relationship that, in truth, had never truly begun?

The thought weighed heavily on her heart. She glanced over at Julian, who had fallen silent, and realized that the answer might not come easily. But, as the wind whispered through the trees and the sky darkened into night, she knew that finding a resolution was inevitable.

“Julian,” she mumbles; finally opening her lips as she stares at him.

Julian looked at her, trying to understand the sorrow reflected in her beautiful eyes. “Why, Sarah?”

There’s something about the way Julian laughs that makes everything seem brighter. Sarah has known him for years—since elementary school, when they bonded over late-night video games and shared dreams of traveling the world. They’ve been inseparable ever since; a friendship that others envy. To everyone else, it’s perfection. But for Sarah, it’s something else. It’s both a gift and a curse—her very own “hell in heaven.”

In Julian’s presence, Sarah finds her joy. His voice is the melody that soothes her bad days, his kindness a warmth she’s come to rely on. He’s always there, always a friend. Yet, behind every smile she gives him, there’s a secret longing buried deep within her heart. She’s in love with him—hopelessly, irrevocably. And he has no idea.

To the world, they are perfect together, but for Sarah, it’s a fragile illusion. Julian sees her as his best friend; the one who knows him better than anyone. And every time he tells her about another girl he’s interested in, Sarah feels her heart tighten. Each story is another reminder that, while she’s his everything, she’s also his nothing—at least, not in the way she wants to be.

She’s his heaven, his constant. But for her, every moment is bittersweet. There’s the heaven of being with him—sharing inside jokes, finishing each other’s sentences, the comfort of knowing his every move. But it’s accompanied by the quiet hell of knowing she’ll never be more than just that: a friend, a confidante. She’s trapped in the liminal space between love and friendship, living in a paradise that feels like purgatory.

One evening, after a long day at the park, Julian talks about a girl he’s met. His eyes light up in that familiar way that Sarah has always wished were for her. He asks for her advice; the way he always does. And like always, Sarah smiles and plays the role of supportive friend, her heart quietly shattering in the background.

As the evening grows late and they walk home, Sarah’s chest tightens with the weight of her unspoken feelings. She wants to tell him everything; that her heart beats faster when he’s near, that she’s in love with him in a way that she can’t explain. But fear holds her back.

What if telling him the truth destroys their friendship? What if her confession turns heaven into an unbearable hell?

That night, alone in her room, Sarah stares at her phone. She drafts messages, deletes them, tries to muster the courage to confess. But nothing comes. How do you tell someone that being near them is like living in heaven, but knowing they’ll never love you back is a kind of hell? How do you admit that every shared moment feels like both a blessing and a punishment?

In the end, Sarah sends nothing. She knows her place. She’s his best friend, his heaven on earth. And for now, that will have to be enough, even if it tears her apart.

Because sometimes, the greatest pain is loving someone who will never love you the same way, and still choosing to stay by their side—living in a heaven that feels like hell.

And now, she thinks the universe has given her a chance to say it. But she’s still afraid. She doesn’t want to lose her best friend, her first love. She doesn’t want to lose everything. She doesn’t want to lose him. Yet, on the other hand, this is her last chance to confess her feelings before he goes.

“I love you,” she finally said after all this time; having buried her feelings.

She saw it—Julian’s shocked face. She knew.

“Sar—”

“Don’t. Please, don’t say anything. I just needed to say this before you move. It’s hard for me too, Julian.”

He continued to look at her; searching for lies she might be hiding. But there was nothing. It was the truth. That was the truth.

“Julian,” she paused, taking a breath before continuing, “I’m sorry. I know this makes you uncomfortable. I messed up. Please don’t say anything, because I don’t want to hear it. I just needed to say this.”

She looked at him, smiling as she always did. “And thank you, for always being there for me.”

[duxiaomin-blog]

The Narrative in Chinoiserie Aesthetics

The Chinoiserie Leather Screen Painted at Charlecote Park

The leather screen painted at Charlecote Park clearly demonstrates how images from Chinese kuancai lacquer screens permeated British decorative arts. From the beginning of the 18th century, British-made leather screens were often adorned with imitations of Asian luxury items, such as Indian chintz, Chinese lacquerware, and later, Chinese wallpapers. The Charlecote screen, however, remains relatively faithful to its Chinese lacquerware model. The piece features a six-panel leather screen painted in the Chinese kuancai lacquer style, depicting scenes of palace gardens and figures, with illustrations of flowering plants added along the edges.

One panel depicts a scene of a woman looking out from a veranda, while nearby, several men with bows, crossbows, and tridents hunt a tiger. Another panel shows a pond, horses, and children playing with women. The artist clearly studied genuine Chinese gongbi paintings, attempting to convey the “lofty” or bird’s-eye perspective found in Chinese art. The work is influenced by Eastern-style multiple-point perspective, and the artist skillfully uses different “lines” to illustrate dense foliage like pine trees, plantain leaves, the folds of rocks, the base of walls, and the tiles on palace roofs. The exterior of the palace is decorated with “paintings within paintings,” demonstrating a level of detail comparable to authentic Song dynasty gongbi paintings.

The work features a black lacquer background, layered with various shades of vermilion as the primary color, harmonized with neutral grays, gray-greens, and gray-whites. This combination not only expresses the vibrancy of the colors but also presents a sense of visual balance and comfort. As the viewer’s gaze follows the vertical unfolding of the screen, the figures and narrative are clear and vivid, offering a panoramic view of the courtyard scenery as if observed from a high vantage point.

ChuCui Palace Kirin in Clouds Brooch

In modern times, ChuCui Palace’s works have inherited the rich connotations of Eastern culture and exhibit a certain narrative quality. Their piece “Kirin in Clouds” depicts a kirin stepping through clouds with a vigorous and lively gait. The kirin’s head is turned to one side and slightly raised, seemingly holding a golden pearl, while its raised tail creates a sense of balance. This lifelike interaction between the kirin’s gaze and its movements creates a subtle connection with the viewer, as if a story is being gently narrated.

The artwork exclusively employs curved lines or combines with traditional Chinese cloud patterns, showcasing the unique dynamic qualities of Chinoiserie. Through the integration of dots, lines, and shapes, the graceful curves of the kirin’s head and tail, coupled with two lotus flowers beside its body, evoke a sense of the story “every step brings forth a lotus,” expressing the utmost romance inherent in Chinese culture.

ChuCui Palace innovatively blends Western-style inlay with the traditional Chinese ink-painting technique of “fenran,” where shades of orange and pink-purple blend seamlessly, occasionally complemented by hues of blue-purple. This technique not only conveys auspicious meanings but also retains the delicate elegance brought by the soft pink tones characteristic of Chinoiserie. The artwork creates a mythical world in its ethereal setting — a realm of auspiciousness, excellence, and breathtaking beauty, pursuing an enduring brilliance. Amidst the shifting colors and cloud shadows, it evokes the poetic realm of “When will the kirin soar into the sky, overlooking the flat lands as the Qin River valley.”

François Boucher’s “The Banquet of the Chinese Emperor,” tapestry

Compared to the leather screen painted at Charlecote Park, the renowned Chinoiserie painter François Boucher’s style emphasizes a source of Italian-inspired shading and perspective relationships. His works, while featuring Chinese themes or imagined Chinese scenes, employ Western techniques, exuding a strong blend of East-West charm unique to Chinoiserie.

Compared to other renowned Chinoiserie painters such as Watteau, Pillement, and Brière-Hue, François Boucher’s artworks are grander in scale, focusing more on character scenes, and displaying distinctive narrative and dramatic features. For instance, his work “The Banquet of the Chinese Emperor” is one of the ten colored sketches Boucher designed for the “Chinese Series II” of tapestries for the Royal Beauvais Manufacture in France. The subject of the Chinese Emperor’s reign dates back to the 17th century and was one of the most popular themes in the “Chinese Series I” produced at the time. In Boucher’s imagination, the life of the Chinese Emperor is depicted in a more down-to-earth manner, closer to the bustling streets. While the composition of the artwork directs the viewer’s attention towards the Emperor, the coloring focuses more on the various colorful characters in the foreground, creating a subtle sense of balance and depth. The viewer’s gaze flows with the movements of the characters, each engaged in different actions, thus achieving a complex, fluid, and narrative composition. Through his exotic-themed paintings, the author expresses a vision of opulent luxury and leisurely rural life, which were ideals yearned for by the French court nobility of the time.

Overall, the leather screen at Charlecote Park in England and the contemporary works of ChuCui Palace both showcase the rich cultural heritage of the East and exhibit a certain narrative and artistic value. These works possess unique characteristics in form and subject matter, reflecting the depth and breadth of artistic exchange between East and West. From the imitation of Asian luxury goods in the 18th century to the works of contemporary Chinoiserie painters, Oriental elements have continued to play a significant role in Western decorative arts, enriching both the expressive forms and cultural connotations of Western art. This cross-cultural exchange not only demonstrates the inclusivity and diversity of art but also fosters mutual understanding and communication between Eastern and Western cultures. The charm and value of these works will continue to inspire interest in and exploration of Eastern culture, providing valuable insights for cross-cultural exchange and artistic innovation.

