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longing-for-the-past-times · 9 months

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their reaction to you wearing a flavoured lipstick

task force 141 x reader headcanons

synopsis: headcanons of how would they react when the reader wears a flavoured lipstick/lip gloss/lip balm

notes: can you tell who is my favourite?

comments and reblogs are always appreciated🙈

warnings: mentions of smoking, occasional swearing, tooth-rotting fluff

find it on a03 masterlist

Captain 'John' Price - chocolate and red velvet

He may be slightly old-fashioned and love it when you wear red lipstick as he considers it a classy, but bold choice of colour

He is aware that you own more than one red lipstick, yet he secretly cannot differentiate one shade from another. Not that he'll ever let you know

That is until one day you visit him at work. He won't let it show, but he becomes jealous the second you walk in the base, your lips painted in a rich, velvety crimson. He cannot take his eyes off you, hypnotized by the captivating movement of your lips as you speak to him, telling him about your day and what you thought you should have for dinner.

John does not miss the hungry looks that are thrown across your way. He is quick to snake his hand around your waist and usher you to his office, where he could be the only one relishing in the allure the red lipstick cast over you-

"John, you're not really listening, are you?" your playful tone snaps him out of his reverie, a sheepish look plastered on his face.

"Love, did I ever tell you how much red lipstick suits you?"

"Only twice per day and more than ten times per night…" you roll your eyes at his antics, cupping his cheeks in your hands and planting a kiss at the corner of his lips, letting out a small giggle as his stubble tickled your lips.

"Well, I am headed home to get started on that dinner you didn't pay attention to!" you keep teasing him, amused by his dazzled expression. Little did you know, you had him wrapped around your finger.

"A…Alright, drive safe! I'll be there as soon as I finish this paperwork!"

Only he spends the next hour daydreaming about your red lips and the tender way they made contact with his skin, the phantom touch still lingering on the corner of his lips. Unconsciously, he traces his tongue over the place, freezing when he feels a mild flavour of chocolate.

He checks it once again, partially ashamed of the childish gesture. If any of his teammates caught him at that moment, they wouldn't let him live it down. But the subtle taste is there, sweet yet distant, almost as if it was teasing him.

The paperwork's long forgotten before he realizes it must be your lipstick. You might have told him that you found a new flavoured collection, but he had been too busy staring at your giddy figure to pay attention.

So he becomes a man with a plan and does not delay heading home anymore. The drive there seems endless, but it's all worth it the moment he opens the door and sees you standing by the kitchen counter, wearing the apron he gave you for Christmas

One second he's by the door, the next he's smashing his lips against yours, a small sigh of pleasure leaving him as he relishes in the now-intense aroma of chocolate.

"Warn an old man next time, will ya?"

From that day on, he starts calling you "chocolate". The pet name raises a few eyebrows here and there, but none of you are bothered by it. Not when you could tease him about his newly-found sweet tooth and he could lose himself in your delicate kisses.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley - strawberries and cigarettes

There are times when he becomes a heavy smoker, sitting on the balcony of your shared apartment and burning through a pack in one day while his mind is mulling over the previous or the next mission

In times like those, he has nothing against your presence, secretly enjoying when you lay his head atop his shoulder and hug him from behind, but he always refuses to kiss you afterwards, arguing that the acrid taste of cigarettes would gross you out

It definitely doesn't- it is an integral part of him that you'd come to accept and love- and now you couldn't live without it

Until one evening, you opt to sit across him, leaning your hands on the balcony railing, while your eyes wander over the city lights. Over the course of your relationship with Simon, you had grown used to his long bouts of silence, becoming accustomed to all of his telltale signs: his left eyebrow would twitch when he doesn't like something, his right foot would continuously tap against the ground when he is distressed.

Three cigarettes in, and his foot is reenacting Radetzky's March. He is utterly unaware of the amused glances you steal at him

"Something the matter, love?" you ask him in a sweet tone, trying to pull off your most innocent face.

"'s nothing", he begins hesitantly, his voice rough from not using it. "…just a little cold, I guess"

You have to turn your head away from him and back to the city, a satisfied smirk spreading on your face. Simon might have been the deadliest operator the Special Forces have had in a long time, but deep down he was also a touch-starved man who found solace and peace in your arms

When the foot tapping does not stop, you struggle to school your face into a neutral expression and turn towards him, your eyes melting at the sight of his dishevelled blonde hair and furrowed brow. He sheepishly looks up in your direction, a silent plea dancing in his chocolate eyes.

You stand and approach him slowly, stopping only when your faces are inches apart. His half-burnt cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray, the remnants of smoke in his breath fanning over your face.

