#patchwork bow

[skfiberartz]

Finished two more sailor bows! 🎀🎀

[gummi-stims]

Commissioned fursuit from kiwi_marten on tiktok!

[unprettybutwellpolished]

SPRING PATCHWORK ~

That was my second time doing patchwork on my nails and that's not easy to draw in such tiny spaces lol. I think that turned out well. The colors and the designs kinda give a vintage vibe.

Polishes I used :

OPI : Can't CTRL Me

OPI : NFTease Me

Essie : Fidji

Revlon : Up In Charms

Sinful Colors : Beaches And Cream

Bourjois : Bleu Model

Maybelline : Pink

White Polish

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[queenofsquids]

oh I like this

[kitycult]

daydreamer skirt ☁️ 1 of 1 avlb on my depop bubblegumbrat 🪡

[writeofmind]

any new tats recently 👁👄👁

i don't remember how many i had at the time of this acc being really active but as of now i have 16? maybe 18 i don't even know lol 😵‍💫

[arsonistman]

I <3 my local sewing shop

[narxcisse]

★ — Christmas Special !!

Pairing: JayVik x GN!Reader

CW: short

Tags: — @faebirdie @fairysecretary @jinririz @tsuki-dino-plushy @beanieluvr7 @hwasddeongbyeoli

English isn't my native language

The snow dusted the streets of Piltover in delicate, sparkling layers, casting a serene glow over the bustling city. Inside the cozy workshop Viktor and Jayce shared, the atmosphere was warm, intimate, and alive with the festive spirit of the season. The scent of spiced cider and freshly baked pastries lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of one of Viktor’s inventions running in the corner.

You sat cross-legged on the plush rug near the fireplace, an oversized sweater draping over your form. Viktor reclined in a nearby chair, a rare relaxed expression gracing his features as he sipped from a steaming mug. Jayce leaned against the armrest beside him, fingers lazily tracing circles on Viktor’s hand. The three of you were a patchwork of comfort and contentment.

“Alright, who’s brave enough to hang this monstrosity?” Jayce teased, holding up a lopsided ornament Viktor had pieced together. The contraption buzzed softly, glowing faintly in an uneven rhythm, as if uncertain of its own existence.

“I’ll have you know, that is a feat of engineering,” Viktor defended with a smirk. “And it deserves a place of honor.”

You reached for the ornament, grinning. “I’ll do it. But if it explodes, we’re blaming Jayce.”

Jayce scoffed, hand over his chest in mock offense. “What did I do?”

“Existed,” you replied cheekily, making Viktor chuckle softly. You found a spot near the top of the tree, carefully placing the ornament. When it didn’t detonate, you turned with an exaggerated bow. “There. The masterpiece is complete.”

“Truly, we are innovators in every field,” Viktor said dryly, his tone laced with amusement.

As the fire crackled and the room glowed in the light of the tree and scattered candles, Jayce pulled you and Viktor onto the couch, wrapping his strong arms around both of you. “Best part of the holidays,” he murmured, voice low and sincere, “is being here with you two.”

Viktor leaned into the embrace, his hand resting lightly on your leg. “Agreed. Although, if you both insist on singing carols later, I may reconsider.”

You laughed, placing a gentle kiss on his temple. “You secretly love it.”

Jayce leaned in, planting a soft kiss on Viktor’s cheek before turning to you and brushing his lips against yours. “Admit it, Vik,” he teased, “we make your world brighter.”

Viktor rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled both of you closer, his metal hand surprisingly warm against your back. “You’re insufferable,” he said fondly.

The night stretched on with stories, teasing, and quiet moments of affection. Outside, the snow fell steadily, blanketing the world in silence, but inside the workshop, your little family thrived in warmth, laughter, and love.

— I really apologize for this being so short, I'm literally about to travel to another city to visit my family for Christmas and I don't get back until the 25th... So this is a little rushed. 😭

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part nineteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

The cool paste feels tingly on your skin as you rub it against your bruised stomach, wincing. Christ. Maybe Ghost was right to think he might break you. Beneath the mottled patchwork, another kind of pain stirs— your muscles are growing. Firm and tight. The only soft parts of you left are your breasts and your ass. Gently applying the paste to a nasty purple one on your left cheek, you curiously pinch the sore flesh between your fingers. Scratch that. Even your ass is firming up. 

Arnica has healing properties. Yesterday, you found a patch of it with Blue and created a salve with some water. You already applied some last night before bed. Whether or not it’s helping probably doesn't mean much when new ones are about to be added; still, the placebo effect brings some comfort.

You're still massaging your backside when the bathroom door groans beneath a heavy fist. 

"Hurry up. Grab your bow."

“Shit.” You startle, almost dropping the salve. "Uh, coming.”

Chucking on a clean shirt and your old pair of jeans, you pad out of the bathroom, ignoring the cry of your joints. Ghost is outside waiting for you. Wait— bow? Confusion delivers an uptick to your pulse; you never bring your bow to train.

“What’s going on?”

"The air," he replies in a flat tone.

The stale smell offers enough explanation. You cringe. "Should we split up?"

He shakes his head and nods towards the direction the gentle breeze is rolling in. "No need. It's coming from this way."

In the violet wash of morning, you trail beside him over tall grasses and scattered groundhog burrows as the air leads the way, luring you opposite the clearing where you train. There haven't been any Greys since the one you burned together. For the past few weeks, you'd almost forgotten about their existence— a pleasant naivety for once. 

Neither of you bothers with much small talk. He asks if you're sore, probably noticing how stiff you are, and you answer honestly. That's it.

You keep your attention strictly on the wood bow molded into your palm and the slight rustling of leaves all around you, scanning for signs of anything astray. You don't look at Ghost, even when you feel his eyes flicker to the side of your head. Staring at him for even a second longer than necessary rouses something in your gut that was once easy to label as fear; now you don't know what to call it.

He is wearing thicker clothes today, the intimidating vest stocked with ammo glued to his chest. You'd gotten used to his more casual wardrobe of gym shorts and hoodies. They make him look... softer, almost. A little less like a death omen. Though, you sincerely doubt there are any soft parts of Ghost left under all that gear, given the rigid planes you felt beneath your hands when you—

"There."

You snap your gaze in the direction Ghost is pointing at.

At first, you don't see anything.

Then, squinting, you make out a red color far too metallic to naturally sprout among the conifers. 

An arrow is urgently slotted on the bowstring as the two of you head towards it, your brows tightly knitted. You've been this way a few times and never saw a— is that a red car?— before. Closing in, your suspicions are confirmed when a stroke of sunlight bounces off the metal bumper. The patchy sedan is tucked within a bush, tail-end sticking out, with half-flat tires resting on corroded rims. Shadows of movement dance behind the tinted windows, too disjointed to be natural.

"What the fuck?" you mutter under your breath, boots scuffing over a long-faded gravel pathway that is now shrouded in weeds. The car must've been following it before winding up in the bush— the occupants no longer human enough to drive.

"They... they must have just turned while they were driving," you think aloud. "When did this even get here?"

"Maybe during the night," Ghost mutters.

He paces forward and swings open the passenger door. A string of moans is released as a Grey lurches within the confinements of the seatbelt, but he quickly silences it with a bullet to the forehead, causing it to flop sideways out of the car. Maybe just a day ago, it was a young man. His hair is fully intact and he's wearing a blue shirt with the Chelsea Football Club logo on the back.

"I wonder why they were driving this way to begin with," you say quietly, stomach rolling.

In the driver's seat is the slumped-over corpse of an older man, having died from so many bite wounds before the infection could take hold. The early stages of decomposition smell almost worse than the infection and you have to breathe through your mouth as you head for the back door. 

"There's another here I think."

You're ready to shoot and put whoever it once was out of their misery when you pry open the door, but the sight of a small body wriggling around makes you freeze. Curled up against the faded leather is an infected boy, no older than eight or nine. His eyes are all white except for the outer rim where a few vessels are still filled with red blood. Your fingertips dig fiercely into the frame of the door as you stare down at him; his soft brown hair, his small hands, his Minecraft shirt. He whimpers and tries to claw at you, mouth hung open in mindless hunger.

The feeling that washes over you is hot and cold at the same time. It's not the first or last time you've seen an infected child, so you don't know why the sight traps you for a few heartbeats.

A voice emerges beside you. "It's not a kid anymore."

You almost forgot Ghost was there. Your teeth clench. "Yeah, I know."

You feel his eyes burning into you. Your fingers tighten and untighten around the arrow's stem as you aim. 

"Hone it, Twix— the anger."

The tension in your jaw releases at the same time as your arrow snaps forward, cutting through the boy's skull and driving his limp body down to the car floor.

“You good?”

You forcefully swallow and look away, giving Ghost a short nod. "Guess that's all of them."

He slowly nods in agreement, studying you, but all he says is, "For now."

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“Seen stranger things over the years,” he says. “It seems like they were headed somewhere, maybe needed a new place to settle, and one of them got bit. Infected the others.”

You nod, thinking it over. “What about the car?"

"No fuel left, so it's pretty useless." Rifle still in his grip, he moves around to the hood and props it open. "Might have some parts I can use, though."

