#i wish i was good at painting so i could make their portrait look like an actual painting

[weeknd-ogoc]

24 HOURS AGO・。.・゜✭・. LANDO NORRIS

SUMMARY: in which lando knows it’s not fair to try to change your mind about pursuing your dream! (inspired by jack & jack's song, lotta love)

FACE CLAIM: cindy kimberly

CONTAINS: artist!reader, fluff, breakup & angst!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: don't know how euros work that great lol so bare with me and maybe i could turn this into a part 2??? alright so i’m back in my jack and jack era and i thought this song would make a good imagine :)

ynusername

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ynusername today's art exhibit was a success, thank you to everyone who was able to come and super thankful for those who bought my paintings! 🪴

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landonorris FIRST!!

username when aren't you maxfewtrell ^^

landonorris you're so beautiful 💚

ynusername thank you my love 🥹

username 💘💘

username i showed up a bit late but she was literally so nice and lando was there swooning over her talking about her paintings!

username omgg i love how he's so supportive of her! username at the beginning i saw lando arguing with max over a painting but y/n told him she'd make him another one and he was pouting for a good fifteen minutes 😭

alexandrasaintmleux i had so much fun so proud of you babe!!

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username ugh i wished i lived in monaco!

✭

before entering this two year long relationship with you, lando knew your dream was to open up your own painting studio to be able to teach children how to open up their creative side — the first time you guys had met was when lando accidentally bumped into you in front of your old art class that you were temporarily teaching at.

"oh i'm so sorry, my friend here is a bit clumsy sometimes." max apologized as lando helped you pick up your art supplies while giving him a glare.

they had both seen you every morning for the past week and max noticed lando's eyes lingering on you for awhile so he had this grand idea to finally make lando talk to you and this was that grand idea.

"yes i'm very clumsy." lando nodded and went along with it. "your board thing broke too, i can pay for your stuf-"

the three of you looked down at your broken palette and you shook your head picking it up. "you know what lando and..."

max gave you a cheesy smile and a little nod. "oh i'm max."

"well lando and max, you guys could come to my art exhibit tonight to make up for breaking my very expensive palette." you knew that it was just a cheap one that your sweet old boss had given you to work with but they didn't have to know that.

max quickly nodded and agreed for the both of them which earned another glare from his best friend. "we'll be there!"

later that night after going through half of his wardrobe and a few of max's shirts, lando finally chose his black button up shirt and his khaki colored jeans.

"if i was that girl i'd totally slip right out of my clothes for you." max joked. "oh by the way i can't make it, have a date with pietra in an hour."

so on the ride to the exhibit lando found himself going through most of his pickup lines and jokes in his head and when he found a parking spot right in the front his eyes landed on you.

he kept his eyes on you as he walked over to where you were, you had been wearing an orange dress with your hair curled and for a moment he felt speechless and all the things he was going to say just slipped out of his head.

"lando! i'm so glad you made it!" you gave him a quick hug and handed him a last minute portrait that you decided to add. "this thing is about to start so please be a dear and hang my last painting up in that corner there."

while you ran off to talk to an older man he stood up on a little stool and put your portrait up, lando wasn't interested in art but something about your painting was kinda calling to him.

€ 453.52

yeah he was definitely buying it.

when you made your return back to the table you saw him fixing the labels on the bottom of your paintings.

you couldn't lie he looked really good.

as the night went on he was really intrigued by all the art that others made, your boss had pushed you to go hang out with lando while he stayed behind to watch your stand.

"you need a life outside the art world so now go talk to him!"

lando listened as you talked about what you've been doing for the past few years and when it was time to talk about his work, you found yourself amazed by it.

your dad had tried getting you into formula one for years but you just couldn't find yourself interested in it. "over 200 miles per hour? pretty dangerous."

"i actually have a race in two weeks here in monaco, maybe you can come? i could give you passes of coarse." he said with a cheesy smile.

you nodded and let out a laugh. "sure, i would like that."

before you could continue talking your boss called you over and as you walked over there max had called him about a forgotten reservation they had planned a few days before.

"i'll be right back."

he looked over to you and saw there was people interested in buying your work so he wrote a little note to you and left it with your boss.

dearest y/n,

sorry i had to go in such a rush but i had a lot fun tonight.

i can pick up the beautiful painting tomorrow and maybe we can get dinner?

xxx-xxx-xxxx

lando

✭

lando.jpg

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lando.jpg the true masterpiece

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ynusername ugh i love you!!

lando.jpg i love you more maxfewtrell love you guys the most 🥹

username my favorite couple

username please adopt me!

maxfewtrell it should've been me

ynusername but it's not :)) maxfewtrell 🥱🥱

lillymhe my love (her) with her love (him)

ynusername miss you sm 😭 alex_albon 🤨 im getting real tired of you guys lando.jpg ^ me too

✭

lando recalled being excited to finally make it to the third date because everyone knew what happens after it — it had already been five months of you guys talking but because the both of you always had busy schedules it was very hard to set up this third date.

my boss is leaving to new york on tuesday so i'm available!

if you can make it you can totally stay over my apartment for a few days 🙂

as soon as he read your messages he booked a flight over to monaco since he had a free week off. "you should bring her to another race, i really liked her!" daniel told him as they left the cooling room.

he arrived in monaco just an hour before your shift ended so he made sure to get you some roses and when it was time he made his way over to your job where he saw children saying goodbye to you.

look outside!!

when you were finally able to look at your phone, you looked up and saw lando standing outside giving you an excited wave.

as you waved back at him your boss called you into his office.

i'll be out in a bit

your boss had called you in telling you he was going to sell the studio in a few months and move over to new york. "trust me y/n, i will call you as soon as the place is up and running..." he said as he fixed a few papers up on his desk. "you are my favorite worker and i would love to have you as a temporary teacher again."

"i know i have told you about becoming a full ti-"

"i just don't see you ready for that right now..."

you had told your boss time and time again that you wanted to become a full time teacher but he always had excuses for it and as he used another excuse you looked over to lando who was swatting something in the air with the roses he had in his hand.

"thank you for the opportunity but i think i'm going to take a break from the art world for a good while."

so after getting your stuff together you made your way to lando.

"finally, there was this huge bee attac-" he was so caught up in looking for the bee that was just attacking him a few minutes ago that he almost didn’t feel your lips place a light kiss against his cheek. "oh um..."

you pulled away with a smile on your face and let out a little chuckle at how red lando's face was turning. “c'mon my house isn't that far from here...”

he handed you the roses he had bought you, some of the petals had gone missing due to all the swatting he was doing with them but you still appreciated it.

"they're beautiful lan."

he smiled and nodded, face still red. "not as beautiful as you." he noticed his voice crack due to all his nervousness. "wow that hasn't happened in awhile..."

you intertwined his fingers with yours and began walking in the direction of your house with a smile on your face.

when the both of you arrived you gave him a tour of your apartment and he loved everything about it due to it giving cozy vibes as he said and when you guys finally made it over to your room he saw the vision board that you had hung up on your wall.

"i want to open up a studio in new york one day..." you told him as you took down your board just to show it to him. "i kinda quit since he wanted me to become a temporary teacher over in new york and that's not what i want so maybe later on i'll be able to do it but for now i think i'm just going to take a break."

he slowly nodded — he knew that you guys had been talking for only a few months but he really wanted to help you out with this, maybe even help you open up your own studio one day.

✭

ynusername & landonorris recently added to their stories

✭

you remembered the first time your parents were going to meet lando and you were freaking out because you had never introduced a guy to your parents.

when your mom found out you were finally seeing someone she got excited because she was starting to think you were never going to give her grandchildren.

when your dad found out you were finally seeing someone he was suspicious of the guy but when you told him it was lando norris his mind completely changed — he had watched formula one for years now and even tried getting you into it when you were younger but you found it boring.

"he's here! please be nice and do not bring out the baby pictures!" you told your parents before opening the door.

"we'll be on our best behavior, promise."

and even though they had promised you, you knew they were still going to embarrass you by the end of the night.

just last week you had met lando's family and they adored you.

lando knew your parents meant the whole world to you so he made sure not to goof around too much and by the end of the night your parents loved him.

"this is the greatest day of my life!" your father had said since lando had promised your dad some vip passes for next week's race you figured that was what won him over.

when your parents decided it was time to pull out the baby albums you decided to go into your old bedroom to change out of your dress and quickly update lily on how the night was going.

as lando looked at the pictures of you he saw one of you around the age of eight maybe, painting a wooden dollhouse.

"she's always loved doing art projects when she was younger..." your mother had told him. "has she told you anything about maybe looking back into teaching again or maybe opening her studio?"

he shrugged. "i think she's been looking for a spot here in monaco since i just moved here but she hasn't said much."

your mother had worried that being in love was stopping you from doing what you love the most so she could only hope that it wasn't that. "my y/n has always been independent so this whole relationship you have going on, i hope you're truly taking it seriously because she has never introduced us to anyone so i think that says she likes you a lot." your mother told him which he nodded and just before he can talk your father spoke. "you hurt i promise i will hunt you down, that's all."

lando saw you returning back to the table with a fuzzy orange blanket and he smiled at the sight of you before looking back to your parents. "trust me, i'm not going anywhere for a very long time."

✭

ynusername

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ynusername frosted ❄️

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landonorris the future mother of my kids everyone

lilymhe y/n asked when landonorris tell her very soon 🤫 landonorris and bring her back to me rn lilymhe gtg

username please get married already

maxfewtrell sorry about pushing you into the snow 🤭

ynusername next time i'm going to push you off the cliff

username i miss when she used to post about her art!

username me too she needs to bring it back!!!

username if you look closely you can see me throwing myself off a cliff :)))

✭

landonorris

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landonorris snow days ⛄️

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maxfewtrell now hold on why didn't i get a good picture

ynusername because you pushed me into the snow and didnt even help me up landonorris ^^ maxfewtrell i apologized, let it go!!

username tell y/n to post her artwork again!!

ynusername ☃️❤️

liked by landonorris

carlosainz55 im assuming it was y/n's idea to make cookies

landonorris yup

✭

finally two - almost three years into your relationship, the both of you were already moved in with each other and lando was thinking about popping the question to you since everything was just going great with the two of you.

he already knew he was going to propose on christmas day.

"almost all gone again!" you smiled at him, seeing that one painting was left on your stand.

"well your work is amazing." he said as his chin rested on the top of your head as you looked towards your stand.

you had been close to purchasing a studio here in a monaco but you still had doubts and lando wasn't sure why that was so when he saw your old boss entering the exhibit and you running to hug him it all came back to him, your dream.

"i'm so glad you're still here! i have something to tell you!" your old boss said as he gave you a big hug and lead you towards the buffet table.

lando stayed behind by your stand as some people were asking him questions about your art work and while he was answering them, he kept his eyes on you who jumped up with excitement but then looked back to him.

yes you had been painting and doing side jobs in art classes, constantly talked about opening your studio even sometimes doing modeling gigs but lando had thought you'd be doing it here in a monaco so you could stay with him.

"you're not going to believe it!" you said with the biggest smile on your face, he stared at you in silence fearing what you might say "lan?"

"y-yeah sorry, what did he say to you baby?"

you explained to him that he was now selling his studio to move to paris and before he could sell it to someone else, he recalled you wanting a place in new york.

"that's amazing! what did you tell him?" he asked trying to sound super excited about it but deep down he was a nervous wreck.

you smiled at his excitement. "that i would think about it..."

✭

ynusername

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ynusername finished 🎨

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username ah the art content is back!!

username beautiful as always 🥹

alexandrasaintmleux a true artist 🤌🏼

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username surprised lando didn't comment this time

oscarpiastri picasso

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✭

ynusername

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ynusername oops

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username she is GIVING

landonorris like a renaissance painting 😚

ynusername ❤️❤️ ynusername im surprised you could spell that landonorris oh i struggled a bit

username 🤤🤤

francisca.cgomes i have something inappropriate to say...

pierregasly well don't say it

username MOTHER

alexandrasaintmleux 😍

lilymhe so hot r u kidding me rnnn

username we must stay focused 🧎🏻‍♀️

username in another universe i go home to this girl & give her my undying love & affection

landonorris im with her in every universe, sorry mate :)

oscarpiastri i'm so scared right now

maxfewtrell me too landonorris both of you leave and never come back

✭

lando had stayed over max's house the next night and max could tell something was wrong with his best friend — he was way too quiet which he never was and looked like he had a lot on his mind so when he asked lando about it, he told him the whole story including the part of wanting to propose to you tomorrow.

"she's going to chose to move over there mate..." he told max making his voice crack. "it wouldn't be fair of me to beg her to stay but i can't make her stay if she doesn't want to, i mean this has always been her dream!"

he knew this would be simple, just move over there with you but that was not what he wanted.

the both of you had been good twenty-four hours ago but you felt something different between the two of you, he felt distant like he had something in his mind but he couldn't tell you what it was.

"i don't know lils, i know he won't want to come with me and it wouldn't be fair to ask him to come with me, he hates new york."

you knew this would be simple, just stay over here with him but that was not what you wanted.

✭

landonorris

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landonorris after some time and consideration, y/n and myself have mutually decided to end our relationship but we will always remain good friends. i wish her the world over in new york and have so much respect for her and all she does as an amazing and strong woman. ❤️

please respect our decision and respect our – but more importantly and especially her privacy moving forward.

comments disabled

✭

ynusername

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ynusername after some time and consideration, lando and i have mutually decided to end our relationship but we will remain very good friends. i wish him the world have so much respect for him. ❤️

please respect our decision and respect our privacy moving forward.

comments disabled

✭

you were having a small art exhibit for the the first time in your brand new studio and had a few friends travel over just to visit, you had been hoping lando would show up but as time went on you figured he wouldn’t.

“i’m sure he’ll show up.” alexandra told you as she gave charles one of your paintings to hang up on the wall.

the both of you still texted a few times throughout the week and even facetimed whenever you guys were available.

“hey y/n, someone called in wanting to buy whatever portraits are left by the end of the night!” alexandra said as she held up an unknown address somewhere in monaco.

you smiled as you nodded, the extra money would help out so much with new supplies and just before you could help charles hang up some other extra things you saw max walking in.

“he wanted to but something came up…” max said as he took a look at your new portraits, noticing that one looked a little like lando. “but he did give me this to give to you.”

a note.

my dearest y/n,

i’m sorry i couldn’t make it out today on your grand opening but i just wanted to congratulated you on opening your shop! there was never a doubt in my mind these past three years with you that you ARE the most talented artist in our generation.

i promise to make a trip over to new york sometime soon!

with all my love,

lando

by the end of the night only a few portraits were left and as max watched you pack them up into a box to ship to the unknown address in monaco, he got on the phone with lando who was currently curled up in bed thinking about what to say when he decided to call you later that night. “so what are you going to do with all those paintings now?”

he looked around at his now empty walls that once had your paintings hanged up. “place them around the house.”

his eyes landed on the little red box that held the ring that was supposed to be yours on his nightstand and thought about maybe going to travel to your place tomorrow morning as a surprise. “actually max, i think i’ll be seeing you tomorrow morning.”

✭

ynusername & landonorris recently added to their stories 24 hours ago

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!

my f1 & f2 masterlist!

© weeknd-ogoc, 2023

#f1 #ln4 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #mclaren #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 smut #formula one x reader #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #lando norris smau #lando norris social media au #lando norris series

[autumnaaltonen]

Hello! I was wondering if you can do headcanons for Alucard having an old friend that’s a ghost or a banshee. They they knew one other when they were human but managed to reconnected some how. After he was under van Hellsing control. Have a great day!!

Took some artistic liberty on this and changed the request a bit, so sorry! But I hope you enjoy anyways!

Being Alucard’s VDBFF (Very dead best friend forever)

You’ve been haunting Hellsing halls for well over a century, being a victim of a grizzly accident during the middle-victorian era, involving a tricky rifle, a drunk steward, and a fox.

So you have seniority over Alucard in terms of manor residency, and were the first undead entity to greet him into eternal servitude upon his capture by Dr. Van Hellsing.

Mans was cranky, to say the least, and very unhappy to find out that he couldn’t sink his fangs into you upon first meeting in his dungeon.

Vlad Alucard: “You taste of incorporeal ash, feeble ghost.”