His eyes hold a hundred unanswered questions: did he do something to upset you, did you grow sick of him, can he do anything to get you back; but they are all silenced when you lean in further, placing a gentle and intimate kiss on his lips

The unexpected gesture sends shivers of pleasure down his spine and he has to take a moment before cupping your cheeks in his hands and kissing you back, the way you deserve to be kissed

You chuckle in his mouth before pecking both his eyes and forehead and returning to your original position, your head resting in the crook of his neck as your arms engulf him in a warm hug

He opens his mouth to scold you for kissing him when he is smoking. In his mind, it is almost like he is tainting your presence with the stale smell of smoked cigarettes. But as the words form on his lips, he hesitates, his mind struggling to acknowledge the foreign taste on his tongue

He turns to look at you with a confused look on his face. It was October so there could be no strawberries at the market and the freezer was empty as you had eaten all ice cream when you were on your period-

So why did he taste strawberries on your kiss?

"I may have found a lip gloss from high school", you eventually break the silence, blowing a huff of strawberry-scented air in his direction. "One I bought and swore to keep untouched until I found someone worth using it for!"

His thunderous laugh has you opening your mouth in shock. You could count on your fingers the number of times he'd laugh openly and without reserves

"Bloody hell, darling. You'll get me killed before smoking does! That thing must have been expired for years now!"

You shake your head in disbelief, faintly blushing at his words. You know he is teasing you, but that does not stop you from taking revenge as you start to plant messy pecks and kisses on his neck and cheeks. You eventually stop when your lips are once again inches apart from his, your breaths slowly mingling into a shared one

"Then I guess we are going down together"

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish - cherries and chapped lips

It all begins one cold morning when he leans in to kiss you goodbye before leaving for work

"Hold on! Johnny, you've got to do something about your chapped lips! You know what, let me get you a lip balm!"

He is quick to place a hand on your shoulder to stop you. His eyebrows are raised in disbelief and he has to do a double-take before words tumble out of his mouth

"Ain't no way I'm using such a thing, bonnie! Lip balms and such are made for wee lasses like you, not for demolition experts like me!"

You roll your eyes at his badly constructed argument and give him an unimpressed look when an idea pops into your mind.

"You stay right here, I'll be back in a jiffy!"

"What even is a jiffy?"

But you don't bother to answer as you head towards the bedroom, looking for the cherry-flavoured lip balm you bought specifically for the cold season. With precise movements, you apply a thick layer on your lips, smacking your lips to check if the cherry flavour is strong enough to linger. It fortunately is.

So you hurry into the hallway where Soap's waiting for you, hands on his hips as he angles his head in your direction. If he notices that your lips have just got shinier, he doesn't mention it

Instead, he leans in to properly kiss you goodbye this time, eyes comically widening when you deepen the kiss and make it last longer than usually

A small chuckle leaves his lips as you cup his cheeks in your hand and place a small kiss on the top of his nose

"How about we continue this when I come home?", he smiles at the ticklish sensation of your lips against his skin, the constant stinging of his own being forgotten for the moment

"Is that a promise, Sergeant?"

He has a hard time leaving home that day, the drive to the base being plagued by thoughts of you and how much you care for him. His lips have been chapped ever since spending the last two weeks on a mission that required him to be on constant watches in freezing temperatures. He eventually got used to it, the cracks and fissures becoming familiar from the countless times he dragged his tongue over lips, in a hopeless attempt to soothe the pain radiating from them

He does not realise that he is currently doing the same thing, his brain temporarily freezing as it detects a new, yet familiar aroma

Why do his lips taste like cherries?

He remains in the car, long after he's parked, his mind deep in thought as he runs his tongue over his lips once more, partially scared that he'll make the mysterious taste go away if he's too insistent. He does not see Ghost approaching his car from the back and actually flinches when he hears someone pounding on the window.

"D'you lock yourself in here, Johnny? The briefing's about to start in five and you haven't even geared up yet!"

"Bloody hell, you should really do something about your lips- they look like cracked desert earth or something…"

"Did not take you for a poet, L.T."

"Never said I was."

He is in the middle of the briefing when he figures out the source of the mystery taste. It all starts to make sense - the quick detour you had to take, the passionate kiss. He has to give it to you - you could do anything you put your mind to.

Because, besides the compelling taste, the chapstick you must have used started to have a soothing effect on his lips, the stinging becoming more bearable with every passing moment

He spends the rest of the day struggling to make the cherry flavour last longer, but it eventually fades out after he's forced to drink water. A small pout etches itself into his face and he starts to regret not listening to you.