While he scavenges for gears that aren't rusted beyond functionality, you take a look at their belongings. There is an empty bottle of whiskey in the cupholder. In the boy's lap is a stuffed tiger that you assume was once white, but now it's a worn of grey. You carefully shift his corpse and take it.

"I have a friend who might be able to care of this for you."

In the trunk, at least, you find some tripwire. 

Dragging the two adult bodies back to the trench for burning is your 'strength' training for the day. Since they haven't decomposed much yet, they're heavy; you go back and forth, taking one at a time. Ghost carries the small one over his shoulder. After the flames snuff out the smell of rot, he relieves you, claiming he has other shit to take care of—more traps to set with the newfound tripwire.

"Hey. Would you like this?" you ask Blue when she's up, handing her the tiger. 

"I'm kinda too old for dolls, Twix." She must see the expression on your face because she shakes her head and disappears into her room for a minute before coming out with a teddy bear. "My mom gave me this one when I was a baby and it just sits on my bed by itself, but now it can have a friend."

You smile and nod. "Yeah, okay."

The day is spent playing board games with her. When she notices how sore you are, she offers an exclusive massage from Grim, who hops over your back and legs as you relax face-down on the couch. However, even with the honorary treatment, the aching lingers. 

"Auntie, I'm over here!"

In a violet-tinted field, you search for the voice.

It's barren and hazy, with no hard edges or places for a little boy to hide; so why is it so hard to find him? You call his name. You wander around, aimless, until you catch a familiar whiff of baked cinnamon and fresh laundry. This way. He's this way. You start running fervently. When a small hand tugs at yours, you whip around and try to grab him, but the soft touch dissolves through your fingers like ash. 

When you wake up, there's a hand on your back and blood on your tongue, evidence that you'd bitten through it during your sleep. The taste is quickly replaced with bile as you launch up, grabbing the sleeve of someone's shirt.

"Oh no, you don't."

The hand moves to your hair, wrapping it around in a fistful before forcing your head to tilt down. A bucket is tucked beneath your chin. You vomit into it, the cool metal rim hissing against your fingertips. Again and again. When it's all out, your throat feels like sandpaper. 

"Done?"

The dark room surrounds you; the perfect place to hide what you know must be a ghastly look on your face. Awareness creeps in, and you're not thrilled by the fact that you've thrown up in front of him twice now. Without looking up at the white skull you know is there, you nod.

Wordlessly, he takes out a cigarette and lighter. You hear a deep inhale. See the dull glow of the flame. Then, he passes it to you and leaves.

"You look like shit today."

You can't even be offended, fully aware of the purple painted beneath your eyes. One look at you quirks his brow up in that annoying mannerism of his.

You offer a tight-lipped simper, mumbling. "At least I can always count on you for brutal honesty."

"Good trait to look for in an ally." He throws the gauze at you and you begin wrapping up. "I don't suppose it has anything to do with the fact you nearly ruined another shirt of mine last night."

You tie off the gauze and glance up. "Look, I'm s—" you stop yourself, "I mean, I'm not sorry, because you wanted my box open so now it's open. You already knew the potential consequences."

"Try opening it without emptying your stomach next time."

You flash him a look. "I think I miss when you pretended I didn't exist."

"And I miss getting a full night of sleep."

"Can we just get started? I'm ready."

Ghost keeps his eyes on you as he motions a fisted hand. "As you wish."

When the familiar dance begins, and adrenaline ripples up your spine, you realize that you missed this yesterday. The rest felt good, but this— the thrill of seeing Ghost start to get as worked up as you, the sweat stains on his shirt matching your own... it is something you itch for these days. 

You get a few hits in that have your ego swelling. But then— the rough night catches up with you after half an hour of wordless sparring. Your breathing grows labored, while his is barely winded.

"Tired yet?" he asks.

"No," you say, but he calls you out immediately.

"You're a terrible liar," he reminds you. A few more swings have your lungs burning as you dodge until one finally catches up with you, and whatever healing your homemade salve has done is erased by a fresh layer of pain. 

As you clutch your side, he changes the subject. "Are you going to tell me what it was about then?"

"What what was about?"

"Whatever was making you whimper in your sleep."

Your face twists. "I wasn't 'whimpering'."

"Fine, then. Crying," he corrects plainly.

You sigh through your nose, averting your gaze only for a moment, then focusing back on him before he can strike you again. His words hang in the air, ignored, as you jab an elbow toward his ribs. He grabs you by the knob of it and pulls you unnecessarily close to his chest. When you try to wriggle free by placing a hand on his chest, he fists your hair, which has slipped out of a bun into a haphazard ponytail, and tugs hard enough to force your eyes up to his.

His gaze is demanding but his voice is light— a mere breath over your forehead. "Tell me why someone who has seen plenty of infected kids by now seemed so bothered by the one she saw yesterday. He reminded you of someone, didn't he?"

The mention of it makes you snap. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Trying to act like you know anything about me."

"I know enough. You are easy to read."

So that feeling you get when he looks at you isn't just in your head; he truly can see through. Your nails dig into your palm. "There's no need to read me. We're not friends. We're just... allies, or whatever."

"Or whatever," he repeats thoughtfully, tasting the words. "You talk like a teenager."

"Compared to you I might as well be," you retort.

"Jesus." He chuffs out an exhale, eyes flickering down for a moment before returning up to yours, narrowing. "Let's not change the subject here." 

"Fine. Take this stupid Halloween mask off," you lift the hand on his chest up to the hem of his balaclava, feeling how weighted the fabric is with sweat. "And I will tell you all about it."

His jaw flexes before he gently guides your hand away. "Tempting offer, but I'll pass."

You refuse to acknowledge the tinge of embarrassment at his dismissal and inch back as far as the hand on your hair will allow. The close proximity, or harsh sun, is making it hard to breathe. "Well, it's not fair for you to ask me shit about my life when you don't even let me see your face."

"I never claimed to be fair." 

"I promise I won't vomit no matter how ugly you are. I've seen worse things out here."

His hand tightens. "I think I miss when you were scared of me. Less mouthy back then."

"Well, I'm not anymore."

"No?" He flips you around so your back is against him, one hand settling on the toned curve of your hip. His voice lowers to your ear. "Maybe I need to fix that."

An unwelcomed shiver courses through you. He lets go. A wristbone nudges against your spine, shoving you forward. Irritation simmers in your veins when his remark finally registers, and you whirl around, readying your stance. 

"If you even think about threatening me after I explicitly asked you not to, then I would suggest sleeping with a knife tonight."

"Who's threatening who, Twix?" He gives a low chuckle. "Relax. I'm sure I could handle you in my sleep, anyway."

He's egging you on; you know it. And yet, you stubbornly take the bait. His knee— the right one. That's where you got him last time that made him falter. Maybe an old injury. But when you swing a boot at it, he expects your attempt, knocking you away by the ankle. 

"Ah. Eager to get me beneath you again?"

Pink sears your cheeks as you wipe a trickle of sweat from your forehead. "I'm eager to humble you for once."

"Might need to keep your dinner down to do that."

You grit your teeth. So maybe he did allow it last time. The realization darts your eyes to his wide stance, searching for an idea. Without second-guessing yourself, you kick at the other knee. He must find your second attempt amusing because he easily predicts it, but before he can catch your leg, you snap it back and drop yourself to the ground.

The brief distraction allows the second of time needed to fit yourself between his legs. You're slim enough to push through, kicking at the inside of both knees once you're on the other side. His legs buckle, and you reach up to pull his arm, finishing the job.

Once he's down, you scramble to get on top, not caring if your boot kicks his face in the process. You grab both of his wrists and bring them above his head, but it's impossible to wrap your fingers all the way around them. Instead, you lace them through his fingers, breathing hard in his face as your breasts meld against the solid heat of him.

"Did you allow that?" 

His voice is rougher than you've ever heard it. "No."

Your lips furl. "Good."

A dark gleam passes through his dilated pupils that makes your head fuzzy. You let go of his hands. Immediately, they gravitate to your hips again, thumbs fiercely pressing into the sliver of skin exposed from where your shirt rides up. You don't move even an inch, frozen in place as you stare down at where he grips you against him. That feeling in your gut deepens and spreads. It is hard to pinpoint—so insane and foreign yet familiar at the same time—but one thing is certain: it begins and ends where his rough skin touches yours.

Before you can figure anything else out, a scream shatters the air, and Ghost rips you off of him in one swift movement. 

[witchshut]

[Image ID: A digital illustration of Kris from Deltarune wearing a bold, multi-patterned garment made from various vibrant African wax print fabrics. Kris’ hand is hovering over the player’s SOUL. Kris has dark brown skin and an afro hairstyle, with a matching headwrap that coordinates with the patterns on the dress. The dress is loose-fitting and flows outward, combining a patchwork of different geometric and organic designs in a vivid palette including purples, yellows, greens, reds, blues, and blacks. End ID.]

[Image ID: A digital illustration of Noelle Holiday from Deltarune with golden curly hair, light brown skin, freckles, and deer-like ears sitting in a festive green and red wheelchair with ornaments attached to the wheels. She wears a long-sleeved dark gray outfit with a green and red vest, red bow, and a hearing aid attached to her right ear. Flanking her are two more sketches of Noelle—one holding a candy cane themed cane and the other being a side profile. The artwork is selectively colored. End ID.]