You: “And you look like a paint brush after a house fire, blood sucker.”

The both of you hit it off.

You often tail Alucard in his strides around the manner, his company being the first to acknowledge your existence since your terrible demise years prior.

No one bats (NO PUNS) an eye when they see the former king talking to air, either too scared to call him out on it, or all the more accepting that the nails in his coffin finally reached his skull.

You give him all the juicy secrets of the goings-on in the manor, from Van Helsing’s secret wine stash, to where the staff get frisky when off duty.

Basically any bad habits Alucard would have in the modern day, he’d have all inherited from little ‘ol you.

Integra is an open minded individual, but when Alucard finally explains to his master of his apparitional friend, she found it difficult to believe.

Cut to you putting in extra effort to really make yourself known around the manor, flipping portraits, pushing china off of the shelves, clawing words into the walls, real poltergeist shit.

Alucard gets blamed for it all.

It’s not until you begin telling Alucard the REALLY juicy secrets about Integra, like her favorite pillow to *use* and her preferred brand of tampons, that she finally starts to give in and accept that maybe Alucard really does have an invisible buddy sneaking between the walls with him.

It often dejects you that you cannot touch Alucard, that you are nothing but spiritual energy and aura, but he makes it up to you with good conversation and wicked stories of his missions on the field.

The 30 years Alucard disappears are the longest decades of your haunting of Hellsing. Similar to when he was in his bloodless slumber during the mid-19th century, the hallways are no longer a fantastical maze for you to explore and stalk house members, there is no joy in rearranging the library shelves to read out dirty words, and the dungeon has never felt more empty. Most of your days are spent resting mindless in his coffin, making up conversations with him in your head.

Seras does her best to be able company, but it just isn’t the same without her master.

But when he does come back? You have three decades of pop culture and manor gossip to prattle on about until he wishes he could go back to Schrodingers box.

He missed you too.

#hellsing ultimate #hellsing #alucard #alucard x reader #hellsing alucard x reader

[the-kr8tor]

I hope it's not too late to request, but do you think you can do a gardener!reader and hobie helping them collect fruits and veggies from their garden😊

Hello hun! Thank you for the lovely request! It was so adorable and I had so much fun writing it ❤️ hope you like it!

A/N: Last request but definitely not the least 💕

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You try to reach the plump orange on your tiptoes, arms straining to grab the bright fruit. You jump, fingers grazing your target. Your sunhat shields you from the sun, wicker basket at your feet. Huffing, hands on your hips, you wish you had a ladder with you right now, or at least be taller. As if your wish came true you feel yourself rise up from the ground, firm hands gripping your thighs, a familiar head peeking under you.

You yelp, wobbling a bit on Hobie's shoulders, accidentally holding on to his face so you could balance yourself. You can feel him smile under your trembling hand, your left hand covering his eyes.

"I'm going in blind here, love" his voice muffled. He stands up to his full height, carrying you effortlessly, thanks to his Spidey powers. Hobie moves your hands away from his face, holding them in his warm hands instead. "There"

"Hobie! Give me a heads up next time!" You lean down to meet his face, Hobie's upside down grin greets you. Your eyes cross a bit when you stare at him. "Hi"

"Hey" He chuckles, "how's the weather up there?"

"Oh you waited for a long time to finally say that, huh?" You laugh, breath fanning over his face. He can't help but find you adorable, especially in this position, usually he's the one that's upside down.

He can't help himself when he presses a sticky kiss on your lips, you help him by meeting him halfway, leaning down farther. You laugh onto his lips, finding the familiar position of his lips over yours, this time the roles are reversed.

Hobie pulls away, raising his brow questioningly. "What are you laughing at?" He drops one of your hands, putting his palm towards your back so you don't fall over. You squeeze his remaining hand as a thank you.

"Nothin'" you giggle, rubbing the tip of your nose over his, "thank you for being my ladder" you say softly.

"I'm your ladder, pillow, what do you want me to be next?"

"Hmm, my fruit cutter?"

"You haven't even gotten the bloody orange yet" he scrunches his nose, making you press a chaste kiss over where his skin folds.

You quickly go back up, Hobie helps you unfold yourself, gripping your shirt tight so you don't fall too far back. Your lower back aches from the previous position.

"Whew," you exhale "please move closer to it" you tap his cheek, arms outstretched, aiming for the fruit. He steps closer, but it's still not enough to reach the orange "a little further please" you guide him.

He takes two steps, thanks to his large strides, you completely miss the branch, now the orange is right behind you. Hobie cranes his neck up, "you got it?" He sees you try to reach the fruit, but to no avail.

"Nope, you completely missed the mark" you laugh again. You have the sudden urge to grab his hair, like Remy in ratatouille. "Turn around for me, please"

"Only because you asked nicely" he turns around, you get smacked on the forehead by a branch.

"Ow" rubbing your skin.

"You alright?" He asks, chuckling softly, tapping your thighs.

"Yeah, move a step further. Just one step!" You stop him from walking further. He stops, freezing in his tracks. "Right here!" You laugh victoriously, hands encircling the plump fruit, picking it from its branch "Aha!"

"Fuck yeah, good job!" Hobie rubs your knees, looking up at you, your eyes twinkling in the sunlight, your well loved tree providing shade, the shadow of its branches painting you in a pretty portrait. You lean down to peck his sweaty forehead.

"Thank you, you up for more?" How could he say no when you're smiling at him so brightly. He fixes his grip on you, squeezing your things affectionately.

You help each other harvest the oranges from your tree. A few minutes later, your wicker basket is full of sweet oranges ready to cut into.

Hobie crouches down, helping you get off his shoulders. He stands up, you smile at him widely, Hobie mirrors your smile.

"How's your shoulders?" You ask, concerned. You make a mental note to massage him later as a thank you.

"I'm fine, but a slice of orange could make me feel better"

"And here I thought a kiss would suffice" you smirk, twirling an orange in your hand.

"That works too" he answers a little too quickly, making you giggle. Hobie's already leaning towards your face, hands wrapping around your torso, bringing you closer. Your arms instinctively slide over his neck, the orange you're holding rests right on his nape, it slightly rolls around on his skin, relaxing him.

"Oh wait, you have a" you lean away for a bit, grabbing a stray leaf stuck on his hair, "leaf" you show it to him, smiling proudly.

"You got everything?" He bows his head down.

You scan his head for any leaves "yep! Got it all" he leans back up, more than ready to kiss you again.

"C'mere then" he puckers his lips up dramatically.

You make kissing sounds before your lips meet his. He chuckles at your playfulness, you both smile into the kiss.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #spider punk #hobie brown #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fluff #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #spider punk x you #fanfic #hobie fluff

[paracosmic-murdock]

gold rush ; benedict bridgerton x reader (part two)

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: after he found out the reason why you had been distancing from him, benedict decided he would do anything and everything to win you back. how unfortunate that he will not have it as easy as he firstly believed it to be.

warnings/tags: mutual pining, idiots in love, insane benedict bridgerton, married kate and anthony, platonic anthony bridgerton & reader, song: gold rush (taylor swift)

word count: 1.6K

❁ part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

❁ mila's paracosm (main masterlist)

It was a whole new day, but for him it wasn't.

The thought of you being in love with him and him not being able to reciprocate your feelings, therefore, you hating him, was eating Benedict alive.

And the more he thought of it, the more he realized he had given you plenty of mixed signals throughout the years. His excitement every time he saw you? Asking you to dance at least twice every single ball? Painting portraits of you each and every time he could for all the assignments that required him to paint a woman? Buying you books every week? Mixed signals here and there because a man that does not love a woman doesn't do any of the things he has done for you since you became friends.

So he made a plan to get you to forgive him so you could be friends again.

One that began with him at your home.

One that didn't include seeing you and your parents chatting with an unknown man, who was, by the way, sitting so inappropriately close to you.

As he was about to leave, your mother's eyes landed on Benedict, and she said his name as she stood up.

He saw the way you tensed under his mention, but stood up nevertheless.

"Uh…" He cleared his throat. "My apologies, I did not mean to intrude. I shall return some other time."

"Nonsense, my dear!" your mother exclaimed. "Come on in, take a seat."

Benedict gave everyone an apologetic look and sat on the chair next to you.

"Good afternoon, Benedict. We have not seen you in quite a while here," your father noted. "Why is that? You have been missed."

He chuckled slightly. "Uh, the Academy has been quite time consuming as of late. More than I had anticipated, in fact. My apologies, that is why I came, for… a keep up."

"You do not have to have a reason to come visit, Benedict," your mother said. "Right, my darling?"

You looked up, an uncomfortable grin on your face. "That is right, Benedict…" you replied. "This is, uh… Lord Vikander. Lord Vikander, this is Mr. Bridgerton, a friend of the family."

"It is nice to meet you, Mr. Bridgerton." They shook hands.

"Likewise." Benedict agreed with his lips in a fine, fake line.

"Benedict, would you like to stay for dinner?"

"My apologies, Lord Y/L/N, but I am expected at home for dinner, I… I wish to speak to Y/N in private, actually."

"Of course." He nodded, making a gesture so you would take Benedict somewhere you could speak.

You obeyed, as expected, and walked next to him to your studio.

Benedict sighed looking around. All the things with his name that used to be in your studio were dead, gone, and buried. "Where are the…?"

"Somewhere I could not see them." you replied dryly.

"Whatever did I do?" he questioned, the patience in his eyes disappeared, distress replacing it. "I- I must know because I cannot live without you in my life."

"You should start getting used to it," you murmured. "Lord Vikander and I will be engaged to be married any time soon, and I shall move to Stockholm with him as his wife."

"Excuse me, what?"

You nodded. "I overheard him telling Papa and my brother that he had sent for his Mother's ring."

"Y/N, you… you cannot just marry and leave."

"Ben, this is the cycle of the life of a woman: once we are old enough, we become a pretty trophy for a man to win over. I have postponed it long enough and now it is time… Soon I will be too old for a fine gentleman to want me, so this is my all or nothing at all."

"But you cannot marry him and move to Sweden."

"I can, I will, and I have no other choice but to either way," you answered. "And please, return to your home. There is nothing left for us to talk about… This is not appropriate, especially with Lord Vikander waiting for me."

"Since when do you care for what is appropriate when it comes to you and me?"

"Since I lost hope," you confessed, looking anywhere but at his eyes. "Now, it is best if you leave."

"Benedict!"

He downed the bottle of whiskey that wasn't meant to be drunk that way before Anthony could reach him. "Brother!"

"Benedict, what is happening to you?!"

"This, Brother, is what a man who has lost hope looks like!" he exclaimed. "You shall see me in a circus by next month."

Anthony rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"She will marry that man," he answered, and Anthony's concern grew bigger at the sight of his brother weeping. "She will marry that man, move to Sweden, and not come back. She will not come back to me, I will never see her again… And I ran out of whiskey."

"What man?" He frowned.

"A Swedish lord who seems to be in love with her."

"Swedish? You mean Lord Vikander?"

"In the flesh," Benedict confirmed. "She says she has no other choice, but she does…"

"She does not have another choice, Brother. That is the wealthiest man in Sweden, someone who can provide for her, take good care of her. He is a good man, and if you do not love her, he is the best husband she could dream of."

"Whose side are you on?"

Anthony smirked, taking the empty bottle from his brother's hand. "Hers."

"I cannot let her go. I cannot lose her."

"There is nothing you can do, Ben," he said. "She was never yours to lose to begin with."

"But she could be."

"No, Benedict," He shook his head. "You do not love her so you must let her go. Perhaps one day you will get married or simply move to your property outside of London, and what will be of her? A single woman who renounced her suitor for her friend who could not even return her feelings? Let her go."

"I cannot, Anthony, she-"

"She will be better with Niklaus, brother, just…"

"You know him?" He asked, trying to seem careless.

"Y/N's brother, Niklaus, Simon, and I were close friends back in Oxford."

"He is friends with Nathaniel?"

"He is, and I did not know Niklaus was courting her, though I saw him last night at White's."

"He did not say a word about her?"

"No, and I did not ask."

Benedict sighed. "I will not let her go."

"You must," Anthony rolled his eyes. "Now, go to your room."

"Do not treat me like a kid, Anthony."

"But you are behaving like a stubborn child who does not want to let go of a toy someone borrowed! I hope to God you do not sabotage Y/N's engagement or else."

Benedict nodded, and Anthony knew he had to keep an eye on him.

Back at the Y/L/N Manor, you were cursing him and yourself.

Even your Father, ever so clueless of anything in regards of emotions and feelings, noticed that something was wrong as soon as you returned from your private conversation with Benedict.

It was midnight now, and you were sitting on the windowsill and looking outside, the Orion constellations bringing you memories of when you and Benedict were teenagers and he used to escape from his home so late at night and you to your home. You two would look at the stars until the sunrise hid them, and look at each other until your eyes were too tired to be kept open.

Two knocks on the door killed your reminiscing.

"Are you awake, my darling?"

You recognized your Papa's voice, so you stood up and opened the door.

"I apologize for being up so late, Papa. I just cannot fall asleep."

He shook his head in amusement. "Do not apologize, just talk to me and tell me what has got you so distressed."

"It is nothing, Papa."

"Does it have to do with Lord Vikander?"

"No, everything is alright."

"Benedict?"

The mere mention of his name made you break down. His expression softened and he opened his arms to receive you in a hug.

"I love him."

Your father stroked your hair lightly. "What is the problem? You do not have to marry Lord Vikander if you do not wish to, you can marry whoever you choose."

"But Ben doesn't want to marry me, Papa… If he wanted me, we would be married by now."

"How can you be so sure, my darling?" he asked, making you look him in the eyes. "I was so in love with your mother when we were your age, but I had promised myself I would enjoy the life of a bachelor as long as I could… It took me long enough to admit to myself how much I loved your mother, but once I did, I could never forget I did. Perhaps he has not realized yet that he loves you, and perhaps he needs a little push. Tell him how you feel," he advised, cleaning your tears. "And if he doesn't feel the same way, then you will always have Lord Vikander. You can always learn how to love him, and if not, you get along very well with him. He is sensible, he respects you, he is serious about his intentions, he knows what he wants… You deserve a man like him, not one that does not love you, my darling. Listen to my words and converse with Benedict, then you will know what to do."

"Thank you, Papa."

He smiled. "You do not have to thank me for anything. Now, go to sleep."

You smiled back at him and did as he told you.

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

[sparklingchan]

Echoes|| Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids)

Pairing: Reader(fem.) X Hyunjin

Word count : 5.8K+

Warnings : Blood, death, weapons, fire.

Genre : Romance, time-travel AU, royal AU, suggestive, mentions of death

Description: One day, you’re a college student, barely making it through your finals. And the next, you wake up in a palace, married to the most beautiful man on earth. What the hell is happening?!

A/N : HELLO MY TUMBLR FAM! I know its been way toooo long. And I’ll be honest, I missed everyone and I missed writing more than anything. I’ll try to post regularly and I hope my stories reach out to you as much as they did before.

Also, in other news, if this story gets a good response then imma write a mini series of royal stories for the other members as well(the stories will not be interrelated tho)

I hope y’all like this! I put my heart and soul into it!

You're not sure if you're awake anymore or just a frozen sack of meat staring at a painting like your life depended on it.

"See? I told you, y/n! She looks like you." Your friend, Lia squeals excitedly. You wish you could share even half of her enthusiasm.

You knew this trip to the museum was a bad idea the moment you got on the bus. This entire trip has just not been clicking with you the way you'd expected it to.

You were always a history lover, though. You'd read pages and pages about kings and queens and ancient politics and everything along those lines. This trip was supposed to be equally enlightening but you'd spent the entire day trying shake off an odd, eerie feeling that seems to have latched on to your back.

"Yeah.." you mutter to Lia.

Your eyes run along every single stroke of the painter's brush. The red hues of the curtains, the golden shine of the crowns, the green frills on the Prince's overcoat and the brown contour of the Princess's face.

The face that somehow mirrored yours.

"Maybe she's a far, far ancestor of yours?" Lia suggests, "Who knows, y/n!"

There's no way a Princess from the 1800s could be your ancestor; you'd know if you had even a bit of royal blood coursing through your veins.

