#tuxedo mask imagine

[groovygladiatorsheep]

I started this a bit ago… it’s finished now !!

This is for the Dark Cream Week, yay !! Along with the magical girl TADC posting I’ll try to also do DCW !

I wanted this drawing to be like a pact made through dancing?? I wanted to do the less used prompt but this one spoke to me …

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* Credits !

Dark Cream Week by | @zu-is-here <33

Background’s base in the first drawing is by Ibis Paint btw

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[butchgeorgefayne]

robyn would be so much better if she was butch

[jeanvanjer]

I know the Ghost of St Giles is supposed to sound scary but any time anyone mentions man in a black mask I think of this bitch

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 09 - Lend an Ear

As loudly as he dared given the late hour, A’viloh knocked at the door to Rael’s room, hoping they weren’t already asleep. He wouldn’t blame them if they were, it had been a long and crazy day after all…

“Who’s there?”, the Viera’s muffled voice asked from the other side of the door.

“It’s me.”, A’viloh replied relieved. “May I come in?”

For a moment there was silence before Rael finally answered. “Of course. The door is open...”

What A’viloh found when he entered the room was the Viera sitting cross-legged on the soft red carpet and in front of them their grimoire and lots of pieces of loose paper scattered over the floor.

“What is all this?”

“Nothing. Just notes...”, Rael dismissed the question and quickly stashed all of it back between the pages of their book. They stood up and put the grimoire back to their bedside table before leaning against the desk by the window. “How may I help you, A’vi?”

There it was again, this politeness that seemed friendly but so aloof. A’viloh didn’t understand how sometimes Rael was so caring and kind to him and then turned so silent and distanced again. He still wasn’t entirely sure if something was wrong with them or with him but since they had come to Ishgard Rael’s lone wolf attitude and grumpiness seemed to have increased a lot.

“Are you alright?”, he asked unsure if it would be okay to step closer.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”, Rael asked and shook their head. “I should ask you that instead.”

“I’m fine.”, he said and for the first time in a while it didn’t feel like a lie. “You just vanished so quickly after the trial.”

“I guess I did…”, the Viera slowly nodded and looked to the floor. “It was brave what you did there… But when that axe almost hit you… that scared me for a moment…”

A’viloh chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I was scared too…”

That was a grand understatement. In fact he had been terrified even before he stepped into the arena. Waiting for the right moment had been horrible. It had only been a few minutes but it had felt like an enternity and with every passing second his resolution dangerously dwindled and his stomach turned a little more.

The fight itself had not been that terrifying, simply because there was no time for it. He knew he couldn’t fail and his enemies didn’t leave him much time to ponder the consequences if he did. Despite their heavy armors and weapons they had been more agile than he had expected. So much more that he almost underestimated it.

He was so busy trying to keep the dragoon from attacking Alphinaud that he almost didn’t see Grinnaux’s axe swinging at him. Only barely he had managed to evade. The blade had graced his upper arm but fortunately not caused any injuries that hindered him from fighting. But if Alphinaud hadn’t called out to him in time…

Absently A’viloh rubbed the spot where the weapon had made contact with his skin and tried not to think about the consequences his failure would have had.

“Your arm!”, Rael exclaimed noticing his gesture. “Does it still hurt? Let me see it!”

But A’viloh shook his head. “It’s fine. It was barely a scratch and Alphinaud healed it already…”

“Show me anyway.”, Rael insisted and waved him closer. “I don’t doubt Alphinaud’s talent but I would like to make sure myself…”

A’viloh chuckled but did as he was told. Alphinaud had been thorough, the flesh where the wound had been was still a little red and smeared with blood, but otherwise there was nothing to see anymore, not even the faintest sign of any injury remained. Rael put a hand on the spot anyway and spoke a healing spell just in case. It felt warm and tingled a little but not uncomfortably.

“Thank you…”

“This was a close call, A’vi…”, Rael spoke with a dark expression on their face. “It could have gone horribly wrong…”

“I know.”, A’viloh admitted. “But it didn’t and I try not to think about it. So please don’t make such a face.”

The Viera let go of him and crossed their arms. “It is just wrong that this was necessary at all. This whole conspiracy! I should have seen it coming from the start!”

“No one would have expected this to happen.”, A’viloh tried to cheer them up. “Not even Lord Fortemps thought they would go this far.”

Absently Rael nodded and made a face as if they still wanted to say something but didn’t. A’viloh knew that something was bothering them, it was clear to see, but how could he find out what it was if they didn’t speak to him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Weakly they smiled and nodded again but A’viloh wasn’t convinced. However before he could say anything else Rael spoke up again. “Ah! Shortly before you arrived Lord Haurchefant was here and asked if I knew where you are. He seemed to be searching for you but no one had seen you since the trial.”

“Oh…”, A’viloh hadn’t seen Haurchefant when he returned to the manor. After they had spoken outside of the tribunal after the trial, A’viloh had still spent some time just walking through the city and bringing his new gift to the stables. “Can you believe he gifted me a chocobo?!”

Rael chuckled. “I saw that… He must in fact like you quite much if he gifts you something this special.”

“Almost looks like it, doesn’t it?…”, A’viloh asked a little embarrassed.

With a shrug the Viera replied, “He is a good man I think…”

A’viloh nodded but something in his expression must have given away that he wasn’t sure what to say.

“But you do not like him back?”, Rael asked with raised eyebrows.

A’viloh grimaced. “It’s not that easy…”

Rael rolled their eyes. “I may not be the right person to give advice here but you know I will always lend an ear if you want to talk about anything, right?”

“Thanks. I better look for him before he sends the whole household on a search for me... Have a good night, Rael.”, the Miqo’te said as he turned to leave. The hand already on the doorknob he paused and turned back a little.

“But you know, this offer goes both ways. If you ever need someone to talk to, I will listen…”

Rael looked at him a little surprised and then nodded with a faint smile on their face.

“Thank you, A’vi. Have a good night.”

[folanoflimbo]

Considering the way that she got her new outfit in Vita Ayala's New Mutants is kind of a Sailor Moon/Magi(k)cal (hah) girl send up, I could totally imagine Illyana getting super into Sailor Moon as a young girl. Seeing girls around her age with similar magical powers without the associated trauma could give her a way to ignore her problems for a little while, and imagine herself in the role of Usagi, fighting evil with her friends (Kitty and the New Mutants) and a cute animal sidekick (Lockheed) without any of the pesky Limbo stuff. And even into her twenties she watches every reboot and does an annual rewatch of the original, which would influence how she manifested her new uniform.

It's also very cute to imagine her buying merch and trying to hide that she likes the traditionally 'girly' show from her friends and family, but she has the whole manga print run on a bookshelf somewhere.

[meownotgood]

your post about marrying aki unlocked a memory for me lol, when i was maybe five i went to the park by my grandma's house and had a "wedding" for me and tuxedo mask (who was invisible, of course) and instead of walking back down the aisle after we were married, we went down the slide

if I said this + childhood friends with aki where u get "married" together at the playground

[dove-da-birb]

for the ask game

magical girl rook

See his hat? He turns into the Magical Girl of Love ... or a version of Tuxedo Mask

I'm probably a journalist, just trying to do my job but 'Chasseur d'Amour' fricking takes a liking to my prose or whatnot and decides, hey, let's bug this person in particular.

More that I think about it, imagine Megamind and Roxanne and that sums us up pretty well.

[ladyloveandjustice]

#'he's going to boston' 'oh my god i'm so sorry i didn't know'

There's nothing sadder than having to send someone you love to Massachusetts😔

[shownohajimarida]

In the Beginning...

In the beginning, God made phantoms and thieves.

If you're reading this in English, there's a 90% chance you first learned the word Kaitou from Kaito himself—and only slowly come to realize just how many corners of Japanese pop-culture it's really bled into, from Tezuka to Tuxedo Mask to Princess Peach. There's thieves, there's thieves with style, and then there's phantom thieves. A law unto themselves in their own worlds and ours, a breed of gentlemen who can magically stay gentlemen while doing the most ungentlemanly things known to society.

You'd need a book—probably a whole shelf—to properly explore all the ancestors of this proud archetype, never mind all the twists and turns it's taken in modern times. But we're a bunch of poors in money and time, so let's settle for just one tonight.

Fun fact, there's a doctor in Japan who runs a full-time clinic, lectures for one of the top med schools, and still finds room to blog about his fifty-odd niche interests. With him lighting the way, we tracked down this: the oldest book Japan's National Library has ever picked the word Kaitou out of.