[Image ID: A digital illustration of Susie from Deltarune with freckles, tousled dark hair, short arms, and sharp yellow teeth, depicted in three drawings—cackling with closed fists, smirking while picking her nose, and staring pensively to the side with wide, uncertain eyes. She is fat and dressed in a deep purple jacket, white shirt, and blue jeans. End ID.]

[Image ID: A digital line-art sketch features Deltarune characters standing side by side: Kris is on the left, pimple-faced, with a cleft lip and coily hair adorned by a bow, and Susie is on the right with freckles and curly hair. A caption above them reads, "We're not in Kansas anymore, Kris.” They both look apprehensive, with Susie looking at Kris and Kris looking forward. End ID.]

Here are my headcanons of Susie, Kris, and Noelle. :) Noelle has CRPS which has her in an active wheelchair, but on good days she can walk around with a cane. She also as strabismus! I think Noelle has heart problems and chronic TTH. She loves scary things despite them causing her heart rate to go up and sometimes triggering headaches. This is another reason why she has to turn them off sometimes halfway through, but she monitors her heart rate closely when watching them.

I also intended for Susie to have down syndrome but I’m not sure how well that came across. I feel like a lot of artists unintentionally draw her with a lot of traits common with down syndrome anyway.

And of course. Kris in a dress. Because they deserve it.

[busycloudy]

"Happy Birthday Prefect!"

 • So...Guess who's birthday it is. That's right, it's mine!😁

 • This is basically what I think they would give you when it's your birthday 

• Tooth rotting fluff fanfic? Headcanon? Idk🤷‍♀️Either way it's tooth rotting fluff(The last part might make you shred a tear tho)

 • Reader is gender neutral. The first years/our chaotic of a group is last! 

• Enjoy! (And happy birthday to anyone else that has a birthday today!)

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

Riddle Rosehearts- A Necklace

He gave you a necklace with a Rose, to resemble him, on it. The beads are a bright red and black. In the center of it a beautiful and small glass rose is shown proudly.

Trey Clover- Favorite Sweet

He made you your favorite sweet! He made it specially, and don't worry, no oyster sauce was added!

Cater Diamond- A Phone Case

He got you a phone case that has your favorite thing on it. For example if you like cats he got you a phone case with a cat pattern on it.

Leona Kingscholar- A Ring

This ring was something that simply just reminded you of him. It was golden with silver lettering that said "Herbivore". He didn't tell you this, but he has one himself that says "Sleepyhead"

Ruggie Bucchi- Favorite Food

Ruggie got you some of your favorite food, free of charge! Well, all you owe him is to always have a smile on your face.

Azul Ashengrotto- A free drink + free food

He let you have a free drink, and a free dish from the monstro lounge. How very kind of him to do for a poor unfortunate soul like you! He may also let you sit with him in the V.I.P room and chat.

Jade Leech- Book- Terrainum

He got you a book about different plants, and a terrarium! When you decorate the terrarium, do get Jade if you need help! He will gladly do so!

Floyd Leech- Plush

He got you a eel plushie. He came across it and thought it was adorable, so he thought to give it to you! (He also has a matching shrimp plush)

Kalim Al-Asim- Pictures

Kalim knew for a gift like this, it couldn't be anything, it had to be sentimental, so he gave you some pictures the two of you had together. Hang it on your wall/fridge and he will be so happy!

Jamil Viper- Snake Bracelet

A golden snake bracelet that wraps around your wrist. He hopes this reminds you of him. (He'd be so happy if you wore it every day, please do so, or at least wear it as much as you can🥺)

Vil Schoeinheit- Hair Clip

He gave you a hairclip shaped like a crown. He was still the fairest of all, but maybe you could second him.

Rook Hunt- Bow and Arrow

Rook gave you a bow and arrow of your own Iff you ever would like to practice archery, come to him!

Idia Shroud- Controller- Headphones

He gave you a black and blue game controller with headphones that match, which also have cat ears on them. You can game with him anytime!

Malleus Draconia- Earrings

Malleus gave you dragon earrings, something to represent him. "Would you like to go on a walk tonight?" he asked you. The two of you looked at stars and constellations that night.

Lillia Vanrouge- Fingerless Gloves

Black fingerless gloves with a green bat symbol on it. He also says "You've grown so much since I first saw you" then patting you on the head.(KJDHSJHSHSDJ I DIED WHILE MAKING THIS PART)

Silver- A Blanket

This blanket had multiple squares of different shades of your favorite color(Like patchwork)The blanket was also very soft! If you wasn't already getting good sleep, this will definitely help!

Your friends, the first years, gave you scrapbook to hold all your memories, and matching bracelets

The scrapbook has pictures of everytime all of you guys have hanged out together, and some pages are still left empty to fill out more and more memories. The bracelets have all your main colors on each and every one of them, and connect to each other when close by. They have a striped pattern of Red(Ace), Dark Blue(Deuce), Yellow(Jack), Purple(Epel), Light Blue(Ortho), Green(Sebek), Grey(Grim), and [insert your main color](You).

Ace says the bracelets were "Duece's 'stupid' idea" But in all seriousness, he also loves them.

These things are something you can have so if you ever end up finding a way home, you can take it with you to remember them.

[cowgirlcherrie]

florist! abby Headcanons ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

a/n: something quick n sweet you knowwwww got this random thought and had to write it I couldn’t resist I couldn’t. I also saw that no one done florist! abby(?) so I wanted to be the first to hop on! plus I missed writing for Abs — my baby, so enjoy ♡

warnings: 18+, MDNI, some fluff, gets smuttier halfway in, strap, blowjob (strap), eating you out, mentions of obsessive behaviors, polaroid nudes-ish, fingering, edging, public-sex-ishh, soft dom! Abby, tatted! Abby. Hinted at smoker Abby if you squint, petnames, fingers in mouth, masturbation, use of the word mommy, use of the word pussy, fem reader.

divider creds here

ೀ florist! Abby wears a basic white cropped t-shirt and black dickies under her beige apron. Her apron has a rainbow flag pin, with black pliers in one pocket. Doc Martins on her feet, tied miserably into a bow, it’s a miracle she doesn’t trip around the flower shop. She has a carabiner on her belt loop that jingles every time she walks. 

– apart from smelling like the flowers (obvi bc of where she works) smells like heavy pine and fresh soap, like forget the additives – just clean if ykyk

ೀ florist! Abby gets little patchwork tattoos in random places: a dainty lavender tattoo on her wrist, a little crescent moon behind her ear, paw prints on her bicep for her late dog Alice, a ‘gentle artist’ in bolded times new roman font – but dainty on her forearm. Her knuckles are tatted spelling out “FUCK YOU”.

ೀ florist! Abby that has a ‘Save the Bees!’ sticker on the back of her phone case. Super Bee activist.

ೀ florist! Abby who spends all day in the floral shop, playing music from her playlist on the shop’s aux, slightly swaying to the music as she works on a bouquet. She works with such prestige, god her hands work so quickly at building arrangements but the outcome is so beautiful and that’s why she has many customers. She definitely uses any leftover flowers as bookmarks for her books.

ೀ florist! Abby who’s aux will go from Lauryn Hill to Boy Genius to Mac Miller — she gets compliments on her music taste by customers all the time.

ೀ florist! Abby stops working on a bouquet when you walk into the store because of how confused you look. Wanting to save a damsel in distress. Abby moves from her place at the counter walking over to where you stood looking at the different types of flowers, creeping behind you. You smell divine to her, driving her head crazy knowing that your scent alone will be stuck in her head all day. The floral shop is a slow yet steady business, so Abby definitely doesn’t forget a face or a smell. The form-fitting dress you wore that day, the way your hands bunched at the fabric in confusion had her head spinning!

“Beautiful aren’t they?” Abby whispers from behind you,

Actually scares the living shit out of you when you see her standing behind you, but the way the sun was hitting her face from the big window panels made you less nervous. Rather in awe at the beauty in front of you. Her sunkissed skin, and silky blonde mane, were raveled in a delicate braid with wispies around her face. The raspiness from her voice – which honestly sounded like a smoker's voice now that you thought about it. 

ೀ florist! Abby who makes small talk with you while making your boquette for you (taking her slow sweet time), asking you where you’re from and what you’re doing in town? Absolutely praying that the flowers aren’t for some significant other of yours, Abby letting out an exhale when you say that they’re for your mom who you are visiting for dinner. When you mention you are unsure of what flowers to get don’t worry Abby will help you!

“So pretty girl, are you more minimalistic, talking Lilies, Gardenia’s, Jasmine – which is over there...or colorful? Which I think your beautiful self enjoys a nice Orchid, Camellia, or Begonia?”

Definitely shocks you with how well she knows her stuff

ೀ florist! Abby zones out when you are speaking and stares at your lips for far too long, looking at the way your pink gloss shines wondering how your pretty lips would look taking her strap. Percase covered in spit, from your saliva that has built up from blowing her off. Abby wanted to do nothing more than take the pretty little fabric ribbon from your hair and tie it around your hands as she went down on you while you beg her to touch you in all the right places – it was all a dream to her. Wet dreaming with you right in front of her.