And in that one possibility out a million, even if you did have a royal ancestor, there's no way she'd look exactly like you. No way.

"Or it could be your past life, y/n." Lia's voice goes into a whisper, her eyes widening behind her square rimmed glasses, "Maybe you were the princess."

You only sigh in response.

You walk closer to read the placard placed near the foot of the painting.

Hwang Yeji

Painter, 1795-1856.

Portrait of His Royal Highness Prince Hwang Hyunjin and the Royal consort

1827

Oil on canvas

Her Royal Highness princess Hwang Yeji was born in 1795 to His majesty King Chung and the royal consort Her Majesty Queen Sayuu of the then kingdom of Clé. She also has a twin brother, Prince Hwang Hyunjin who is believed to be older than her by a few minutes.

“It is said that the Crown Prince and Princess have had quite a tragic story, and Princess Yeji had gathered strentgh to complete this painting a long time after her brother and sister in law were tragically killed.” Lia reads out the rest of the sentences.

"I'm taking a picture, oh God! This is so fucking awesome." Lia fishes out her phone and starts clicking pictures of the painting, muttering how the similarity between these you and the Royal Consort is giving her goosebumps, "Should I make a video too?"

Her voice drains out into the background as a throbbing pain spreads across your head and eyes and you see odd flashes like the scenes of a movie playing without any particular order; castles, ball dances, a crown colored in blood and a boy wounded in your arms.

An unexplainable force pushes you closer to the painting and the moment your fingers touch the rough wooden frame, your headache stops.

"Y/n, you're not allowed to touch the pai-"

Lia's voice gets quieter and quieter till your vision goes black and your body goes limp.

*

When your eyes flutter open after god knows how long, you find yourself in a rather unexpected place.

The room is bright. Too bright for your liking. Yet the sparkling white marble of the walls and floor look beautiful against the dark brown vintage furniture of the room.

You stir against the feather soft mattress of the bed when a concerned voice calls you from across the room.

"Oh my darling! You're awake!" The voice is gentle, "We were so worried about you, y/n."

Your vision is still hazy but you see the figure of a lady walking toward you.

"Um, where am I?" You ask, rubbing your temples.

Until a while ago, there was unbearable pain but now you feel fine.

"Oh dear," the lady sits at the foot of your bed, "You're home. Do you not remember?"

Home? Since when did home go from a 3 BHK apartment in the heart of the city to this huge, fancy room?

"There..there has been some kind of mistake, ma'am."

When you try to sit up, she pushes you back down. Gentle but insistent.

"Dear, you need to rest. The physician will be here in the evening and I am to stay here with you until Hyunjin arrives, okay?"

She smiles at you and finally, you are able to take a closer look at the woman. Her hair is graying but long, a silver crown rests on her head gracefully and she wears the most beautiful silk gown you'd ever seen. Her face is wrinkled yet when she smiles, one can tell that she must have been quite a beauty back in the day.

"W-who might you be, ma'am?" You ask, nervous, heartbeat in your throat.

You were excited when you saw the fancy room earlier but now it's getting real creepy. Why is this random woman talking to you as if she knows you?

"Oh, dear, y/n," She places a hand on your forehead, and you flinch, "I'm your mother in law. Queen Sayyu. Do you really not remember?"

Your breath gets caught in your throat.

Queen Sayyu. You'd heard that name before. That painting in that museum you were in. Lia was right beside you. What the fuck happened after that?

"I think you're mistaken, ma'am. I am a student. I cannot be married." You mutter, "Did you find my phone when I was brought here? I could call my friend. She must be around." Because there's no way Lia would leave you alone with this creepy old lady with some serious personal issues, right?

But then again, Queen Sayyu was a real person. And for all you know, her daughter in law did resemble you.

Did you perhaps travel back in time? Or was it just your brain making you see weird things?

"Phone? What's that?" She asks.

You sigh, and tap your thighs where your pant pockets once resided but now, your fingers slide across the softest silk.

"Where are my clothes?" You jump out of the bed, getting worried by the second.

Why were you dressed in a blue silk gown? You don't even remember ever buying one.

Panic seizes you when Sayyu tries to touch you, "Ma'am, would you please tell me what’s going on? I'm genuinely confused!"

"I am telling you the truth! You, y/n Princess of The Northern Kingdom was married off to my son Hwang Hyunjin a few months back. " she sucks in a deep breath, "Did you perhaps lose your memories after the accident? Did you hit your head too hard?"

You are about to open your mouth to reply when you hear a gentle knock on the door.

"Y/n, it's Hyunjin. "

Sayyu passes you a worried look before she rushes off to let her son in.

"It's worse than I thought, " you hear her whisper as the front door opens, "She has amnesia!"

You sit on the edge of the bed, running a frustrated hand through your hair.

As if the mother wasn't enough, the son is here too. Brilliant.

"Please talk to her. She is saying peculiar things like some thing called phones and some girl called Lia and she kept asking who I was!" Sayyu continues whispering to Hyunjin, with no active reaction from the latter.

You wonder if Sayyu was really stupid enough to think you couldn't hear her.

"I'll talk to her." A male voice finally replies, "You should rest, mother. You've been here all day."

For some reason, you cannot bring yourself to have a look at your supposed husband.

You have a fleeting memory of the painting you'd seen back at the museum but you weren't sure if the Prince really did look as attractive in real life.

You hear the front door open and close, and then heavy footsteps approach you.

"Is this some new plan of yours? Trying to get attention again?"

Wow. What the actual hell!

You snap your head to look at him, "Excuse me?"

But oh, boy was he beautiful. Long blonde hair, golden eyes and blue silk robes, he carried it all so elegantly.

"Y/n, please. I know you didn't actually lose your memories. So stop pretending and tell me why you are doing it."

For a second, you almost feel bad for yourself.

Well not you you but the princess you.

It must have been hard marrying someone like this. But then again, good looks hardly ever guarantee good behavior.

"I am not pretending. I genuinely do not remember anything, Hyunjin! Why do you have to be so mean?"

"If you really do not remember anything then why are fighting with me like you do always! See, I was right. You are lying."

You clench your jaw, frustrated, " I am fighting because whether I remember you or not, you're still a piece of shit!"

Hyunjin's eyes widen in shock. Of course he never expected his graceful wife to ever use such profanities. He looks betrayed.

"Now get the hell out of my room."

You climb back into the bed, cover your head with the quilt and shut your eyes.

Before you know it, you are sleeping soundly with no idea that your poor husband is spending the night on the sofa in your room

*

The next morning, you are woken up by your maids followed by the most delicious breakfast ever.

They prepare a bath for you, chose a gorgeous gown from the closet, and even style your hair. You do not even have to lift a finger to get these things done.

And all of a sudden, your odd reality doesn't feel as horrible anymore.

You remember the placard placed near that painting, and all your fears vanish. It was written that Prince Hyunjin and his wife would be killed in a few years and you are positive that when you die in this world, you will wake up in your original world.

Yes, the dying part is scary but might as well enjoy the luxury that comes with the fear.

In the afternoon, you find yourself sipping tea and breathing the fresh air of the rose garden behind your palace quarters.

"So you are...Nabi. My lady in waiting?"

Nabi is a cheerful, smiley young woman. She also seems to be closer to the princess version of yourself than most other maids.

"Yes, your Highness, " she sighs sadly, "It breaks my heart to see you like this. Do you really not remember anything?"

"Um, I remember some things. Like the king's and queen's name and princess Yeji. I also know that I am from the Northern Kingdom."

You also know that you'd die in around two years and Hyunjin's sister will make a painting to let the world know what a tragic story you had, but you decide to not say that.

Nabi pouts, "I'm sorry, your Highness. I wish I were there when you fainted. Maybe I could have helped you."

You tap your fingers against the porcelain cup in your hand, "Could you tell me exactly what had happened that day? Did I fall down? Or something else happened?"

"Oh, you didn't fall, no," she chuckles, "All the women of the Royal family were invited to this art gallery. While looking through some paintings, you suddenly fainted. We brought you back immediately."

"The physician check you and confirmed that you weren't pregnant, much to the Queen's dismay. She was looking forward to becoming a grandmother."

You almost spit the tea out, "What! Where did that even come from?"

Nabi smiles, "Well, why else would a newlywed bride faint? Anyway, I knew you weren't pregnant. You'd told me the prince and you haven't done that, you know."

Wow. The princess 'you' really told this girl way more than needed.

"And why exactly did I say we hadn't fu- I mean done that yet?" And now you were asking more than necessary.

"Because he's cold to you." She says, "But you know, even when you told me that, I knew he loved you and only you. He has never been involved with another and I saw him keep a portrait of yours in his private study room."

You are at a loss of words. How does one even react to this kind of information? Should you be happy for the princess 'you' or should you be jealous of her?

You force a smile, "How exactly did you find out about the portrait?"

"What portrait?" A male voice says from somewhere behind you.

Nabi and the other maids quickly get on their feet and greet their prince as this ethereal man walks out from behind the tall bushes.

"Hm? What are you guys talking about?" He asks, a gentle smile on his lips.

Oh so now he smiles?

"Just palace gossip." Nabi says, her gaze low.

"Is it true, my princess?" Hyunjin walks toward you and takes your hand in his, pressing his lips gently to your fingers.

You hate the way your cheeks heat up at the contact.

"Y-yeah. Obviously." You say.

He smiles widely, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "Could you ladies please excuse us?"

When Nabi and the maids leave, you find yourself alone with the prince again and you're not sure how you feel about that.

Last night, he was so mean to you and now he's acting like a lovestruck man? What is the meaning of this?

You push him away, "What?"

He sighs.

Today, his blonde hair is tied half way up, and he wears a diamond crown. He looks more sophisticated from last night. More prince-like.

"What?" You demand again.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday, okay? I'm still not convinced that you've lost your memories but can we put this behind us for a while?" He says, "Can you come with me to the study room? I have to show you something."

You follow him without question.

The palace complex is still a maze to you and other than your living quarters, you don't know much about the rest of the palace.

He leads you through a staircase to a huge room on the top floor of one of the buildings. Or was it the main palace where the king and queen resided? You weren't sure anymore.

"Yeji was very worried to hear about your amnesia, by the way." Hyunjin mutters as he lights the candles in the room, "She'll be back by next summer."

"Where has she gone?" You say, mindlessly staring at the huge collections of books in this place. A huge chandelier hangs from the center of the room and as the Hyunjin continues to light numerous candles and lanterns around the room, your eyes finally take in the whole picture of the room. For a second, you almost felt like you were watching a Renaissance period drama.

Hyunjin stops in his tracks, "y/n, do you really not know?"

He turns around and looks at you strangely, as if expecting your eyes to give away the truth of this supposed amnesia.

And when he sighs, you know that he didn't find what he desired.

"She's training under a really famous dance academy. If she's lucky, she might be able to clear her final year dance exams this year." He says.

You want to ask him if art doesn't interest her but that might make him doubt you again. You cannot afford to do that when Hyunjin is the only person here who you trust even slightly.

Nabi is honest and Sayyu is kind but you find it hard to match their energy.

"So what did you want to sho-" You stop mid sentence when your eyes fall on a huge painting behind Hyunjin's study table.

Your painting.

"It's me", you gasp, "It's..my portrait."

"Yeah. I just finished it today, actually." He rubs the back of his neck, "I'll hang it in your room once the paint dries."

In the painting, you are sitting on a chair, dressed in the finest white dress you'd ever seen. An elegant tiara sits on the crown of your head, and your lips are stretched into a smile.

"Hyunjin..." you are at a loss of words.

Nabi was right; Hyunjin did have a portrait of you in his study. What she didn't know is that he was the one who made the painting while all this while you were under the impression that Yeji was the artist in the family.

"It's good right?" He asks, unsure.

"Yes. I love it," you reply, "When is this image from?"

Hyunjin frowns at your words, again scanning your eyes as if looking for some hint of lies in your words.

"Y-you don't remember?" He asks.

"What?"

He sighs, looking rather disappointed, "It's from our wedding, y/n."

*

Hyunjin is starting to wonder if you'd actually lost your memories.

The next few days, he tries to subtly engage you in conversations regarding your wedding day and your life before getting married and by the time the week ends, he is sure you'd lost your memories.

He hated to admit it, but he did like the fact that you couldn't remember the times when he was so horrible to you.

Now he can start anew. A clean slate.

"You've been spending suspiciously a lot of time with me, Hyunjin." You had asked him one evening, munching up a cookie, "What's up?"

He chuckles; he's come to enjoy this new side of yours. It's a completely different version of your other self- the one who grew up training to be the lady of a house.

"Nothing," he grabs a cookie for himself, "We're having a ball this evening, by the way. It's mother and father's 30th anniversary."

Your eyes widen with excitement, "Really?! We're having a ball ball. Like we wear dresses and all? And we dance under a huge chandelier?"

Hyunjin is taken aback; you used to hate balls. Or any public gathering for that matter.

"Y-eah, well. Yes." He gulps.

"Oh my god. I need to talk to Nabi. I have so much to prepare, oh my god. Why are you only just telling me," you grab another cookie and sprint towards your room, "Also will there be a fountain where wine flows instead of water? That would be so cool!"

Hyunjin gives you a soft smile; no such fountain was planned for the ball but if it meant he'd see you this excited, he could pull a few strings.

*

The rest of the hours leading upto the ball is a blur; you only remember running from the dressing room to the ball room to your bedroom and back to the dressing room and as for Hyunjin, the day goes slower than ever.

He only got to see flashing glimpses of you running from place to place and somewhere, deep down in his heart, he missed your attention.

It was a jarring realization; him enjoying your company and attention and even craving it at times. He couldn't quite digest this unfamiliar feeling yet, he realised, he wasn't unwelcome to it.

"Are you ready? They're waiting for the Prince and Princess, y/n. We don't want the Royal families of other kingdoms thinking we were out doing something unholy now, would we?"

Hyunjin has this mischievous smile on his, leaning against the door Frame of your dressing room.

Is he flirting? You wonder.

You sigh, "I don't think I look good enough, Hyunjin. I look..weird."

You run a hand over the lustrous material of your ball gown. You feel very foreign in your body all of a sudden.

"I don't think so, my lady," Hyunjin steps into the room, a hand gentle on your waist, "I think you look breathtaking. What would you say, Nabi?"

Nabi hides a blush while you stare at your husband; wide eyed and mouth gaping.

What has gotten into him lately? Is he trying to annoy you or are these words coming from somewhere else?

You shake the latter thought away from your mind. How could this beautiful Prince from centuries before your time find you breathtaking?

Impossible.

You swallow your nervousness and turn on your heels.

"If you say so," you shrug, "Let's go, come on, Hyunjin. "

Chuckling softly to himself, Hyunjin follows suit.

The evening is great but you don't remember much by the time it ends; you somehow end up getting drunk on wine from the wine fountain and Hyunjin has to subtly carry you away from the ball room.

"Hyunjin ~" you slur as he covers your body with a duvet, "Do you ever wonder if a parallel universe exists?"

He lies down beside you, sighing, "Maybe. Why do you ask?"

"I know it exists. I am living proof that it exists, you know," you say, passionately, "I'm not bluffing."

Hyunjin laughs, " Of course, you're not. How could you lie?"

He pushes strands of hair behind your ear.

Your heart thumps against your chest; you love that feeling.

"If there was a parallel universe, I hope I end up with you." You giggle, snuggling into his chest.

Hyunjin freezes for a moment, breath stuck in his throat and eyes not even blinking.

But when he feels you relaxing into him, he let's his shoulders slouch.

"If there was a parallel universe, I hope I end up with you too."

The only reply he gets from you is a snore.

*

The next few months are smooth as the calm sea, pleasant as the spring wind, beautiful like the blooming of roses.

You'd come to adore Hyunjin- that was for sure. You'd come to love his presence and crave it everytime you guys were apart. He had become like the anchor to your ship; and you, his.

"Yeji's coming home tomorrow, by the way. How much do you remember of her?"

"Just her face," and the fact that when you're both killed brutally one day, she'd make a painting of you two, immortalising your love.

The thought causes your stomach to stir; you didn't want to go back to the reality you knew.

All of a sudden, you find yourself wishing you had more time with this man- this man who loved nothing more than lying in your arms, your naked bodies as close as one could get, this man who had made you feel safe when you were suddenly sucked into this unknown world, this man who loved you to death and beyond.