[itsmepage]

An Intimate Dance

Luich REWRITE|| Yes, this is a Luigi x Princess Peach fic. No, I would not be apologizing I love them too much, and also there is no toxic!Mario or toxic!Daisy bc they would NEVER. Just Peach and Luigi being rays of sunshine’s

Summary: Peach & Luigi dance together in the ballroom

Touch of Fairytale Romance & Fluff

Warnings: kissing, tiny talk of love/intimacy, nicknames & very small mention of royalty 

Art Credit -> @puffy.fish315 on TikTok!!

_✍︎︎

The Music echoed through the Ballroom of Peach’s Castle. The room was highlighted the painted blue sky and gold that was from the floor and her chandelier smiling so lovingly to the shy plumber dancing with her, not being able to hide his flustered face despite his green hat overshadowing it. Peach had been teaching Luigi how to dance since he found the ballroom, it hadn’t been used since Peach was just a baby, so it would be a perfect time to enjoy their simple intimate time together.

They were doing a simple step-by-step, watching each other feet to make sure they didn’t step on each other. “Just like so..” Peach said: leading him, until eventually, he began to get the hang of it. His step-by-step slowly turned into a gentle waltz: swaying with Peach across the ballroom. Confidence began to shined in Luigi's eyes as well as a happy smile and she was swooning. Peach loved seeing the small pride within Luigi, especially since he doubted himself all the time. So it’s lovely to see him accept the truth once in a while: that he was perfect.

Gentle music carried his feet along with her as she sang along with the tone, humming the melody and getting lost in the moment with him. Peach sang letting Luigi spin her, seeing her pink gown move so gracefully in the small wind; and for a moment: Peach had completely forgotten they were even in a room in the castle. She was now imagining that they were dancing on clouds when the light dawn made the sky pink or maybe in the woods at daylight during spring: the season of love, imagining different colors of flowers, singing birds, and blue lakes surrounded them. Or maybe it was perfect where they were right now: no person or creature in sight, just them reveling in each other company, forgetting about everything else. It was that kind of affection Peach had always longed for. To feel completely safe and vulnerable and not just for obligation, but for true love. She’s a simple princess after all.

“Oh..!” Peach said in surprise when Luigi spin her around, making her giggle and to go with his flow allowing Luigi to pull her back into his arms. “See, you’re a natural!” Peach said as Luigi smiled so lovelily, as he grab her waist feeling the warmth increase on his cheeks from her gentle smile and sweet voice.

As the music came to an end, Luigi picked up his beloved princess in bridal style: spinning her around so happily, as their giggles filled up the room. He then placed her back on her feet, his already existent smile growing wider as she placed a kiss on his nose her to place a soft kiss on his nose. “I love you, my prince.” She said so sweetly, pink blush brushed on her cheeks, complementing her flushed lips. “I love you too, my princess..” Luigi replied shyly, being so flustered at the nickname she gave him. Peach removed his green hat to have a better look at his red face, only for her to press her soft lips onto his: giggling when his mustache tickled her slightly, feeling her heart skip a beat when he cupped her warm cheeks, gently brushed her soft curly golden hair and bring her in closer.

[nishanthrao18-blog]

Introduction:

In the charming town of Murdeshwar, nestled along the pristine coastline of Karnataka, lies a divine abode that offers more than just spiritual solace. The Murdeshwar Temple, perched atop a hill, not only provides a sanctuary for devotees but also treats them to breathtaking vistas that transcend earthly beauty. Join me as I recount my experience of witnessing an awe-inspiring sunset view with dry grass from the vantage point of Murdeshwar Temple.

A Spiritual Haven:

As I ascended the steps leading to the Murdeshwar Temple, the air became infused with a sense of tranquility and devotion. The temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva, stands tall and majestic, commanding panoramic views of the Arabian Sea. From its elevated position, I knew I was in for an unforgettable treat as I prepared myself to witness a sunset like no other.

The Dance of Colors:

As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, I positioned myself at a spot that offered an unobstructed view of the surrounding scenery. The dry grass, swaying gently in the breeze, provided a natural foreground that added a unique element to the spectacle unfolding before my eyes.

As the golden hour commenced, the sky transformed into a masterpiece of vibrant hues. Shades of orange, pink, and purple painted the heavens, casting an ethereal glow over the entire landscape. The sunlight, filtering through the wisps of dry grass, created an enchanting play of light and shadow, infusing the scene with an otherworldly ambiance.

The Serenade of Nature:

As I marveled at the breathtaking sunset, nature serenaded me with its symphony. The gentle rustling of the dry grass, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, and the occasional chirping of birds harmonized with the visual spectacle, creating a multisensory experience that was truly awe-inspiring.

The Magic of Murdeshwar:

Murdeshwar Temple’s strategic location atop a hill overlooking the Arabian Sea, combined with the presence of dry grass, creates a magical setting for sunset viewing. The convergence of spirituality and natural beauty in this serene haven evokes a deep sense of peace and awe. It is a testament to the incredible wonders that exist when we embrace the harmony between man-made structures and the untouched beauty of the natural world.

Conclusion:

My experience of witnessing the mesmerizing sunset view with dry grass from Murdeshwar Temple will forever remain etched in my memory. The convergence of the divine atmosphere within the temple and the breathtaking vistas of the sunset created a moment of profound connection and awe. It served as a reminder of the immense beauty that surrounds us and the importance of finding solace in both the spiritual and natural realms.

If you ever find yourself in the enchanting town of Murdeshwar, make sure to visit the Murdeshwar Temple at sunset. Allow yourself to be transported to a realm where the boundaries between earth and sky blur, and where the beauty of nature and spirituality intertwine. Prepare to be captivated by the dance of colors, the serenade of nature, and the magic that unfolds as the sun bids farewell for the day.

So, let the dry grass sway in rhythm with your soul as you witness the majestic sunset from the Murdeshwar Temple. It is a celestial experience that will leave you in awe of the wonders of the universe.

[friendsoftheforest-novel]

Ch. 3 Night Begins

Rosa's POV

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

The sun was beginning to set.

The sky, painted in brilliant warm colors, was preparing for a change. Weaving in and out, various shades and tints bobbed over and under the horizon, seeping through the fluffy clouds, making the bland, white clouds bleed with colors. Yet farther from the horizon line, the darker the colors became. Bright pink to dark pink, light orange to blood red, speckles of light gray to velvety blue…

The night was approaching, the moon was soon to dominate as the sun retires.

"It seems like it's finally time."

Blood red eyes blinked awake, a color more gruesome than any slaughtered prey's blood within this foliage.

The little creature, the size of a walnut, yet honing a pair startlingly eyes craned her small body. She was perfectly camouflaged within the trees as the green of her body fits right in with the leaves.

Shuffling her body, the creature slowly stretched her body out, taking a huge stretch. The good kind of stretch that makes the eye glimmer in a twinkle in satisfaction, the whole body twitching.

With a little pop, cobalt blue limbs appeared as her little, orange feet and hands also peeked out.

Originally tucking her little limbs under her body, the single tone of green ended up with some a company of colors.

"Aaah."

With a slow blink, the creature, a red-eyed tree frog, took a breath of the nighttime air.

"Ay, Rosa, are you prepared for some hunting!"

Rosa turned to the noisy source calmly and slowly spoke, "Rony, please tame your excitement. It just turned night."

"Whatever you say, Rosa!" Rony exclaimed. He was exactly the same as Rosa. Bright green, shiny blue, striking orange, and…blood red.

"Anyways, I'll be going with the pack, the family. I guess I gotta use the technical name, you know, the Army! Defiantly know the ants ain't happy with that one. Anyways, you know, the Army likes to have some nightly partying while the stars are coming out. You gotta come!"

"Alright, Rony. Enjoy some family time then. I'll be taking a little hop around the place."

"Why? No family time?! Why go to other boring places?"

"Rony, let's not be a frog in the well. You've only seen this one tree, what about the hundreds upon thousands of other trees? Open the mind to the new of this world." Rosa gazed thoughtfully within the deepness of the never-ending barricade of trees.

"C'mon Rosa, you know the brain in here is smaller than a seed! Can't. Understand. Nothing." Rony blabbered playfully, wadding up his little orange toes into a little fist, knocking at his brain on beat with every syllable, "I'll be going now. Just don't stray too far away!"

"Don't worry, I won't," replied Rosa.

With a skillful leap, arcing in the air gracefully, Rosa started to make her way to the interlocking branches of the trees. Twisting and tangling, vines wrapped around the branches, tying them into a messy bundle. Thousands of leaves tickled each other, brushing past each other gently when the nightly breeze kicked in.

Rosa, using the intimately knotted foliage to her advantage, with great ability, soon disappeared into the greenery.

"Dang...What a badass," Rony murmured in a daze.

"..."

"...Whelp, I better get going now!" With much less skill than Rosa, Rony leaped up the tree, hopping by foot to every skew branch that look like broken limbs, until he finally made his way to a flat yet sturdy branch.

"Ayoo! Everyone! Rony is in the Army!"

There was a hollering and croaking, an enthusiastic response to Rony's arrival.

And with that, the night began.

[sinnertae]

Dad!Yoongi scenario - louder than words.