Undeniably horny and touch deprived…she spends so much time in the floral shop she doesn’t have time for dating apps and finds shit like Tinder CORNY LOL. 

Meanwhile, you are trying your hardest not to stare at the way her arms are flexing or how her fingers are paying delicate attention to your bouquet, mentally laughing at the “FUCK YOU” on her knuckles, it contrasted her soft nature so much.

ೀ florist! Abby who slips in a little note into your tote back when you’re not looking, with her number on it, hoping that you would find it and call her soon, Which you do find when you are scrambling for your keys on your way back to the car. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to give the overly, steaming attractive florist a call. 

ೀ florist! Abby when the two of you start dating, she would teach you how to make a bouquet, standing closely behind you – her body right up against your back as you feel her breath tickling your ear as she whispers to you what to do

“Atta girl, look at that my sweet girl – woah! watch your hand there’s a thorn baby.”

Will definitely put her hands over yours as she works with the knife to make sure there isn’t any thorns so you don’t prick yourself. 

ೀ florist! Abby fucking you in the flower shop, when the shop is closed. Having her head in between your thighs, as her jaw slacks – the sound of your juices sloshing against her mouth as she sends hums into your pussy making you let out low mewls. Bringing a hand up to cover your mouth but she slaps it away so that she can see you

“Don’t hide from me baby, I wanna see you…look at how beautiful you look whining for me doll”

ೀ florist! Abby who kept your lace underwear in her pocket after she fucked you in the floral shop keeping it for safe-keeping (pft…we all know what she is doing with that)

ೀ florist! Abby who shows you her small pocket-sized notebook full of different flowers and arrangement ideas she had. Even the sketches of a flower bouquet that she made inspired by you and all your favorite flowers.

ೀ florist! Abby definitely tucks flowers behind your ears, specifically a white or light-pink Carnation. Especially loves putting one behind your ear as she fucks you with her strap, missionary style so she can see your face – just loves your face honestly. Bending down to kiss your lips, her cheeks dusted red with the pressure she applies.

Tucking her head into your neck swiftly smelling the carnation that she put behind your ear driving her even further insane as she drills into you — makes her go faster.

ೀ When she starts teaching you more about flowers, Definitely uses sexual enforcement to get you to remember it. Will have you sat on her counter as she stands in between your legs – locking you in as she lunges two fingers into you, edging you and not letting you cum until you say the right name of the flower that she taught you. But you could hardly focus staring at her inked knuckles as they pump in and out of you which only makes you reach your climax even further. 

“You wanna come don’t you my sweet girl? I know you want to…just say the name– awh don’t whine at me…I know you know it dollface, I don’t buy that you don’t.”

Sometimes she’ll give you a hint if the flower starts with one of the letters on her knuckles she will stick the corresponding finger into you, working at getting you just about there as her finger curls into you. Your vision is blurry as you can hardly tell what the letter is, moaning out as you try to focus on the order of the letters on her knuckles to catch the hint.

“C’mon baby I’m giving you a hint…pay attention sweetheart– focus!”

ೀ florist! Abby when you get it wrong and she finally lets you come — is fake-mad at you, shoving the lettered finger down your throat as you gag on her fingers covered in your juices.

“Baby the hinted letter was C, and the other finger was U, flower: Curcuma. You’ll get it right next time right sweetheart? You won’t let mommy down hmm?”

ೀ florist! Abby is definitely a soft dom just saying… soft as hell, loves when you hold her – kiss her, and skin-to-skin contact is important as hell she just wants to feel you and loves when you baby her. 

ೀ Definitely keeps a Polaroid of you holding flowers in pink floral lingerie in her beige apron and another one of you in her wallet, that way she has you on her at all times (honestly probably touched herself to blow off some steam after a hard shift while looking at it)

ೀ Depending on how far the relationship goes, especially if y’all start talking marriage will get your favorite flower tatted and not tell you until you see a dainty tattoo of your favorite flower on her collarbone slightly above her heart as she is filling you up, you questioning her in between moans about it.

“Mmhm…fuck is that new? Shit..abbyplease – wait is that my favorite flower?” You ask, as she grinds into you – your finger dragging against the tattoo

“Yes baby, you’re all mine. Mine…mine…mine” As she pounds harder into to you each time she says mine. Obsessive, possessive + territorial, let’s talk about it 

ೀ florist! Abby is overall just a sweetheart who loves you so much and just wants you to be her pretty flower – her muse, you definitely inspire most of her bouquets and she is so happy you ran into her shop looking for flowers that day.

[trashmouth-richie]

I feel like I’m really bad at prompts so I’m just gonna go with my “do’s” from costar today…

Stomping. Instant coffee. Cold* shower.

*“Cold” autocorrected to “come” and I almost didn’t fix it, soooo…do with that what you will.

OH MY LOVE.

hoping my slutty choices for this prompt find you well.

18+, no minors, acts of sex, yay.

**peep my little hints at 90s tv and movies—there are 4 🖤

<1k

send me a prompt from this post ! (writers block is killing me !)

Cold beads of water trickle like ice down your body. Making your already pert nipples stand at attention and harden in an instant. 

Cursing the boy you’ve been best friends with since diapers, you turn the faucet off in a quickened haste— exiting the tub in an anything but graceful fashion, stubbing your toes on the way out. 

“Eddie!” your shrill voice is clouded by the throbbing in your foot and the chatter in your teeth. “Did you pay the water bill?”  

One job, the menace had one job— one duty for the small shared apartment, and it was to pay the water bill each month. 

Wrapping yourself in a threadbare towel that had once been a swim towel for an uppity family— you stomp down to his bedroom, kicking open the door with enough rage to channel Jackie Chan.

You should have knocked. Fuck, why didn’t you knock? 

Eddie was naked.

Pale-moon colored ass on display. 

Thigh muscles rippled beneath dark patchwork tattoos, arms that never looked muscly suddenly flexed tight. A veiny hand wrapped tight around a black haired pony tail. Hips, his hips were— fucking, thrusting, pounding. 

His mouth was slack, slick like an oil painting, head back and eyes rolled to squinted ivory surrounded with a colossal woodland of thick lashes.

Sweat coated his brow, dribbling down until it collected on his cupids bow, a salty pooled tease. His rougey lips were spit coated, sheer— glossy— begging for your tongue to taste them. 

Your heart thumped loudly, heat in your core on its own tempo, hot and deep. 

And then you hear it. 

A whimper. Softer than silk, low, whiny, almost sweetly pathetic in its delivery from a deep space in his throat. 

Your cheeks warm, cunt heated like a fire, sirens going off for extreme temperatures. 

Oh—fuck.

His eyes meet yours and you hold his gaze for a second. The clouded look of a man being sucked dry took over his normal instant coffee colored irises. Glaucoma esque beauty in the dark swirls, and you wet your lips at the sight of him— at Eddie Munson— resident freak of Hawkins and your best friend. 

Jesus.

Both your lips explicitly mutter words with eyes wild doe like. His going from lazy pleasure to shock. Yours were covered with your palm, the other reaching, fumbling for the door knob. 

Apologizing profusely you suddenly stammer around clearing your throat and trying to leave ASAP. 

The towel around your middle, the only thing keeping you decent, glides to the ground—falling gently like that fucking feather in opening scenes of Forest Gump. Practically in slow motion but still too quick for your blind shut eyes to catch it. 

Fuck.

Pulling with both hands on the knob your heart races to shut the door, not registering that the towel is wedged tight between the frame, making it impossible to shut. 

Shit shitshitshitshitSHIT

With a last feeble attempt of yanking your arms, the latch clicks into place and you beeline to your room with a slam of your door so hard it ricocheted off the walls, making a framed picture of you and Eddie at a Metallica concert fall to the ground, shattering the glass.

What the fuck? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

Your heart boomed in your ears, back stuck to the door like you were holding it up. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Eddie naked, pretty sure your entire graduating class saw him naked on more than one occasion. But this?! This was so mouthwatering better than any other time. 

Goosebumps spread across your skin at the burned image of Eddie getting head on your retinas. The two of you had never crossed those lines. Each dating, fucking around it never once crossed your mind what he would be like in the sack, or what his sack would be like in your mouth. 

You’re pleased when you don’t cringe at the dirty thoughts of him— it felt like second nature, like eve seeing adam —lol okay maybe not, but still! What your mind was conjuring up was biblical. 

A giggle surpasses your lips and you wipe a line of drool from the corner of your mouth. Nerves finally settling as your realization hits— who was it?

It wasn’t Sarah, you hadn’t seen her since last fall. Eddie had said she started dating Steve—his comic book “arch nemesis” but in reality another bestie, who spent most of his time wallowing on your couch about Nancy than he did actually going on dates. 

Mary ended up being a virgin—preacher’s daughter, one of seven. He stopped seeing Clarissa after she wouldn’t stop over explaining every single minute detail of her day. Could it be the girl with the green leather jacket? Darla? Daria? 

The horny ache in your belly soured like curdled milk. 

How dare her (whoever she was!) The thought of someone other than you pulling those noises from Eddie suddenly set you on edge. Rage burned through your veins like lightning. Spidering and leeching to your skin. 