Hyunjin snuggles in closer(as if he could get any closer) and kisses your temple oh so tenderly. Then he moves to your cheek, then nose and then mouth.

His lips are plump and warm and inviting, and before you know it, you both find yourself falling into the wonderful ocean of pleasure. Over and over again.

The next day when Yeji arrives, you are skeptical about approaching her but she was more than happy to see you. Before the day ended, she'd already invited you to a tea party in the gardens, and by the week ended, you guys had become great friends.

She was just so comfortable to talk to and so friendly. She was so curious yet sweet. How could you not be her friend, you often wondered.

It was on one such afternoon picnic that Nabi came running to you.

"His Majesty is injured! He was attacked during his hunt."

You didn't waste a second before storming off towards his room, not caring for your supposed lady etiquette anymore.

No God, please, not yet.

You reach your bedroom, out of breath and sweaty, and Hyunjin was sitting at the edge of the bed, getting his wounds cleaned.

Your heart drops into your stomach.

There is a big gash on his arm; bleeding profusely even though the physicians were trying to stop it. There are blue and purple all over his face and stomach, and a few more smaller cuts on his entire body.

And he looked terrified and pale and sad.

"Hyunjin..." you run to him.

He looks up at you, teary eyed.

"Y/n...I'm okay." Is his first instinct, "Don't cry."

You sit beside him and press a long kiss to his temple, your heart feeling lighter when the physician signals to you that the bleeding has stopped.

"Who was it?" You ask

Yeji stands in front of the two of you; tears streaming down her face.

"Whoever it was, I'll kill them with my own two hands, goddammit!"

"Calm down, guys." Hyunjin sighs, "I didn't see a face. But they were wearing a very familiar perfume. I wonder who it could have been."

You swallow nervously, "Just..just stay safe okay?"

Hyunjin smiles at you, "Of course, my love."

An odd mixture of expressions grace Yeji's face.

*

While Hyunjin recovers, you make sure he does not step out of the palace unaccompanied.

You're getting his food tested, his room sanitized, and every gift that he receives has to go through multiple rounds of security checks. You know what is to come, but some silly, silly part of you wants to prevent it.

"You're being a little too paranoid, I think." Hyunjin tells you as the servants set up the dinner table for him, "I'm gonna be fine, y/n."

"Hyunjin, just," you sigh, reminding yourself to be patient with him, "Just please let me do what I'm doing. It helps me sleep at night."

With a gentle wave of his wrist, Hyunjin dismisses the servants.

He grabs your hand and pulls you in to sit on his lap.

"Y/n, I'm literally right here. I'm stronger than you think. I'm not planning on leaving you any time soon." He presses a kiss to your temple.

A wave of realization washes over you, and you find yourself tearing up, melting into his embrace.

How did you even come to love this man that you'd only ever heard of in history books? Was this even real? If you pinch yourself hard enough, would you wake up to a world where Hyunjin is not yours anymore?

"Just shut up, goddammit, " you say to him, "Hold me, please."

You say it like a request, but really, you were begging him to hold you. To make you feel safe, even if it's for a short while. Because for all you know, the end could be closer than expected.

That night, you and Hyunjin fall asleep in each other's embrace. There was nothing more pure, raw, or beautiful than what you felt with him. In a span of a few months, you'd fallen madly in love with the prince.

It's funny, huh, how you never found love back in the modern world yet here you were, sharing your whole heart with Hyunjin?

Maybe it was always meant to be like that and maybe when this beautiful daydream ends someday, you could look back at it and relish these memories.

"Y/n, get up." You're pulled out of your sleepy thoughts when you feel someone tap you on the shoulder. Urgent.

"Nabi? What time is it?" You whisper back, gently putting Hyunjin's head of the pillow, "What's happened?"

Nabi shakes her head, "The Royal investigators have got some news. A possible group of assassins is heading to the palace as we speak. My lady, we must rush you to safety immediately. The soldiers will escort the Prince."

Your heart hammers against your chest.

"I-I can't leave him. He's not recovered yet. He cannot fight!"

"Your majesty, please. I beg you," Nabi replies, "These are the orders of The Queen. I have to escort you to where the ladies are. "

With a tight throat, you quietly follow Nabi out of the room.

She leads you down through a secret tunnel between Your Palace and The King's, that leads to a dark corridor with a single metal door at the end.

"This way, your majesty. The princess and the queen are inside. I'll bring you news from to time so there's nothing to worry about." Nabi says as she unlocks the door from the outside. She passes the lantern to you.

The moment you step into the dark room inside, you hear a loud bang. You turn around in horror only to find the door closed in your face and Nabi gone.

"N-nabi?" You murmur nervously, "Why did you close the door?"

From inside the room, you hear a faint chuckle.

"She's gone, y/n. Left us to rot in this dungeon forever. "

"Yeji?"

You jog towards the tired, lifeless voice.

And when you reach the princess, what your lantern shows you horrifies you to the core.

"Your majesty!" You fall on your knees, grabbing the lifeless body of a once beautiful Queen who you'd come to adore over the years, "W-what happened?"

You're crying now; watching the princess caress her mother's cold face.

You're sobbing; watching the bloody hands of the daughter who tried to stop her mother from bleeding to death.

"Nabi is..", Yeji swallows, "She's a part of the resistance that wants to overthrow the monarchy. They want a military ruled government. It was her doing. On the day Hyunjin was attacked, I knew it was her."

You cry harder, moaning into your hands.

How could she?

"And I too, am at fault here. I made the mistake of befriending her so so many years ago," Yeji continues, "I paved her way into the palace. I'm as much as of a criminal as her."

You clear your throat, rubbing the tears off your cheeks and neck, another sob bubbling within your chest.

"We do not have time to repent things we had no control over," you say, "The Queen Mother is gone but we can still save your father and Hyunjin. "

"They've taken father to their military fortress. " Yeji says, her tone suggesting she's given up all her hopes. "He's as good as dead. "

"Then we save my husband."

"Y/n, how will we-"

"I saw the key. When Nabi unlocked the door, I saw the key."

"What about it?" Yeji asks, shifting.

"It doesn't have a key. It only has a numerical lock code."

Yeji lifts an eyebrow, as if to ask you "So?"

"It was 0143."

*

Leaving the Queen Mother's body behind, you and Yeji rush out of the door, grabbing every knife, sword, and other sharp object you could find in the dungeon.

"I think she must have taken Hyunjin hostage," Yeji says, rubbing the sweat off her forehead. "But since he cannot fight that well because of his wounds, they're probably interrogating him in your bedroom. "

"Interrogating him for what?"

"The keys to the Royal armory and the king's safe of gold."

Sure enough, you find Hyunjin in your bedroom. Except it wasn't your Hyunjin, it was a replica of

Queen Sayyu. Blood and blood and blood everywhere on his body. His eyes barely open but his hands, they pointed at you as you rushed in.

"Hyunjin!" You cried, kneeling by the bed side floor, "Hyunjin, please, hold on."

The room was empty except for the three of you. The furniture was broken and burnt and cupboards were clearly forced open.

"Did you give them the keys?" Yeji asks him, sobbing, "Mother died to protect those keys."

He coughs and leans into you, "I've alarmed the military. They are on their way."

"The rebels will be coming back too." He coughs again, "The keys are behind the painting in my study. Save them Yeji, run, now."

Yeji steadies herself as she gets up, "Come on, y/n. He said they might come back. "

Oh, but how could you? How could you leave the love of your life to bleed to his death alone while you escaped?

Moreover, this was the tragic end of your daydream, wasn't it? Dying together while Yeji survives and continues to rule the country.

"Go, Yeji, " you tell her, over the noise of the blood coursing through your ears, you hear footsteps, "Now!"

Yeji is a smart girl, you realize. With a hand over her mouth to suppress her sobs, she runs out of the room, without turning back even once.

When she is out of sight, Hyunjin fumbles to find your hand in the darkness. He's cold and stiff.

"If I disappear today, promise me you will find me. Promise me, please y/n." He manages to say.

You kiss his hand softly as the footsteps get closer, tears streaming down your face.

"I will find you. In every universe, in every timeline. I will find you, my love. " you say as you find a metallic taste in your tears and your vision goes black.

*

After what feels like a millennia, the darkness around you is finally replaced by a bright light.

It is too bright, but when you see a familiar face, your discomfort vanishes.

"Lia!" You throw yourself onto your napping friend, "Lia! Oh, I'm so happy to see you."

Lia though surprised at your outburst, returns your embrace with equal enthusiasm.

"I missed you too, y/n." She says, "I didn't know that picture would have such an impact on you. I was so scared when you passed out!"

Picture? What picture?

And suddenly, all the memories play in your mind like an old film. It's hazy, but you know what's going on.

You see blood, a crown, burning curtains, and..a blonde prince.

Hwang Hyunjin.

"Lia..", you sigh, your heart aching terribly, "How long have I been out?"

"Like around 36 hours or so. I don't remember. "She replies.

36 hours in this world and you'd already spent a lifetime in another. How utterly tragic.

"Y/n, what's wrong? You're tearing up." Lia says, offering you a tissue, "Are you in pain?"

You sigh, "Yes. I am in extreme pain, Lia. How could life have been so, so unfair to us?"

Lia gives you a confused nod, not really sure what had exactly led you to believe that life had been unfair to you.

"Y/n, what-"

Lia is cut off by a knock on the door.

"Ah. That must be the doctor." Lia jogs towards the door, "Just a second, Dr. Seo!"

"Um, hello," the doctor greets, "Dr. Seo is in urgent surgery. He sent me in his place to check on the patient. "

When the doctor steps in closer, your breathing gets stuck in your throat.

Of course, you know this man. How could you not?

You'd died with him in another world, in another time, in another life.

You'd loved him.

"I'm Dr. Hwang, Miss Y/n." The doctor says, a familiar expression on his face. He looks rather delighted to see you.

"I feel like I've seen you somewhere before." He chuckles to himself as he sits on the chair by your hospital bed.

"Yes, me too." These are the only words you manage to say.

#skz #stray kids #skz au #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz hyunjin #skz hyunjin x reader #skz hyunjin au #skz fics #skz royal au #stray kids hyunjin #skz smut #skz fluff #3racha #skz hyunjin fluff #skz imagines #kpop imagine #skz kpop #skz angst #skz romance

[failing-to-write-again]

Baby Photos Part 2!

Part 1

Since the lovely asker @lilithram did say to pick between Sakamaki baby photos or reader baby photos, I chose both. While the previous part was less overall fluff and more early relationship I decided to make this one closer to an established relationship. I’m a bit nervous about making the boys ooc so any feedback on parts that are good and in character or those less in character would help me work to tailor my writing.

I worked under the ages proposed by @diabolik-shu-lover from this post.

Shu Sakamaki

Visiting le château de Heinz wasn’t your ideal vacation spot if you were to be completely honest. Unfortunately a major downside to dating a crown prince is how business minded people are going to be about your relationship. Shu had delayed taking you here, sharing his wish to live a more ordinary life until his accession, and even then he still wanted to have a more “normal” relationship. So far your little trip had consisted of a dinner with Shu and his father where he quizzed you on your life, followed by two days of loneliness where Shu was kept away by business of some kind with his father. 

Waking up to day 3 of being alone you elected to at least try to find some evidence of Shu’s childhood you could tease him on. There had to be some silly sailor uniform or ruffled collar from when he was a small Victorian lad. Wandering the halls the castle was a thousand times creepier than the Sakamaki manor had ever been, especially when you were left without a lazy vampire keeping an eye on you. Karl Heinz had requested that his sons not kill you but that was before you began dating the son most likely to be forced into some arranged marriage. It didn’t help that the staff weren’t hidden familiars, they were standing in every room just looking… creepy.

Eventually your exploration landed you in a gallery, paintings decorated the hall with spotlights above each painting. Many seemed very old and depicted pretty women in the castle gardens at night. One of these paintings had a woman you were convinced was Shu and Reiji’s mother. She was under a gazebo in a red dress staring lovingly at someone standing somewhere behind the painting. 

“This must’ve been back when they were all in love before Cordelia.” You mumbled to yourself, turning away and continuing down the hall. You found some more imposing portraits of men, a few being Karl Heinz himself, and some more general landscape paintings. 

After nearly 2 hours of this you found a new hall of all six Sakamaki sons in a series of paintings, VICTORY. It’s always a bit weird when you get obvious reminders of your boyfriend being 387 years old even though he looks like a 19 year old. Seeing paintings of him in severely dated clothes and poses was just bizarre, snapping a picture of him in a wig from the Georgian period was a good form of pay back for his abandonment of you these past few days. There was one painting of him unlike all the others, he looked roughly 3 or 4 and was sat in his mother’s lap with a silver rattled as he peered down at a bundle in Karl Heinz’s lap, the raven coloured hair giving it away as Reiji. He looked so curious and his father looked so happy. He was cute, with blonde curlier locks and a big round face, he looked like any modern day child meeting their younger sibling. Seeing him with eyes so awake and full of life, and no animosity between the two oldest sons of Karl Heinz.

“She kept scolding me for not sitting still.”

Shouting in shock as you turn to see your MIA boyfriend with a shit eating grin on his face at your reaction.

“What’s with that face woman, girlfriend’s are meant to be happy when they see their boyfriend’s not scream like a banshee.” Teasing you as he stepped closer, moving his hands to sit comfortably at your waist. In response you let your head fall with a thud into his chest, wrapping your arm around his back.

“Well boyfriend’s aren’t meant to tell their girlfriend’s they’re going on vacation to then vanish off for days. We never get time together in the manor without your brothers hanging around and now your dad is keeping you busier than you’ve ever been.”

Sighing, Shu buried his nose in your hair  wrapping one arm around your shoulder and another around your lower back huddling you close. “I’m sorry. That guy wouldn’t stop talking about all this protocol and other crap about properly introducing you as my chosen queen. He wanted to rush everything.”

Pulling back just enough to look up eyes wide at what he was saying. Queen, you a queen? Not to mention having to meet more creepy vampires. Sensing some of your unease, Shu smiled.

“Relax, I managed to get him to agree to a much slower schedule, you won’t be rushed off to a ball anytime soon. For now the worst of it will be seeing some property we own and meeting his close advisory staff and my other’s old staff. After I have you to myself for another few months we’re going to graduate first.”

Letting out a sigh of relief you lay your head against his shoulder, staring back up at the painting. “As a kid you were pretty cute Shu.”

“Not as cute as you as a mini ballerina,” he shot back, absentmindedly rubbing little circles against your back as he also stared at the portrait.

“If I do end up as Queen you’re not allowed to marry anyone else, I refuse to deal with the whole situation with your mothers. And you can’t ever let our kids have such a poor relationship like you and Reiji.”

“Not if, when, princess and don’t work yourself up over stupid things. You’re mine, I'm not letting some woman try to take me away ever. Seriously such bothersome thinking.”

Leaning down he gently kissed you, as if you were so delicate and precious. Looking up at blue eyes finally looking awake and closer to that childhood Shu then he had in centuries.

Reiji Sakamaki

“The box I’m looking for is about as big as an envelope, and has a leather strap holding it shut. Let me know if you spot it.”

“Alright, anywhere you’d prefer I don’t look. I don’t want to run into some secret Laito porn stash up here.”

You hear Reiji chuckle at that. “Laito doesn’t come up here, too many spiders. I do not care where you go, we are partners, we agreed no secrets right.”

That made you smile, your relationship with Reiji was the fruit of a long journey of trying to reach an understanding. For a while you were both not fully able to understand each other, and while no relationship is perfect, especially yours, hiccups that would’ve caused serious arguments before were now easier to settle over tea. It felt good to feel like a respected partner.

Looking through the attic for this mystery box was a good time to find mementos to learn more about Reiji. Looking through older books and boxes of clothes or unused houseware most of the items in this portion of the attic seemed unimportant. Reiji focused his search on the opposite side of the room where the ceiling was higher, you were shorter than the 6ft man so were less uncomfortable searching where the roof sloped down. A small dusty window allowed some of the early morning light to stream in. Reiji had begun waking later during holidays to allow you both to have a day that had more sunlight for you. He claimed it was to reduce risk of seasonal depression or vitamin D deficiency, with the added benefit of allowing you both to go to museums and other date locations. Waking at 12am gave you the opportunity to see sunrises daily, and if you were honest the view of your boyfriend in the hazy early morning glow was always a welcome sight. 