A/N: i did not wantto title it deaf child cause for me it sounds rude/mean and I don't want to offend anyone. Otherwise I hope y'all will enjoy it.

A little something cute for valentine's day

It's like a routine. Yoongi wakes up to the front door lock, meaning that you have just left to work. He has two more hours before he has to get up and wake his little angel up.

Yoongi always puts on his slippers before his feet hit the floor. He hates walking barefoot, something you have noticed when you moved in with him to this apartment, which also must be coded in his DNA cause your baby girl hates it as well. Yoongi made his way toward Moon's bedroom, fixing his robe to shield himself from the cold.

Her room is small and spacious. Walls are painted yellow with colorful butterflies here and there. Moon's sleeping in a small bed, the bedsheets matching the color of her cheeks - pink. Tones of soft plushies on each shelf That's is in her room. Her favorite - Shooky- is under her left arm. In two weeks Moon will turn 7 years old, he is reminded by the calendar above her bed. She's counting down the days.

Moon was born deaf, which was something you found out within two weeks after you were allowed to return home with your newborn baby. The period of tests that she was put through as a baby was horrible, cause one: you had to wait patiently outside for the doctor to do all the tests, and two: Yoongi wanted her to be able to hear, so he could teach his little angel music and like every single parent he wanted to be healthy like he is.

Soon after the small crisis, Yoongi went through while being in and out of the hospital, you both learned that Moon is not completely deaf. She was diagnosed with moderately severe hearing loss. This means that even with a hearing aid, speech maybe difficult for her to understand but still, she could hear something.

Since she hated to sleep with the hearing aids in her ears, Yoongi had to find out a way to wake his princess up without giving her a heart attack. Here he is, kneeling on the floor before his babygirl's bed, blowing air at her face to make her aware of his presence before he touches her cheek gently. He taps her cheek two times and then gives a gentle tap to her nose it was their 'wake up' signal. It's something that her brain is familiar with, in its half-conscious state.

Moon slowly opens her cat-like shaped eyes, which she certainly took after Yoongi, and smiled. "Hello, appa." She says, by tapping his cheek twice and a small tap against his nose with a single finger. Yoongi helped her put on aids back in her ears.

"I have a dream, appa. Where I was playing on your piano." She started twittering the second she could hear the barking dog outside. They brushed theirs teeth together and Yoongi helped her with hair, braiding them.

Nothing special happened during that day Yoongi took Moon to the clinic for a check-up and then for a walk around the park.

Moon spent her afternoon playing outside with their puppy while Yoongi worked on his new album. Today was a really good day to write couple of songs. It was so good that Yoongi did not even notice when he fell asleep, his hand supporting his head as his eyes slowly fell shut.

Moon ran knto the living room with a flower crown in her hands made of daisies that grew int the garden. When she saw her dad sleeping, she gently placed the crown on over his hair and then took a blanket and throw it over his shoulders.

They did not need words, actions spoke louder than words could. They took care of each other, just like family is supposed to do. You came back from work to your husband sleeping in his chair, with a crown on his head and Moon sleeping in his lap, holding the blanket with her small hands.

Gif: @jung-koook

[ticklefits]

AO3 LINK!

my hero academia | kiribaku | words: 2,123 | this came to me in a dream 

“You two are ridiculously funny, I dunno how you do it!” Ashido’s bubbling exclamation rests on a giggle, reminiscing over the tiktok she just filmed of Kirishima and Kaminari during an empty period of homeroom as she settles at the lunch table with the rest of the squad.

“Seriously! On top of that, the group chat’s also full of you guys just being hilarious.” Sero chimes in, flashing a pearly white grin at his friends while he takes a drink out of his tumbler, “You gotta tell me where you find those memes.”

Kaminari delivers a simper of his own in return, shrugging his shoulders as if the answer were a mystery to him as well. “It all comes right off the dome! We’re just talented like that.”

Kirishima nods in full agreement, hitting Kaminari with a fist bump that explodes once they pull apart. “Yup! Couple of grade A comedy masterminds.”

There’s a huff of a scoff that tugs the attention to Bakugou, who’s settled next to Kirishima with an unimpressed scowl painting over his features. “You two aren’t that funny; you barely pass for clowns.”

A pout crawls onto Kaminari’s lips, golden gaze rolling at Bakugou’s attitude, as common as it is. Kirishima refuses to let his sour boyfriend rain on their parade however, and the brilliant grin he wears doesn’t dampen in the slightest. No, instead, his sight sways from Bakugou to Kaminari, and with a small jab to Bakugou’s side that only Kirishima could possibly get away with ( he won’t ), he immediately recoils on the small yelp that breaks free from the blond, along with the hand that nearly instantaneously grabs hold of his collar.

“What the fuck are yo⎯⎯?!” Bakugou begins on a growl, before he’s interrupted by Kirishima gasping, as if he didn’t just coerce this outcome on himself.

“Somebody! Somebody, oh no⎯⎯!”

And as if on a practiced cue, Kaminari slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle & distort his cry of, “He needs some milk!”

Within moments, the entirety of their table bursts into a fit of giggles, Kaminari and Kirishima included. Bakugou is the sole body left not only unamused, but particularly pissed off, releasing his boyfriend with a light shove and a grunt of displeasure.

“Pfft⎯ahahah, you need some milk Blasty? Help ya’ cool down, huh?” Sero teases, though he scoots a short distance away when he hears the crackles of combustion tolling a warning for him. The only reason Bakugou hasn’t blown this entire table into Timbuktu already is because he knows there’s teachers nearby and he’s not entirely keen on dealing with detention on top of these idiots.

“Shut the fuck up already! Like I said, you two aren’t funny, and neither are you .” He gestures menacingly towards Sero with his fork, who simply shrugs, unfazed by Bakugou’s aggression, much to his disdain. He’s definitely been spending too many hours around them, that’s it.

“ Ugh, whatever dude, you just have no humor.” Kaminari waves him off dismissively, his smile making a reappearance as the explosive youth calms down a tad.

A small chuckle leaks from Kirishima’s lips, migrating closer to Bakugou to plant his hand over the blond’s under the table, giving him a squeeze in lieu. “Yeah, he’s just missing his funny bone right now, that’s all.”

A subtle flush of pink colors Bakugou’s cheeks at Kirishima’s tease in addition to the warmth of his boyfriend’s hand gently clutching his own. It’s incredible, the amount of power Kirishima possesses with something as simple as a touch. It’s what guides him into a more placid state of being, where his growls become dry and his eyes soften, even just the slightest bit. Another scoff voices from the hero-in-training, decidedly departing from the conversation to focus on finishing the rest of his food.

The rest of the school day carries about normally and ends with Kirishima and Bakugou spending time together in Bakugou’s room. After a ( grueling, according to Kirishima ) study session, the redhead is rewarded with his boyfriend lying between his legs with his back to his chest, attention halved between the manga in his hands and Kirishima’s talented fingers combing through spiky tresses. There’s a comfortable silence lulling around them, the type of air that Bakugou considers a safe space, and that’s thanks to Kirishima, who’s done nothing but prove to him time and time again, the judgement-free love that there is his intimacy. In his presence, Bakugou can permit himself to loosen up, even if little by little, and there’s never a rush for more.

Just as Bakugou was about to nearly drift off into a nap with the book in his lap, the sound of Kirishima’s voice inquiring something of him stirs him back into full consciousness.

“⎯⎯You really don’t think I’m funny?”

“Oh my god⎯⎯,” Bakugou releases an exasperated groan before continuing, “It’s not that deep.”

“I think it is.” Kirishima huffs, the contours of his expression shifting into a pout, complete with the furrowed brows and slightly puckered bottom lip, “I mean, don’t you think it’d kinda suck if your boyfriend didn’t think you were funny?”

A pang of guilt strikes his heart. Bakugou had never really meant what he’d said and he figured Kirishima would’ve guessed that, considering how often Bakugou simply thrived on being a brat. Truth be revealed, he did actually believe that Kirishima and Kaminari were pretty funny, but of course, he allowed his pride to reign supreme over simply being authentic about his feelings. Unfortunately, that poisonous dignity still maintains the reins, despite the regret.

“. . . Maybe if you told different jokes, or whatever, I don’t know.” Bakugou finally mutters, as if attempting to grant Kirishima a way to better place himself in a comedic light.

He hums at the suggestion, mulling it over in his thoughts until a lightbulb burns bright within his head. “Different jokes huh… Alright, listen to this: why don’t ants get sick? Because they have anty-bodies! Get it?”

Almost as soon as Bakugou hears the punch line, he points towards the door with an index finger, refusing to meet eyes with his boyfriend. “Alright, get out, I’m going to bed early.”

“Nooooo,” Kirishima whines, but there’s a glint twinkling within cherry gaze and a grin spreading along his lips. “Here, how about this one: what did the mayonnaise say when the fridge door was opened? Close the door, I’m dressing.” And before Bakugou could sling some more contempt his way for the joke, Kirishima’s hands migrate from the mop of flaxen spikes atop his head to his sides and sneak a few squeezes against the clothed skin.