The pajamas you had taken off before your shower lay in a heap on your floor and you quickly yanked them on. Muttering to yourself about every vile thing you could imagine about whoever the lucky girl was who currently had a mouthful of your roommate. 

You needed to leave. The clouds of embarrassment eased overhead, colliding with the lightning making a storm brew deep beneath your surface and you be damned if you were going to let the rain fall whilst still in this apartment. 

Keys in your palm you throw open your bedroom door, ready to bolt through your apartment and down to your car— destination unknown. 

You nearly knock him over in your attempt to run. But you’re stopped cold by sweaty bangs, a heaving chest, and the same stupid pair of boxers that had small tears along the elastic from years of wear. 

“Sweetheart…” he coaxed, voice so sugary and laced with tiny shreds of venom it could ice a wedding cake— then strike you dead. 

You had seen plenty of Eddie today, your body screamed for you to leave, but your feet were stuck in the icing, waiting for the bomb to drop. 

Warmth from your cheeks from your shame could keep a trailer with broken windows warm in a blizzard—your stomach flipped— dropped like lead as his next words hit like a bullet. 

“We need to talk.” 

part two

steve tied up

[doumadono]

IV - THE BUTCHER OF THE DEADLANDS

Summary: Shigaraki and All For One sought answers from the ruthless Overhaul, whose dark experiments and growing influence might threaten Sangreal’s reign, and might hold the key to unraveling the mysteries of the human girl Dabi spared as well. Meanwhile, Hawks, a Sangreal Hunter, suggested a deeper connection between you and Dabi’s potential plans, sparking a new wave of uncertainty within you

Warnings: mentions of blood & experiments, vampires, mentions of vampire Dabi, vampire Shigaraki, vampire AFO, vampire Overhaul, vampire Hawks, Shigaraki despises Overhaul and vice versa

WCT: circa 2.6k

𖥸 SANGREAL - previous chapter 𖥸 chapter V 𖥸 SANGREAL - playlist 𖥸 MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The Deadlands stretched endlessly beyond the shattered ruins of Musutafu, a wasteland of ashen soil and skeletal remains, where the land itself had been scarred beyond repair. The last nuclear blasts had left this place twisted, grotesque, a place where the air was thick with the stench of decay and scorched metal.

The sky, choked by ash, hung low over the ruins, casting everything in an eerie sepia glow. 

Nothing lived here. Nothing human, at least. What was left had been claimed by monsters. And some of those monsters built kingdoms in the dark.

Somewhere within this desolation, carved into the ruins of an abandoned research complex, was a place that Overhaul had carved out his dominion.

The facility was a fortress of steel and suffering, built deep into the husk of an old underground medical research center. The original structure had been swallowed by time, but Overhaul had repurposed it, expanding its depths, reinforcing its walls, and filling its corridors with horrors that should have never existed.

The moment AFO and Shigaraki arrived, the stench of sterilization chemicals, blood, and rotting flesh assaulted their senses.

Tomura’s nose curled. He already wanted to disintegrate this place to the ground. He hated this place. It stank of sterilized, unneeded cruelty, of rotting flesh and antiseptic, of Chisaki’s disgusting attempt at godhood.

The walls were lined with metal pipes, steam hissing through the cracks, condensation pooling beneath flickering overhead lights. The corridors were tight, clinical, but everything here felt wrong. A laboratory built on corpses.

The doors hissed open.

The man waiting for them stood perfectly still, flanked by two masked enforcers, his posture straight, pristine — calculated.

Chisaki Kai. Overhaul.

His golden eyes gleamed with clinical detachment as he stepped forward, his black gloves flexing against the sleeves of his meticulously kept coat. “Welcome,” he said smoothly, though there was no warmth in it. “I wasn’t expecting a personal visit.” His golden eyes flicked toward Shigaraki, lips curling slightly behind his plague mask. “Oh. And you brought your heir.”

Shigaraki’s fingers twitched violently — he already wanted to tear Overhaul’s face off.

Overhaul’s lips twitched slightly, but he ignored him, turning to AFO instead. “To what do I owe the honor, my lord?”

All For One sighed. “Must you always waste time with empty pleasantries, Chisaki?”

Overhaul gave a shallow bow. “Only with those who deserve it.”

Tomura bristled immediately, but All For One raised a hand. Not yet.

They were led inside, deeper into the labyrinthine halls, past observation rooms filled with creatures that barely resembled vampires anymore.

Tomura’s fingers itched to decay the place.

As they moved through the corridors, the creatures imprisoned behind tanks made of glass convulsed, their twisted forms a nightmarish patchwork of flesh — warped, stitched together as if Overhaul had played god with whatever shattered remnants he could salvage. Mutated limbs sprouted where they didn’t belong, some grotesquely fused, others jutting at unnatural angles. Jagged bones pierced through their skin like cruel, organic armor.

No wonder they call him the Butcher of the Deadlands, Tomura thought to himself.

Overhaul walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back. “I take it you’re here for something important.”

“You tell me,” All For One said.

Overhaul paused, turning slightly. His golden eyes were calculating. “I assume this is about the incident in Musutafu.”

Shigaraki clicked his tongue. “Tsk. You mean the mess Dabi left behind?”

Overhaul arched a brow, amused. “A traitor burning some street filth? That’s hardly news.”

Overhaul’s minions pushed a massive iron door open, and Kai shifted aside to let his master and his heir into the chamber.

Tomura stepped through the massive iron doors with utter disdain, heavy boots clicking against the bloodstained floor. All For One, his father, walked beside him.

Overhaul stood at the far end of the chamber, hands clasped behind his back, his golden irises gleaming dully in the dim light.

Shigaraki clicked his tongue, stepping forward with a lazy, slouched stride, his claws dragging over the rusted railing of an abandoned operating table.

“Dabi spared a human female,” All For One stated. “Have you heard of this?”

“Well,” Overhaul mused, “that is interesting.”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “Spare us the dramatics.”

Overhaul ignored him. “A former Sangreal Hunter saves a human?” He exhaled, tilting his head. “If it were anyone else, I’d assume he was making a pet out of her, but Dabi?” His voice dipped in something almost thoughtful. “That’s not his style.”

“Do you think she’s of value?” All For One asked. "I had hoped you'd tell me she was one of your little projects — one that somehow defied the odds, slipping through your grasp before you had the chance to tear her apart."

Overhaul exhaled slowly, tilting his head as if considering the possibility. "Sadly, she’s not one of mine," he admitted, his tone laced with a quiet disappointment. "It’s been quite some time since I last had the luxury of a human subject in my laboratory. But I think it would be wise to retrieve her,” Overhaul continued, stepping closer. “If she was spared by Dabi, then there must be a reason. She must be an anomaly,” Overhaul continued, golden eyes gleaming. “And anomalies are meant to be studied.” He straightened, his confidence absolute. “I need that girl. I’ll find out why she was spared.”

Shigaraki didn’t miss the way Overhaul’s fingers flexed slightly, as if anticipation was curling through him like a drug. Tomura bristled. He knew what that meant. Stripped down. Drained. Torn apart. Kai's research didn’t birth miracles — it gave rise to abominations that could one day become a devastating threat to Sangreal.

“This facility has grown,” All For One noted, his voice smooth as silk, yet laced with quiet menace. 

“Indeed,” Kai replied, bowing his head slightly.

“You’re making an army,” Shigaraki muttered, voice low, dark.

“Let’s say I’m preparing for the unexpected future.”

Shigaraki scoffed. “The future?” His fingers twitched. “You mean the one where you stab us all in the back and play king?”

AFO, however, remained neutral. “I do not tolerate insubordination, Kai,” the vampire king reminded.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, my Lord.”

Shigaraki hated him. He hated the calm, collected way Overhaul spoke, as if he wasn’t standing in a mausoleum of his own twisted creations. “Careful,” Shigaraki sneered, voice thick with mockery. “Wouldn’t want you to choke on all that self-importance.”

Kai gave Tomura a brief glance, scoffing under his breath.

AFO was unmoved. “So, what do you propose, Chisaki?”

Overhaul’s voice remained calm. “I’ve been working on a new batch of enhanced hunters. They are stronger, faster, and unshackled by the limitations of lower-class filth.” He gestured to the cages lining the walls. “I will send them into the Dregs. They will retrieve her. Alive.”

Shigaraki exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he turned his gaze toward AFO. “This is a bad idea,” he stated, his tone edged with frustration. “Dabi shall be our main priority now. He’s unpredictable, and he’s had too much time to get comfortable. He should have been eliminated already.” His crimson eyes cut toward Overhaul, filled with disgust. “Going after the girl first gives him leverage — it gives him time. And if we’ve learned anything, it’s that he thrives when he's backed into a corner.”

“The difference between you and me, Tomura,” he said smoothly, “is that I think strategically. I plan every move, carefully considering the outcome before I act.”

Tomura grinned, sharp and jagged. “The difference between us, Chisaki,” he murmured, stepping closer, “is that I don’t need to play god to be dangerous.”

AFO simply raised a hand, silencing them both. “Do what you must,” he looked at Overhaul, his voice final. “And do not fail me.”

Overhaul bowed his head. “I won’t, my lord.”

Two days passed before the results arrived.