“You’re staring.” 

“I see nothing wrong with admiring my boyfriend”

He let a smile sigh pass his lips as he smiled, shaking his head. Looking back down at the stack of cardboard boxes he was rifling through. You pull your eyes away and back to the room around you, you spot something sticking out behind a shelf. Pulling it out you find a handful of photos and a small box. The photos were black and white, Daguerreotypes, on metal sheets. The images showed a younger Reiji taking what looked like test photos. Some were of him, slightly blurred from incorrect technique, others of items. The last photo was much clearer and was of Reiji sitting in a chair with a book in his lap. He must’ve gotten a familiar to take the photo. 

“Hey Reiji can I take these down? I don’t know how to store such photos though.”

Looking up Reiji walked over, taking the photos from you to look through. He picked up a box placing them inside before handing them to you,

“I will have the familiars store them properly and make scans so you can have more stable prints of them. If you wish to have images of me to display however, I would prefer you take more modern photos with both of us.”

Smiling down at the box of photos, Reiji spoke again.

“Smiling over such trivial things as a few photos, you should be harder to please.”

“You’re probably the first man to ever say that Reiji, besides it’s nice to have childhood photos of each other. I only have my locket but what happens when your children ask to see what you looked like as a child?”

“Our children will have plenty of paintings of me to see at my father’s castle, and if we are so lucky your only response will be that they look exactly as you did as a child.” Adjusting his glasses Reiji knelt down and picked up the box you had also pulled out with the photos. Meanwhile as his words set in your face flushed slightly.

“Our children…Reiji you shouldn’t say that stuff so casually. Besides, why would you want them to look like me? I'm human.”

That was not a response he liked, gently lifting your chin with his thumb and pointer finger Reiji looked you in the eye as he spoke. “Our children should be as pretty or handsome as their mother. I’m insulted you think, after all we’ve been through, I have not grown out of the belief that blood is a final decider in terms of superiority. You are superior, you are who I want, you alone are my partner and equal so strong as to be able to hold my heart in your hands. Am I clear?”

Your blush darkens as Reiji flusters you further, you can only nod your head in response to such strong compliments said so earnestly. Smiling Reiji’s thumb gently swiped over your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss you. Reiji always kisses you with the aim to convey all of his feelings for you, as if you will never be able to kiss him again. Moving in tandem you ended up leaning against a shelf with Reiji’s arm pinning you there, your arms holding onto his collar to prevent him pulling away too soon. 

Unfortunately, Reiji has to ensure you take in air so moves back. Opening the box, he removes a key, turning it over in his hands.

“This key is to my father’s laboratory here, he used it when he was visiting us as children. I sealed it off years ago and elected to use my room for my experiments. However, due to the chemicals it is not safe for you to sleep there so they must be moved.” 

“What’s wrong with my room?”

“It is a guest room, I’m not going to sleep every night in a guest bedroom in my own home. No, my room must be altered to fit its needs and to do so I shall reclaim the laboratory as my own to allow you to rest safely.”

All you could do is follow along as Reiji began to return back downstairs, gazing down at the box of pictures. Looking at the sad younger Reiji you couldn’t help but compare him to the cool, confident man he had become.

Ayato Sakamaki

Ayato had demanded you meet him in the garden of the castle that evening, something about having something special to show you. You weren’t sure what to expect really, surprises with Ayato were often either very nice or sweet but messy failures. Breakfast in bed when you’ve never cooked before was a bad idea in hindsight, even he had to admit. Still as the night started to fade into dawn you made your way to the gardens, examining the sights around you as you went. 

The father of the Sakamaki’s had summoned them to return for some festival of sorts. Ayato had been vague in describing it, rather unhappy to be returning. It seemed like some carnival was being set up, you hoped it was a carnival anyway. As you ponder the pros of encouraging Ayato’s competitiveness to win you stuffed toys you eventually reach the garden. Opening the glass doors you see Ayato sitting on a blanket, under the stone gazebo and some candles lit around. He had a few plates of your favourite deserts around as well as takoyaki. He grinned as you approached, arms crossed and pride beaming from his face.

“I set this all up, yours truly is the best boyfriend ever, and I have a present for you.” Pulling out a box with a bow stuck on the lid, he gestured for you to open it. You sat down cross legged, opening the box to reveal a collection of photos. 

Lifting some out you realise these were the photos Ayato had burnt after he had first met you, before you had started dating. They looked untouched. Ayato, not trusting your silence, began to speak again.

“Ore-sama got the familiars to find copies and I had those losers in the tech club at school print them. They couldn't say no to yours truly. Do you like it?”

“Why did you do all this, you threw them into the fire.” Ayato blushed before looking away, a hand on his neck.

“I…felt…bad about making you cry like that. It’s only fun when you cry from my bites, not over that stuff.” 

Your sniffling brought his attention back to you, panic spreading across his face. Pulling you into his lap and holding you close as his brain froze trying to find the best course of action. Your hands rising up to hold his cheeks as you attempted to calm down, a smile on your face.

“It’s ok, they’re happy tears. I’m happy Ayato.”

“Are you sure, don’t lie to yours truly.”

“I’m not, I swear! Thank you Ayato, these photos are important to me.”

Sighing in relief, Ayato leant back letting his head thunk against one of the gazebo pillars. 

“Damn it, you’re not meant to cry when Ore-sama gives you gifts.”

Running his fingers along your back. You began rifling through some of the photos noticing some new additions to the collection. There, between the photos of a younger you were pictures of you and Ayato on various dates. You, completely unaware of the camera while Ayato was looking and seemingly taking each photo. There was also one picture of a painting, it was of three boys with the child on the left resembling a much younger version of your boyfriend. 

“I didn’t know you had any childhood photos of Ayato.”

“It’s the only one, you can’t have a collection of photos without one of yours truly to admire.”

Giggling you sit back leaning against his chest while you both began to enjoy your picnic and company. 

Laito Sakamaki

You were currently facing a big problem, for some reason the 2nd year history department had decided to assign a project discussing your family history…in detail. So you were currently stressed out of your mind trying to figure out how to worm your way out of this one. Laito was covered, his family history well laid out as a royal and all of his ancestors having false human lives, it basically wrote itself. Yet here you were unable to write anything. It’s not that you were necessarily ashamed of your orphan status, and your close companions now also ‘brides’ of the Sakamaki’s were virtually sisters and you could maybe write about them. But people always got weird about orphans, and while you weren’t ashamed to be one by any means, being Laito’s girlfriend let alone a Sakamaki girlfriend involved gossip, it came with the territory. Extra rich boys in a school full of rich kids would always mean they were an aim for many girls and their parents alike, let alone Laito’s colourful past meaning he’d slept with basically any 2nd year heiress he could say a word to. All of them convinced they’d be the one to make him want to stay, and all of them feeling the same disappointment or satisfaction when one failed. Then in comes a girl under a sponsorship by said extra rich kid’s father who then ends up dating each of them effectively removing them from the market, and meaning every single girl, generally all conventionally very attractive and whom most men would gladly keep as girlfriend, being ‘beaten’ as they saw it by someone with no assets. 

So to put a long story short, while you weren't super torn up about not having an easy to explain family tree, you weren’t ready to deal with everyone’s response to that little tidbit. All of this led you to now, sitting with Laito as he brushed your hair listening to your predicament.

“Like whatever about the teacher getting weird, I’ll gladly take the free pass to ask for extra stuff. But you really made everything difficult. I can handle snide remarks from Hana, Aoi, and Emiko; they're mostly harmless. Yet, if they get it in their heads that I don’t have parents to cause any issues they might get worse.” You stopped to pick up some popcorn, holding your arm backwards to give Laito some. He took the opportunity to lick your fingers, snickering as you pulled your hand back, wiping it on your jeans. 

“Don’t be nasty, I'm having a serious talk. I just… some of the 1st year girls were horrid to Subaru’s girlfriend just for finding out she had been at a boarding school. They cornered her in the bathroom and stuck gum in her hair. Gum! Like yeah me and the girls tore them a new one but…gum!”

Humming thoughtfully, Laito placed down the brush switching to running his fingers through your hair. He moved to rest his head on your shoulder, letting a comfortable silence sit over you while he thought of what to say.

“If you want, I can get you a family tree in full detail”

“How would you even do that, if you just make people up and anyone finds out then it's worse.”

“We could always make one~”

A pillow to the face shut that idea down, laughing as he fell backwards against the cushions while you were glaring at him.

“Be serious! What am I meant to do?”

Sitting back up, Laito took your hand pulling you up.

“Follow me.”

Walking through the manor, Laito took you to a less well maintained wing. Cobwebs littered the hallway and the wallpaper was peeling slightly in patches, there weren't any electrical lights either, only wall sconces with candles Laito lit as you walked by. Laito was silent for most of the journey, only giving a hand squeeze of reassurance whenever you caught his eye. You weren’t sure if the squeeze he gave passing a portrait of Cordelia was to reassure you or him, whenever you even heard of that woman it sent shivers down your spine.

Paintings became more common the further you walked, most were of adults with a vague similarity to Laito and his brothers, others were portraits of women in beautiful dresses with a characteristic pale visage. Finally stopping in front of a picture of three young boys with a signature red and purple haired look.

“This is the only painting or picture of me and any of my brothers together. Me and the other triplets don't argue as much as Shu and Reiji but we aren’t close,” he turned, taking your hands in his. “You have sisters, actual sisters who you have stories and pictures with. Anyone who disagrees, I will handle.” 

“Gum in my hair Laito. It’s not a good look.” Laito sighs, pulling you close before you hear him mutter.

“Theirs will look worse when I cut it all off.”

Kanato Sakamaki

“Dolly, why are you in here?”

Turning to greet Kanato from where you sat in the quiet wing of the Sakamaki manor, placing your sketchbook back down beside you and making room for your boyfriend to sit nearby.

“I come here to sketch the portraits since I can’t get a good wifi connection to look up references. I really like this painting, it’s of you right?” 

Kanato sat down looking up at the painting then to your sketch. It was different to the painting in many ways, the main difference being that it was a younger him alone with teddy. You had changed his posing too slightly to make him look less nervous. He was pinching his fingertips though, a sign he was uncomfortable that he picked up from the exercises he had copied you doing to help regulation. You could see he was struggling to find his wording. Scooting closer you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to reassure him you cared and were listening. 

“It’s pretty, but dolly I don’t like you being here.”

“Why Kanato? It’s nice here, nobody comes here to interrupt or be loud and there's all these pretty paintings. What’s wrong?” Continuing to play with his fingers, he moves closer to you turning to face you straight on.

“This is where…her room used to be. We have to leave me and Teddy hate it here.” Immediately you were filled with questions. While you knew Kanato, Ayato, and Laito killed their mother and have mixed feelings towards her, you had never seen Kanato spooked. It did explain why this area was not well maintained. You had to bring a brush with you during your first visits to the wing to remove some of the largest cobwebs and first from your seat. However, you had to admit that with the newfound knowledge that these halls were where your boyfriend had been tormented by his own mother for centuries it changed the atmosphere. Suddenly the quiet was now tense, the weathered appearance of the halls becoming creepy signs of lifetimes long since passed. 

So you went along with Kanato’s instruction, returning to the more familiar manor where Reiji had familiars ensuring everything was organised and dustless. Following behind while mulling over the best way to approach this particular conversation. He led you to his room, sitting on his bed with your sketchbook and flipping through it. Pacing the path from his bedside locker to his balcony doors slowly, Kanato watched you. Around your fifth lap he gently grabbed your forearm guiding you to sit next to him, playing with the pages of your sketchbook. He turned to one of your favourites, you had drawn Kanato sitting in front of a backdrop of rose bushes. A small smile on his lips and a glint of childish glee in his eyes.

“I’m hanging this one up.”

“That one isn’t fully vanished, it's only a sketch.”

“But I like it, so it’s finished and I want it on my wall. And I want a matching one of you to go beside it.”

Sighing in acceptance you took his hand winding your fingers with his. It was probably better to shelf some questions anyway, while you were well past the stage of Kanato stabbing you with a fork for too many questions it was still not always easy to bring up sensitive topics. 

Subaru Sakamaki

“Oi, idiot the car is outside. Are you ready to go or what?”

Grabbing your earrings and standing, you began walking over to your boyfriend in a new sundress and short heels for a lunch meeting with Christa at some new vampire restaurant she had taken a liking to. In the years following yours and Subaru’s relationship, both of you had begun to put work into  helping both Subaru and his mother move forwards in their lives and reducing the impact their past traumas had on them. It was a slow and difficult progress with what felt like 100 steps back after every step forward but Christa had reached the point where her good days outnumbered her bad ones with the help of a team of specialists and patience. 

Within the last half a year Christa had begun to travel short distances from her home, a fairly new cottage Subaru had built her close to the manor after we graduated from Ryoutei Academy. Today’s trip was to a cafe she had been to numerous times with her trusted hand maids, so it was an obvious choice for the first excursion you and Subaru were joining in on. On Subaru’s part you had nothing but admiration and pride for the strides he had taken, he still had periods of self doubt often linked to birthdays and when his father was involved. However, such episodes were short and he had grown into more healthy responses to these thoughts, that still didn’t reduce his worries when interacting with his mother in environments that could trigger an episode. It took reassurances from Christa and her therapist to show that there was a set of precautions to ensure her safety before he agreed to this lunch. 

That brought you to today, where your boyfriend adjusted the collar of his pale grey shirt and looked at you with eyes that clearly showed his trepidation about this trip. Looping your arm around his as you made your way to the car you offered reassurance.

“She’s been looking forward to this lunch, she goes there every week at this point it's basically the same as when we have dinner with her.”

“The first time we had dinner with her she started screaming at your halfway through thinking you were a thief, before she tried to cut your hair off.”

“That’s not a fair comparison and you know it. Christa has found medicines that work and worked with Dr. Estelle for years now.”

“You know she  wants you to call her mum.”

“She’ll be mum when you get on the ring choosing we both agreed last time at dinner remember. She even offered to help you plan everything.”

Grunting, he looked away squeezing your arm while opening the passenger side door of his porsche. The ride was mostly quiet with you running your shared spotify playlist with Subaru mentioning concerns for you to counter with considerations made to address them. Once you arrived at the cafe Subaru relaxed quickly seeing Christa behaving normally. 

As always, you were greeted with hugs and excited interrogations as to the going ons of your life since your last visit. Christa had been so kind as to give recommendations based on your individual tastes, having an excellent grasp on the menu. She was also so kind as to bring an album of photos her staff had made of Subaru growing up to allow her to feel more included in his life while locked in that tower. 

“Oh my goodness! He looks so cute here, when was this one?”

You pointed to a photo of a roughly 8 year old Subaru sitting on a wooden table licking a spoon covered in some batter. Smudges of the batter were on his cheeks and shirt as a fire was lit in the background. It was a cosy image and something you had seen Subaru do before. Anytime you baked anything he insisted on spoon cleaning duty to ‘make it easier to clean’.

“Ah, one of my ladies in waiting had that painted after she heard me talking about how happy I was during that visit.”

“I love it, Subaru was such a cute kid!”

“I don’t see what's so cute, I’m just stuffing my face there.”

“Oh shish Subaru. She’s right, you were an adorable kid with cute little cheeks.” To emphasise her point she pinched his cheeks while cooing at him. Subaru only scowled in response, but it held no actual malice behind his glare.

While leaving the cafe, after nearly 5 hours of catching up, Christa pulled you aside to give you the picture claiming she had hundreds more. During the drive home Subaru kept looking at you admiring the photo. 

“You can always take pictures of me ya now. You don’t need to use a kid photo of me for that.”

“I have photos of you, I just like this one, it's special.”

“You’re such a weird woman.”

“Would you have me any other way?”

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers imagine #reiji sakamaki #shu sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #shu sakamaki x reader #reiji sakamaki x reader #laito sakamaki x reader #ayato sakamaki x reader #kanato sakamaki x reader #subaru sakamaki x reader #diabolik lovers headcanon #diabolik boys

[nitewrighter]

Cindy Part 13

As always, for all parts, please refer to the masterpost.