“Ah⎯! Whahat are yohohou doihihing⎯?!” Bakugou squirms in his position between the other’s legs, already fighting back the giggles that dare to bubble up the hollow of his throat.

“Oh, hey, you’re laughing! I guess I must be getting funnier, huh?” To prove his point, Kirishima’s squeezes alter into light spidering that stretches up and down the length of Bakugou’s sides, earning him an increase in volume and amount of giggles dripping from clenched lips.

“N⎯Nohoho! You⎯⎯ahaha, you’re nohohot funny! Cheheheater!”

“Aw, that joke didn’t do it for you? But I’m listenin’ to your cute giggles, so something’s gotta be funny, right?” Slender digits don’t let up on their assault as Kirishima hums again, thinking up another dumb joke. “Okay, check this one out: What do you call a fake noodle? An impasta!”

Kirishima even took the liberty of utilizing a very horrible and not at all accurate Italian accent for the punchline, and was pleasantly surprised when he realized the slight jump in octave of Bakugou’s laughter when he did so. His heart sings with the melody of his boyfriend’s mirth, all too endeared by the fact that these exceptionally silly puns were actually beginning to affect the usually discontented teen. Even if a large portion of that effect is due to the tickling, Kirishima will still take the win in stride.

“Sto⎯ahahap! Fuh⎯⎯Fuhuhuck ohohoff with⎯⎯ y-yohohou’re lAHAme joHOHokes!” A squeal tears through the latter of Bakugou’s giggly words, induced by those goddamn fingers finding home on his ribs. The way they poke and prod between the bones, enacting little vibrations with each dig into the sensitive flesh, has Bakugou in stitches, evidenced by the wheezing cackles splitting his visage with a wide and brilliantly unabashed grin.

“If they’re so lame, then whyyyy are you laughing, huh~? Lying isn’t a very nice thing to do, Bakugou.” In punishment, Kirishima travels dangerously close to that particular spot, scribbling in circles with slightly increased pressure, all of which drive his boyfriend near mad. Much to Bakugou’s dismay, he is definitely being untruthful by continuing to deny the fact that those stupid jokes were influencing his hilarity, even if most of it is due to Kirishima’s tickle attack.

“NohoHOHO! Dohohon’t⎯⎯NoHOHOT theHEHERE⎯!”

“There’s an easy way to get me to stop, babe. Just admit I’m hilarious, and we can go back to cuddling and you can go back to reading your love story .”

“⎯⎯ShuHUHUT UHUHup, BahAHAHAstard!”

Kirishima tsks, but remains just centimeters away from Bakugou’s doom, more than amused by the entirety of the situation and at how absolutely adorable his boyfriend is when he’s being tickled.

“Pfft, okay, okay, last one, I know this one’ll getcha’. What did the cow say to the farmhand when he tickled her? I’m not in the MOOOOood !” On that drawled mimic of a cow’s call, Kirishima finally goes in for the kill, drilling the tips of his fingers into the area on top of the other’s ribs, right below his armpits.

Bakugou bucks so hard he actually forces Kirishima’s body to shift, already drowning in explosive, full belly laughter accompanied by flailing legs and twisting his torso. Despite the way his physique moves on its own, Bakugou isn’t truly fighting to escape, not when he’s reveling in the fun he’s having. This is decidedly better than reading any manga; he gets to luxuriate in his own real time love story with his silly Kirishima.

Kirishima knows his hysterics aren’t just from the assault on his death spot. This reaction is even more intense than usual, which tells the redhead that he did find that joke funny to some degree. The simper he wears is just as wide as Bakugou’s, toothy and dazzling with an air of pride about it. His heart swells in his chest when Bakugou attempts to wheeze out coherency between the cracks of his laughter, but he falls short with each new peal.

His fingers begin to slow, enough to reduce his ticklish frenzy, but still preserve those sweet, gasping giggles. “Go on.” He urges, all too satisfied with the paint of cherry that flushes against the surface of Bakugou’s cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Yo⎯⎯Yohohou’re fuhuhunny…! You’re fuhuhuckin’ hihihilarious, now stahahap⎯⎯!” He finally manages to choke out, and breathes a heavy sigh of relief when Kirishima’s fingers completely halt their movements.

With an expression that’s still much too self-satisifed for Bakugou’s liking, Kirishima leans over him gently and gifts his love with a butterfly kiss to the tip of his nose. Bakugou scrunches the bridge of it in lieu of the slightly ticklish feeling and Kirishima swears his heart’s a second from bursting.

“See? Told ya’ I’m funny. And you are super cute.”

Bakugou’s floating on a cloud of tickle euphoria, surrounded still by the warmth that Kirishima exudes like an aura. A sleepy grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he lays there with his arms hugging across his ribs, pliant and jelly-bodied and quietly thriving.

“You suck..” He returns softly, lying once again with his usual growly vocals mildly above a whisper. He’s tired and Kirishima acknowledges it, scooting so that he’s laying up against Bakugou, an arm snaking around his middle. He chuckles a little at the sensation of Bakugou tensing.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tickle you again. For now.”

“You got a death wish, huh?” Bakugou stirs at that, both apprehensive and excited by the foreboding statement from his boyfriend.

“Let’s just take a nap and see what happens when we wake up.” Kirishima smirks slightly into the nape of Bakugou’s neck, and damn , Bakugou can nearly feel the way his lips curl. It sends goosebumps down the expanse of his limbs, but he’s too exhausted to do anything about it right now. So, he actually listens to Kirishima ( and will deny it until he’s blue in the face ) and settles back down, burying his head into the soft pillows and basking in Kirishima’s snuggling. Within a matter of minutes they’ve both drifted off into slumber, holding onto one another, enveloped in a tender peace.

[burnedbyshoto]

arrière-pensée

— When you start a new job, you never thought you would come face with Most Wanted Ground Zero who decides that you’re going to help him make a point.

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pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, robbery kink, consented noncon, public sex, exhibitionism, degradation, spanking, slight gunplay, sadist bakugou, machoist reader, blow job, character death, murder, blood, gun violence, knife violence

word count: 8,550

a/n: literally fuck me. I super fucking liked this prompt had clearly had too much fun because this was not supposed to be a long fic. anyways, I hope you like the idea of big bad evil bakugou fucking you to make a point. also, just trust me on the details on y/n I make, please. make sure to comment on all fics you enjoy, all authors love them! carefully read the warnings!!!!

kinktober day 4 main kink: robbery kink

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“As for our latest news, the city of Chiba has decided to close the current twelve-month reigning search for the missing victim of the Chiba Bank robberies. However, known criminal known only by his alias Ground Zero who has been on our countries most wanted list on account of robberies, murder, and rape is still on the ru—”

Click.

You frowned as you threw the TV remote onto the bed, unease sitting on your stomach.

Pre-work jitters were a normal thing, right?

You looked at the full-length mirror in front of you, your finger pressed against a black pencil skirt, trailing up to brush against the white silk shirt you wore. Today is a special day, you reminded yourself as you lined closer to the mirror. Your hand grabbing the dark red lipstick you owned and as smoothly as you could, smoothed the cream over your lips.

The first day working at the esteemed Yaoyorozu Banking Inc., the world's most influential and wealthiest bank. Getting an interview at the prestigious bank had been a once in a lifetime opportunity, your incredible resume and references without a doubt getting your foot in the door to simply be a bank teller. 

Yes, to simply be a bank teller, you had to know at least three languages (you knew English, Japanese, Mandarin, and Spanish), had to know someone with affiliations to either the Yaoyorozu family or the hiring team (your number one reference was none other than the CEO and Founders daughter), and have a certain intellect (there was an admittance test to even qualify to fill out a job application). It had been a rather challenging admittance for you, especially as they had only been one job opening. Frankly, you think your only reason for winning the spot was due to Yaoyorozu Momo’s hand.

Still, it mattered not in the end because you had the job—no use of trying to figure out just what made you stand out so much.

Pushing away from the mirror, you studied yourself over one last time.

Your outfit was exactly as they required it to be, your pink hair styled appropriately out of your face, and the slight gleam of your pantyhose made you heave a heavy sigh.

You were as ready as you could ever be. 

With one final look into the mirror, you tilted your head at the gold-colored contacts you wore, a symbol of the job you held at Yaoyorozu Bankings and thought it made you look like a whole other person. No time to dwell on that, you decided, slipping on your watch and red-bottomed high heels and left your apartment. 

It was time to work.

The commute to work was dull if you ignored the way your stomach twisted and turned in the thought of arriving at work. What would the security be like, at the bank, you couldn’t help but wonder? Would there be bulletproof glass? Ten security guards?

All the banks you’ve ever had the pleasure of entering had always been handled with a small waiting room for clients and a five-inch thick bulletproof glass wall. But that had been at smaller, local banks, not anything like where you were about to begin working. Yaoyorozu Banking had several different buildings designated for the different types of jobs located within their name. You did, however, know that the smallest only two-story building was for their in-person bank tellings. That is where you would be working. Two floors for an essential part of their business, and you had no idea what it looked like as you had no account with them, and your interview had taken place at their headquarters. 