The moment he comes home, he's in the bedroom, unscrewing the cap of every lip balm and smelling it before trying to place it back exactly as it was

You silently linger in the doorway, an amused smile creeping across your face as your fingers shift with the cherry-flavoured lip balm. Soap is so distracted by his covert operations task that he does not hear you trying to contain your chuckles.

"I believe you are looking for this?"

He is quick to snatch the small tube from your hands before bringing it closer to his nose and drawing a deep breath in. You shake your head in exasperation, a loud laugh escaping your lips as he clumsily tries to rub the chapstick across his lips.

"Love, you're doing it wrong! You might break it if you apply that much pressure!"

"Here, let me help you!"

Ends up insisting you order a batch just for him.

In just days, his lips go from cracked and fissured to soft and plump, perfect for the customary morning kiss

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - vanilla and stained teeth

Combat training is fun and games until you are paired up with someone like Ghost, Soap, or Gaz and get your ass handed to you

Lucky you, today Gaz is the person who slams your back on the hard mattress and pins your hands above your head, interlocking your feet with his

Your mind replays the steamy events of last night and you can't help but give him a suggestive smirk which is quickly followed by a toothy grin upon seeing the blush that spreads on his face

He shakes his head in disbelief, not letting go of your arms or feet. Instead, he leans forward, cocks his head and openly stares at you

"Darling, you've got lipstick on your teeth!"

You comically widen your eyes and try to bring your hands to your mouth, struggling to escape his firm grip, but to no avail.

"'m n't s'ppos'd to we'r lipstick 't w'rk", you try to mumble with your mouth closed while your tongue is running over your teeth, looking for any traces of lipstick.

"Ok, has it gone now?", you open your mouth and practically bar your teeth at him, frowning at his unreadable expression. "Gaz- you're scaring m-"

Before you finish your sentence, he smashes his lips against yours and it takes all you have not to whimper when you feel his tongue repeatedly swiping over your teeth

Once he breaks up the kiss, he makes a show of checking you up, his thumb slowly tracing the outline of your lips

"Yeah, I think I got it all…"

You roll your eyes at the shit-eating grin he's sporting as he runs his tongue over his lips and freezes, his jaw going slack

"Why am I tasting vanilla? Are you tasting vanilla?"

You try to give him an answer, but before being able to say a word, his lips are back on yours and he is kissing you hard and long, his hold remaining as firm as before

"Alright, lovebirds - go get a room before I cite you for public indecency!"

Upon hearing Captain Price, your combat instincts kick back in and you manage to push Gaz off of you, switching position, so that you are atop him, pinning him to the ground

"Sorry, Captain! We'll go back to training!", you call out to him, offering him an apologetic smile which he accepts with a subtle nod.

"Next time you wear that lipstick, let a man know!"

"It screams you need someone to kiss it better"

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vinceaddams · 10 months

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Early 18th (and late 17th) century fashions are so under-utilized in vampire media and I think it's a damn shame.

I don't actually think I've ever seen a single image of a vampire character in an early 18th century suit. Hardly any movies set in that era either, and hardly any historical costumers who do it. (Even my beloved gay pirate show set in 1717 takes nearly all of its 18th century looks from the second half of the century. Not enough appreciation for baroque fashion!!)

Yes I love late 18th century fashion as much as anyone, and 19th century formal suits are all very well and good, but if you want something that says old, dead, wealthy, and slightly dishevelled, then the 1690's-1730's are where it's at.

(Retrato del Virrey Alencastre Noroña y Silva, Duque de Linares, ca. 1711-1723.)

There was so much dark velvet, and so many little metallic buttons & buttonholes. Blood red linings were VERY fashionable in this era, no matter what the colour of the rest of the suit was.

(Johann Christoph Freiherr von Bartenstein by Martin van Meytens the Younger, 1730's.)

The slits on the front of the shirts are super low, they button only at the collar, and it's fashionable to leave most of the waistcoat unbuttoned so the shirt sticks out, as seen in the above portraits.

(Portrait of Anne Louis Goislard de Montsabert, Comte de Richbourg-le-Toureil, 1734.)

Waistcoats are very long, coats are very full, and the cuffs are huge. But the sleeves are on the shorter side to show off more of that shirt, and the ruffles if it has them! Creepy undead hands with long nails would sit so nicely under those ruffles.

(1720's-30's, LACMA)

Embroidery designs are huge and chunky and often full of metallic threads, and the brocade designs even bigger.

(1730's, V&A, metal and silk embroidery on silk satin.)

Sometimes they did this fun thing where the coat would have contrasting cuffs made from the same fabric as the waistcoat.

(Niklaus Sigmund Steiger by Johann Rudolf Huber, 1724.)

Tell me this look isn't positively made for vampires!