This is it. Man I wish I could have something cool and goofy to say to offset all the emotions I’m feeling right now, but I’m gonna be honest, I’ve gotten really attached to this story, and I’m deeply touched by all of your enthusiasm and connection in reading it. This story was born out of frustrations of bad-faith readings of fairy tales, and... I dunno, over the course of writing it, it very quickly stopped being about frustrations with those bad-faith readings and more about telling a story because you love people. You love people because they’re messy and complicated and, like stories, they’ve got holes in them that make them all sorts of different things to different people depending on how different people in your life fill those holes. Does that make sense?  I’m immediately realizing that that the ‘filling holes’ metaphor could be interpreted in a very interesting way but I can’t really think of a better metaphor but my point is... thank you all for staying with me this long. Love or hate the ending, I’ll see you guys on the other side.

Content warnings for major character death and... wait for it... eye trauma.

----

There is a royal wedding. You don’t throw the words “Intended Bride” around in a royal decree going out to the whole kingdom and not have a Royal wedding. Both the King and Cindy are absolutely delighted to plan the whole thing and admittedly they kind of butt heads over aesthetics and the menu at first but eventually they figure things out and my god the king adores her. The prince is a little embarrassed about the whole thing but oh boy he’s more than happy to have a couple extra dancing lessons with Cindy, parse out some event logistics with moving the wedding party from point A to point B and arranging for everyone’s safe exit from the party to local inns and estates and the appropriate after-parties with Brad and Gabe, as well as taste-testing some samples for the reception catering  (THE PRINCE GETS HIS PIES, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN).

Eunice paints Cindy and the Prince’s new portrait in the weeks leading up to the wedding—it looks much better than his old one—some say it’s because he looks a lot happier in this one, others say it’s because he’s looking at his fiancee in the portrait, which gives a much better angle to his jawline. Cindy is smiling out at the viewer of the painting, a rat in a dapper miniature guard uniform jacket on her shoulder.

The wedding itself is a fascinatingly egalitarian affair, outdoors in the palace gardens. The official ring bearer is a rat, sitting on its haunches with a ring in its little rat hands, carried on a velvet pillow by one of the king’s younger grand-nephews. The reception is catered by both the palace and some of Cindy’s favorite food stalls in the market. Kids of all classes are running around barefoot on the palace lawns and polished little heirs and scrubbed-raw ragamuffins alike are shoving child-fist sized bouquets ravaged from the gardens at the happy bride and nicking tarts from the buffet table. The queen’s privateers show up to the reception with kegs of rum and cool-ass fire-breathers and acrobats from far-off lands and they break into a musical number as is their custom. The local cheesemonger is rocketed to widespread fame and fortune through the sheer force of their le chevrot and is honestly unsure how they feel about it. It’s such a perfect combo of joy and chaos that even the king’s hardcore party-planning ass gets caught up in all the fervor of the event and he goes nuts on the dance floor and pulls the queen into it, too!

Dutiful Wine daughter is there and she catches the bouquet! Good for her! And she goes on to be the royal sommelier so actually she and Cindy are good friends and they have girls’ nights and sleepovers and Cindy just adores all of Dutiful Wine Daughter’s siblings. Eunice hangs out with them too because she has an ongoing commission with the palace of painting rats in fancy outfits next to bonsai trees and honestly she didn’t get out that much either prior to all this shoe stuff and it’s cool having friends. Prints of her rat-and-bonsai-tree paintings are extremely popular as a status symbol with both old families and the nouveau riche. Eunice honestly wishes her gay-as-hell mythological nudes were her bigger artistic legacy, but hey, y’know that’s how shit works when you’re a creative. You take what you can get.

Now, could I have the stepfam crash the wedding with the intent of humiliating Cinderella and then have a flock of fairy-possessed starlings peck their eyes out  to the horror of the entire kingdom? I mean honestly that would be fucking metal but I don’t think Cindy wants to see any eyes pecked out on her big day. And also everyone else was having a blast so that would be a real downer. Even if they are abusive assholes. And you KNOW my man Brad has security for the event locked down pat! Oh the stepfam tried, but they weren’t getting in. The stepmother even tried hitting Brad with “Let me speak to your manager,” which is when Gabe showed up like, “Oh hello, Madam. You may remember me, I’m the King’s Valet, and I had some questions about your deceased husband’s estate.” (Cue anime glasses glint). And that’s when the stepfam was like, “Actually we were just leaving.” So they go home to their increasingly filthy estate, growing piles of laundry, and absolute jungle of a garden.

Meanwhile, after a cozy little wedding night where they crack open a certain bottle of port with a unicorn on the label, Cindy and the Prince honeymoon at sea with the queen’s privateers. To put it mildly, it is a wild ride. And I could go into all the sword-fighting and musical numbers and rat shadow puppet theater and the prince wearing those slutty puffy shirts with the pec cleavage and also the passionate kisses next to sunsets on glittering seas, but we’re just going to shift the camera to the stepfam for a second here—I know, I know, they suck but don’t worry, Cindy and the prince are fine, and you gotta give a couple some privacy on their honeymoon, you know?

See, quality of life on the estate quickly plummets without Cindy doing… well.. literally everything. There’s no one cooking, no one cleaning, no one doing the laundry, no one gardening, and it doesn’t take long for the Stepfam to get at each others’ throats real fast. Their house is no longer in a suitable state for them to have anyone over—they have no one cooking to serve food to guests and the whole place looks like shit—one might say the garden got out of control with almost supernatural speed, and without anyone doing laundry, they quickly run out of clothes to make themselves presentable in public. By the time they actually miserably figure out laundry? Every family of fashion has spent the last two months talking about how the royal wedding was the most exciting social event of the season—or, in one case, about how their son eloped with a foxy acrobat that came with the privateers. The stepfam does two (2) loads of laundry and like… four miserable attempts at cooking and one wretched attempt at dishes before they go, “Okay fuck it, we’ll use the gold the palace gave us to hire a new servant.” So they put on their muddy, unwashed cloaks and put out fliers under cover of night. Eventually a handful of candidates show up to the house, but the conversation always goes the same—or at least some variation of it.

“I’m sorry, you expect me to do… all this… and you’re only offering me this level of payment?”

“As well as room and board!” The stepmother blurts out.

“…in the basement. It’s freezing down there—are you at least going to get thicker bedding?”

“There’s a hearth!”

“Well yeah, but you built the bed into an alcove on the far side of the room. What am I gonna do, sleep in the ashes? On the hearthstones?? Those are literal rocks!”

“But—”

“And you know this contract doesn’t say anything about overtime or weekends.”

“What the hell is a weekend?”

And the candidate would press their hands together like, “Look, lady, even if I was crazy and desperate enough to take this job, which I’m not, the conditions you’re outlining literally aren’t legal.”

“Luh… legal??”

“Yeah! Haven’t you heard about the DDWR?”

“The what?”

“The Decree of Domestic Workers’ Rights? It was ratified as soon as the prince and princess consort wed! Why do you think the whole kingdom was celebrating? Literally 75% of the shit you’re describing with this job is well outside of its parameters! 95% if you were really being serious about the basement shit!”

“P-princess… Consort…” the stepmother repeats.

“Anyway—like, for me it boiled down to this job or a leather tannery, and to be honest, you’ve made the leather tannery look way more attractive. But anyway, best of luck with revising your contract to meet DDWR standards. I’m out.”

And that happened about 5 times. Except replace “leather tannery” with “fishmonger’s underling who deals mostly in cleaning out the guts” or “dyer’s apprentice whose job more or less guarantees your arms will be a weird teal-y gray up to the elbows” or “Bog witch’s apprentice even though damp environments wreak havoc on my complexion.”

So once again the stepfam was up shit-creek without a paddle. Except the younger stepsister got a very bright idea of “Well, Cinderella did all that because she had nowhere else to go, right? All we need is someone we know has nowhere else to go! And if they’re young enough, they aren’t protected by that DD-whatever!”

And Stepmother is like, “Finally a decent idea!” And she looks at the elder stepsister like “Why didn’t you think of that? Did your brain bleed out of your toe-stubs?” So the Stepfam takes off for the local orphanage.

It’s not nearly as miserable and depressing as they were expecting. They can hear faint singing in one of the buildings, they pass by a classroom where a bunch of orphans are eagerly raising their hands at an arithmetic question, and out in the yard, one of the nuns is overseeing a bunch of cute grubby orphans working on the garden and congratulating them on cultivating excellent bean sprouts. The stepfam is steered to a directory office where they’re greeted by an unfortunately familiar face. The stepmother doesn’t immediately pick up on the rising dread at the stepsisters’ reactions on seeing a girl they had previously described to the prince as ‘looking like she was either going to cry or piss herself.’ Amelia looks fucking great—she’s a novice, not a nun yet, but it’s clear she’s found a really good environment for herself—all bright eyes and cheery smiles and the kind of customer service politeness you would find in a Waffle House waitress who has SEEN IT ALL. And there’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes at the stepsisters that tells the stepsisters, “Oh we’re fucked.”

“So!” Amelia tents her fingers, “You want to adopt one of our orphans. That’s great! Well, as soon as you pass our vetting process, we can set up meetings with children we think are best suited to your living situation.”

“V-vetting process?” The stepmother is remembering their house currently looks like absolute shit right now.

“Well, yes! Making sure the child is brought up in a clean, loving, and caring environment is first priority!” Amelia tilts her head cheerfully.

“We were hoping to just get an orphan as soon as possible,” the stepmother stammers, “You know how these children are so desperate for a home…Oh! And we’d like an older child—you know how it’s harder for the older children to get adopted—”

“But not too old,” the younger stepsister chimes in, “And strong, too.”

“Oh who doesn’t want a good home!” Amelia agrees, “However, with the OPA in place, there are ongoing vetting processes to make sure the children’s needs are being met.”

“The what?”

“The OPA? The Orphan Protection Act? It was ratified with the marriage of the prince and princess consort?”

“Her again…” the stepmother seethes.

“This act also granted massive amounts of funding to the support and building of orphanages so that we can provide the best possible environment until these children can find a home that truly loves them! Isn’t that wonderful?” Amelia’s shoulders bunch up all cute but the Stepmother is just bluescreening again with a high-pitched note screaming in one ear.

“So we can’t even get some useless gutter rat to do what needs to be done?” The stepmother huffs under her breath.

“I’m sorry, what did you call our children?” Amelia tilts her head.  

“Nothing,” the stepmother draws herself up from her seat. “We were just leaving.”

So like, another couple months pass for the stepfam, and like… shit gets weird and resentful. I think the stepmother started blaming the elder stepsister for fucking everything up with losing her toes, but like… it’s not exactly the eldest stepsister’s fault her toes were the ones bitten off, nor that she kicked the shoe off and shattered it in response. The fairy godmother hated them all for what they did to Cindy, so any one of them would have gotten their foot mangled by the shoe if they tried it on. The elder stepsister was just.. the first. But you don’t think rationally when your heart is full of resentment. If your heart doesn’t know what it loves, what it’s fighting for, then it just… fucking starts eating itself and gnashing out at anything close to it. And that’s how shit was with the stepfam. They were able to support themselves for a while by extorting gold from the palace for the eldest sisters’ ‘Medical expenses,’ but eventually the eldest stepsister had enough, left the house, married some sideshow owner at the pier, and eventually sent a letter to Cindy saying, “Hey, I don’t live with the stepfam anymore, so if they’re asking for money on my behalf, they’re full of shit. Also sorry for forcing you to do literally all the work around the house while insulting you on a daily basis or something. I guess. I don’t care if you actually forgive me. Don’t bother writing back.”  

Cindy does draft up several nice responses but eventually opts to just respect the ‘don’t write back’ wishes. The palace sends a polite letter to the stepmother congratulating her on her daughter’s wedding and saying they’re so glad she found someone to take care of her in spite of her medical expenses, and sending one final, decent-sized sack of gold as a ‘wedding gift’ even though they know the stepmother is just going to spend it on herself. Sometimes it’s not about forgiveness and redemption, sometimes you don’t know if this horrible person became a better person, sometimes you’re just glad they’re getting distance from a horrible situation.

And boy is it horrible.

The house is dilapidated as hell—we’re talking some Miss Havisham in Great Expectations shit. The Royal Restraining Order basically blocks the stepfam from attending crucial upper-class social events—aside from like, some horse races, and the regatta, and a good number of more middle-class social events, but they would never lower themselves to such sorry appearances!! To rubbing elbows with such riffraff! No sir! But eventually… it gets easier and easier for all the respectable families of the kingdom to just… stop inviting them to shit. So they’re in a filthy house, that’s basically rotting at this point for lack of maintenance, eating burned and undercooked and unseasoned or over seasoned food and regularly insulting each other over how they could stand to let them live in such a state. The older stepsister has already dipped but about a year later, eventually the younger sister can’t stand it anymore, scrapes up as much of her jewelry as she can sell, and takes off in the dead of night. I don’t actually know what happens to her. Like if you want to give her a whole redemption arc or whatever, go ahead, but all you’re going to get from me is a big fat question mark.

But the Stepmother? I can tell you what happens there, and I can tell you it’s not pretty.

Like, even if all of her interactions with her daughters were horrible arguments towards the end, like… at least that’s other people to like.. bounce off of, you know? At least there are other people around who, even if you’re all miserable together, give you a common sense of reality. When you’re all alone, and when you’re already miserable and bitter and completely convinced the world is punishing you and that has nothing to do with what you’re putting out into the world? Woof. Shit gets weird. Shit gets dark. I mean, the labor situation isn’t as bad when you’re just cooking and cleaning for yourself, but this is a big fucking house with a big fucking garden—it’s not designed for one person to live in and maintain. So whole wings of the house are closed off—furniture is covered with sheets—but more and more of the rooms are getting barer and barer as the stepmother is selling off furniture just to keep herself fed, hire drifters for one-off odd jobs, and keep up minimum appearances.

Maybe if the stepmother wasn’t so concerned about “riffraff” it might occur to her to lease out some rooms to tenants, but honestly the house is in such shit shape, it’s hard to imagine who’d really be willing to stay there.

The stepmother is pacing through the house, and every time she hears the wind through the hazel tree outside, every time she hears the chirps of starlings (and god, they’re getting louder) she swears it sounds like mocking laughter, or a coo of ‘Have you remembered to do the dishes?’ (The dishes are molding over in the sink—all the mold is probably not helping the mental health factor), or that it even sounds like Cindy’s goddamned singing.

And then, one night, when the stepmother is in bed, and the rain is pounding the half-rotted window frames, and there’s a cacophony of ‘tink tink tink tink tinks’ because the roof is leaking and she’s set out all of these pots and pans to catch the drips. The wind is howling through the hazel tree’s boughs, and it sounds like Cindy’s fucking singing again… and then, the Stepmother gets this grand revelation—The Hazel tree! That damned hazel tree that her stupid dead husband planted because he never actually loved her! He only ever loved the mother of that stupid little rat girl! The hazel tree is the ghost of that girl’s mother cursing her! It’s been so clear all along! So she springs out of her moth-eaten sheets and she races down the stairs, not even bothering to put a robe over her nightgown, out to into the mud of their fucking jungle of a garden which the semi-starved chickens now roam like mini-velociraptors themselves. The stepmother glares up at the hazel tree and then she furiously sludges through the mud over to the garden shed where she pulls out the axe she used to make Cindy chop firewood with. It’s very rusted at this point (and god her house is so fucking cold), but it’s good enough. It has to be good enough. Gripping the axe, snarling through her teeth, the stepmother goes to the hazel tree. She hefts up the axe for that first swing and hurls it down and THOK it bites hard and deep and cruel into the bark. Rain is pelting down on the stepmother and lightning flashes, but she doesn’t care. THOK. She strikes the tree again.