By the time the bus had pulled up to the stop, you would need to get off of, you could feel the nerves of the upcoming day begin to sit heavily on your bladder. You could feel the eyes of everyone else on the bus staring at you as you exited the vehicle. Everyone knew what this stop was for and had undoubtedly seen the gold contacts when you passed by them.

Each step of your heel against the sidewalk's paved concrete seemed to echo distinctly in your ear. It was rather odd, you noted as you walked toward the bank's building, that despite a large number of employees and patron’s the bank had, it seemed almost deserted. Looking down at the watch on your wrist, you knew immediately that you weren’t running late. As a matter of fact, you would be running precisely on time, showing up to your on-call site fifteen minutes before you were due. 

Regardless, you took each stride in your step as powerfully and as in control as you could. Your gaze narrowed, focused, intense as you stared at the revolving crystal clean glass doors. With one last supporting thought about how you were absolutely going to make sure that you would end this day in success, you pushed through.

White marble floors, glossy white walls with black and gold accents met your gaze immediately. Despite the apparent shock of seeing the indoors of this lavish, distinctly rich bank, you continued moving as if unaffected. The clicking of your heels against the floor was the only thing letting you know that you were, in fact, moving. 

Twelve men lined the lobby hallway, each tall, bulky with sunglasses and earpieces on. Although you couldn’t see their eyes, you had without a doubt that they were looking at you as you passed them to a set of large oak and gold accented doors.

There, a smiling woman greeted you. Her smile is warm and gentle as her own silver-colored eyes welcome you, and your spine stiffens at the appearance of information that passes through your vision.

Name: Fuwa Mawata Position: Greeter & Inspector.

“Ah, welcome Uzume-chan!” she cheered in greeting, her mascara painted eyes closing in greetings. You said your hello’s, your voice breathy with the shock of this bank's high technological advantages. “I see that this is your first day here, and luckily for you, no one is around, so I may quickly inform you of entrance clearance!”

“T-That sounds perfect!” you admit, your smile feeling just the littlest bit too tight, but your hands held your bag tighter in your grip.

“Wonderful! Well, here at Yaoyorozu’s Banking Inc., we have a strict business protocol for both our clients and our employees! First, as you may or may not know, all of the building's operations take place on the floor above, and due to the clients we have, it's a bit… unorthodox in our approach. We are the only bank with no bulletproof glass between you, the bank tellers, and our customers!”

What now?

“Our clients are so finicky about being treated with such distrust that they’d rather have this approach!” Fuwa laughed as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with such statements. “So, to approach the bank, you must pass by me! But do not worry! We have never, ever within our nearly century-long reign, have ever been robbed or seized before. Our twelve men out there are true experts, and I have the only button to inform the police right here! Everyone, so both clients and employees, must leave their personal belongings here, and I will search you for any potential weapons!”

“I’m not allowed my phone up?” you asked, a bit confused by this rather outlandish set of rules.

“I’m afraid not! You’ll be so busy working the entire time you won’t be needing it. You are allowed to come and retrieve while on lunch since the break room and lunchrooms are down here on the first floor!” Fuwa confirmed, her head nodding in confirmation. “I understand that it can be a bit different, I myself am not yet used to it, but these rules are in place so that every one of our clients and employees can remain safe!”

You fight off the frown that dangerously tries to grow on your face by nodding, handing over your purse to Fuwa, “That makes sense.”

“Glad to know that it isn’t an issue for you, Uzume-chan! Now, if you’ll step past me, I’ll be checking for any concealed weapons, and you will be met with your supervisor as soon as you enter the second floor!”

It takes exactly two seconds for Fuwa to complete her scan of your body. She explained with a wink that her contacts allowed her to find any potentially dangerous weapon on a person's body. “No matter where it might be,” she added with a tilting head and a bright grin. “By the way, I love the watch! It’s so beautiful, it must’ve been expensive!”

“Oh,” you feel your face warm as you gently touch the watch, your finger tapping the watch’s face twelve times while your smile is unparalleled as you think of the man who had gifted you the object. “Thank you, it was a gift.”

With that, you climbed up the stairs as sophisticatedly, brushing a few strands of curly pink hair out of your face as you enter the main floor, and you realize immediately that the quiet of the first floor and outdoors does not reach this floor.

The second floor is loud.

People with their names and occupations flashing within your view walking from table to table, stacks of paper in their arms, arguing, or talking with those around them. It was a sight to behold, indeed. But a voice interrupted your thoughts, and before you could honestly assess the situation at hand, you were whisked away, a detailed explanation of your job and expectations were. 

Unexpectedly, Fuwa had been right.

This job had no downtime. 

You sat on a leather seat at a desk to handle the clients. Much like old banks out west, your desks were much higher than those you were servicing; most often, you had to look down at them like a mother to a child as you worked. 

Your supervisor, who went by the name Togeike Chikuchi, was over your shoulder for about an hour, detailing and correcting your every action until you cleared ten clients entirely on your own. At this moment, she sat at the desk to your left, chatting with her client with a bright sunny smile that you had thought for a moment she was incapable of. 

It was 14:23 when you were with a client who was currently wondering if sending her ‘poor niece who lived with her amazing female roommate’ ¥500,000 was enough for a week worth of groceries. Of course, it took everything in you to bite your tongue and ask her if she had ever bought her own groceries before.

“Well, if you’re asking me, I think that’s a perfect amount!” you smile pleasantly, watching as who you’re pretty sure to be a CEO of a rice tycoon company. “If anything, you can always question her if that was enough the next time you speak. Everyone is always so different when it comes to groceries.”

“Ah, I suppose so!” she laughs good naturally, her arms rising to press a slip of paper with her account information on it on your desk. “I always spend almost—”

She cut off, and for the first time, you didn’t have to wonder why.

There was an echoing, distant sound of four straight bangs. 

It seemed to have been heard collectively by the entire second floor because, for a moment, there was a silence that wrapped the whole floor. 

Mumbles and murmurs soon flooded the floor, and a frown pressed against your lips as you stared at the staircase. What happened?

“Oh, I bet you that dumb janitor downstairs dropped his vacuum again!” your client huffed, her eyes rolling while you transferred the amount she requested from her account over into her nieces. “He did that the last time I was here too! Except it only caused two loud bangs like that! How immaturely irresponsible of him! Unable to do his job correctly and as a janitor at that? How much lower could he possibly get?”

You, once again, bite your tongue, choosing instead to laugh in faux humor over her rant. The agreeing lie on your tongue moments from being let out when a new sort of movement at the corner of your eye stopped you.

Climbing up from the staircase was a man who took heavy, powerful steps. You were getting used to the way these clients carried themselves. They all tended to stride authoritatively, commandeering all attention to them. Despite their dominative pace, they were almost light on their feet, their steps relatively silent as they walked from corner to corner. But this man who made his way up the stairs was heavy, barbaric, and fierce with every echoing footstep he took.

It was as if the world slowed down as the entire room went to stare at him, and an ice-cold shiver crept down your spine as you took him in.

Ash blond, spiky unruly hair. Splattered red blood covering his exposed arms and neck. A black get-up looked akin to a secret black op team with the black army vest, black tank underneath, black army pants, black combat boots, and strap around his right thigh that seemed to carry two guns and knives. As a matter of fact, his vest also showcased the copious amount of ammunition he had.

It was Ground Zero.

Fear plunged through you as he rose a single hand to the ceiling, a sickening smirk spreading on his face as the world seemed to slow down. Many clients chose to turn to look the second his finger pulled on the trigger.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

Shrieks erupted through the floor, and you watched as everyone, including yourself, hit the deck. Your body trembled with nervous fear as the gun firing stopped.

“Everybody get the fuck up.”

It was a low voice, gravely, and course with evident past strain. You looked across the way to Togeike, who looked just about as fearful and terrified as you felt. 

You didn’t dare to move, and by the looks of it, none of your coworkers did either. There was no panic button on this floor, and the only way to the switch was at Fuwa’s desk. A desk that couldn’t be reached unless passing by the man with black paint smeared across most of his face in a strategic way that rendered him anonymous by all photographic and video evidence. 

“I don’t think I fucking stuttered,” Ground Zero sneered, a light, fickle chuckle erupting low and deep in his chest as the sound of scared whimpers and silent sobbing began to pick up around the room. You didn’t need to know who was making those noises; after all, you knew what everyone was already thinking: will I be killed next? There was a loud bang a bit too near to your body, and you couldn’t help but scream in tandem with everyone else on the floor and the distinctive, irreplicable sound of someone choking on their blood. “I said, everyone, get the fuck up.”

Flight or fight were always two instincts you were taught about in school. Two altering, opposite reactions to being placed in stressful situations, but right now, you were in that third, lesser-known option: freezing.

“It’s like you elite bastards are begging to fucking die!” he laughed joyously, and you felt tears push to your eyes as another resounding bang shake through your body, your ears ringing with the noise. The now becoming familiar sound of a body hitting the floor dead and bleeding sending a sickening bubble through your throat.

But you pulled yourself up, your body trembling like a leaf as you stared at the infamous criminal who was merely smirking at the two dead bodies of clients who continued to bleed out on the floor as those around them cried.

“So, even with all the money in the goddamn world, you damn elitist are still damn fucking cry babies!” he cried with unrestrained, unleveled glee and anger. “Oh, this was the perfect place to choose as my final exit from the world.”