Not a gentleman sort of book, you'd assume—and be absolutely right. Dated 1908 (just a little after Leblanc's Lupin, just a little before his first Japanese translation), Eishirō Suzuki's Strange Worlds is a loud, proud freakshow, trotting out ghost story after tall tale after Believe-It-Or-Not article about some wackos in America marrying in a lion cage. Our story of interest comes about halfway in: six pages and change, unmistakably headed 怪盗.

What lies within? A tragically forgotten ancestor to this great and greatly profitable archetype? Or a dead-end that happens to share the name and damn little else? Or, despite all odds, a combination of both?

Why don't you see for yourself?

Pull up a seat, grab a drink, and enjoy our exhaustive translation of history's first...

Phantom Thief

In the days of Jōkyō,¹ near Shitaya's Ikenohata-town, a pawn-shop called Yamaguchi Place² stood rich beyond imagining. Its master, with eleven vaults to his name, was a long and proud worshiper at the Benzaiten³ shrine on Shinobazu Pond. Now, it happened that this man heard the Shogun’s offices had recently surveyed the pond for land-filling, and grew troubled.

One evening, having closed early and settling the day's accounts, the boy tending the shop heard a tap at the front door, and opened to look. Lo and behold—there was a magnificent palanquin, inlaid four-square with silver, bound on every side by tens of fine, sentinel-eyed Samurai. Shocked, the boy ran to his master telling all. The master, no less shocked, came out with warm greetings, asking the company into his home.

Then from the palanquin emerged a most exquisite woman, so noble and divine of bearing that she might have been taken for a celestial maiden, with face sweeter than any peach or plum, and dress of the richest twill brocade. With hardly a sound this beauty sat, drew open her vermilion lips, and bade all listen—

“To begin, my being is not of flesh, but an envoy of Her Lady Benzaiten, in whom thou hast believed all thy life. The Shogun's men mean to bury Shinobazu Pond, and Her Ladyship suffers no small distress hearing this, for Her own power may well draw sanctuary from any ladle's-worth of water, but Her kith and kin—some hundreds upon thousands of scales—must wilt and suffer without mires to call home. “Deep ran Benzaiten's pity, and with it a divine will to bring salvation of some, of any kind. Mercifully, thy garden declares a most generous pond, and in behalf of those kith and kin I call upon thee to guarantee it as their new sanctum. If thy faith in Benzaiten be strong and true, take not these words in vain. Know only that Her Ladyship wills a night of storm and squall, fast approaching, to lay Her kin. Come that day, thou shouldst make fast the doors of thy home, withdraw to thine own room, and put no eye at door-slit, nor foot outside to enquire. Heed this, and Benzaiten will grow thy riches ten-fold in reward. Such is my message, in sum.”

Hearing this, the man grew ecstatic—rapturous, even. He spared nothing treating his guest, servants and all, to the very end of their departure.

In less than a fortnight came a dawn with greying skies, and by afternoon rain was falling, the wind slowly rising. On this day the man chose to fast, thinking it the day Benzaiten would descend, and so admonished his family and cohorts, warning them to keep the doors firmly shut and let no-one out after dark.

As the night crept toward second-watch,⁴ the wind grew wilder and wilder, until all the trees and bamboo in the garden could be heard thrashing, and all the water in the pond roiling. Now every breath was held, every head bowed, every heart thundering, thinking it time for She to come. Gradually the rain stopped and the wind ebbed, and the master, unable to wait for dawn, immediately threw open the door, eyes cast on the garden and its pond. There, he saw fish darting—more than the prior day—and thought, Benzaiten, your fellows are sown. Then, thinking of the promised reward, he rushed to check his stores. But as he swept up and down the row of vaults behind his shop, what did he find? Every lock undone, and every door open! Now uneasy, he entered, and found nothing left! Not the pawn-goods, nor the furniture, nor the thousand-ryō boxes. Floor to ceiling, everything was nigh-bare. He stood alone, dumbfounded and gaping.

Now, it happened that a shrine sat in the mountains on Kōshū-Kaidō Road, and before this shrine came men in packs, reeking of banditry, laying down their fresh and ill-gotten gains, eager for a proper portioning.

Onto this the shrine opened its doors, and who should be shocked to see the bandits' chief! No older than twenty-eight years she stood, with beauty to shame the sky and stars. A beauty that laughed aloud and said—

“My, what lovely work, boys!”

It was this very enchantress who had gulled the shop-master by claiming to be a goddess's envoy—and then, catching the slightest storm, sent all these men to his shop in dead of night. Some had hitched ropes to trees and bamboo all around his garden, and whipped them to bluff the sounds of a roaring wind, while others had beaten at the pond to affect waves. Under such clamor they had cunningly hidden any sounds of vault doors opening, of wares being moved.

A most unusual—most phantasmic—thief, no?

—Eishirō Suzuki, Strange Worlds: Tall Tales and Oddities (1908).

¹ Approx. 1684–1688 CE. ² No relation to Kappei. That we know of. ³ Wealth goddess strongly associated with rivers and lakes. One of Japan's Seven Lucky Gods. ⁴ Approx. 9—11pm. Adapted from Old China's gēng-diǎn system, each "watch" marking one-fifth of the time between sunset and dawn.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Under the Mistletoe

Label Mature 18+

Summary it’s near Christmas and you’re ecstatic to indulge in the festivities especially with your handsome fiancé Patrick by your side. However as the evening wears on you begin to realize your relationship isn’t as blissful as it seems.

⚠️ Hardcore Smut ⚠️ Patrick almost having a violent psychotic break • name calling • toxic relationship dynamics •kiss it better •restraint•dirty talk •mild choking•edging• fingering •love bites•pinning •size kink• cock warming• male dominant•P in V against a wall•multiple orgasms •cream pie• mild after care 🔗MasterList

📖 Proof Reader @purejasmine 3 parts upcoming (maybe more) : 🔗 Silken Secrets •🔗 Drenched in Shadows TBA

Under The Mistletoe

The Waldorf Astoria Christmas gala is dazzling, a picture perfect scene of Manhattan excess. Everything sparkles: lights, dresses, diamonds, and you thrive in it. You’re the darling of the Upper East Side tonight, flitting between friends and admirers, your laughter bright and carefree.

Patrick watches you from across the room, leaning against the bar in his Tom Ford tuxedo, a glass of champagne in hand.

He is the epitome of perfection. Chiseled features, every muscle precisely defined under his tailored suit, and sharp, cold blue eyes that command attention.

The lights from the Christmas tree reflect off his perfectly styled hair, making him look almost ethereal. But beneath the surface, his mind churns.

—She’s exhausting. Beautiful, yes, but insufferable tonight. How much longer can I keep this up?

You’re chatting animatedly with a group of friends, oblivious to the way his gaze pierces through you. When you glance his way, you catch his sharp smirk, and your heart skips. You love that smirk—it’s confident, seductive, and just for you.

“Patrick, come here!” you call, waving him over. The group makes room for him, and he steps in smoothly, placing a possessive hand on your lower back.

Now under the mistletoe, someone teases, “Oh, Patrick, you know the rule!”

Patrick’s grin widens. “I don’t follow rules,” he quips, pulling you close to him. His lips press to yours, firm and commanding, eliciting a chorus of playful cheers. But the kiss isn’t sweet. It’s a performance, sharp and calculated, and you feel it.

Later, as the party winds down, you’re in the car heading back to Patrick’s penthouse. The silence is heavy. You’re perched in the passenger seat of his immaculate Lexus, prattling on about holiday plans, your friends vacations, and what you want for Christmas.

“And Sophie is spending New Year’s in St. Barts—ugh, can you imagine? It’s so cliche to flaunt it like that,” you chatter, oblivious to his mounting frustration.

Patrick’s jaw tightens, his cold gaze fixed on the road ahead.

—I should pull over. Quiet her. Permanently. The way she talks, her voice, that incessant laugh—it grates. But not yet. Not tonight. Keep the mask on.

“Are you even listening to me, Patrick?” you pout, crossing your arms.

He pulls into the parking garage, kills the engine, and steps out of the car without answering. You’re left fuming as he strides toward the elevator, leaving you to follow.

His penthouse is immaculate—gleaming marble floors, sleek minimalist furniture, and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city.

Patrick removes his jacket, draping it over a chair with deliberate precision. You, still sulking, remove your fur coat and kick off your heels tossing your hand bag on the couch.

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” you demand, your voice sharp with irritation.

Patrick turns, his cold gaze locking onto you. “You’re such a spoiled brat,” he says evenly, his tone devoid of warmth.

You blink, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says, stepping closer. His presence overwhelming, and for the first time, a flicker of unease crosses your mind.

“The whining, the entitlement, the need for constant attention—it’s exhausting, darling,” he says, his tone sharp and cutting.

You open your mouth to retort, but he’s already on you, his hands gripping your arms as he pushes you against the entry wall.