(Portrait of Jean-Baptiste de Roll-Montpellier, 1713.)

(Yeah I am cherry-picking mostly red and black examples for this post, and there are plenty of non-vampire-y looking images from this time, but you get the idea!)

And the wrappers (at-home robes) were also cut very large, and, if you could afford it, made with incredible brocades.

(Portrait of a nobleman by Giovanni Maria delle Piane, no date given but I'd guess maybe 1680's or 90's.)

(Circle of Giovanni Maria delle Piane, no date given but I'd guess very late 17th or very early 18th century.)

Now that looks like a child who's been stuck at the same age for a hundred years if I ever saw one!

I don't know as much about the women's fashion from this era, but they had many equally large and elabourate things.

(1730's, Museo del Traje.)

(Don't believe The Met's shitty dating, this is a robe volante from probably the 1720's.)

(Mantua, c. 1708, The Met. No idea why they had to be that specific when they get other things wrong by entire decades but ok.)

(Portrait of Duchess Colavit Piccolomini, 1690's.)

(Maria van Buttinga-van Berghuys by Hermannus Collenius, 1717.)

Sometimes they also had these cute little devil horn hair curls that came down on either side of the forehead.

(Viago in drag Portrait of a lady, Italian School, c. 1690.)

Enough suave Victorian vampires, I want to see Baroque ones! With huge wigs and brocade coat cuffs so big they go past the elbow!

#long post #vampires #fashion #history #18th century #17th century #someday. SOMEDAY I will make a black/red/dark orange/metallic gold 1720's suit #I've got nearly all the materials I just need to:#1. Learn how to make early 18th century metallic thread buttons‚ preferably without having to buy the super expensive kind of thread #2. get a wig and style it appropriately

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upsidedownwithsteve · 4 months

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A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear.

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls.

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink.

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings.

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess.

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly.

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired.

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned.

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm.

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was always someone else.

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run.

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up.

Him. You loved him.

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like.

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose.

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights.

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint.

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back.

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath.

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed.

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day.

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat.

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion.

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived.

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open.

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting.

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red.

But this new gladiator, he was fast.

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already.

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did.

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again.

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed.

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned.

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before.

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder.

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too.

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees.

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it.

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure.

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly.

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might.

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat.

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before.

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to.

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face.

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion.

A man you were sure you already loved.

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember.

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet.

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more.

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward.

Telling you to go.

So you did.

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter—

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor.

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing.

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing.

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched.

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals.

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken.

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair.

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder.

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him.

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back.

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth.

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag.

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay.

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew.

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder.

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water.

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed.

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics.

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer.

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above.

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation.

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face.

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer.

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods.

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world.

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above.

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you.

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere.

Thunder rumbled, threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger.

That you knew something bad was coming.

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real.

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was.

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare.

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say.

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together.

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer.

You didn’t want to let him go.

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”

It happened too quick. Too fast.

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic.

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both.

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side.

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor.

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists.

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you.

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps.

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair.

Steve was gone and the thunder was too.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 months

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Could I request Sampo, Blade, Dan Heng, Welt, and Argenti getting a massive bouquet of flowers and cake as a gift from their s/o?

Argenti: loves giving people flowers and such.

It doesn’t matter who the recipient is either:

Elderly people who are lonely, elderly couples who are still together and very much in love, Young couples, Single people, people in general; Hello! Even stray cats, stray dogs and birds alike get a flower or two and animal safe cakes to eat.

Argenti gives EVERYONE and everything flowers and never asks for anything in exchange.

So when you’re the one to finally give this man his long over due -but much deserved- flowers. You were having an hard time trying to hold up an entire bouquet of a hundred ruby red roses in one hand, and a box of red velvet daisy cakes in the other.

You loved this man dearly and believed that he deserved nothing but the absolute best of the best.

Needless to say this man was swooning at the beauty of your gifts and accepts them wholeheartedly, as he then hold them close to his chest and inhaled the sweet scent deeply, humming in content as a smile graced his lips. He looked so pretty when he smiled like that, then again he was always pretty to you but in that moment he was so ethereal it took your breath away.

‘Thank you my beloved.’ He said as he kisses your cheek. ‘I shall treasure these flowers until their petals loose colour and their stems can no longer support them, but they’ll still be beautiful regardless because you gave me them.’ You mentally cursed Argenti and his seemingly effortless way with words as you burrow yourself into his side.

‘You deserve those flowers and I’m just ashamed that you didn’t receive them earlier.’ You said and Argenti chuckled, falling more and more in love with your beautiful heart by the second.