Your breath stops when he turns on you, his blood-red eyes locking on yours, and you can feel the hairs on your arm rising in unsettling knowing.

“Aren’t you a pretty looking whore,” he smirked, his hands putting his gun back into its holster, his heavy feet booming as loud as his gunshots as he makes his way towards you. The rest of the clients, especially the one located by your desk, shriek, cowering as he moves. “Tell me, whore, who does a guy gotta fucking talk to to get the money into my account?”

Your throat seamlessly tightened up in your deep fear as he directly addressed you, and you made a choking noise in your horror.

But, it seemed that Ground Zero was not in the mood for your timidness. Because you could see the vein in his temple throb, the sound of him sucking in his teeth, and the cold, humorous chuckle that rumbled in his chest as he grabbed his gun back out of its holster and pressed it centimeters away from between your eyes.

Typically, the clients couldn’t reach you from where they stood, but it was clearly apparent as he neared you that Ground Zero was not typical. He was big, huge, tall, and he quickly reached you. 

The heat of the previously fired bullets from the muzzle of the gun radiating off it clearly, licking the skin on your forehead as finally, words tumbled out.

“I just started today, Togeike-san is my supervisor!”

Ground Zero lazily smirked as he followed your thrust out finger at your coworker and supervisor.

A loud choking sound spluttered from Togeike as Ground Zero turned his attention onto her and stalked over in three steps easily. His eyes were sharp, deadly, and cold as he stared at your supervisor, and he reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a black USB.

“Put all the bank's assets onto the account on this drive.”

“W-What if I don’t?” Togeike stammered, her body quivering just the same as yours. But the false sense of confidence only resulted in the gun being placed back between her eyes, only this time, he pressed the hot muzzle against her skin, and she shrieked at her burning skin.

“Try that again, you fucking extra,” Ground Zero hissed, and Togeike sobbed, grabbing the USB with a nod.

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

The sound of Togeike sobbing is almost as bad as the intruding smells of iron rusting blood from the dead bodies and the sick smell of the burning flesh on her forehead. 

It seems to take forever, you standing there silently, perfectly still as Togeike hooks the hard drive to her computer. You can see that she begins the monetary transfer from the bank's large accounts and reserves onto the account enabled on the hard drive, and you feel numb. Should you be relieved that he would most likely take this once it was done and leave? Scared that he was here on your first day at that? What shit luck…

You concentrated on your hands as time seemed to drag by slowly, your knees still feeling weak, your breathing shallow as the crude smell of drying blood makes your head spin. 

But unlike you, you hadn’t raised a single gaze in Ground Zero’s way, a rising sound of voices began to resonate from the floor and opposite side of the room. You blinked rapidly as you looked up.

Four men stood up, their brows furrowed, suits abandoned, and expressions steady and fierce. 

“The fuck you think you’re doing standing up, fucking wimps?” Ground Zero gruffed, his body language telling a whole other story from his voice. He was relaxed, unaffected by their challenging forms and fierce glares. “What? Don’t tell me? You think you four in front of me can take me? Don’t fucking flatter yourself. Even with the three behind me who’s easily apart of your fucking idiotic plan, I’ll kill ya all before you can pray to not to be sent to hell!”

“Flatter ourselves?” a man scoffed after getting over the initial shock of their once thought to be secretive plan being exposed without so much as a spec of interest from Ground Zero. “Don’t you get so fucking cocky! We’ll beat your ass and hand you over to the fucking police, you damn bastard!”

Screams erupt throughout the entire room as the seven in cahoots men lunge forward at the dangerous criminal who has set himself back center stage of the second floor.

It’s over before you can blink.

You scream with the masses as five excruciatingly loud bangs go off, and you can barely return your gaze on the fighting men to see the outcome you already know. 

There are six bodies on the floor, bleeding out fleetingly as Ground Zero holds the seventh by the neck. Your jaw drops as more blood splatters against Ground Zero’s chest, and you’re none the wiser of the knife buried deep within his throat until the body is falling over, dead, lifeless. 

“All the fucking money in the world and none of you were taught fucking manners of a properly functioning brain, hah?” he roared, his lips pulled into a threatening, angry snarl as sobs erupt through the crowds again, and a rolling tingle shoots through your body. “I guess killing everyone just isn’t fucking enough for you all, is it?”

You were unsure of how to even answer that. Your eyes falling over onto Togeike, who was silently crying, her eyes screwed tightly as the meter on the money transfer hits 47%.

“Let me set an example for anyone else who wants to try more bullshit in front of me,” Ground Zero snaps, and you shriek when his bloodied hand tangles into your pink hair and yanks you over the desk.

Crashing onto the floor as ungracefully as one could, your eyes widen and jaw drop in an excruciating, soundless scream as pain shoots through your body. But, it’s not near over yet. 

Your hands weakly grab Ground Zero’s wrist, trying to ease the pulsing pain in your body and scalp as he drags you front and center of the second floor. You can’t even understand yourself at this point, sniffling, pathetic pleas to let you go, tears streaming down your face as he throws you, your body hitting the marble floor as you sob for forgiveness.

“Now,” Ground Zero speaks from above you, and your arms have never felt weaker as you press up from the cold, ice floor. You freeze, your body feeling like a tundra as a now all too familiar click of a loaded gun resonates centimeters from your head. You silently sob when a warm muzzle pressed against the back of your head. “The next person to look away from what I’m about to do to my new cum whore, the next person who even fucking thinks of trying some really unfunny shit… her life is on your head.”

The sobs stop with that threat, or did they grow more at the easily implied actions of the corrupt man before you? You couldn’t really tell anymore. Yet slowly, the clients who are sitting in dead men’s blood shakily turn their gaze to you, and you can feel the weight of all their eyes on you. You feel weightless, almost empty.

“Pink hair is for whores, didn’t you know that? That’s why I picked you.” Ground Zero informs you from behind you. The barrel of the gun digs harder, pushing roughly against your head. “Whores are meant to be fucked by fat fucking cocks, so turn around, whore, and suck me off.”

Your breathing returns in spastic, shallow breathes, and you suppress the rising sob in your throat as you turn around on your hands and knees.

Ground Zero stares down at you with expectant eyes, cruel and dark with their crooked want and lust. Your breathing picks up when he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and underwear with only one hand, the other one with the gun never once leaving your head.

“Make sure you all watch her, I’ve never had to kill a bitch while sucking me off, and I wouldn’t want to make this the first time!” Ground Zero laughed, his crimson red eyes glaring at the shamefully gazed clients as he holds his growing cock in his hands. Despite all logic, you stare at his hardening cock with an ever-increasing lust, the tears in your eyes never stopping, but your cunt unwilling to ignore the fact that his cock would feel so good in anyone of your holes. You knew that, and it horrified you. “The fuck you waiting for?” Ground Zero growled, shifting the barrel of the gun to your temple, his eyebrow raised in a taunt. “Suck my fucking cock.”

And despite the growing hiccuping cries in your chest, you can’t stop the way your mouth waters as you shamefully grab onto his cock and press your mouth down on him. 

His cock was large, undoubtedly longer than your face, and thicker than what your hand could encompass. Messy dark blond pubes sat motions away from your nose, and veins that ran all over his length rubbed against your tongue. The taste of his slightly sweaty cock made you gag, but the fear of what he would do caused you to snuff it out.

Tears poured limitlessly down your face, your throat and jaw stretching as far as it could as you took him in further and further.

Even with the tears on your cheeks, you did your best to appease him, horrified by the outcome should you not. Your tongue swirled against his girth, trailing the plenty of veins that you could get to. His cock pressed further into your mouth, shoving until it hit the back of your throat, continuing to dive in deeper until the ends of his pubes tickled your nose, and you could feel the head of his cock stretching out your throat. And horrifically, even with the strangled, choked sobs that still continued to pour from your mouth, you were enjoying the way he was fucking your mouth.

You enjoyed the way the cooling barrel on your temple made you quiver with dreadful apprehension. You enjoyed the way his hips rocked into your mouth, most often hitting your gaping jaw. You enjoyed the way the noises of your unwilling audience made you feel dirty, whorish, and shameful. But as his fingers managed to slip into your hollowing cheeks, drool and saliva dripping down your chin in your slobbering heat and shame, you could feel your essence slicking onto your panties.

“Look at how shameless you are!” Ground Zero laughed, his hand that once guided his cock into your mouth, gripping onto your hair and fisting into it. You yelped at the pain, your teeth painfully close to biting his cock. “All these people around watching you suck off the big, bad Ground Zero’s cock, and you aren’t even embarrassed!?”

You made a disagreeing noise, your brows furrowing, your gaze doing everything in its power to avoid your clients and coworkers gaze as Ground Zero began to rock his hips even more powerfully into your mouth. He chuckled, clearly pleased with what was occurring, and he threw the gun back into its holster. With the free hand, he placed it around your throat, squeezing your airway as you choked pathetically against his length and girth.

“I bet you came into work wanting to be fucked today. Wanting to get pressed to the floor and let everyone see your slutty fucking cunt and throat be used.” Ground Zero growled his grip on your throat, tightening even more. “Is that why you came here to work? Hoped I’d show up one day and fuck you to submission in front of everyone?!”