His movements are firm bordering on violent as he holds you in place his face inches from yours.

“Patrick, you’re scaring me,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Good,” he says, his smirk cold and dangerous. “Maybe you should be scared.”

His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You walk around like the world owes you something. Do you even realize how ridiculous you sound?”

Tears brim your eyes, but your body betrays you, heat rising in your core as his grip on your jaw tightens keeping you firmly in place.

His sharp gaze flickers with something darker, more sinister, but he reins it in.

—She’s useful —break her…not entirely. You need her for connections —for appearances..to fit in

“Don’t cry,” he says soothingly, his grip loosening as he leans in closer, “You’ll ruin your makeup,” he whispers against your ear.

He pulls back, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with a detached precision, and before you can say anything, his mouth is on yours, kissing you with an intensity you’ve never known before.

His hands roam your body—firm and commanding—groping your waist, sliding up to squeeze your breasts

You pull back sharply, when his touch grows too rough, the possessiveness behind it making your heart race.

“Patrick—” you gasp, but he silences you, his hand wrapping around your throat tightly enough to make you stop.

“Quiet,” he orders, his voice low and commanding as he holds you in place. “You wanted my attention now you have it” he confirms his blue eyes locking onto yours with a sharp intensity.

A soft, involuntary sound escapes your lips as his grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch, and your body betrays you as the slick evidence of your arousal forms between your thighs.

Patrick catches the flicker of desire in your eyes, his sharp gaze narrowing with dark satisfaction, and without hesitation he firmly presses his knee between your legs, slowly spreading them apart.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” he observes, releasing his hold and lowering his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of sharp bites and kisses that make you gasp.

“Of course you do,” he rasps, his voice low and rough, as he yanks your head back, offering your neck for more of his mouth to mark and claim.

“A spoiled brat like you loves being put in her place,” he whispers against your neck, his hands sliding down your body, roughly pulling at your dress, bunching it up to your hips.

His fingers skim along your inner thighs, pausing just long enough to make you squirm, his eyes darkening with satisfaction at your impatience.

“So spoiled” he taunts his voice filled with lust.

His fingers press against your soaked panties, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make your hips writhe instinctively.

You can’t help but moan softly, aching for more, the tension in your body melting into pure need as he takes his time tormenting you, letting your hips roll against his hand.

“Stop that,” he orders, his hand firmly gripping between your thighs, the sudden restraint sending a surge of heat through your body. “You’ll move when I let you.”

“Patrick, please,” you whimper, your voice desperate, barely above a whisper.

He pulls your panties aside, his fingers sliding over your slick folds with maddening precision. “Please what?” he asks, his voice laced with dark seduction. “You don’t even know what you’re begging for, do you?”

His fingers slide inside you, and you gasp feeling each slow thrust hitting the perfect place within.

You moan softly as his sharp gaze remains locked on yours watching you struggle to remain still. The overwhelming sensation makes you clench helplessly around his fingers, the pleasure so intense it leaves you trembling against his hand.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours, refusing to kiss you fully. “My spoiled little brat, always getting exactly what she wants.”

You moan loudly as his thumb finds your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make your thighs tighten against his hand.

“Don’t you dare stop Patrick …I-Im going to come” you whine softly, your voice laced with unmistakable entitlement.

“Of course you’re going to come” he mocks, his eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction. “A spoiled brat like you always gets what she wants”

You cry out, choking back a sob as your body arches against him, the rush of release flooding through you as his fingers thrust into you relentlessly, making you orgasm with perfect precision.

He doesn’t stop as you come, his thrusts growing more intense, his fingers pushing deeper, his thumb working a devastating assault on your clit.

“One is never enough,” he says, his voice dark and commanding. “You’re going to come for me again.”

He leans in, his lips finding your neck, his mouth rough, his teeth grazing and nipping at your skin, making you clench around his fingers with each stinging bite.

Your moans grow louder, your body trembling as the pressure builds feeling him thrust impossibly faster.

Then, just as you’re on the brink, his fingers pull away abruptly, leaving you reeling, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps without his touch.

Before you can protest, he grabs your thigh, roughly lifting it and pressing you back against the wall. The contrast of his height and unyielding strength sending a thrill through you.

“You can’t even wait for it, can you?” he taunts, his fingers moving to unbuckle his belt, his smirk deepening as he watches you squirm.

“I cant—” you confess your voice trembling hearing the sound of his zipper lowering in the silence.

Your eyes drop instinctively, your body writhing as he reveals his cock, the size and hardness making you bite down on your lip, all your thoughts blurring into one desperate need to have him inside you.

He teasingly strokes his hand along his impressive length, his sharp gaze pinning you in place. “This is exactly what you need,” he says, his tone low and dangerous as his hips align with yours. “To have me tame the spoiled little attitude right out of you until you’re begging me to let you come.”

You gasp sharply feeling the thick, blunt tip of his cock press against your wetness, the slick sound of your arousal filling the silence as he pushes in just barely.

A broken moan escapes your lips, your hips instinctively shifting toward him, desperate for more, but he pulls back just as quickly, leaving you aching.

“Please Patrick” You whimper, your eyes wide and pleading meeting his sharp gaze. His smirk deepens, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face as he takes in your desperation.

“Already begging?” he taunts in disbelief. “You can’t even handle a second of patience without falling apart can you,” he mocks with amusement.

He smoothly pushes in again even slower, parting you inch by excruciating inch as you clutch his shoulders feeling the size of his cock.

Then he thrusts into you hard, a cry ripping from your throat as he fills you completely in one brutal motion.

The sudden fullness of his penetration has you gasping, your body pinned helplessly between him and the wall, his grip on your thigh tightening to keep you in place.

“What’s the matter?” he pauses, letting you struggle against the overwhelming size of his cock, the sharp ache radiating through you as he holds you still, refusing to move.

“Too much for my spoiled little princess?” he grins, his voice dark and cutting as his sharp gaze locks onto your flushed face, watching every tremble and gasp with satisfaction.

He holds you in place he thrusts into you with unyielding force, each drive of his hips erasing every coherent thought from your mind.

Your lips part, gasping and trembling, releasing broken breathless moans as your chest heaves with every breath.

“You’re an absolute mess for me,” he taunts, his voice uneven as he thrusts harder, his pace unrelenting as your moans grow louder, spilling freely now, your body trembling under his control.

The pressure builds impossibly fast, his cock thrusting with a relentless speed, hitting that perfect spot over and over until your thighs quake and you’re left gasping his name.

His hand grips the back of your neck, his sharp gaze locking onto your eyes now dazed in bliss, a testament to how thoroughly he’s taming you.

“Completely ruined… just like I knew you’d be,” he rasps with satisfaction, seeing your face blushing radiantly in surrender. “My perfect little fiancée, undone entirely on my cock.” He breathes, desperation lacing his voice as he loses himself in the moment.

You moan for him, lost in pleasure your hands gripping the back of his neck, your nails digging into his skin as his pace grows faster, harder, each thrust forcing a gasp from your lips as your body struggles to keep up with his brutal pace.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the space, drowning out your whimpers and cries, your body jerking with each unrelenting thrust.

“Patrick… please…” you manage, your words broken between desperate breaths, your chest heaving as you struggle to form a coherent thought.

Your muscles clench involuntarily, each punishing thrust drawing a raw cry from your lips, your body reacting helplessly to his relentless force.

“You act so spoiled —so untouchable —but look how easily you break for me,” he pants, his grip tightening on your thigh, yanking you closer while his other hand presses your hip firmly against the wall, pinning you in place as he pounds into you with unyielding control.

Your mind goes blank, your moans turning into incoherent cries as he dominates you.

Your orgasm tears through you, your sobs catching in your throat as your body clenches and quivers against him.

His teeth graze along your jawline as he groans in pleasure, his pace never faltering as he uses your trembling body to push his own release.

Then he tenses every muscle, and with one final thrust, he comes in you, the ferocity of his movements leaving you helpless against the force of him.

He groans, deep and broken as he thrusts into you one last time, his release pulsing through you, his satisfaction undeniable as he claims you completely.

When he finally pulls back, he glides his cock out slowly, leaving you aching and weak against the wall

He’s breathless as he tucks himself away, fastening his pants with a precision that feels almost indifferent.

You’re left stunned and incoherent, your body a mess of pleasure and exhaustion as you catch your breath.

Stepping back, he loosens his silk tie and unbuttons his dress shirt with casual ease, a smirk playing on his lips as his sharp gaze rakes over your trembling body.

—She’s so entitled, insufferable at times, yes… but look at that face. Perfect. Flawless. Even as a spoiled brat she serves her purpose.