‘I don’t need flowers when I have you my dear, now would you mind in helping me eat these lovely cakes?’ Argenti asks as he picks up two of the red velvet cakes, admiring the skill that went into them. ‘I don’t think I can eat them all by myself and I would much prefer being in the company of my little flower.’ He concludes as he puts one of the cakes in your hands with a smile.

How could you say no to that face.

Welt: this man probably has had flowers from the likes of March, Dan Heng, Himeko, Pom Pom and Caelus/Stelle but they were nowhere comparable to the bouquet of flowers that you’ve bought for him.

He’s a little flustered at the gesture because wow that’s a lot of flowers for an old man like him. However he will take them as a gesture of goodwill and respect for you.

‘What’s the occasion? I’m certain I’m not missing any important events for such a gift.’ He mutters to himself as he squints at the calendar on his phone. Even with glasses on Welt could feel his eyes strain against the bright light of the phone screen. (Grandpa core.)

You giggle at the sight, if never failed to make you smile whenever he did the whole squinting his eyes to look at the screen, it was unabashedly Welt and you loved him regardless. Respectful older men was your type and Welt covered all basis of this.

‘No, I just wanted to give you some gifts as to thank you for everything you’ve done, not just for me but everyone.’ You told him as he puts away his phone and smiles at you. ‘I appreciate the gifts but you didn’t have to feel obligated to get me anything.’ He says, feeling as though there were other people more deserving of such generous gifts than him.

‘There’s no obligation Welt.’ You defended. ‘I wanted to get you something because you’re worth a thousand bouquets and so much more!’ Welt was moved by your words and made his way towards you, holding your face in his hands as he kisses your forehead softly.

‘Thank you. I shall treasure them forever.’

Sampo: acts like he receives flowers all the time but he’s bluffing and you know it from the way he’d trip over his own words.

He’s deeply touched that you got an old fool like him flowers and sweet cakes.

‘All this for ol Sampo? Oh you shouldn’t have.’ He’d say as he’s wiping a tear from his eyes before he then practically salivating over the sweet treats that smelt rich in sweetness in every aspect of its creation.

‘Only the best for my favourite masked fool.’ You replied fondly as you watched Sampo act like a kid in a sweet shop with the way his eyes brightened and how his smile seems to widen more over time.

‘Your favourite masked fool?’ Sampo echoed, pouting as he puts his hands on his hips. ‘How many other masked fools do you know besides me?’ He asks, not liking the idea of sharing you with the likes of Giovanni or something , you were his buddy! He can go find his own buddy elsewhere!

You chuckled as you ran a thumb across his pouty lip, pressing a kiss there because you could along with the fact that Sampo was an absolute sucker for your kisses. ‘You’re the only one I ever need to know because everyone else fails in comparison to the great Sampo Koski.’ You praised him as Sampo buried his head into your neck and attached his arms to your waist, drawing you closer into him.

‘Thank you for the flowers and the cakes.’ He whispers. ‘I really like them…will you…do this again for me next time?’ You kissed the top of his head. ‘You’re very welcome Sampo and of course I will, I’ve got to keep you happy somehow.’ You told him and under his breath Sampo then said, ‘how can I be made even more happy when I’m happy enough as it is with you already here in my arms?’

Blade: skeptical.

Never, ever, ever has he ever been given flowers. Never.

So needless to say he’s a little on edge and side eye the harmless bouquet of flowers as though they just personally insulted him.

‘What’s this.’ He’d ask.

‘A bouquet of flowers and a couple of Black Forest Gateau cakes.’ You responded as your smile melted off of your face. ‘You don’t like them do you.’

‘No.’ Blade, feeling the hurt within your voice cut into him deeply, says immediately. ‘I’m just not accustomed to being given gifts because no one in their right mind would give someone like me flowers and cakes. I don’t deserve them.’ He adds as a somber silence befell you both.

‘Well I think you do.’ You said after a while and Blade could only raise a brow at you. ‘It’s true! I’ll buy you a thousand bouquet of flowers and boxes of cakes if it means proving to you that you’re worth such things.’ You doubled down on your promise and Blade couldn’t help but smile a little at your determination to prove him wrong. It was a trait that he loved about you but wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

‘Even if the trail I leave behind is one of blood, death and pain?’ He asks.

‘Even then.’ You reaffirmed and Blade felt a warmth flood through him then and there as he sighs and takes the bouquet into his arms. ‘I’m no florist,’ he starts as he was just about to take the flowers up to his room before stopping to look at you over his shoulder, ‘but I’ll try to keep them alive, for you.’ He adds and your smile came back in full force.

A sight he loves to see as often as he could.