You gagged, the pounding of his cock further and further down your choked throat overwhelming you as the tears of shame quickly became those of fear as the lack of oxygen burned your throat and nose. You tried to breathe, but Ground Zero knew what he was doing and how he was doing it, not allowing you to breathe despite the way your fingers created crescent scars on the back of his thighs. 

Too much, too much, too much!

His balls slapped under your chin, and the musk of his skin tainted your tongue, but Ground Zero was only getting started, it seemed. With his hands now grabbing the sides of your head, he began to fuck your throat savagely. 

The wet sloppy noises of his driving cock into your throat seemed to echo off the shiny walls and marble floors. Your saliva and drool ruining your silk top and mixing with the blood on the floor. 

Your eyes were crossing with the extreme force, your body feeling weightless with your inability to breathe, yet despite all logic, you finally let out a sweet, grateful moan as your nose pressed to his hips.

But that was enough for Ground Zero.

It was a noise that would finish the last nail in your coffin as he held you there to his hips, his cock entire within your throat that tightened and fluttered against his length as you struggled to pull away.

“No use in fighting it now, you fucking whore,” Ground Zero grinned, the expression on his face akin to that of a predator stalking his prey. His voice, ever so naturally loud, filled the room, letting everyone know just what was going on. “They all heard you moan like a slut while getting fucking raped by me. So do me a little favor and get on all fours, I need a place to dump my fucking cum.”

With that, Ground Zero shoved you off his cock and onto your back, and you began to cough and choke desperately. The sour, raunchy scent of the sweat, blood, and gunpowder burning your nostrils as you attempted to steady yourself. You began to cry again at the filthy thought of how you were enjoying the way his cock had been in you, and the way your body craved for more of it.

You didn’t want to admit that you wanted him to fuck you, especially in front of everyone.

But as you were consumed with your at war thoughts, Ground Zero was already impatient. 

His feet trapped you between him, and he leaned down to grab your silk shirt.

“W-Wait—!” you shriek as he rips open the shirt, the sound of scattering buttons flying everywhere as your bra is revealed to everyone in the room who is watching.

Silent tears poured down your cheeks as with the destruction of the white silk shirt, a sheer and lacy red bra was exposed to the mass. Today had been a means of celebration, and you had intended on fucking your boyfriend the moment you got home… but that had been something you had kept a secret. Something to be held from the world until it was you and him in a bed. But it was now an object to be seen by everyone, and you bit onto your lower, trembling lip, eyes screwed shut as you tried to look away from the heated territorial look on Ground Zero’s face.

“Oh, look at what we have here?” Ground Zero almost whispered, but his voice still managed to reach every corner of the floor. “You are a little fucking whore, are you not? Came to work actually wearing lingerie! I thought I was just fucking teasing you before, but no! No! Not at all! You do want to be fucked in front of everyone!”

Your sniffling wouldn’t stop as his large, hot, bloodied dried hands grabbed at your bra-clad breasts. He was leaning down over you, you could feel the amused breathing flushing against your collarbone, and you mangled a choke when he kneeled down, trapping you.

“Such an ugly pair of tits,” Ground Zero mocked, his large hands pressing the sides of your breasts together, enhancing your cleavage and fullness of your breasts as you lay on the floor. “I’ll let you in on a secret… all those missing sluts I’ve fucked in previous jobs? Well, I can always tell how good a fuck they’d be just through this part.”

Hissing, you glared at Ground Zero as he slipped his fingers under the fabric, teasing and pulling at your pebbled nipples. His red glare meeting yours, mocking and somehow both hot and cold.

But a shameful, pitch moaned fell from you, your back against all logic arching up into Ground Zero. Soft whines, shaking arms, thrashing legs.

“Would you look at that,” Ground Zero’s sneering tone was back, and you found yourself opening your eyes (somehow missing when you closed them), to see Ground Zero glaring at someone in the crowd. “Looks like you could make a professional slut, whore! That man over there has a fucking boner over watching me rape you and your slutty mouth and feeling up your tits!”

“N-No I don’t!” the man exclaimed as you couldn’t help but meet the accused eyes that were filled with shame, a red blush tainting his cheeks. “Just thinking about when this’ll be fucking over!”

“Oh?”

Ground Zero’s grip grabbed you by the throat, and you panicked as he ripped you up onto your feet and began walking over to where the man was. You stumbled to keep up, unable to find your balance the entire time you walked with him, in awe that this unlawful man could walk determinedly when his pants around his thighs, hard, leaking cock pressing to his vest-clad stomach. But before you could find your balance, Ground Zero threw you back onto the floor, landing centimeters from the client's feet, and you began to cry as your exposed stomach touched the floor.

Ground Zero wasted no time on your noises, straddling your ass, scooping his hands beneath your breasts, and pulling you up. 

The client's face went beet red, his bulge in his pants evident as you could only keep your gaze there, unable to raise or turn your head as Ground Zero squeezed your breasts in his hands. 

You moaned at the sensation, your mind giving in to the feelings to not cry anymore.

“Tell the whore how much you like her tits,” Ground Zero commanded, his hands kneading and pulling at your mounds of flesh. “Tell her your little microcock wants to fuck her.”

The client had the decency to look offended as he spluttered, “I’M NOT GOING TO TELL HER THAT!”

With his words, silence took over the room, and you trembled in your fear.

“Damn extra?” Ground Zero shouts to Togeike.

“Y-Yes?”

“How much fucking longer?”

“I-It’s at 63%!”

“Wonderful.”

One of Ground Zero’s hands abandoned his manipulation of your breasts, but he still managed to keep you in place with only one hand. He pulled a breast out of the bra, and you whimpered as the client gwuaffed at the sight of your breast, but immediately cut himself off when a cold, heavy metal barrel pressed against your temple.

“Let’s try again,” Ground Zero said with faux cheer. “Tell the whore how much you like her tits, and how your microcock wants to fuck her, or else I’ll kill her right in front of you.” There’s a heavily, curling silence that overwhelms the room before he decides to add one last thing for good measure. “I’ve never fucked a dead body before, and I wouldn’t want to start that now.”

“I-I like her tits,” the man stammered.

“How much?”

“T-They’re… they’re so hot,” the man begins to cry, his body shaking in front of you. “I wish I could b-be fucking her instead!”

“Too bad for that microcock you have, huh?” Ground Zero taunted, pulling the gun from your temple and pointing it straight at the man's crotch. “Show her.”

“W-What?!”

“Show her your cock.”

It seemed to happen so slowly. The man unbuckling his belt with shaky hands, clumsily undoing his pants, and shifting it down his legs, white boxer briefs stained slightly with pre-cum. You looked away when he revealed a cock that looked pathetic to the one you had just sucked, so small, so thin, so discolored. 

“You got one fucking ugly ass cock,” Ground Zero laughed.

Then the world picked back up.

The first thing you heard and felt was the tearing of your skirt, and you panicked as Ground Zero dropped your chest onto the cold floor. You whipped your head around to see your work skirt split all the way down the middle, only held together by a few remaining strands by the waistline. And the sheer pantyhose you wore, twisted between his fingers, and completely ripped as his gaze met yours.

“Cute fucking thong.”

You choked at the feeling of cold, soured air hitting your inner thighs that were still wet with your slick, and instinctively, you tried to scramble onto your knees. But it seemed that this was what Ground Zero wanted from you, for the moment you were on your knees, he pressed his hand to the curve of your back and kept you there.

Ass up, back curved, chest down.

“Until the transfer is at 100%, your wet little cunt is mine!” Ground Zero reveled in the information as he couldn’t even bother to pull down your panties before plunging his fingers into your sopping heat.

The shameful pleasure of feeling his fingers deep within your cunt sent you screaming, your back arching even further as his fingers continued to thrust in you. They curled and spread, sending your mind into a spiraling lust as he managed to find all of your sweet spots without so much as breaking a sweat.

“You’re so easy,” Ground Zero groaned, his cock rutting between the curves of your ass as he continued to finger fuck you. “So fucking wet too. I just knew a fucking whore like you couldn’t be getting fucked right at home, that’s why you hoped you’d get fucked by me today!”

Your teeth bit into your forearm, the overwhelming pleasure of his fingers stroking your inner walls, tweaking and moving against your clit, making your thighs tremble with the already forming pressure in your womb. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, you little whore,” Ground Zero whispered into your ear, laughing when you shuddered at the feeling of his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “Everyone wants to hear you moan, scream, and cry for the big bad Ground Zero’s cock. Don’t mute yourself, let them hear just how well I’ll fuck you into a puddle of tears and cum.”

You didn’t want them to hear you begging for more. You didn’t want the entire room to know that your cunt was spasming and clenching around his fingers because you liked this. You didn’t want them to know.

“I bet fuckface in front of you really wants to hear it!” Ground Zero laughed, his finger doing light, quick circles against your clit as his other hand brought your attention to the man before you. Sure enough, his cock was throbbing, precum leaking down his length as he shamefully looked at you. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind you fucking yourself as I fuck this stupid cunt.”