—The satisfaction of knowing she can give me exactly what I want keeps her useful to me—but nothing lasts forever, and when her purpose runs out, so will my patience.

Patrick’s eyes remain steady on yours for a moment before the familiar sharp smirk forms on his lips—it’s confident, seductive, and entirely just for you.

“Come, darling I’ll run you a bath,” he says casually as he walks away, his tone calm and composed, as if what just happened was the most natural thing in the world.

As he disappears into the master bedroom, you remain standing there your body still stunned, unable to deny the heat still coursing through you—and how much you hated —and loved seeing him lose control.

🔪 END

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[wholoveseggs]

Stains {Part Three}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Three

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} One lavish gala, one stunning dress, and one kiss you can’t take back...

♡♡ ♡♡

3.4k words - Warnings: slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, eventual smut (duh), masquerade ball, class dynamics (eat the rich or shoot them on the streets of new york or whatever), a dash of Niklaus, Elijah being a smug and possessive tease, a heated waltz, a stolen kiss, a slap (foreplay), and the undeniable tension of wanting someone you’re determined to hate...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Four}

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@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble @darth-laeka

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your mask. It was a gorgeous thing, covered in silver filigree and small jewels. Your dress was just as stunning, a deep green satin that hugged your curves and showed off your figure.

You paid a small fortune for it, but it was worth it. You wanted to look stunning, to have Elijah completely enraptured. You wanted to see the desire in his eyes, and know that you were the cause of it.

Only to not give him what he wants, of course.

Besides, you planned on returning it after the gala, your outfit was worth more than a month's salary. It wasn't something you could afford to keep, but you couldn't deny that you looked incredible.

As the taxi pulled up, you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

You were greeted at the door by a masked server who handed you a glass of champagne. You sipped it as you wandered through the crowd, taking in the lavish decorations and extravagant outfits.

The Mikaelson family compound was a building wrapped in history. It was breathtaking, a grand old home that was dripping in opulence. You looked up at the balconies, trying to imagine what it would have been like a hundred years ago.

You tried to find a familiar face, but there were too many people, and everyone was wearing masks. Your workplace barely adhered to business casual, so it was hard to recognize them in black tie.

You spotted Elijah at the far end of the room, talking to a group of guests. You watched him, your stomach fluttering. He was wearing a tailored tuxedo, and his mask was similar to yours, silver filigree with dark red jewels.

Your plan was to avoid him, but your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, leading you towards him. You could tell he was watching you out of the corner of his eye, his body angled slightly towards yours.

He politely excused himself from the conversation and turned towards you, a smirk on his lips.

"I wasn't sure if you would come," he said, his dark eyes roaming over you.

"I didn't really have a choice," you replied, lifting your champagne glass to your lips with deliberate ease. "This asshole I know threatened to take money from the hands of the most vulnerable people in society if I didn’t attend."

"He sounds terrible," he said, the smirk widening into a grin. "You are a vision, tonight. I'm surprised you could afford a gown of such quality, it must have been expensive."

"This old thing?" you teased, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off the fabric. You could feel heat creeping up your neck, not from embarrassment, but from how annoyingly pleased you were by the compliment. He noticed. He always noticed.

"Well, it looks exquisite on you," he complimented, his gaze raking over you once more.

You sipped your champagne, the liquid warming your veins. You felt more confident, and you leaned in closer to him. "So, is this what you do with all the money you extort? Host lavish parties for fellow scumbags?" you asked, arching a brow.

"Extortion is such an ugly word," he said, his tone lightly mocking.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. He was so damn cocky, and it was both annoying and alluring. You were about to say something scathing, but before you could, a handsome blonde man approached, his curly hair artfully tousled.

"(Y/N) I would like you to meet my brother, Niklaus," Elijah said, his expression friendly.

You extended your hand politely, but Niklaus ignored decorum and brought it to his lips with a playful smile. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, love," he said, his accent thick and undeniably British.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the gesture, but quickly recovered. "Nice to meet you too," you replied, giving him a polite smile.

His gold and black mask complemented his sharp suit and athletic frame, and you couldn’t deny he was striking. But there was something about the way his eyes darted over you, assessing you like a piece of meat, that put you on edge.

"So, Elijah tells me that you work at the nonprofit," he began, his gaze focused on you.

"That's right," you said, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Elijah does love a good charity case," Klaus said, his smirk cutting through his otherwise casual tone.

You felt the insult land, but you refused to let it show. Years of dealing with judgmental stares and dismissive comments had taught you one thing: don’t flinch. They only win if you flinch.

"Niklaus, please," Elijah interjected, his tone sharp with warning, but you didn’t need Elijah fighting your battles.

"Oh, that’s alright, Elijah," you said, giving Klaus your sweetest smile. "I bet neither of you could survive on the streets for a single night."

Klaus laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Is that so? Love, I think you underestimate me."

"No," you replied, your tone still sweet but edged with steel. "I know a pampered rich boy when I see one. A night without a hot shower and a six-course meal? You would wither and die."

Elijah’s lips twitched, as if he were suppressing a laugh, while Klaus simply stared at you, bemused. "You have some fire in you," Klaus said finally, his voice tinged with something like admiration.

"Yes, and she’s quite stubborn," Elijah added, his own voice softening with a note of respect you weren’t sure you believed.

"And she needs more champagne," you said, handing Elijah your empty glass with a flirtatious smile. The power play was deliberate, and the flicker of amusement in his eyes told you he knew it too. "See you later."

He inclined his head with a knowing smirk. "Enjoy yourself, darling,”

You walked off, heading to the bar and ordering another drink. You could see your boss groveling in front of a man, and the sight made you sick.

You watched as she simpered and fawned, her smile tight and forced. It was clear that the man was an important donor, and she was desperate to keep him happy. It was embarrassing, and it made your blood boil. These people were the indirect cause of all the inequality in society, and now you had to beg them for crumbs?

Your hand tightened around your glass, and you turned away, the frustration bubbling over. You didn't want to be here, and yet, it was your job. You looked around, taking in the opulent surroundings. The mansion was massive, and you wondered how many people could have been fed and housed with the amount of money that went into this stupid gala.

A string quartet started playing and a murmur went through the crowd. People began to pair up, moving to the center of the room for a waltz. You could see Elijah, his dark eyes searching the crowd, looking for someone. You knew he was looking for you, and the realization made your heart beat faster. When his eyes found yours, you couldn't help but feel a thrill run through your body. He smiled, extending his hand, beckoning you to join him. You took a long sip of your champagne, middle finger raised, and a playful smile on your lips. He smirked, amused and approached you, his movements smooth and graceful.

"Care to dance?" he asked, his voice low and intimate.

"You really are a piece of work," you said, unable to stop a small smile.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, grinning and offering his hand.

You sighed, placing your glass down and allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. His hands found your waist, guiding you into a waltz. You were surprised by how gracefully he moved, his body seeming to flow with the music.

"You're good at this," you murmured, letting him lead you.

"I'm good at a lot of things," he said, his gaze fixed on yours.

"Mhmm," you said, noncommittally.

He smirked, leaning in closer. "You're not so bad yourself," he whispered, his breath tickling your ear.

You could feel a blush spreading across your cheeks, and you fought the urge to push him away. Instead you dug your nails into his shoulder, hoping to get a reaction. He just smiled, seemingly amused by your attempts to provoke him.

"I like this dress you're wearing, green is a good color on you, it brings out your eyes," he murmured, his gaze drifting down to the plunging neckline. "It's funny, how you can afford such a luxurious garment, yet can’t pay your debts,"

"The dress just looks expensive, I got it at a thrift store," you lied, keeping your voice level.

"Oh really? And what brand makes such high-quality clothing for so little?" he asked, clearly not believing you.

"I have no idea," you said, shrugging.

He pulled you closer, his hands sliding lower, resting on the small of your back. Then he smoothly turned you, so that your back was pressed against his chest, his hands still gripping your hips. You could feel the heat of his body, the hard planes of his chest, and the scent of his cologne washed over you. It was a subtle, masculine scent, and it made your heart race.

He hummed softly, reaching up and checking the tag on the neck of the dress. His lips curving into a knowing smirk.

"Naughty little liar," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “You can't afford this brand,”

"Let go," you snapped, struggling against his hold.

He held onto you, his hands moving down to your waist, his lips brushing against your ear. "Why don't you make me?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

"Elijah," you growled, your nails digging into his forearms.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "There's my fiery girl," he said, his tone playful.

You were about to respond when his lips pressed against your neck, the gentle touch making you gasp. He was such an ass, a stupidly sexy fucking ass. You could feel his smile against your skin, and his grip on you tightened. You tried to push him away, but he held onto you, his body flush against yours.