Aizawa sat with Recovery Girl in one of the makeshift med-bays, fingers tapping against the surface of the old desk.

The results lay before them.

The girl’s blood was unlike anything they had ever seen. Quirk-carrying. Pure. Unchanged.

And, most importantly — it resisted the infection.

A cure. Possibly.

The Recovery Girl sighed, setting the document down. “Her blood is unlike anything I’ve seen. It’s resisting the virus.”

Aizawa exhaled, rubbing his temples. “We need to keep her safe.”

“Further testing could lead to a cure.” The Recovery Girl nodded. “If Sangreal finds out…”

Aizawa didn’t need to say what would happen. 

Because if they had figured this out — sooner or later — so would Sangreal.

The rebellion’s safe zone was a hollowed-out metro station, its tunnels stretching deep beneath the ruins, carved into a labyrinth of survival. Makeshift shacks, supply stations, and dimly lit corridors breathed with life, filled with refugees, fighters, and those who had nowhere else to go. The air smelled of damp stone, of rusted metal and burning oil, of too many bodies packed into too small a space.

You wandered the tunnels of the rebellion’s hideout. 

You weren’t supposed to leave the infirmary. But you needed to walk to clear your mind. And you needed answers.

That was when you saw him.

And every instinct screamed at you to run.

The scent reached you first. That faint, unmistakable trace of death. It wasn’t the overwhelming, suffocating stench of low-class vampires — or feral ones who reeked of rotting flesh, dried blood, and decay. No, this was something different. Fainter. Sharper. Cleaner.

But unmistakably, it was a vampire’s scent.

You had learned to recognize it. The knowledge had saved you more than once.

Your body locked up, muscles winding tight, your heartbeat kicking against your ribs. Your gaze snapped to the winged man lounging lazily against a stack of crates.

He was handsome. Too handsome. But not in the way that made people comfortable. His features were sharp, lined with an unnatural, effortless beauty that felt almost designed to be disarming. His golden eyes, half-lidded in amusement, glinted like a predator watching its prey.

But it was the details that gave him away.

The massive red wings shifting lazily behind him. The long, clawed fingers, tapping idly against the hilt of a sword that was one of his large, red feathers. And when he smirked — pristine white fangs, sharp and gleaming, flashed on the people that were passing him by. 

A vampire. Undoubtedly. One of them.

And yet — no one reacted. The rebels passing by didn’t scream, didn’t run, didn’t even flinch. Some even greeted him. One woman tossed him an orange — the most luxurious of all goods, which he caught without looking, flashing her a cocky grin.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, stomach twisting in confusion.

What the hell was a vampire doing here?

More importantly — why wasn’t anyone afraid?

His golden gaze slid toward you. And he grinned. “Well, well.” His voice was smooth, light, laced with amusement as he raised his tone to make sure you could hear him. ���Look who finally decided to crawl out of hiding. You’re the girl Aizawa took care of?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to step forward, even though every instinct begged you to stay the hell away. “You’re a vampire,” you pointed out flatly, not bothering to mask your suspicion as you skipped replying to his question.

He let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Yeah, I am.” He tilted his head slightly, flashing his fangs in a mocking little show. “But don’t worry — I don’t drink human blood. Anymore.”

That didn’t make you feel any better. 

Your fingers clenched at your sides. “You must have been a Hunter. What are you even doing here?”

His grin widened. Too sharp. Too knowing. “Still am,” he corrected lazily. "Let’s just say I’m deeply loyal to Aizawa so I am helping around from time to time, and that’s all you need to know for now.”

You swallowed hard. His name clicked in your head. “You're Hawks.”

The vampire gave a slow, mocking bow. “In the flesh.”

A thousand stories surfaced in your mind.

Sangreal’s fastest, deadliest Hunter. The one who could track anything, anywhere. A shadow with wings, a death with golden eyes, as survivors used to call him.

And now, he was standing in front of you, alive, laughing like this was all some kind of joke.

You had no desire to prolong this conversation — exhaustion weighed heavy on you, and the last thing you wanted was to linger in the presence of a vampire who, under different circumstances, wouldn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into your throat. But he was the only one who might have answers you desperately sought. The only one who could tell you about the vampire who had saved you.

The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them. “What do you know about Dabi?”

The shift in Hawks was immediate.

The amusement in his gaze didn’t fade, but something changed beneath it. A flicker of something deeper. 

There was a long pause. Then, a slow chuckle came.

“I know he’s not who he used to be,” Hawks uttered. “But I don’t think even he knows who he is anymore.”

Your brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Hawks exhaled, tilting his head as if debating how much he wanted to say. “He was the most dangerous of all Sangreal’s Hunters,” he began, his voice low and steady. “Every order from All For One was carried out swiftly, with no room for hesitation or mercy. He was promising. Whispers among the vampires suggested he could one day take the lead of the Court of Obsidian, overthrowing Kurogiri, who had held the position for years. But then, he started to defy Sangreal’s rules. To question their orders.”

He paused, his gaze sharpening as he studied you. “You heard what he did?” He let the silence hang for a moment, then spoke again, his voice a quiet hiss. “He left Sangreal.”

You shook your head, disbelief tightening around your throat. That was impossible.

“And you need to understand that’s like a death sentence.”

A cold dread slithered through your veins, sinking deep into your bones.

Hawks leaned back, stretching with a casual ease, a yawn escaping his lips as his wings shifted behind him, the feathers rustling faintly. “It happened nearly twenty years ago, before the sky was permanently smothered by clouds after the Night of Ash,” he stated, his voice smooth yet cold. “Sangreal passed the death sentence on him. They wanted to make an example of him, to show the other vampires the price of disloyalty. They executed their plan, tying him down on the rooftop of the highest skyscraper in Tokyo, leaving him there to burn under the sun. And yet,” the winged vampire continued, a sly amusement creeping into his tone, “he’s still alive, somehow. Still out there. Stirring up mayhem whenever it suits him. Thumbing his nose at the Sangreal regime like he’s untouchable.” 

Your breath hitched. “You think he has a plan?”

A slow smirk crossed Takami’s face. “I think he’s waiting.”

“For what?”

Another pause.

"No idea. But I start to think—" Hawks flicked his feather sword into the air, the blade spinning, catching the dim light as it tumbled effortlessly before landing back in his grip, snug and sure. His fingers curled around the hilt with unnerving ease, his smirk lazy, his eyes anything but. "—that you might be exactly what he’s been waiting for all this time, girl."

The weight of his words didn’t just settle— it sank, deep and leaden, pressing against your ribs, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

And for the first time since waking in the rebellion’s safe zone, a familiar, icy grip of fear coiled in your gut — sharp, cold, and undeniable.

taglist:

@redlipstic @alexandhisstuff @pixelcafe-network @crystalwolfblog @fancymoonreview @feral-kittykat @grossograsso @arthurbristow @thewildgardensstuff @violet-forgetmenot @tiny-roki-todoroki @jjksimp3579 @dabislittlemouse @lura-valentine @imidarogerson @bakugoscunny @chaoticpeanuteagle @misafiryanki @dagger-dragger @shonen-brainrot @unhinged-bratty-boy @indignant-alpaca @jake-lockley-vengeance @greaterheart @pridefulbakugou @leven-and-ashley @roast-toast @sahhuban @irkedpomeranian @within-eyesight @isabeauwolf

[tinydeskwriter]

Lando NorrisxWolff!reader

words: 2825

requested: no

A/n: This is going to be a multi-chapters, most of the chapters won't be social midia or something. It is going to 'follow' the 2023 F1 season. Reader is Toto's eldest child by a fictitious ex- first wife. I just watched Break Point, with is another sport Netflix docuseries from the same producing company that makes DST, and since then I have this idea of a prodigy tennis player reader.

next part»

GQ 10 things Y/n Wolff can’t live without

“Hi GQ, I am Y/n Wolff and here are my essentials.” The young woman opens her arms looking at the objects displayed on the table, before looking up and smiling to the camera.

# Sugar

“My trainer may not agree. My coaches may not agree. My performance coach may not agree. My parents definitely don’t agree.” She points out, “But I need sugar.” The young woman brings to the centre of the table a small pile of sweets, a tall cup of caffeinated drink and a can of Red Bull, “I live of sugar and… sugary things…”

“My day starts with this lovely peppermint iced mocha sweetened with vanilla sugar… a ton of vanilla sugar.” Y/n laughs taking a sip of her drink “I am weirdly obsessed with mint and chocolate combinations…” She comments looking at the camera, “I drink perhaps two or three of those per day,” The young woman then places her hand over the top of the Red Bull can, most people who follow her already know that she is an athlete sponsored by Red Bull, “sugar-free Red Bull, which ironically is sweeter than the regular one.” She puts her hand on the pile of chocolates, “Milk-chocolate, I am not going to lie and say that I eat the healthy stuff, I don’t, I have the taste buds of a child,” the tennis player smiles mischievously at the camera, “right now I am really into this Finnish chocolate, Geisha and the blue Fazer, daddy always keep those in his offices for me.” She wrinkles her nose a little, giving the camera a lovely—childish—smile.