So like…you remember that whole bit I had about like, Fairy Godmothers being pretty dang strict about using magic to do ‘good’ and not focusing on curses and punishments? Like of course it was a whole thing because the Fairy Godmother herself emerged from a magic that was born from a very deep pain and grief—but Fairy Godmother actively chose to try and be a positive force in Cindy’s life because being a cruel fairy would just make things harder for Cindy. So even if she has to put up with lectures from other fairies, even fairy godmother’s vengeful, furious, bitter little ass is willing to try and be the bigger person for Cindy’s sake. So she really wasn’t doing anything to make the stepfam’s life harder—aside from the garden getting out of control really fast--but that’s more of a typical side effect of fae presence rather than an active act—but also she was mostly focusing on building back her juice after all the whizzbangs of the ball and the growing number of birds were more like a charging battery icon in this case. So she was literally minding her own business! But my point is—the Fairy Godmother code of “We don’t curse and punish people” goes right out the window when it’s a matter of self-defense.

And the stepmother was fucking with a tree she should not be fucking with.

The birds descended on her like a meteor shower. So many clawed little feet and beating wings and pecking beaks. The stepmothers’ screams were drowned out by cracking thunder and screaming birds and the boughs of the hazel tree moaning in the wind, and as a bit of a mercy by virtue of her own stress and malnourishment, the stepmother passed out at the peak of the worst of the pain. Rain still pounding down on her, her face staring blindly up at the sky, not even seeing the flashes of lightning. Pink water was crowning and overflowing out of her clawed out eye sockets. She was found moaning in the mud the next morning by someone duck hunting with their dog in the irrigation ditches nearby. She was carried inside her crumbling manse, dressed in the driest warmest clothes she had, her hollow, bloodied eye sockets covered with gauze, but fever had already well set-in, and her breaths were already shallow with pneumonia. I’ve mentioned before that this is a time when a cold at the wrong time of year can very much kill you—this is being out in the cold and rain with your eyes clawed out—open head wounds with the agony of exposed optic nerves.

A messenger was sent to the palace and, despite the prince’s assurances that “You don’t have to be there—” Cindy rushed over, along with the best doctors she could haul with her. And the prince followed after her because goddammit he worries about her! And he knows that whole situation’s fucked up!!

“I think you should hang back,” Cinderella pats his arm as they head up the stairs of her old house.

“But—” he starts.

“I… I can do this. It’s going to be okay,” she kisses him on the cheek, “I’m not scared.”

The prince presses his lips together with distress and Cindy goes, “Okay yes I’m very scared but… I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” he says and he hangs back as she enters the room.

“Stepmother?”

The room is dimly lit. It’s overcast outside.

“Who is that? Who’s here?” The stepmother’s head is swinging around.

“Your highness, you should keep your distance,” the physician warns, his mouth and nose covered by a kerchief, “We don’t know if she’s infectious.”

“Highness?!” The stepmother squawks.

“It’s… me, stepmother,” says Cindy, maintaining a few steps away from the stepmother’s bed.

“Cinderella?”

Cindy feels like she’s really come to love her name in the two years she’s lived with it at the palace, but the way the stepmother says it still makes her stomach tighten.

“Yes, stepmother.” Cindy lets out a steadying exhale.

“I suppose I’ll be arrested now, as well, what with your 800 paces rule.”

“It’s been temporarily suspended, given the… circumstances,” Cindy fidgets with her fingers.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” The stepmother scoffs a derisive chuckle.

“No, no it isn’t what I want at all,” Cindy pushes a stray hair back.

“Don’t you play coy with me, you little witch—you and your singing. You and your rats. You and your—your cooking and sewing. You and your fucking tree. You—” the stepmother breaks into a wet coughing fit and Cindy instinctively takes half a step back, “You… You’ve been planning this for years, haven’t you?! I bet you made my daughters abandon me as well.”

“I—I haven’t. In fact, I’ve sent a letter to the elder and we have several men looking for the younger, so if you just hang on, I’m sure once they find out what’s happened, they’ll come too, and—”

“They won’t come, you little fool, you wretched—” the stepmother moans and presses the heels of her hands to her forehead.

“Please don’t strain yourself,” Cinderella says gently.

“All those laws you wrote… don’t act like you didn’t write them to spite me.”

“I didn’t write them to spite you—I had a lot of advisors to help draft the specific—”

“I don’t care!”

“Ma’am—” the physician starts.

“Shut up! No one asked you!” snaps the stepmother.

“I didn’t write those laws for just you or just me! I wrote those laws because I realized… I’m probably not the only ‘me’ and you’re not the only ‘you.’ I know I won’t be able to protect everyone, but if I can make a difference for at least a handful of people…” Cindy furrows her brow for a second, because she feels like what she’s saying right now is making sense, but it doesn’t seem to be making any significant impacts on the stepmother. Man, shit hits different when you’ve been living with people who actually listen to you.

The stepmother’s lips curl back from her teeth. “So you were still thinking about me when you drafted it…”

“Yes. I did believe that what you did to me shouldn’t be done to another person, and I did everything in my power to stop that,” Cindy huffs a little and looks around the room, “I think a part of me assumed you would still be fine in spite of that.” She looks at one of the pots on the floor with rainwater still in it from the leaky ceiling.

“And now you’re here to mock me at my lowest point.”

“I am not!” Cindy’s touching on a vein of anger within herself that she’s kept at bay with just calming breaths and there’s this flare of adrenaline in her, because she could punch down. She has every right to punch down, but she’s remembering a glamorous woman on her father’s arm, with two pretty girls hanging behind her skirts, and seeing her father’s fragile smile for the first time since her mother died, and all that is boiling down into a mild feeling of nausea.

“So what do you want?!” The stepmother demands.

“I don’t know, I just—I just thought you shouldn’t be alone,” Cinderella folds her arms tight across herself.

“You were the one who did this to me you rotten whelp!”

“I just made it so you would leave me alone! I don’t know what you did to yourself after!” Cindy blurts out furiously, but catches herself, “I’m sorry—you’re in so much pain already.”

“Oh shut up with your stupid, pathetic little morality play. Don’t act like this isn’t what you always wanted.”

Cinderella pushes her lips together. “This is never what I wanted. When I first met you…you seemed… so powerful and clever and beautiful and confident…and…I think I wanted to be like that, but mostly… I just wanted a mother.”

“A mother…?” The words float out of the stepmother, and like, even though there’s a band of gauze where her eyes once were, she fixes those bloody patches on Cindy, and Cindy suddenly gets this stinging memory of every time she assumed something good happening to her couldn’t be real, couldn’t be true, had to be some cruel trick because it was what she had known for so long. Maybe the stepmother couldn’t see Cinderella as her daughter because that would be too easy, too good to be true, and therefore, her only defense against something like that was quashing Cindy down. There’s a flicker of understanding, in that look between them, and Cindy sees the person she could have become, the person shaped by injustice and cruelty, had she not held onto the loving memory of her parents—Had she not had her little rat friends to comfort her, or even the Wonderful Hypothetical Party she was constantly planning in her head, had she not been able to shed her tears on that hazel tree. A short, breathy sound falls out of the stepmother, and at first, Cindy thinks she’s going to cry, but… it’s a chuckle. Then it seems to deepen and ripple in the stepmother’s already drowning chest, “A mother!” She declares again, like it’s the funniest punchline to the world’s longest joke, and that chuckle bubbles up into a full-on laugh interspersed with wet, hacking coughs. She’s laughing hysterically, the gauze over her eye sockets is darkening with fresh blood at the force of her laughs.

“Ma’am?!” The physician is stepping forward and Cindy is backing towards the door, but still the stepmother is convulsing with laughter.

The physician is calling for laudanum to calm her down, but suddenly that long peal of laughter seems to spiral and tighten in on itself like a tetherball whipping around the pole.

The stepmother dies laughing.

Cinderella stares at the still form in the bed, the physician fussing over her, trying to shake her back to consciousness, but there’s something about the way the stepmother’s features are frozen that tells Cindy it’s over. She sways on her feet for a few seconds, then blinks, and staggers to the door. As soon as she opens it the prince is taking her up in his arms, (of course his protective, fussy ass has been eavesdropping but also half frozen unsure whether to interfere because on one hand she said she’s got this but also holy fuck there’s a lot happening in there) and he’s pulling her out into the hallway. “I’m sorry,” he’s saying, “I should have come in, but I didn’t know if I would make it worse—I—you shouldn’t have been in there alone—”

“I’m fine,” her voice is hollow and blank, “I’m fine.”

“Cindy—” And there’s that mental log jam again, he wants it all to come out but it’s stuck in his throat. You’re not a fool. You’re not wretched. You’re not a rotten whelp. You’re not a witch. Actually you might be a witch because there’s still a lot I don’t know, but I don’t care if you are because if you are, you’re clearly a very nice one. But his mouth is just hanging stupidly open and he’s stammering a little.

“Can we go home?” She’s almost limp in his arms, not looking at him, “Please?”

They head out of the estate of Cindy’s father for the very last time, and they’re about to get into the carriage but Cindy, in a daze, unlaces her arm from the prince’s and kind of dizzily makes her way over to the hazel tree. She runs a hand over the two deep axe marks in the wood, “Are you okay?” She asks gently, “Did she hurt you?”

“Cindy?” The prince is deeply confused and concerned but his head jerks up as the hazel tree’s boughs creak and leaves rustle in a wind he can’t quite feel.

“You… didn’t have to do that for me…” Cinderella’s voice is a bit distant, “I’m not mad, I just…”

The tree rustles again and the prince is looking at the other trees surrounding the garden like, please tell me they’re moving in the wind, too.

Cindy’s neck cranes up at the boughs overhead. “Okay,” she says, “I—I understand. Take care of yourself.” And she gently kisses the bark before pushing away from the tree and kind of lightly, gracefully making her way back to the prince. The way she moves reminds him a bit of the fog that seemed to hang around her that night of the ball.

“Your um… your friend?” He asks a bit helplessly.

“Mm,” she just gets into the carriage and the prince mouths ‘What the fuck’ to Brad who just kind of shrugs before taking his place on the driver’s seat next to the carriage driver.

They go home. It’s a weird couple of days after that—they never really get in contact with the stepsisters, they send out news of the stepmother’s death but get nothing back, and Cindy’s staying in bed until noon for a couple days, but eventually she’s pulling herself to the palace gardens and to the stables and also she’s made a point of rescuing her now feral-ass chickens from her old estate and making sure they get back to their fat, happy selves. When she’s asked about the state of the house the stepmother left behind, Cindy just kind of blankly says, “It’s not mine anymore,” and everyone eventually accepts that that’s the answer she has to that.

Another few days pass. Servants say that Cindy’s eating more again and she and the prince can be heard quietly talking long into the small hours of the morning.

Another two weeks pass and Dutiful Wine Daughter and Eunice motion to whisk Cindy away for a few days by the sea. The prince voices some concerns but the queen 100% supports this girls’ trip and they depart. About a week and a half later, Cindy returns seeming a lot more energetic than she was before. Also she has a handful of cute new outfits—Cindy keeps forgetting she can actually buy clothes now—and loads of recipes for wine steamed mussels and chowders and fish fried in breadcrumbs, and also they have a little bowl of the mother yeast of the local sourdough which Cindy is very excited about.

A few more weeks pass and Cindy’s more or less back to her earnest, kindhearted self, still making her bed every morning (and of course roping the prince into it because it’s his bed too, dammit) still poking around and sometimes backseat-driving the palace kitchens, and still insisting on embroidering cutesy things into the guards’ uniforms when she notices a loose button or thinning elbows, not to mention she has her chickens to fuss over and rats to make cute clothes for—she’s still finding that no-filter self she had at the ball, but every so often it comes out and the prince gets the stupidest, most lovestruck grin on his face. She has the strength to show up to council meetings again, and the king and queen are very relieved to see her there.

I feel like we all have a very weird relationship with the term ‘happily ever after’ because like, life isn’t like that—that’s the term that’s come to breach suspension of disbelief even in a goddamn fairytale. Cindy’s put on some pounds at the palace and she looks great—like she doesn’t get as cold as easily, she doesn’t have that ‘orphan hollow eye socket’ thing going on, she doesn’t get dizzy when she stands up too fast, plus, her boobs look amazing. Fairy godmother would be proud. It isn’t just endless bliss forever because if it was like that, shit would be really fucking weird—if bliss is all you know, then is it actually bliss? I think you need the odd pain and argument and frustration and maybe even heartbreak here and there to really appreciate what you have, and for the record, Cindy and the prince overall have something really good—but like… they have an awareness about it—they know it’s a thing they both have to actively work on and be conscious of, because that’s actually how this shit works. Love takes patience and attention and work, but at the end of the day, it should be work that makes you feel satisfied with, both with yourself and your partner. It doesn’t have to be happily ever after—it’s quiet afternoons of listening to rain on the window and your partner reading aloud to you while you work on a new dress with some cool fabrics your mother-in-law got you because she saw them and thought of you. It’s you and your friends trying to go all ‘incognito’ because your cool friend found a cool new cafe downtown but the captain of the guard still insists on coming along for security reasons and god bless him he is trying to look like a civilian to maintain your facade but the man is fucking huge and everyone keeps flirting with him. It’s your father in-law’s valet quietly slipping you his footnotes on the drier texts of the kingdom’s legal history to help you get up to speed for another council meeting and you smiling at his snippy sarcastic little comments in the margins. It’s even headdesking at said boring as hell council meeting and your father-in-law quietly sliding you a cup of tea with a warm smile because yes, this stuff is boring but he’s pretty sure you’ll still get your motion to fill those potholes passed, just hang in there, kiddo. It’s good things and bad things and sometimes long stints of crazy shit—but the only constant is that you’re with people who love you and care about your well-being, and you love them, and want the best for them, too.

Now you’re probably asking, “okay but do Cindy and the Prince have kids? Because that was a pretty big deal for the king.” And I’m gonna leave that up to you. All you really need to know in that regard is that there’s a healthy hazel sapling in the royal gardens, and the king isn’t pressuring them nearly as much for grandkids as he thought he would be since they opened up those really high-grade cozy orphanages. The king reads books to the kids there, every Sunday. I’m like 80% sure the kids there don’t even know he’s the king, they just like that he does the voices. The queen still gets up to her usual adventures and bullshit, but actually does make more of an effort to include her family now, to mixed reactions from everyone. She plans on teaching Cindy fencing, or maybe boxing—that’s therapeutic, right? She’s sensitive—she knows she is. She’s going to be the best mother-in-law ever, goddammit.

Meanwhile Cindy and the Prince will sometimes spend a day riding horses together, they go through fields and through the woods and cut crazy paths between village roads and farmland footpaths, and sometimes, they ride down a road where a while back, a pumpkin bounced along and exploded on, and they ride that road until they reach a big, familiar house, crumbling with neglect. There’s a hazel tree there, and it’s grown so big it’s practically growing on the house.

The tree looks like it’s eating the house.

The End.

#Cinderella #Cindy may have opened a Fae hellmouth but don't worry because Fairies only go after mean and naughty people! Good night kids!! #Oh fairies also go after people they arbitrarily don't like but i'm sure you'll be fiiiine... sleep well! #maybe TWO fae hellmouths #imagine....

[amaranthinecanicular]

Pai Cellbit tucks him into bed and tells him stories that one of his other dads would probably think irresponsible. When Richarlyson is sure Cellbit has nodded off next to his bed again, he takes out the book. Reality is interpretation, just like art, the book says. If you show this painting to someone, their interpretation of it could change your reality. “I don’t want them knowing about the painting,” Richarlyson whispers. “Or any of your paintings. I don’t want them to know about you.” Even if it saves Bobby’s life?  (In which some tragedies can be avoided. Others cannot.)

[written belatedly for @atthebell, for the @mcyt-halloween event, who requested a spooky Romero Richas fic! So so sorry it's coming in a bit late, and I hope you enjoy! Presenting a bit of a canon au fix-it fic, and a bit of something else entirely.]

:

Richarlyson paints a portrait of himself that no one will ever see. He uses bright colors and bold patterns. The outlines are thick and black. Every angle is sharp like broken bone.  

It’s bright out, clear blue sky. Pai Felps is looking for him. Richarlyson props the portrait up against the wall. He makes sure it’s facing him and makes sure it won’t fall. Then he pulls out the next painting and sets it on fire.

“There,” he says. He keeps his voice down. Felps is nearby, calling his name. The smoke will draw him nearer. “That’s what I think of you and your paintings.”

The portrait smiles at him.

Richarlyson can’t smell the smoke anymore, or hear Felps calling his name. He turns. 