"Tell me, darling, what are your plans for this lovely dress?" he asked, his hands on your hips, keeping you close to him. "I know you can't afford to keep it,"

"None of your damn business," you retorted, squirming in his arms.

He laughed, the sound sending another shiver down your spine. "Do you plan on returning it? I bet the tag is still attached," he said, his tone smug.

"What's it to you?" you shot back, scowling.

He found the purchase tag tucked neatly under the strap, and pulled it free, swifty removing it.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, spinning around and glaring at him.

"Now, now, darling, don't worry, I'll pay you for it," he said, a smile on his lips.

"You will not," you argued, trying to snatch the tag from his hand.

He moved it out of your reach, and you struggled against him, but his grip was firm. You felt so utterly humiliated, and you knew your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

"Why not? You bought it to show off for me, didn't you?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"I.. I didn't," you stammered, flustered by his question, you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay.

"Yes, you did. Don't try to deny it," he said, his tone teasing.

All of his taunting, all of his insufferable arrogance, how he constantly made fun of your financial situation, it was just too much, and the dam finally broke and tears welled up in your eyes.

He froze, and then released you, his expression suddenly concerned. You hurried away from him, tears streaming down your cheeks, and fled up the stairs, not caring where you were going. You heard him call after you, but you didn't stop.

You found yourself in a dimly lit hall, and you sank to the floor, hiding behind a pillar. The tears came hot and fast, and you buried your face in your hands, trying to muffle the sound.

It was the worst possible scenario. He managed to get under your skin, and make you cry. Your attempt to gain the upper hand had completely failed, he saw right through you. It made you furious, embarrassed, and hurt, and the combination was overwhelming.

You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt his presence before his voice broke the quiet.

“Miss (L/N),” Elijah said softly, his tone lacking its usual edge.

You froze but didn’t look up, unwilling to let him see the full extent of your tears. “Go away, Elijah,” you said, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound composed.

He ignored your words. Instead, you heard the faint rustle of fabric as he knelt beside you. “You’re upset,” he observed, his voice quieter now.

“No shit,” you muttered, swiping at your face angrily. “Congratulations. You’ve succeeded in humiliating me.”

There was a pause before he spoke again. “That wasn’t my intention.”

You laughed bitterly, finally looking up to glare at him through watery eyes. “Oh, really? What do you call it, then? Some twisted form of foreplay?”

Elijah didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, a pristine white square embroidered with his initials, and reached toward your face. You jerked back instinctively, but his touch was gentle as he dabbed at the tears on your cheek.

“Don’t,” you started, but the word faltered as his hand lingered, steady and unhurried. His thumb brushed against the corner of your eye, and the tenderness in the gesture disarmed you completely.

“There’s no shame in tears,” he said softly, his gaze meeting yours. For the first time, there was no mocking glint in his eyes, only something deeper, something that unnerved you. “I’ve shed more than my share.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “I doubt that,” you said, your voice shaky.

He offered the faintest of smiles, something sad and fleeting. “You would be surprised.”

The moment stretched between you, and for a brief second, you wondered if you misjudged him. Then the memory of his smug smile, his teasing words, and his unchecked arrogance crashed back into focus. You pushed his hand away, your anger reigniting like a spark hitting dry tinder.

“Don’t act like you care,” you snapped, rising to your feet. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

Elijah stood too, his movements calm and measured. “And you know me?” he countered, his voice still maddeningly composed. “You see only what you want to see.”

“Spare me the psychoanalysis,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re rich, arrogant, and have no idea what it’s like to struggle. You think money can solve everything.”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes. Something raw and unguarded.

“You think I’ve never struggled?” he asked, his voice low. “You think wealth erases the scars of a childhood spent fighting to survive?”

You stared at him, thrown by the sudden intensity in his tone. “What are you talking about?”

"My father used to beat Niklaus so badly that I was certain he would kill him," Elijah confessed, his expression distant. "I spend every night of my childhood fearing what the next day would bring,"

The revelation hit you like a punch in the gut. Suddenly, the pieces started to fall into place, his arrogance and need to control, to be in power. The vulnerability in his words was jarring, cutting through your defenses.

“I'm sorry that happened to you, but that doesn’t excuse the way you treat people,” you said, though your voice lacked its earlier fire.

“And what about you?” he asked, taking a step closer. “You wear your anger like armor, pushing away anyone who dares to get close. Why?”

His question hit too close to home, and your frustration boiled over. “You don’t know what it’s like to live with nothing,” you said, your voice rising. “To go hungry, to be invisible, to have people walk past you like you’re a piece of trash. I worked my way up from that. I clawed my way off the streets and out of hell. What have you ever done except step on people to climb higher? You take your pain and project it on others. It doesn't make you better than me. It makes you a coward."

"You are the one behaving like you are better than everyone else," Elijah countered, his tone sharpening. "You stand here in borrowed finery, masquerading as someone you’re not, pretending to be above it all. You think your anger and self-righteousness are somehow more noble, but they're not. They're just as toxic as my own,"

Your breath hitched at the accusation, your anger rising like a tidal wave to meet his. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, but I do,” he said, his voice soft and cutting all at once. “You’re terrified someone might see the cracks, the pieces you’ve worked so hard to put back together. And that dress you’re so eager to return? It’s just another lie you’re telling yourself.”

That was it. That was the last straw.

Before you knew what you were doing, your hand flew up and connected with his cheek in a sharp, satisfying crack. The sound echoed in the quiet hall, and you felt the sting in your palm almost instantly.

Elijah didn’t flinch. Not even a little. Instead, he turned his head slowly back toward you, his eyes dark and dangerous, his lips curving into the faintest of smirks.

“There it is,” he murmured, his voice like silk, low and taunting. “That fire I adore.”

You took a step back, your chest heaving with anger. “You’re such an ass-”

But your words were cut off as he moved, closing the space between you in one fluid motion. His hand cupped the back of your neck, firm but not unkind, and his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was everything. Hot, furious, consuming. It was a battle, a clash of wills, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Then something inside you snapped, and you kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting in the fabric of his tuxedo.

Elijah’s other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t bear for there to be even an inch of space between you. You could feel his heartbeat, or maybe it was yours; pounding in your ears as the world around you melted away.

But then you felt it, a moment of stillness in his movements, so fleeting you almost missed it. His hand, which had been so sure and commanding, softened its grip against your neck. He exhaled against your lips, a quiet, unsteady breath that betrayed something deeper beneath the surface. Hesitation. Vulnerability. Like even he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

When you finally pulled back, your breath came in ragged gasps, and your lips tingled from the force of the kiss. Elijah’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded but burning with unmistakable desire.

"Fuck you," you breathed, the words holding no real malice.

"I would very much like that," he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

Your cheeks were flushed, and your pulse was racing, the anger and resentment still simmering in your veins. You shoved at his chest, trying to ignore the way your hands still trembled from the intensity of the moment.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” you said, your voice shaking with anger, frustration, and something you didn’t want to name.

“Of course not,” he said smoothly, adjusting his tie as if nothing had happened. But there was a glint in his eyes, a spark of triumph that made your blood boil. “But it’s a start.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response. Turning on your heel, you stormed away, leaving him standing there with that insufferable smirk on his face. But even as you rejoined the crowd below, your lips still tingled, and your heart still raced. You could still taste him on your lips, a heady mix of champagne and sin.

And you hated yourself for wanting more.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Four}

[questionablecuttlefish]

What are your thougths on sg lc?

Thoughts? I have no thoughts, only 🩷❤️.

Ok, thoughts, um...

Seriously, I am not a diehard magical girl fan, but SG Lightcannon is just PEAK. It's a simple trope done well, the childhood friends with contrasting personalities navigating the stormy shoals of teenage drama and fighting evil by Starlight.

Lux is the optimistic, conscientious but uncertain young Heroine leader struggling with the weight of responsibility on her shoulders and Jinx is the hothead maverick tsundere Lancer who doesn't gel with the team or care much about the mission but is ferociously devoted to a special someone who may not fully understand how she feels.

With the lore implication that if Jinx ever fully breaks from the team she could risk succumbing to darkness, that it's her deep devotion to for Lux that holds her to the light.

And the implication in her bio that Jinx became a Star Guardian in order to protect and stay with Lux is just achingly romantic. It might be just a LITTLE gay to take an eternally binding oath to fight in a magical girl war for your totally-platonic-childhood-bestie, am I right?

And the music video is so ludicrously sapphic. Lightcannon existed as a ship before Star Guardian but SG kicked the ignition and launched it into the stars.

And then, I think, Riot panicked about people shipping their poster girls so hard they had to throw Ezreal in just to "NO HOMO HONEST" and I fucking hate it.