But with the building pressure in your stomach. Your toes curling as the soft thumps of his fingers dive in and out of your sopping wet cunt, your body begins to tense up.

“Already ready to cum,” Ground Zero smirked, and you felt your body go rigid when his fingers left your cunt, and was immediately replaced with his large, thick cock.

Having not expected such action, your arms shot out, eyes rolling back as a guilty, wanton scream tore through your throat. He was so big, so thick, so full, stretching you out completely, sending your tight walls into a frenzy as they stretched and tightened around his cock.

Fuck, fuck, “fuck!”

“Oh, she speaks!” Ground Zero laughs, almost a bit deranged as he grabs onto your waist and begins to plow into you. “I wonder to what lengths I can get you to speak! I want to hear you screaming for me, whore.”

It was then that he slammed his hand against your ass cheek, causing you to shriek while your skin throbbed in his wake. It was heavy-handed, the power he held in his hand while never doubted, didn’t make you think it was ever this much. The pleasure curled pain made your knees buckle, a hot pressure bursting in your core, and another loud slap repeated on the same throbbing cheek.

Fisting in your hair, you keened loudly when Ground Zero yanked your head back. The arch in your back was dramatized by this action; your back ached as another heavy slap echoed against your swelling skin. His dense, almost wild breathing hits the shell of your ear, and chills shoot down your spine when he snarls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight, is whoever this getup for fuck you shitty too? Don’t tell me this fucking extra is the man you fuck in your bed?” he laughs, his foot stamping to the outside of your leg. The new position increases the range and the power of his thrusts, sending your body forward with every squelch bringing thrust. “I bet you’d like it if your stupid cock piece was here to watch how a real fucking man fucks, huh? You fucking would—” his hand comes down to wrap around your waist, pinching and tugging at your clit that’s thrumming with impending orgasm. Ignoring your growing pleads for more— “You like being an example to everyone in this fucking shit room of how to be fucked correctly! I bet you’re actually liking the way they’re judging you and your tight, wet cunt.”

The next powerful thrust that has his balls smacking your skin nearly sends you tumbling over at the strength and power behind it. Your arms buckle under you, the weight and struggle to keep yourself upright was a challenge as Ground Zero abused your clit and cunt.

“Answer me, fucking whore.”

There was no stopping Ground Zero’s heavy hand against your pert ass, and you could not think of anything but how your cunt throbbed for the man behind you. Your sobs of pain had long ago become those of pleasure, and you could feel the raised prints of his hands on your sore cheeks. It was true; it delighted you.

“Y-Yes, I like being fucked by you!” you finally break crying, your body trembling in your excitement and need for more. “I like them watching as you fuck me! You fuck me so good!”

“Glad you could finally admit it because your cunt is so fucking wet right now I’m sure everyone else already knew,” he sneers while he rubs circles against your heated skin. “You’re trembling with excitement as you try telling me you don’t want me to fuck you. I can see you choking back your cries of pleasure, the fuck you take me for? Do you want me to leave you without an orgasm?”

“N-No!” you sob pathetically, arms pathetically stretching behind you to keep him thrusting faster into you. “D-Don’t leave me until I-I cum!”

Your words were loud, letting everyone know just how much you wanted this, just enough for the man before you to groan as he came, and you thanked Ground Zero as you trembled like a leaf before him. His upper lip pulled back into a smirk as he let go of your hair, letting your head drop back onto the floor, and his fingers go and pinch your nether lips, and you cried loudly.

“I know you can fucking scream louder than that. I want the entire fucking world to know who’s fucking you right now.”

The words were honey to your ear, and you shifted in an attempt to ease the growing lust between your legs.

Slap.

“Fuck me! Fuck me harder! Please, Ground Zero, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” you babble, your tongue falling from your mouths as you pant like a bitch in heat, your body convulsing and shaking with need and heightening lust.

Your mind reeled as Ground Zero continued his conquest against your cunt. You could barely count the number of times he drilled his cock straight into your heat, the tip of his cock pressing into your cervix over and over. The added sensation of his fingers manipulating your clit, and shoving into your mouth to tug on your tongue as you began to grow too loud made you dizzy. Your ass and thighs were undoubtedly bright red and in the air, back arched further than you had ever gone, and saliva and tears seeping onto the marble floor.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he cheers as he repositions the angle in which he’s driving into you, and your ragged moans fill the area at the need of more. He continued fucking you, and while feeling finally returned to your abused ass, your hips finally began to buck against his commanding hips, trying to get the echoing slaps to grew even louder. “Such a greedy little slut.”

Gritting your teeth, you continued pushing against him, craving more heat, power, and pain.

“Is this not good enough for you?” Ground Zero chuckles, but there’s no light humor to his laughter. “Good.”

At that phrase, Ground Zero slams into you with the power and force you had yet to experience. Causing you to howl in your throbbing lust, your mind more a second snapping back out of its haze as you feel his cock twitch within you. Your breathing is harsh as you try to look at Ground Zero, finally trying to take a glance at how he looked. You wondered if he was as unhinged as you felt, as savage as you imagined with his lustful red eyes. 

“Where is it at?” Ground Zero barked over at Togeike.

“I-It’s at 97%!” she stammered, shame dripping from her voice, and you had half a mind to wonder if they were all turned on too.

Maybe they were jealous of the fat cock claiming you, and you mewl in the thought, your back bristling as you slammed back onto his drilling cock. You wanted more from him, craved more from him. The coil in your belly still yet to be undone, but you were not going to let it snap anytime soon.

“Gotta fucking make this little slut cum soon then, huh?” Ground Zero grinned, and you felt his teeth bare into the back of your neck in a flash of throbbing, burning pain.

You cried.

The angle and power behind these growing sloppy thrusts were different than what you were used to. It was deranged almost, your body shifting with each thrust, nearly toppling over as Ground Zero claimed you with his teeth and his cock. With each hypnotizing slam of his hips, ringing moans of pleasures ripped from your throat, and you brought your arms as best you could to his waist to keep him there.

Sweat dripped down Ground Zero’s neck, his hands gripping your bruised and battered ass like some type of life support, and the squelching noises of your slamming sex were making your body weak.

“Please — fuck — do that! Do that again, please!” you screamed when a vein in his cock dragged against your pulsating, puffy walls, at the same time he pushed against your cervix.

“Such—” thrust— “A—” thrust— “Fucking—” thrust— “Whore!” thrust! “Who do you fucking belong to?!”

“Y-You, Ground Zero!” you scream, your hips buck against his slamming hips. It was so raw, so rough, and you were enjoying every passing second. “I belong to you! I’m your fucking whore, please fill me with your cum! Cum in me, please cum in me!”

Ground Zero preens at your praise, all while he continues to fuck you roughly. He was in his zone, his concentration like steel as he pounded into you again and again. Your inner walls clenched and spasmed against his penetrating cock, and the heated pressure now spilling over.

His cock twitched within you. It knocked the breath out of you; his fingers twisted into your hair.

“Fucking cum with me,” he demands, jerking your head back towards him again, and you sob as your legs tremble against his increasing power.

You feel your eyes cross, screaming out his name as your walls clamp down fiercely against his length, and you orgasm roughly, your body shaking and spasming uncontrollably as you scream his name. Ground Zero curses loudly, slamming into you one last time with the power and tenacity of an army as he lets out a string of curses, and you moan, knowing that he came in you.

“Such a good slut,” Ground Zero grins as you can feel your eyes fluttering shut, physical and mental exhaustion now catching up with you. “Sleep now, I’m not done with you.”

You couldn’t gather the energy to speak back, your world blacking out with the sounds of sobs, screams, and more gunshots.

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You wake up in a car.

The warm, gentle wind caressing your face as the world is quiet. It's calm, pleasant, pleasing. Your pink wig is on your knees, slightly ruined with blood, sweat, tears, and drool.

You sigh, your body throbbing with different pain as you look to your right at who’s driving.

It’s Ground Zero, or as you know him: Bakugou Katsuki.

His arms are covered now, the old black op outfit changed for a pair of black slacks and a red button-down shirt. You would have no idea he was the man who stormed into Yaoyorozu Bankings earlier that day.

“Good morning,” you sigh, reaching against the seat to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Bakugou looks at you with a smirk, reaching towards you for a real kiss as he continues to drive. You can tell you’re in comfortable clothes, ointment on any potentially worrisome wounds he had inflicted on you while wrapped up in your twisted fantasy of yours. 

“Nice to see you up,” he gruffs, his voice rough from his overuse in the bank.

“Did we get it?” you ask, head pressing to his shoulder, and with a chuckle, he raised the black USB.

“Damn fucking right we did, y/n.”

“Perfect.”

It goes without saying that despite the sheer brilliance of Bakugou’s work as Ground Zero, he would have never pulled off such crimes without you. His pretty, small girlfriend, who always played a victim of his lust at his operations just for good measure. It was a fun life both of you lived.

You looked at the expensive Cartier watch on your wrist, a beautiful gift he had gotten you after your first successive robbery. It had also been programmed for you to communicate with Bakugou on how many guards there were on the floor.

“I love you.”

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arrière-pensée: a concealed thought or intention; an ulterior motive.

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tags in comments, theres too many of you.