“Aero Mint bar, Chocolate Orange, Maltesers, Bounty, Kinder, truffles…I'm honestly starting to wonder how we managed to get through customs.” She laughs looking at her entourage behind the cameras. “This is like… a fraction of what I usually travel with, this is more like what I have in my bag for the day.”

#Photos

Y/n played a little with a golden square object in her hand.

“I travel a lot, I am on the road from January to November playing at tournaments around the world, so I can’t always be surrounded or in touch with the people that I love,” she says in a slightly more serious tone, taking the golden case in her hands and pressing the button to open, showing pile of polaroid photos, “those are mini Polaroids, so I can bring them with me wherever I go, I keep them inside this vintage cigarette case that belonged to my maternal grandmother, she was a absolute rockstar and I miss her very much.”  The camera takes a close-up on the golden case with rope motif and small colourful stones. “As I don’t smoke, I had to find another use for it.”

The first photo she shows is five adults together, smiling around a table, in what appears to be a ski resort.

“I have a very patchwork family, and somehow the adults in my life made it work…which I am very grateful for, not everyone is lucky to have so many amazing parents…so here I have my mum and my two other mothers, Stephanie and Susie, papa and my other father, Phillippe,” the second photo is her with a boy not much younger than her, two teenage girls and a small child in front of a Christmas tree, “my siblings, I have four, I am the eldest whatever way you go, huge flex,” the photo is followed by one of a pyjama party with several girls in matching pyjamas, and another of the tennis player with a blonde in front of the Eiffel Tower, “My gurls! This is my best friend, she is also my PA… so amazing to have someone I trust so much with me all the time…” a golden cocker spaniel with a crystal necklace, silk bows in its ears and a Gucci sweater appears on the screen, “this is Éclair Wolff, my emotional support dog aka my child, she actually goes with me mostly everywhere, but sometimes I leave her with my mum so she won’t be stressed by the long flights.”

She points to the next three photos, the first has the Mercedes drivers in Tommy Hilfinger, posing for the photo. “Lew and Georgie, the adopted older brothers I never asked for, but I love them.” The second photo has three other familiar faces making faces at the camera, “C2, my Ferrari boys, feat Pear, there is something wholesome about good looking men looking so silly, I love those guys and I love this picture, it is very on brand with them.”  The tennis player smiles at the camera. “Sharls, Carlitos and Pear are three of the nicest guys I have ever met, it is truly a blessing be able to call them friends and having them in my life.”

McLaren driver Lando Norris, in his third or fourth season, apparently not even realizing he was having his photo taken, it's a spontaneous photo, the soft sunlight highlighting the driver's profile as he smiles.

“Because of karting, I’ve known Lando since I was a head taller than him, he was my first crush…he was so shy, so adorable, so babygirl coded.” Y/n blushed a little as she shows the photo.

“I think most of the current grid is in here…oh, look, it’s Lance! Friends from life, from tennis…” She quickly changes showing another photo. “I think I easily have about sixty photos here..."

#Camera

“I don’t have a specific camera I like more than the others, but as a rule, I prefer vintage cameras just for the beauty of the final result, I inherited a few, I bought a few, I usually develop the photos when I'm at home for longer periods of time, edit the videos, digitalize a few…” She points to the cameras in front of her, a Bolex, a Digital Bolex, a very iconic Rolleiflex and a Super 8, “It is a very nostalgic experience to just go through a year worth of memories…” She says resting her face in her hand, “I have a hundred boxes with pictures and film rolls.”

“I love going through old pictures with my mom and Cass, my younger sister, from when we were babies, my parents in the 90’s, my mom when she was young, the wonderful life my grandparents lived, and is such a lovely moment to share with my mom.” Y/n has a soft smile on her lips. “One day, when I have my own kids, I want to have those moments with them, and not just scrolling through a phone or an iPad.”

#Journals

“I keep journals since I was a child, I get a new one every year,” She holds up the leather hardcover notebook, a deep indigo blue, a little worn around the edges, “after I turned thirteen years old, I started to get it in this specific shade of blue, with my initials in gold,” The girl opens the journal, leafing through it briefly, “I am never going to write an auto-biography, it’s kind of a little bit too egocentric to my taste,” She knocks it closed, but keeps it up, looking at the camera as she speaks , “but if someone ever write about me, fifty years from now… the facts will be straight, at least from my point of view… but even if no one ever writes about me… when I am old and grey and memory starts to fail me, I will be able to come back to the thoughts of twenty years old me…”

There is a moment of silence.

“That was kind of dark.” Y/n laughs to break the tension.

#Art Supplies

“I love to draw and paint, it eases the anxieties of life,” The tennis player shows the large sketchbook, a small aluminium case with the watercolours, and the rolling leather case with pencils and brushes, “I always bring a watercolour travel kit with my sketchbook wherever I go.”

She displays for the internet some of the landscapes she painted during her travels around the world.

#Hoodies

“I like to be comfortable after a match,” she spreads her arms across the perfectly folded hoodies on the table, “and nothing is more comfortable than a hoodie, feels a little bit like home.”

“I have my collection of hoodies with Adidas, they always provide me with new cool colours to try out and see if I want to add to the next collection,” Y/n opens sage green hoodie, running her hand over her initials and the Adidas logo. “Enchanté by Dani Ric, I have a bunch of those, Daniel is always kind enough to drop them at my house in Monaco, VIP treatment baby.” She points to the white hoodie. “Quadrant hoodies, Lando’s merch, ridiculously comfy, I would really like them in pastel colours or dusty rose… just putting out to the universe…” Y/n smiles and winks at the camera. “Valtteri, MV1… those all came with me for the US Open.”

#Skincare

“This is part of my daily routine.” The girl opens the toiletry bag, taking out the products inside, “I am always in different countries and different hotel rooms, so is nice to have this little sense of routine.”

She lines the pearlescent bottles with opaque round lids on top of the table.

“I launched Muse when I was seventeen years old, it is my skincare brand, and it is very me. I wanted it to be un-complicated and complete,” The young woman explains passionately looking at the camera, “skin is the body’s largest organ, and it is not only your face.” It affects the hair on your face, tucking it behind your ear before going back to the product bottles. “The line goes from body wash to suncream to night-time routine.”  

#Travel Pillow

“If I mess up my neck and shoulder, I am f***ed, my match is over and possibly the tournament.” She holds up a medium-sized pillow to the camera, the pillowcase light pink silk with red buttonholes around the edges and her initials in the corner. “So, this baby goes with me everywhere, it is a memory foam pillow with a silk pillowcase. Best sleep, best hair.”

#Sport Gear

“I generalized here, sport gear, I travel heavy, always,” she points to the array of equipment on the table, “this is my racket, I go to each tournament with around ten of those, just in case I wreak one on the ground,” Y/n passes her hand over the racket, “those are custom Yonex Ezone 98, they made it in Mountbatten pink with some cool pattern and my initials,” she smiles as she pulls the helmet close to her chest, “my helmet, also custom Mountbatten pink, with my initials in rose, I love to try new karting tracks, most people don’t know I used to race karts when I was younger, won a couple of trophies, went as far as F3 before I choose to go pro with tennis, car racing is a huge thing in my family…my dad used to race, my stepmom was a driver, my little brother probably going to be a F1 driver,” she recounts with a smile, “I joked once with my dad that we are at a window that if I have a kid in the next year or two, in twenty years we can have a Wolff’s drivers line-up for Mercedes.” The young woman smirks to the camera. “My dad almost passed out, and now I am not allowed to date until I am thirty.”

#Headphones

“Those are custom made for me, again, they are Mountbatten pink and rose with my logo, super comfortable on the ears, I usually have problems with headphones due to the piercings and earrings, but these didn't give me any problems, they fit well, and I can spend the whole day wearing them." She takes the gadget out of the case, showing the details. “It's not wireless, because I always forget to charge it, so it has a wire, they made this lovely, thick cord that is durable and super resistant,” Y/n wraps the rope around her fingers, “it is noise cancelling and it is always with me before every match as an essential part of my pre-match rituals.”

“The right music kind of puts you in the right mood, I usually go with Eminem in 80% of my matches, I feel like it unleashes my inner fighter, these are matches where I'm not really worried about my opponent, it is just raw and a little bit thoughtless, I just play,” she comments, “when I know that my opponent is going to be hard on the mind games, which is not an uncommon move in tennis, I tend to listen to calmer and more melancholic music, piano, it keeps me in a more peaceful zone, I don’t get pumped up and full of adrenaline, my game tends to be far more calculated…”

 #

“That’s it. Those were my ten essentials,” the young woman smiles, “thank you, GQ, for allowing me to share my essentials, much appreciated, and thank you guys for taking the time to watch it! Much love and see you next time!” The athlete says, blowing a kiss and winking to the camera as the credits shows up.