Star Guardian Ezreal pretty much exists just to fulfill a shallow Tuxedo Mask role he doesn't earn and that's it. He's just there to kill the ship, he has no role in the story other than this, no personality, no background, far less character than any other Ezreal in other skinlines with far less lore meat than Star Guardian.

It's just so transparent. He's just there to be Lux's comphet maybe-boyfriend, and they don't even commit to that - the two exchange one flirty dialogue that is interrupted by a jealous Jinx during the camping story and never actually interact again, despite the occasional art crumb.

Any other developments are left to the imagination or never actually happened. Jinx interacts with him more, and they fight as a decent team in the Twilight Star battle, so they seem to have buried whatever rivalry they might've had, but SG Ezlux and the potential love triangle never actually amounts to a story.

As far as I'm concerned, suqling's half-finished SG comics are the true canon filling in the blanks and I'll leave it at that 🩷❤️

Star Guardian 2022 then promptly threw it all out the window, replacing Lux's team with Kai'Sa's without ever giving them any closure, not on their mission, on the Lux/Ezreal/Jinx love triangle, or even on the characters' survival.

It was so abrupt and so stupidly vague that half the fandom thinks Star Guardian Lux is dead or petrified into a statue somehow based on the trailer showing her transferring leadership role to Kai'Sa and one throwaway line in the visual novel about Kai'Sa 'not wanting to end up a statue like Lux.'

You'd be forgiven for thinking it, but, no, Lux explicitly sent Nilah to look out for Kai'Sa's team and her statue is a commemorative statue built in the square after Zoe's defeat, and Jinx is out there flying around in LoR with some of their team members rescuing SG Gwen from a space kraken.

There's crumbs that Lux might have ascended into some higher station and that's why she's not in the story anymore but it's so absurdly vague, again, there's nothing concrete to go on.

So if the story of Star Guardian Lux and her team just ends there, it's a missed opportunity, and I'm still mad about the stifling of the lesbian subtext.

I want to like 2022 SG's characters, but all I can see is how Lightcannon's story was stolen from them and given to Kai'Sa/Akali, and yes, I am bitter.

SG Lightcannon tiptoed so SG KaiKali could fly.

[ozzgin]

I love how I’ve cemented myself so much into your Tumblr life, that you’re on the look out now for when I may show up 😂

Then again…I did convince you to jump into the deep end of monster fucking with the original monster hoe reader. We’ve come a long way from vanilla beginnings to bukkake festivals ☺️

I can only imagine now how our relationship looks like to newcomers. Our interactions are like Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask, or like Batman and the Bat Signal 😎

-👘

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=o1P9o9EvYy0&pp=ygUTdHV4ZWRvIG1hc2sgZXhpdGluZw%3D%3D

Y'all messed with my aesthetic, this was going to be a mysterious horror blog and now it's filled with monster hoes and tomfoolery. And you're the main perpetrator (I have a big list).

Regardless of the circumstances, I just whipped up this meme for you, to show my gratitude for our fruitful partnership. (Although I feel it reflects a lot of people here tbh)

[faith-forgxtten-land]

Cinderella | Leonardo

okay, i am aware this isn't my greatest work but i actually kind of like it, or i enjoyed writing it at least because i'm a sucker for fairytales being applied to non-fairytale stories/settings... also i spent about the same amount of time writing this as i did attempting to find a gif of leo in that damn suit and then i ended up having to make my own because i couldn't find one of just leo...

2003!Fast Foward

warnings: none? cleavage mention, one innuendo, fem!reader... genuinely nothing other than non-proof read writing

summary: when leo meets cinderella

word count: 1437

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Leonardo likes people watching – which is not stalking no matter what Raphael says. He likes imagining their lives and catching snippets of arguments and jests and idle conversation, and he especially likes watching people in his colour, even if some of the gowns and suits he sees are abominations fit for incineration rather than an evening out.

Although, he concedes, there are a lot of pretty outfits tonight, including a dashing cornflower blue, pinstriped three piece suit – complete with a fedora and all – that Leo quietly longs to have in his closet. His brothers would probably laugh and Donny would accuse him of wanting to look like a noir detective (and so what if he did?), but Leo was used to tuning out their teasing.

He settles against a wall and continues to watch. There’s a lot of blue in the crowd; shades of navy and midnight, indigo and periwinkle threatening to bleed into purple and catching and sparkling in the light.

For every fashion win, however, there are another two fashion failures, and Leo can't hide his wince as a woman saunters past with undeserved, and therefore impressive, confidence clad in a ghastly shade of turquoise and adorned with fur trimmings.

He loves blue more than anyone else, he really does, but even that shade has skipped over the boundaries of ostentatious into obnoxious, and Leo has to blink to try and erase the monstrosity from his mind.

Pulling his eyes away from another blasphemous shade of cyan passing through the doorway, he scans the sea of people casually and smiles amusedly as he quickly spots Raph. He’s got his arm around Donny who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, clumsily hunched and torn between politeness and awkwardness as his brother flirts brazenly.

He can’t find Mikey and he lets his eyes roam the room once more to make sure he hasn’t missed him, although missing Mikey is pretty impossible, not least because he's in a bright orange tuxedo. It should worry him more, although he’s not sure whether to be worried for Mikey or for whomever Mikey is with, but all thoughts of his little brother are expelled from his mind when he catches a breathtaking shade of blue across the floor.

The dress is long and shimmering, fabric pooling on the floor, and Leo follows the material upwards, transfixed as it cascades and ripples over skin like water. It’s so blue.

His breath hitches as he traces bare neck and lands on the most beautiful face he’s even seen. You’re looking right at him. He feels faint, hyperaware of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears, the racing flap of a hummingbird’s wings matching the flutter of butterflies within his stomach.

Love at first sight is such a ridiculous, illogical notion. It's fanciful and childish. It’s unrealistic and goes against everything Leo has been taught and everything he expects from himself. But your dress matches his suit, matches his mask, he's a mutant turtle, and he’s already striding towards you and you’re meeting him halfway, and before he can even stop and think about what he’s doing he’s asking you for a dance.

His breath hitches again as your palm glides against his and he rests his other along the curve of your hip, feeling the heat of your body through your dress.

Years of training have made his feet steady and his frame strong, but Leo still feels a little out of place as he does his best to lead you around the floor. You smile at him, soft and amused, easily reading the tension in his shoulders with the palms of your hands. “You need to relax,” you murmur teasingly. “Breathing would be a good start.

His shoulders gradually slump under the gentle caress of your hands as you dance in companionable quiet, and your answering beam causes his breath to catch in his throat. This doesn’t feel real, it feels like a dream and a fairytale all at once – perhaps also combined with a nightmare because his brothers are watching and even Mikey has reappeared to gawk – as Leo twirls you gracefully.

He might feel out of place, but the two of you are perfectly in sync. You’re calm and flowing in his arms, your gown whirling and billowing behind you like a silent wave rolling against the shore with every step and spin, and you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

In all honesty, Leo has no idea what to say now that you’re in his arms. He should probably speak before it gets awkward, before you leave and he never gets to see you again, but his heart feels like its trapped in his throat and even the thought of speaking makes him nauseous as those butterflies continue to assault the lining of his stomach.

He thanks every deity he can name that you break the silence first. “Do I get to know the name of my dance partner?”

Your smile is wide and bright as you wait for his reply, and it takes Leo a moment to register your question. When he does, his answer is a stammering mess that makes it impossible for you to hide the gooey endearment on your face, eyes all-but moulding into little hearts as you slowly bridge the sliver of space between your bodies.

You can feel solid muscle flexing beneath your palms as his breath stutters, and you can’t hide the satisfied grin blooming across your lips, cheeks aching when his hand flattens against your spine and he extinguishes the final inch between you like smothering a flame – except the instance your chest is flush against his, that flame is burning brighter, roaring and scorching, and your eyes flutter as his lips brush yours in a whisper of a touch.

“And your name?” Leo asks, breath fanning your face and unable to tear his gaze away from you. “Don’t tell me it’s Cinderella.”

You laugh, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching, and Leo’s heart clenches in adoration. “That would be silly,” you tell him playfully, glancing down at your dress and pretending not to notice the way his eyes drop to your cleavage, pausing for a moment too long, as they follow yours. “I would never be so on the nose.”

“Of course, my mistake. I am terribly sorry for my misjudgement.”

“Although,” you admit, accepting his tongue-in-cheek apology with a mischievous dip of your chin and letting your lips roll to conceal a smile as you glance at him coyly from under your lashes, “I do actually have to leave before midnight.”

Leo blinks. “Don’t tell me this dress will turn to rags and your carriage is a pumpkin.”