‘Everything has to die at some point, even flowers.’ You told him but he wasn’t having it.

‘Not if the flowers are from you, then I’ll keep trying in getting them to live forever.’ Blade replied and it was honestly the most romantic thing he’s ever said in that moment.

Dan Heng: thinks they were for someone else at first.

He, like welt, receives flowers for the rest of the Astral express crew now and then, but they paled in comparison to your bouquet of flowers and cakes.

‘Am I really worth all this?’ He asks, not so certain that he was in fact worth all the effort you’ve put into getting him such a radiant bouquet and delicious treats.

‘You are and I won’t hear otherwise Dan Heng.’ You said as you held him from behind, kissing his cheek that burned red afterwards, making you smile knowing that you still had that effect on him after so long.

‘Is this want to expect now? Bouquet and cakes?’ He says as he takes in the fact that you remembered each of his favourite flowers, and managed to have the florist organise them in a way that emphasised the beauty of each and every individual flower as they seamlessly blended into one another, almost as though it were a painting.

‘Only if you want it to be.’ You replied softly and Dan Heng gently rubbed a soft baby blue petal between his finger before letting them go, the faint smell of flora bringing about a sense of calm and belonging to his room. Something that his room severely lacked, but he didn’t understand what was missing back then as he did now, his room was missing your warm touch and it was very much the same for himself.

Dan Heng needed you in his life. He was missing your presence before he even met you, almost as though you were fated to meet and become romantically intertwined to one another.

‘Only if it’s from you.’ He says softly as he moves to look at. you with a soft expression. ‘Then consider it done.’ You kissed his lips this time, smiling against him in response upon feeling him smile into the kiss.

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j4jml · 8 months

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“Always search for your innermost nature in those you are with, as rose oil imbibes from roses.” - Rumi

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evermore-fashion · 1 month

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Met Gala 2024: Top 5 Men's Looks

So we've seen what some of the female attendee's bought to the Met Gala, and now it's on to the men of evening. As you all know I'm not into men's fashion at all but seeing as this is the Met Gala and men in the world of show business are starting to step up with their red carpet looks it's only fair I give you all my favourite looks of the night.

Like before my opinions are my own, they're not gospel so don't take what I say personally especially if you disagree. Remember fashion is art and art is subjective. 1. Gustav Magnar Witzøe wearing Versace Firstly I had no idea who this guy was until today and second I know his outfit wasn't everyone's taste. However I just love the fact that it wasn't a tuxedo or a suit in a vibrant colour. I love the fact that it's fun and eye-catching haute couture outfit designed for a man that leans into the roman and greek statues you'd find in stately gardens. 2. Sebastian Stan wearing Ami Paris If anyone was wondering who I was referring to last week when I slyly mentioned who I hoped was going to show up to the Met Gala. It was this handsome man and boy he did not disappoint because he didn't show up in a suit. I love the fact he went more casual but with the long coat and black embellished flowers that just added that final touch that to me made his look a standout. Sebastian Stan, I am free and single whenever you are... just kidding. 3. Barry Keoghan wearing Burberry This guy has been hot property in the acting world recently so it was no surprise to see him attend the Met Gala. The reason why he made my top 5 was because even though he was wearing a suit, it reminded me of the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland. I just love the fact that it's vintage but not at the same time and the green velvet jacket looked amazing on him. 4. Bad Bunny wearing Maison Margiela This was another outfit that has grown on me the more I look at it. I don't know what it is that I love about it but I just do and I think Bad Bunny looks amazing in it. It stands out despite the fact that it's black with hints of red in it and somehow it fits the theme perfectly.

5. Wisdom Kaye wearing Robert Wun So there's one thing I've noticed about this year's Met Gala... men look good in long coats/capes and I'm here for that trend. Wisdom Kaye stood out simply because red suited him perfectly and I love that his overall outfit was elegant but also edgy thanks to the burn marks on his hat and along the bottom of the coat.

#Met Gala 2024 #Met Gala #Fashion #Personal #Menswear

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verinarin · 5 months

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Winner takes all ! and he wins you

the awaited part 3 is here, thank you all for the support means a lot seeing you guys like and reblog this series ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

i’m pretty attached to this series so tell me if you guys want little blurbs or an epilogue about Veritas and his prize (you ♡)

Part 1 - Part 2

support me on ko-fi╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

There’s something so exciting about the fact that anything and everything could go wrong but somehow the endless possibilities leave you wanting, that burst of adrenaline you love so much is here right before your eyes

The red velvet table accessorised by casino chips of different colours, the pleasing sound of cards being shuffled, oh nothing could get you out of this sense of joy, except there is this certain Doctor who stood behind you, leaning close beside your ear