__________________________________________

2,109,963 views   Aug 29, 2022

978 Comments

 userone

i was todays yrs old when i found out that tennis superstar Y/n Wolff is the eldest child of THE Toto Wolff

            user1

            From what little she talks about her dad here, u just get the vibes that Merce boss Toto is a softie girl dad, he keeps her favourite candy in his offices and forbids her to date until she’s thirty, this is so sweet

haterone

a billionaire’s nepo baby, talking about her millionaire friends and her unrelatable lifestyle and things

usertwo

Y/n’s hair is probably the healthiest hair i ever seen i need her hair routine

userthree

I am so obsessed with her career! I want to see her continue to succeed and be one of the biggest tennis players of all times. She deserves it. Such a talented, humble kid.

userfour

i loved hearing her talk about her family and friends!!! it is so crazy that she is close friends with a bunch of F1 drivers.

            hatertwo

            Not so crazy since she’s literally a f1 nepo baby, her daddy is part owner of Mercedes.

userfive

She's like that one super popular chick in school who's actually a total sweetheart.

usersix

I totally relate to her being a sweet tooth

@userseven

I love that she was not talking to the camera. She was actually talking to the people there behind the scenes

usereight

i love how a lot of these items are usually a stereotype of being pretentious—a vintage cartier cigarette case, a film camera, a leather bound custom hermes journal, art supplies--but she talks about all of them with such genuine interest and attachment that it doesnt seem pretentious at all

usereighteen

U r the one name dropping the brands she uses…

usernine

Her nicknames for Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr and Pierre Gasly… I died dead…

            user9

            The fact that she’s gushing about lando and being so sweet about her childhood crush on him oml

            user10

            Omg it is so cuuute!!! Like, she had a crush on little Lando and not McLaren glow up Lando Norris

            user11

            I used to be so conflicted shipping her with the drivers, because she dates that tennis player, but her insta has a bunch of her and Charles and her and Pierre and her and Lance and it is so cute and kind of gives such soft vibes, those boys look half in love with her in most pictures, also ...the chemistry. but seeing the way she talks about Lando… they r my new diehard ship…

userten  

Are we going to ignore that she confessed that Lando Norizz was her first crush???

            user1

            They would be so cute together… and they ate both single now… at the same time… we can dream…

            user12

            i went ten steps further and in my head, they are already getting married and having cute future Mercedes world drivers’ champions…

user13

 Can we already dream of Lando at Mercedes???

usereleven

Ok… but didn’t Lando once commented like, very briefly, in a McLaren video, that he used to have a crush on a girl that used to go karting with him??? The girl who wore red ribbons in her hair… do you guys know who uses red ribbons in heir hair since she was an actual baby?? Y/n! There is a pic in her insta of her in a karting track with her dad, and she has red bows in her hair…

            user11

            Not gonna lie… It would be kinda of cute if they actually had a mutual childhood crush and then eventually end up together as adults…

next part»

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.82)

(Sneak Peek)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The first beach day of the season prompts both You and Tae to talk through some of your sadness. This time, you do something about it. "You’re so gentle. I don’t think you understand it.”

Tags: Trans! Tae, Dysphoria, talks of jealousy and love, top surgery/boob jobs, medical talk, talk of weight gain, body insecurity, body dysmorphia, boobs, fingering, mild dirty talk, voyeurism, Talks of depression, mention of seizures but no seizures today, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, talk of marriage and wedding rings, mentions of past physical abuse, mentions of ptsd, scars, this is the beach episode that all anime's have,

W/c: 16.0k

A/n: ahhhh here we are! i didn't expect the next part to take me this long- but i guess that's what happens when you try to go to a bts concert and go to college! this chapter is a bit heftier than usual! but that was because i couldn't shut up about tae (is anyone really suprised?) Please give me some love! The title of this chapter is Maraschino cherry

Previous part- Masterlist - First part

Hobi likes to pick the roses in the early morning, right as he has his first cup of coffee.

Someone else inside is getting you yours, or maybe you and Tae are changing for the pack's beach day. You both looked sleepy and draped all over each other when Hobi last saw you, trailing after Jin who was already griping about the UV index as Tae led you in the direction of the dressing room to pick out your bikini for the day.

His careful fingers are mindful of thorns as he snips them free of the bush. Noodle meows from around his ankles guarding the alpha’s coffee (and occasionally sneaking sips. Especially if Hobi's used half and half). His baby blue cup rests in the grass slightly overgrown because Hobi is ever mindful of the pollinators.

He has a few blooms in his hands, mainly the pink ones.

Hobi offers one to Noodle, crouching on creaky knees, letting the cat smell. Pushing his whiskers past the first row of petals. Purring loudly.  

“What do you say Nu? Should we head inside and see if the girls like them?”

The door creeks and Hobi's coffee cup dangles from one pinky, empty. Three brightly colored beach bags wait by the door almost stopping Hobi from being able to open it. They're already piled high with towels, chip bags, and enough sunscreen to cover a small parking lot. Your and Tae's dresses are draped over the back of the couch, colorful and long patchwork spilling half onto the floor. A river of multi-colored floral squares.

Hobi can be forgiven for not immediately realizing what he’s watching.

You’re up on the counter and the bikini you wear is small, a bit too small. The red string at the back is tied in a bow. One of Tae's hands tangles in it. Winding the red strand over her knuckles, back and forth between her fingers. Your bare back and your dimples are on display- distracting Hobi from what's going on at your front.

There’s just a lot of skin is all and not much clothes. Hobi can handle it. Like a gentleman. He restrains his imagination. Reminding himself that he's allowed to look, that he's not being creepy. But still- he's a little happy that Tae seems to be too busy whispering something to you from between your legs to notice Hobi's staring or else he'd surely surrender himself for a morning of teasing.

She's got one hand on your hip, digging into the alluring cleft where hip meets torso and the other at your front concealed by your bodies. Your scar shines silvery. Hobi hardly notices it.

You’d think he’d be used to it- you and Tae lounging around in little to nothing but you still take his breath away. Weather it's Tae's gauzy collection of night dresses, or your spread of mini sleep shorts- all of it tortures him (hobi is not alone in this, the rest of the pack commiserates on the daily about you and tae). But the mini bikini seems extra extra mini today. The thread-narrow straps and small red triangles do little to conceal your body and how it swells.

Your milk had tapered off after the first few weeks but the swelling has been slow to go. That coupled with a little bit of post-heat indulgence and doting has left your body round and supple in a way that the Alpha's just devour. Hobi knows you've complained more than once about the newfound back aches and he sympathizes he really does but-

But fuck.

You sort of look like something off the cover of one of those vintage Playboy magazines that Tae pretends she likes for 'aesthetic reasons'. Not that Hobi judges. Hobi understands why tae's a little obsessed with them. Your chest is sort of a wet dream.

The whole pack is alot obsessed with them.

Hobi thinks you're just kissing until You tip your head back and moan, and he almost trips over the corner of the carpet.

“Oh? You're-” Hobi's throat goes dry.

Tae picks her head up from where it was buried in your hair and laughs. Showing her canines, eyes bright and mischievous.

Her hand keeps moving between your thighs, when you try to close your legs, Tae's other hand grabs your knee, pushing them to stay open. She does it like she's hardly noticing you squirming away, hardly noticing your sudden shyness.

It's nothing Hobi hasn't seen before. This kind of thing is sort of routine for the pack (yesterday he found Jungkook and Yoongi fucking in the sunroom, and the morning before that hobi walked in on Jimin and namjoon having some sort of staring match as Jin showered both of them hard and pretending they weren't. And the day before that Tae had walked in on you and Hobi and Yoongi being…a little bit ridiculous on the front porch. Some all too public heavy petting that the pack alpha and pack omega would surely disapprove of.

It's not the first time hobi has kept your secrets.

The last time Hobi saw Tae finger you, you were at the kitchen table (three mornings ago) but Hobi can't say it's not a welcome surprise. Your squirming is all you can do to keep the pack's pawing at bay when you're like this.

Tae grins, Drinking in Hobi's blush like it's strawberry lemonade. She doesn’t slow her pace at all. Two fingers or three? Her hand works in between your tights as you sag against her front, boneless. Giving in to the fact that you have an audience and Tae doesn't have any plans of stopping. Her wrist crooks to find the angle that makes your toes curl and Hobi sees it on your face the moment she finds that little spot that makes you clench extra hard.

Upstairs, Jungkook laughs loudly. Someone or something crashes into a door or a wall hard enough to make the windows in the kitchen rattle. Probably Jimin and Jungkook chasing each other around, zoomies that are sure to get worse when you get to the beach.

“Guys” Jin’s stressed tone sounds from upstairs and Namjoon’s deep baritone says something in response. Too low to hear. Distracting the pack omega so that the pups can be pups.

Hobi smirks, kicking a hip up against the counter after refilling his coffee. Settling in to watch. The roses are forgotten about, discarded on the counter where they glimmer, going withy.

Hobi sips his coffee. Making eye contact with you over Tae's shoulder. And you blush furiously at the blatant way his eyes flicker from your face to your chest to between your legs.

"Do you-" you breathe heavily, cheek resting against Tae's arm, scrambling to paw at her hand when she crooks her fingers a little deeper, petting insistently in and in. Your bikini bottom is pushed to the side, leaving a little trickle of slick on the counter. The dewy and delicious parts of you are hardly hidden by Tae's wrist. A delighted growl-pur builds in hobi's chest at the sight.

"Do you have to watch?" Your voice goes breath as Tae changes the angle of her hand and you throw your head back, but Hobi doesn't even blink.

"I'm quite enjoying my view thank you very much." He teases.

Coming Saturday April 5th at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)