You shrug nonchalantly and it’s Leo’s turn to laugh. “A girl has to have her secrets.”

“Are you hiding glass slippers beneath that skirt?”

“Oh, I bet you’d love to know what’s under my skirt, Leonardo.”

His face is hot, and Leo has never been more glad to be a turtle, green skin disguising a heated blush. “You’re a terrible tease.”

The music has stopped, and Leo reluctantly lets you step back, already missing the warmth of you as he takes in his surroundings as though seeing them for the first time, as if the two of you have been underwater, alone in the world, this entire time and have only just broken through to the surface.

It’s no longer just his brothers gawking; you’ve attracted quite the crowd with your dancing, and he realises he’s not sure how long the pair of you have been spinning away – it could have been a minute, or it could have been twenty.

As he glances at his brothers and does his best to ignore the whispering swarm, he’s not sure his face could get any hotter. Mikey is grinning widely, cheering and hooting and receiving plenty of dirty looks, not at all phased by the chastising glare Leo shoots him, while Donny and Raph look equal parts awed and confused, impressed and disgruntled.

Leo rolls his eyes and turns to face you again only to be met with the lingering scent of your perfume and empty space. Panic shoots through him like lightning and he’s about to rush for the nearest exit when he almost stomps on something.

His laugh is barking and loud and his brothers look even more confused as he picks up a heel. It’s not a glass slipper, but it is blue and there’s a slip of paper with a phone number and your name that Leo slips into his pocket.

[scuttlingcrab]

Raphael going to a noble party of some kind, disguised as a human, in order to find and schmooze with current and potential clients. While engaging with one such individual who seems particularly taken with him, from across the room he spots Tav, for once not dressed in adventurer's gear but decorated with finery. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is so radiant that, at a glance, one could be forgiven for mistaking the mortal as an angel in disguise. However, like the cambion, Tav also has noble-born partygoers vying for their attention, asking (and more often than not being granted) a dance with the hero, and perhaps gossip of nobles approaching the hero with dowry proposals and attempts at wooing this illustrious guest begin to reach the fiend's ears.

You're the best, thank you so much for sending me this prompt! x

Summary: Raphael attends the annual Baldur's Gate Masquerade Ball and accidentally runs into his little mouse.

Dance with the Devil

(Image via venenum-cadaverinus)

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women and devils merely players. 

It was a warm summer’s evening. A gentle breeze came from the sea, as frequent as the lapping waves, temporarily relieving the heavy layer of humidity that hovered in the air. The full moon blazed, illuminating all below it like a spotlight.

The annual masquerade ball had begun, attracting not only the richest, noblest citizens within Baldur’s Gate, but of the entire Sword Coast. They all flocked to Wyrm's Rock Fortress, togged up clad in glittering gowns, spectacular silk suits, and meticulous masks that expertly hid the true identity of every guest.

Per annum, the masquerade highlighted the achievements of Baldur’s Gate, from elections won to cities conquered, and what a year it had been for all mankind. With the narrow defeat of the Elder Brain the city undoubtedly had something magnificent to celebrate. Despite more than half of the city still in ruin, Wyrm's Rock itself littered with holes, and the political climate in bedlam; there was hope. And with hope, lies potential. 

Raphael arrived at the ball not in his usual show of sparks and embers, but by modest carriage. He smiled to himself, finding amusement in this mortal way of traversing the planes. These simple minded creatures always had such an imaginative way of thinking. He exited the coach and took a deep breath, absorbing the salty sea air and the multifarious scents of the mortals swimming past him. He had come concealed as a human, but his clothing was nothing but lavish. He couldn’t resort to anything less than that. 

He wore a red velvet three-piece tuxedo with a form fitting tailcoat. The colour was bold, yet the details simplistic, he wouldn’t dare distract from the show-stopping piece of his costume: the mask.

Raphael was hidden behind a horned gold leaf mask, the horns replicating the very ones from the Crown of Karsus. He made the mask himself, the artistry immaculate, showcasing Raphael’s pristine attention to detail. The intricate floral designs carved into the mask not only added panache but amplified the aesthetic beauty of the disguise.

A gaggle of women stopped to take in Raphael’s outfit, nodding to him in admiration. He returned their stares with a polite bow, before they moved along, giggling. Raphael’s body increased in warmth, his cheeks flushed with pride. 

This was a night of celebration not only for Baldur’s Gate, but for Raphael. Since acquiring the Crown of Karsus, he barely had a moment to himself. There had been no celebrations awaiting him in the House of Hope, no companions to congratulate him on his arduous labour. The very nature of his ambitions subjected Raphael to secrecy and solitude, he was forced only to rely on himself. Naturally, as soon as his hands cradled the Crown, he went straight to work, preparing for the next course of action in his ongoing plans to conquer the Hells. The Crown was just the beginning. 

Symphonious music, exuberant laughter, and the electrifying hum of excitement could be heard even from the outskirts of the Fortress. The entire fortification was vibrating, brought to life by the very nature of the ball.

As Raphael showed his invitation to the guards, and passed successfully through the security checks, he bit his tongue to stop himself from prematurely combusting into flames. His chest rattled, as if it might burst open at any second from the thrill of the evening to come. 

Raphael made his way through the interior of the fortress, completely anonymous, blending smoothly into the crowd. No room was off limits, he was free to roam where he pleased; to indulge in the festivities, and even prey on guests without suspicion if he felt so inclined.

He soon found himself on the upper floors, walking into the Audience Hall. It had been turned into a ballroom, the hive of the masquerade. A band was comfortably sitting where the throne would’ve been. The walls behind them had yet to be repaired from the blasts that sieged the fortress when the Elder Brain attacked. It quite suited the occasion, bringing in the cool evening air and offering a dramatic view of the oceanfront. 

Raphael leaned against a stone wall towards the edge of the room, observing the mortals mingling and twirling. Everyone’s movements were synchronised effortlessly, there wasn’t one person who didn’t belong. He must throw a ball like this in Avernus once Zariel is defeated. Yes, it would be most joyous indeed. 

His toes tingled as he watched the gowns swirling, his body attracted to the movements like a moth to a light. As he took a step forward, he was suddenly blocked by a mysterious woman. She wore a tall lace headdress that made it appear as if she was looming over Raphael. Her blue gown hugged her bosom, revealing a little too much to those who happened to sneak a peek or two. Her face was completely obscured by a white porcelain mask, the lips painted red. She bowed to Raphael and he returned the motion. 

“I was quite taken by your ensemble.” The woman began, her voice deep and rusty. 

“I am most honoured, my lady. “

“It smells of money.” The woman’s eye’s twinkled behind her mask. 

Raphael raised an eyebrow, amused at the bluntness of this woman. He couldn’t help but respect the efforts, despite her obstructing his path to the dance floor. 

“My accounts are indeed… healthy.” Raphael responded. 

“Mmm. And what of your relationship status?

“I am unfortunately married to my work.” 

“As they all say...”

The woman began to say something else, but her voice faded as Raphael caught wind of something stirring at the far end of the hall. His ears twitched as the murmurs rose, the distant rumbling growing like a massive wave, enveloping the entire ballroom.

Raphael turned to find the source of the commotion, his eyes immediately falling on heaven incarnate. His mouth fell open as he took in this new creature. He delicately placed his hand on his heart, to make sure it was still beating.

She was stunning, the most beautiful thing he had laid eyes on in this mortal plane; every movement she made was graceful, dignified, and had purpose. Her black strapless gown glittered under the candlelight, showcasing her broad shoulders and pale skin. The train on her gown seemed to levitate as she moved across the room. The mask she donned was made of silver feathers that fanned out towards her forehead. Truly, a celestial in disguise.

“If you will excuse me. It has been most illuminating. May your future be… opulent.” 

Raphael dismissed himself with a bow. He was certain he heard the woman tut in disapproval, but he was already in pursuit; halfway across the hall to his new target.

A crowd was forming around the mysterious creature, growing with more eager souls as every second passed. Raphael lingered around the throng, trying to find an opportunity to strike. He edged his way in, closer and closer, his chest expanding, eyes glowing, as he focused his listening. Raphael needed to hear the creature’s voice, which was no doubt as angelic as her appearance.

As he approached the centre, he was bombarded by mundane talk from the vultures circling the creature; dowry proposals and failed attempts at wooing her with what sounded like children’s rhymes. Cheap tricks!  

Raphael instead titled his head towards the creature in another attempt to identify her. His nose picked up the delicate scent of cloves and roses. Cloves and roses… he gasped. He searched the creature’s face again and instantly recognised the pale scar on her chin. It was minuscule, but Raphael never missed a detail. Could it be… Tav? The little mouse?