“Can’t you just sit on the couch behind me ?, you’re distracting me here,” you mutter as you feel his warm breath fanning your already hot neck

You swear you could feel his lips turned into a smirk as he answers you, “The game has not started yet, so I still have some time to guide you,” his stern voice now turns calm and soothing, perhaps to ease your mind a little

But how could you be more at ease when you’re both so close to each other !, one of his hands rests on the table while the other holds your chair. How will you focus on the game when the sight in front of you is his toned forearm decorated beautifully with veins, not to mention his hand beautifully sculpted adorned with his signature doctoral ring

Oh no !, you actually might lose if he spends any more time behind you. You suddenly snap back into reality when the casino owner, Mr. Cliff seat on the chair before you, accompanied by that eerie smile

“Well then have you drafted the contract ?,” he asks as he folds his arm and rests his weight back towards a chair that’s befitting for a king

Ratio summons the hologram contract and slides it across the table, “Feel free to read through the 57 pages of the contract to revise our agreement before signing it,” he states in a cold manner

Okay, now you feel sceptical over this contract, because usually you only need at least one page or perhaps five pages maximum. First what the hell did he put on those pages, second how the hell he could write that contract in approximately 30 minutes ?!?

“You put some bullshit terms in that contract didn’t you ?,” you whisper to Ratio while watching Mr. Cliff thoroughly skim through the pages he provided him with

“If you know the truth it’ll make you an accomplice so I can’t disclose anything for now,” he teases, ruffling your hair before walking towards Mr. Cliff to assist him in ‘understanding’ the contents of the contract

You groan as you try to brush through your now messy hair, you finish grooming yourself at the same time Mr. Cliff signs the contract, “Sign your name sweetheart,” he loudly chuckles as he slides back the hologram

“Don’t mind if I do,” you cheekily reply as you swiftly sign your name, once your name is on the contract the hologram automatically dissipates into thin air, which means that it’s already been approved and signed by the higher-ups

Ratio walks back towards your side of the table with a huge grin, oh he clearly puts insurance for you in that contract, well you appreciate his thoughtfulness but you won’t need it !

“Well then shall we begin sir ?,” you roll your sleeves as you await Mr Cliff’s response, with Ratio standing by your side you feel more motivated than before, It’s time to impress that stern partner of yours

“Do you always need your dog on a leash beside you ?” Mr Cliff scoffs as he eyes Ratio up and down, the fact that he calls your supervisor your dog on a leash turns you red and you slowly turn your head up to see ‘your dog’s’ face

Oh Aeons above please don’t let Ratio kills this man-

Ratio’s eyes squint as his lips twitch in disgust, before he can open his mouth and blow this whole deal out the window you quickly stand up from your seat to calm him down “Ratio, just sit back at the couch okay ?,” you practically beg, your voice laced with honey and desperation

Ratio merely scoffs before turning around and seat on the couch behind you, even though he’s quite annoyed at Mr Cliff, he knows that that foul man is insecure about himself, it’s evident that he’s actually jealous of Ratio and that comes naturally to a person with both unparalleled beauty and intelligence

You’re quick to focus back on the game at hand, you’re playing poker naturally and of course, you’re confident in your ability to win, you’re not only lucky but also cunning that’s the fruit of losing countless bets with Aventurine, you have a 95% chance of winning while playing with others but with Aventurine….

You still don’t know how the hell he gets that good, but the apprentice would never try to dethrone their master of course, in which case you just study the little things Aventurine does and explicitly teach you

As you get lost in nostalgia the dealer starts to shuffle the deck, it seems that he used a new card which makes it all the more interesting, it’s easier for you to predict your card and your opponents' card, well it is true you have a stroke of benevolent luck but luck doesn’t always cut it, so you turn into your memory and your card counting skills, you could get ban from casinos if they knew you can count cards

Well Mr Cliff seems to look down upon you, it’s in his right to do so since he’s one of the top players on Penacony, well you on the other hand are an informal apprentice of one of the best gamblers in the entire galaxy, you’re confident that Mr Cliff would quiver in fear if you spoke Aventurine’s name

“You seem awfully confident little lady,” Mr Cliff snickers as the dealer hands your cards, well you were confident before but now you’re well past that, Ace of Hearts and King of Hearts, your luck never ceases to surprise, Ratio took notice in your behaviour

You lean back towards your chair, your legs crossed. At that point he knew that you were confident with your hand, “Well let’s just say I’m having a good day today,” you smile

Mr Cliff also smiles, he starts off the game by betting his chips quite high, if you’re not mistaken this could indicate that he also has a good hand but you’re confident that is not as good as yours, so you raise the bet, not wanting to lose in the game of wits

“Well you’re raising quite fast sweetheart, you sure you wanna do that ?,” he chuckles, this man has great confidence in his cards huh ?, you know very well he’s trying to get under your skin, but to be frank only Aventurine manage to do so by his sarcastic comments

“What ?, you scared of me ~” you laugh, which seems to rile him up judging by how he loosens his tie. You swear you could hear Ratio curse behind you, he should loosen up a little since you’re practically going to win this

He scoffs as he asks the dealer to quickly reveal the three cards in the middle of the table, as the cards reveal itself, your face turns sour, well your lips do pout while the inside of your mind you rejoice, but you can’t show what to Mr Cliff. “What’s wrong little girl?” Mr Cliff asks his voice laced with faux empathy

“Nothing’s wrong,” you reply shortly, this you stage your set and you’re confident that Mr Cliff would have a straight flush on his hands, but what you don’t know is Ratio is clenching his fist tight behind you, he seems to believe your act

The game continues until it is time to place your final bet, Mr Cliff goes all in to end it all and of course now is the time for you to change your pitiful act, with a huge grin you push all of your chips to the middle of the table, “All in !” Mr Cliff is shocked by your sudden confidence, it’s like your whole being changed from hunching your back towards now looking down on him, your eyes glint mischievously

“Hah! prideful brat,” he scoffs angrily as he throws his card to the table to reveal a straight flush, he stands up from the table and cups your cheeks, “You’re mine now,”

Before you can reveal your hand Ratio stands and reaches for Mr Cliff’s hand pulling it swiftly to his back and pushing him down to the table, you’re shocked with the sudden move but take this to your advantage

You lean down to whisper to Mr Cliff’s ears, “I’m afraid your casino is mine,” you throw your card at his face, revealing a royal flush

Mr Cliff lost you and his casino and of course, you win his casino and unbeknownst to you, you also win Ratio’s heart. “W-what !, you’re fucking cheating that’s why this bastard is ughh!,” Before continuing his words ratio pushes Mr Cliff’s head to the table, “Please refrain from uttering foolish accusations or else-” Okay Ratio might have a knack for belittling others verbally but he never actually smack someone’s head ?!?

Somehow the sight of his hair draping down, covering the menacing glow in his eyes with his teeth gritted and his arms fully in display showcasing the strength he rarely used, that sight yes you need to take a picture-

You quickly grab your phone to snap a picture, “What the fuck?!?,” Mr Cliffs yells which is replied to by Ratio twisting his hand, is it bad that you find the sight hot ?, “I know I look completely out of character but really ? Taking a picture of me, it seems that you want to immortalised the look on my face when I’m jealous,” he sighs as he summons the contract with his free hand

“Ahahaha, now I believe we have a business to sort out,” you try to deflect the conversation by quickly taking the holo-contract and signing your name again, but Mr Cliff still doesn’t want to sign forcing Ratio to drag his fingers and press it on the screen to print out his thumbprints, “It was nice having business with you,” you smile as you pat Mr Cliff’s head that’s currently forced down towards the table because of Ratio

Without much thought you quickly step outside of the private room to call cooperate about the success leaving Ratio alone with Mr Cliff, Ratio leans down pressing his hand on Mr Cliff’s back before whispering, “If I see your pathetic self dare to even gaze upon her I will do just more than restraining you if you plan to harm her just know that I could easily break this feeble neck of yours or perhaps I should do so to prevent you from having the mere thought-“

“NO NO NO! I SWEAR ON MY LIFE THAT I WILL NOT HARM OR EVEN LOOK AT HER,” Mr Cliff yells as he struggles to set himself free, Ratio simply nods before smashing his head on the table, effectively knocking him out

“Hmm how’s Mr Cliff ?” you ask Ratio as he closes the door and walks towards you, “He’s still dealing with his loss but don’t worry he’s fine,” he curtly replies, he looks at your face reading your overjoyed expression

“No scolding today ?,” you lightly chuckle noticing that he’s uncannily silent, he just scoffs as he ruffles your hair it seems that he’s thoroughly impressed, “No scolding just admiration, perhaps I should reward you hmm ?,” he smiles as he yet again caged you with his arms as you rest your back on the wall

“W-what kind of reward ?,” you whisper, your breath tickles his neck as he leans closer towards your ear grazing the skin with his lips as he travels further down towards the neck, “Would a kiss be sufficient ?, for now at least,” he whispers against your neck, the sensation sends tingles through your body

“T-that would be appreciated,” you reply, resting your hand on his broad chest, he merely smiles before looking back towards your face, cupping your cheek before leaning in for a gentle kiss

“How delectable,”

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