It felt like a lifetime ago since their last encounter when she so valiantly delivered the Crown of Karsus to him. Raphael’s pride and glory, his ascension. Their exchange had been brief, but Raphael would always be eternally grateful.

He often had Tav in his thoughts long after they parted, wondering how she coped; but she soon occupied less of his mind the more fires he had to put out, the more he had to focus on preparations against Zariel’s forces. This evening he would rectify his error.

Raphael beamed as he watched Tav deny one vulture after another. Such confidence, my how she’s grown. His little mouse, so furious, so brave. 

Without hesitation, Raphael swept in, lightly tapping Tav on the back. Her skin felt cool against his touch, and he fought against his temptations to leave his hand resting on her shoulder.

“May I have this dance?” Raphael asked. 

Tav froze at Raphael's touch, stopping her dialogue with the random mortal. She bowed in an apology to them before turning around to face Raphael. Tav’s nose twitched as she took him in, her eyes slowly lighting up in recognition. Raphael gave Tav a cheeky smile, extending a hand towards her. 

There was a pause before Tav nodded, placing her hand upon his. The whispers hushed and silence filled the hall as Raphael guided her to the centre of the ballroom just in time for a new song. 

Raphael whirled Tav into his arms as soon as the music began. She fit perfectly against him, like a missing puzzle piece. Tav squeezed his hand as Raphael led and she followed, never missing a beat. 

“I almost didn’t recognise you without those tattered blood stained clothes, little mouse. You clean up well.” 

“It’s been a long time since anyone called me that, ” Tav said, smiling fondly. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Thank you for rescuing me from those creeps.” 

Raphael chuckled. 

“And you are a most welcoming sight indeed. Positively ravishing. I never thought I’d see you attending an event such as this.”

“I could say the same of you. Don’t you have more important things to be doing than playing dress up?”

“Ever so perceptive. This evening I am merely here for entertainment, taking note of my stock. It pleases me to see some of my most prestigious, favoured clients doing so well for themselves.” 

“Our deal is done.”

“Yes, in truth, but you are an alumni, so to speak. It’s only natural for me to check-in from time to time.”

The dance grew more intimate as they continued. The world around Raphael vanished as he stared into Tav’s eyes. It was just the two of them, how it was always meant to be. Raphael was connected to Tav, their movements fluid as they circled the dance floor. He could feel Tav’s breath on his neck, her breasts pushing against his chest, as he let the rhythms direct their next steps.

“You are a natural.” Raphael said, breaking the stillness.

“Don’t act so surprised.” 

“Here I was thinking I knew everything about my favourite client.”

“Surely I won’t be your favourite forever?"

“Some have come close since we last spoke, but you still have top billing.”

Tav's cheeks unexpectedly blushed as she stared at Raphael through the mask, her eyes softening. Raphael stared back at the creature, bemused. He attempted to open his mouth in response, but found he was at a loss for words.

Instead his stomach fluttered, his own skin burned hotter than Avernus, nearly causing him to miss a step. He had to focus, now was not the time to get lost in these emotions, to think about romancing a mortal. It was a sign of weakness. 

The music ended and the ballroom erupted into applause. Raphael bowed deeply and upon looking up at Tav, noticed tears in her eyes. Without warning, Tav hugged Raphael, pulling him in close. 

“Now, now... this evening is not for tears but for celebration,” Raphael whispered into her ear. 

She laughed before releasing Raphael from her embrace. Raphael quickly snapped his fingers, a fresh rose appearing in his hands. He bowed a final time, presenting it to Tav.

“To the hero of Baldur’s Gate!” Raphael roared.

The applause continued, getting louder and louder. 

“And to the bearer of my future.” Raphael continued, in another whisper. “I must bid you adieu. Please don’t let me keep you any longer.” 

“Thank you again, Raphael. I’ll make sure to pay you a visit.”

“And I’ll always be waiting, little mouse.”

Raphael promptly took his leave, vanishing into the crowd. He paused before exiting the Audience Hall, watching Tav from the shadows. She continued to hold herself high as she welcomed another dance.

Perhaps he would invite her to dinner. After all, it was long overdue. 

[brainddeadd]

Two: Halloween Night – The Hockey Team Gala

You fidgeted nervously in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your satin dress. It hugged your frame in a way that made you feel unrecognizable—in the best way possible. A delicate, glittering mask sat on the dresser next to your friend, who grinned like she’d just won the lottery.

“You look amazing,” she said, spinning you toward the mirror. “I swear, no one will know it’s you. Even your mystery guy won’t.”

You tried not to roll your eyes, but your nerves wouldn’t settle. What am I even doing here? You weren’t the type to attend glamorous parties or mingle with athletes. The thought of possibly meeting LostinBlue sent your heart into overdrive. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? What if he’s nothing like I imagined?

Still, a tiny spark of hope kept you going. The mask gave you courage—this was your night to be someone else, just for a few hours.

“Ready?” your friend asked, handing you the mask.

You took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

Luke Hughes at the Gala

Luke tugged at the collar of his suit, feeling out of place in the sea of sparkling gowns and sharp tuxedos. The music thrummed through the venue, but he wasn’t here for the party—or even for his teammates, who were already deep into their second round of drinks.

He was here for her.

His eyes scanned the room, hoping to spot someone who might match the energy of the girl he’d spent weeks talking to online. Someone thoughtful, funny, and real. He adjusted the simple black mask on his face, praying it didn’t make him look as ridiculous as he felt.

“Chill out, man,” Mark said, clapping him on the back. “It’s just a party.”

Luke gave a half-smile. It’s more than that, he thought, not daring to say it aloud.

Then, he saw you.

You stood near the dance floor, fiddling with the edge of your mask, looking a little lost but entirely breathtaking. The soft lights caught the shimmer of your dress, casting you in a glow that made it hard to look away. Luke’s heart skipped a beat.

He didn’t know your name, didn’t even know if you were her. But something in his gut told him you were worth finding out.

A Dance Beneath the Stars

You glanced around the room, already planning your escape route. Maybe you could slip out early, hit the 24-hour diner, and call it a night. But before you could make a move, someone stepped into your path—a tall figure in a black suit and matching mask.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and familiar.

Your heart stuttered. No way. There was something about him—his eyes, his presence. It was Luke Hughes.

“Hey,” you whispered, hoping your voice didn’t betray how nervous you were.

“Care to dance?” he asked, offering his hand.

You hesitated for a split second before slipping your hand into his. His grip was warm and steady, grounding you as he led you to the dance floor. The music slowed, and the two of you moved in sync, as if you’d done this a hundred times before.

“You seem familiar,” Luke murmured, his gaze locked on yours.

Your heart raced. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” His lips curved into a half-smile. “I can’t tell if it’s the mask or if I’ve met you before.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. “Maybe I’m just good at blending in.”

Luke shook his head. “No. You don’t blend in.”

The way he said it—like you were someone worth noticing—made your chest ache in the best way.

The Midnight Escape

The song ended, but neither of you moved, caught in the quiet spell of the moment.

“So,” Luke said, shifting closer, “are you going to tell me your name?”

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed in your clutch—your shift manager, reminding you that you were covering for someone tonight.

You cursed under your breath. “I have to go.”

Luke’s brow furrowed. “Wait—what? Already?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, pulling away.

Luke followed you toward the exit, his expression tense with frustration and something else—disappointment, maybe. “Will I see you again?”

You hesitated at the door, turning back to face him one last time. “If it’s meant to be,” you whispered, “you’ll find me.”

And with that, you disappeared into the night, leaving Luke standing under the glittering chandeliers, clutching nothing but the memory of your touch—and the lingering scent of your perfume.

The Next Morning – Luke’s Search

Luke sat at the edge of his bed, turning the charm bracelet you’d accidentally left behind over in his hands. It was simple but beautiful—delicate sunflowers etched into the tiny gold links.

He knew, without a doubt, that you were Sunflower. But how was he supposed to find you now?

“Earth to Luke.” His teammate nudged him from across the room. “You coming to practice, or what?”

“In a minute,” Luke mumbled, opening the chat app on his phone.

LostinBlue: Hey. I think I found you.

He stared at the screen, willing the message to bring you back. But hours passed, and you never replied.

You, at Work

Back at the café, you tried to focus on steaming milk and taking orders, but your mind was stuck on Luke—on the way he held you close, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

You glanced at your phone, heart sinking when you saw the unread message from LostinBlue. You wanted to reply, but the fear gnawed at you—what if you weren’t what he expected?

What if you were just a disappointment?

The door jingled, and you forced yourself to look up. Your breath caught in your throat.

It was Luke.

And this time, he wasn’t just ordering coffee. He was looking right at you.