The painting is gone. There’s a book in its place. He opens it. 

Art is very important, it says. It should be shared with everyone.

Richarlyson slams the book shut. He glares at the portrait. “Not your art. Your art is bad. You’re bad for painting bad things like that. No one should see it.”

The book is in his lap. It’s raining outside, cold and gray. He doesn’t know where Pai Felps is. His portrait is smiling at him. 

His portrait isn’t smiling at him. It’s smiling over his shoulder. 

Richarlyson is not the biggest hatchling but he’s still a dragon, afraid of bulls and little else. He’s not scared to look behind him. He wishes his dads were with him, or Bobby, but not because he’s scared. He’s not.

He turns. The painting he burned has been remade, bigger and brighter. Roier’s tears fall down his face in electric blue spirals. Bobby’s blood fractals out to the edges of the canvas. The colors clash, lurid and painful to look at.

The best art is born from delusions, says the most recent entry in the book. The craziest interpretations of reality.

“This isn’t reality,” Richarlyson says. He lights the painting on fire and watches the paint bubble and blacken before turning back to his self-portrait. “It’s not real. You’re not real.”

I want to be real. Art speaks to reality. If reality is real only when observed, then when observed, I will be real.

“I don’t want you to be real. I don’t want this to be real! Bobby isn’t going to die!”

Art speaks to reality, the book says again. I’m not the one making it happen. It’s already happening. This is reality whether you want it or not.

Richarlyson smashes his fist into the portrait. Canvas rips. The paint is still fresh and wet.

“Just like I taught you,” a rough voice says behind him.

Pai Cellbit is half asleep on the floor, one arm curled under his head as a pillow. He passed out in his rumpled clothes explaining some of his tamer theories to Richarlyson, after much pleading and nagging, corkboard and thread pinned haphazardly behind him. 

He stretches, joints cracking. The sky is dark and deep outside the window. Clear enough to pick out the stars. “What did you just punch?”

“A bad painting,” Richarlyson says.

Cellbit blinks some of the sleep out of his eyes. “Bad how?”

“It wasn’t good enough.” Richarlyson says. Cellbit is still looking at him, and his mouth won’t quit talking. “It was going to be a present. For Bobby.”

Cellbit pats his head with a fumbling hand. “I’m sure he’ll like it. Even if it’s bad.”

Richarlyson punches him. Cellbit laughs.

“Come on, Richas. We have to get you to bed before Forever gets mad.”

“You’re the one who fell asleep,” Richarlyson points out. “He’ll get mad at you.”

“All the more reason.”

Cellbit brings him to bed, tucks him in and tells him more stories that one of his other dads would probably think irresponsible. When Richarlyson is sure Cellbit has nodded off next to his bed again, he takes out the book.

Reality is interpretation, just like art, it says. If you show this painting to someone, their interpretation of it could change your reality.

“I don’t want them knowing about this painting,” Richarlyson whispers. “Or any of your paintings. I don’t want them to know about you.”

Even if it saves Bobby’s life? 

The portrait is back. So is the painting of Bobby and Roier and the vindicator. Richarlyson is staring down at them both.

A hand hooks around his ankle. He screams. He’s pulled across the floor—out from under the bed, not in it.

“Found you!” says Pai Forever, grinning wide. “It’s bath time, my dear little Richas, whether you like it or not!” His smile falters. “What’s wrong? Did you fall asleep under there? Have a bad dream?”

Just a bad dream. That’s right. He’s been running from bathtime for hours, and he’s not giving in now. He bites Forever’s hand and scampers off to a symphony of yowls.

He finds a good hiding place, too small for Forever to wiggle into. It’s dark, too dark to see, but his eyes are dragon eyes and they adjust faster than a human’s. 

His portrait is waiting for him. So is the painting of Bobby’s death.

Richarlyson’s heart plummets. His hands squeeze into fists, and he looks down to find the paintbrush in his hand.

“What are you?” Richarlyson whispers.

There’s a new book in his inventory. I am a memory, it says. I am a dream. I am nothing. The base of existence is nothing. When nothing exists I take their place. When they die I take their place. When they sleep I take their place.

“Go away,” says Richarlyson. “Go away.”

Just passing by, says the book. Shhh.

He lights both paintings on fire. He doesn’t blink until they’re ash. 

“Richas?”

It’s Pai Pac. He’s smiling, silhouetted by sunlight. “Finally found you! This hide and seek arena has more hiding places than we thought, huh?”

Richarlyson looks over his shoulder, but the paintings are gone. Maybe the ash blew away. Maybe the paintings were never there at all. 

Richarlyson rubs his eyes and does not cry. Pac pulls him out of his hiding place, cooing and cuddling him close when Richas curls into him.

Over Pac’s shoulder, Mike calls, “Your turn to seek, Richas!”

Pac kisses Richarlyson’s forehead, then sets him down. Richarlyson throws his hands over his eyes and counts to twenty, skipping a few numbers to get there faster. 

He uncovers his eyes. He’s staring at his portrait.

Bobby is running out of time :> says the new book. You are all running out of time. Reality is perception. Let them perceive the painting. Do not let them take it. Do not let them sell it. Let them perceive me.

“I don’t want to,” Richarlyson says. He stamps his foot. “That would make it real.”

Art makes me real. But Bobby’s death is already real. You know what I paint will happen. It’s happened before.

The painting of Bobby is sitting right beside it, the paint still fresh. It looks more gruesome every time it’s painted. “Do I have to show them this one?”

This one might save Bobby. But there are others. 

Lined up beside the painting of Bobby there is a painting of the lighthouse, and the sea. Another one with all his dads, and all the other dads and moms on the island. That one scares him. He can’t pretend it doesn’t.

“Why do you want to help Bobby?” Richarlyson asks, tearing his eyes back to his cartoonish mirror image. The portrait holds its silence. Richarlyson flips to the next page of the book.

I want to be real, it says, and it says, Bobby is my friend too.

That bites like teeth. Richarlyson bites back. “Bobby is my friend, not yours. I won’t let you scare me into giving him to you.” 

He lights it on fire. He lights all of them on fire.

“Aw,” says Roier. “Que haces, that one was really good!”

Richarlyson startles, face to face with Roier, kneeling at eye level behind him. The look on his face is confused and sympathetic. Richarlyson turns again. The only painting there is one of Cellbit and Roier holding hands, with Richarlyson, Bobby, and Jaiden waving in the background. Fire eats through their faces.

Richarlyson swears, and tries to put out the flames. Roier pulls him back.

“Oye, oye! It’s okay! You’ll make another.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Richarlyson says. “Don’t tell Pai Cellbit.”

Roier grins, and holds out a pinky. “He’s not my boss. Our little secret.”

Richarlyson grins back. He likes Roier a lot. Pai Cellbit is the kind of pai who needs looking after, and the kind of looking after that four other pais and one Richarlyson can’t do alone. Roier carries the rest of the weight with a smile, and it makes Pai Cellbit smile too. Richarlyson also likes Roier because he’s cool, and does stuff like this.

He hooks his pinky around Roier’s, and while they’re still in the safety of secrecy, he whispers, “Is Bobby okay?”

Roier’s smile turns confused and sympathetic again. “Sure he is. I think he and Jaiden just—yup, impromptu dance party.”

He points. Not too far away Jaiden and Bobby are hopping up and down, flapping their wings and their arms, wiggling like worms, bouncing and spinning. Bobby dances so hard that both straps of his overalls fall down his shoulders.

Roier scoops Richarlyson up. “Come on, we don’t want to be left out!”

Bobby whoops and hollers when he sees them coming, and Richarlyson leaps out of Roier’s arms to run the rest of the way. He laughs and dances the portrait and the paintings and the books right out of his mind. Bobby grabs his hands and they spin and spin and spin until they fall down laughing, and the sky keeps spinning above them.

“Hey, Richas?” Bobby says, catching his breath. Richarlyson closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of him. His brother. His best friend. “Are you awake?”

Richarlyson opens his eyes. He’s in bed, staring at his portrait.

Today is the day :> All stories must end, or we distort their reality, says the book in Richarlyson’s inventory. Or we kill them.

“Stop,” Richarlyson says. He shuts his eyes and opens them. The portrait is still there. So is the horrible painting of Bobby’s death, and the painting of the lighthouse, and the one of all their parents. “Please stop.”

Do not despair, says the book. I am comfort.

Comfort is Forever doing his hair. Cellbit letting him pin the red string to his corkboard. Pac knocking their legs together. Bedtime stories with Felps. Mike calling him an old man. Roier carrying Bobby on one shoulder and Richas on the other until they’re so tall they can almost see the whole island. 

“Shut up,” he says. He thinks of Pai Cellbit, what he would do. “I’ll beat the shit out of you. I’ll kill you.” 

The portrait smiles at him in jagged lines.

“Bobby won’t die,” Richarlyson says. “He won’t, he’s big and strong and he has a gun and he won’t die.”

He turns around. He’s in his room. He’s alone.

The book lies open in front of him.

HE ALREADY DID ONCE.

“Richarlyson?”

Pai Cellbit. Richarlyson shoves the canvases under his covers. Even if he didn’t get to burn them, the covers will smear them beyond recognition. The painting of Bobby is last, and it’s in his hands when Cellbit walks in.

“There you are.” He smiles, small, the way only Pai Cellbit does. “You’re covered in paint.”

“It’s Bobby’s blood,” Richarlyson blurts.

Cellbit’s smile fades.

“I—I mean—in this painting. It’s his blood there. He—he isn’t…” he trails off.

“Okay,” Cellbit says slowly. He comes and sits on the bed. If he lands on a wet spot of paint, he doesn’t show it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

No. He wants to pretend it didn’t happen. Wants to pretend it will never happen. Wants to pretend that everything will be alright, and they will all be together, always.

His portrait said today.

Just one, he thinks. Just this one. None of the others. 

Instead of answering, he turns the painting around. Cellbit’s eyes rove over it in little flicks. Richarlyson scrutinizes his face as he takes it in, watching for judgment or fear, but Cellbit only has that intense look he gets when he’s investigating. It makes Richarlyson feel better, marginally. Like he’s being taken seriously.

Cellbit’s eyes rise to Richarlyson’s face, and whatever he sees there solidifies his conclusion. “You think this is going to happen?”

Richarlyson nods rapidly. “Today.”

Cellbit’s eyebrows twitch higher on his forehead. “Today?”

“Can we find them?”

“Right now?” 

“Right now right now.”

Cellbit’s eyes soften. “Right now.”

He messages Roier for his location, then starts strapping Richarlyson into his armor. Richarlyson doesn’t complain once. They head out, Cellbit hurrying because Richarlyson is hurrying, dread sinking in him like stones with every step. If they don’t make it in time, will it be Richarlyson’s fault? He could have shown his pais the painting any time, any day. They have to make it in time. They have to.

Roier and Bobby are exploring a dungeon. Just before they get there, Cellbit’s communicator starts rattling and doesn’t stop. He glances down at the messages stacking up, doubletakes, and then sets his mouth in a grim line. He picks Richarlyson up and runs the rest of the way, and at the entrance to the dungeon, he puts him down.

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ve messaged Forever and Jaiden. They’re on their way. I’ll be right back.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’ll bring them back. Espere aqui.”

There’s an intent gleam to his eye that Richarlyson knows not to question. He opens his mouth to question anyway, because it’s Bobby, and he’s in trouble, and Richarlyson can’t just let him die, not when it’s his fault—

But Cellbit is already lunging in, and Richarlyson is alone.

He waits for minutes that feel like hours, and then he dashes after him. He’s not fast enough. Before he can get too deep Forever catches up to him and drags him back outside. Jaiden dashes past them both.

Richarlyson kicks and bites, but Forever just holds him, scolds him, sings to him. Still Richarlyson fights, and then he starts to cry, and then he fights some more. He catches Forever with a kick to the inside of his knee, and manages to slip free while Forever crumples and swears. Richarlyson sprints for the dungeon and nearly crashes into Jaiden’s knees as she runs back out. 

She looks frenzied and furious, Bobby cradled in her arms. Cellbit and Roier stagger out behind her, supporting each other. As soon as they emerge into open air Roier pushes off of Cellbit and collapses at Jaiden’s side. They lay Bobby out. He’s pale and still and covered in blood. He looks smaller than Richarlyson has ever seen him. 

Forever picks Richarlyson up again. This time Richarlyson clings, unable to look away from Bobby and his parents. He hears Forever say to Cellbit, “What was it?” and he hears Cellbit say back, “A vindicator. I think we got there in time, but…”

He trails off. Jaiden and Roier are pouring potions down Bobby’s throat, rubbing his back and whispering to him and petting his hair. For the longest seconds of Richarlyson’s life, Bobby doesn’t move. 

And then he does.

It’s a whirlwind of potions and tears, then, and Richarlyson is too busy bursting into tears to remember most of it. Roier and Jaiden are crying too. But he’s alive. Bobby is alive.

When it’s over, everyone is too strung out to endure interrogations, and Pai Cellbit takes mercy. He kisses Richarlyson’s hair and sends him off with Forever, despite how badly Richarlyson knows he wants to ask questions. Then he follows after Roier and Jaiden and Bobby. Richarlyson wants to go with them, but both Cellbit and Forever agreed that it’s best he and Bobby get some rest.

“It was a stressful day,” Forever says. “You can see Bobby tomorrow.”

Forever takes him home and tucks him back into bed, and climbs in after when Richarlyson asks. Soon he’s snoring, his bare torso covered in paint, and Richarlyson is creeping off the bed and crawling under it. He threw the paintings down there when Forever brought him in: the portrait and the lighthouse are smeared beyond recognition, but the painting of all the parents is still relatively clear. If anything, the few smudges make it all the more horrible. Frowning faces become grotesque masks, tears bleeding down the canvas. He doesn’t know why it upsets him so much. After the gruesome depiction of Bobby’s death, this is tame. It’s just their parents standing on the island. Nothing more sinister than that.

But Richarlyson isn’t in it. Neither are any of his siblings. And all their parents are crying.

He told himself that he would only risk showing his pais one of the paintings, and he meant it. A fire would wake Pai Forever, so he rakes with his claws until the canvas is nothing but ribbons. Nothing but a bad dream. Nothing but that.

He climbs back out from under the bed and half-expects to emerge somewhere and somewhen else, with different weather and different company, but Forever is still snoring, covered in paint with his hair wild across the pillow. Relief puffs out of Richarlyson, and he scrambles back onto the bed and into his pai’s side.

Just before he nods off, he remembers to check the notebook.

I see a distant island with a lighthouse and a bell, the notebook reads. Clouds and the sea…a sea that reflects the dark sky…the beaches…

And nobody leaves this place.

:

#mcyt-halloween #qsmp fic #richarlyson #romero richas #cellbit #forever #qsmp bobby #favela five #ran's writing

[mightymizora]

WIP: The Portrait

This is the most self indulgent thing I'm writing, but I'm putting this opener out to see if it works at all... feedback welcome.

Lord Gortash requests a portrait of his paramour. The pay is good, the contract legitimate. It seems almost too good to be true...

The request came to the guild house with gold already attached. Wanted, portrait artist. Female subject, three sittings. Half pay upfront. He did not recognise the seal, but Darcus told him it was from the newly minted Lord Gortash, also known as Enver Flymm, also known in certain parts of the back cities as Flymm the Bloody, where they still dared to say such things. The purse held more gold than Guy had ever seen, and Litton laughed at his face when he opened it.

“Oh, dear boy!” he chided, drawing the string again and placing it in the middle of the table. “You are too swayed by money. What of passion? What of love of the craft?”

It was easy, thought Guy, to care only of craft, of passion or love or whatever else you might want when you were the third son of a Patriar, and mummy dearest paid for your garret upfront for the year so you could slum it a little, just for fun. When you had a real life, a real wife, a real child, love started to mean something very different.

“Give it here,” he said. “I’ll take it. If it’s Kerrie Lovelace again, I still have the sketches from the Ravengard commission.”

Lovelace was popular with the Patriars. A half-elf with the wettest eyes he’d ever seen and a permanently quivering, full lip. She was the lover or some, and the favoured subject of far more since Litton had painted her as a beautiful mermaid to mark The Breaking a few years before. The last piece Guy had painted of her had been a garish facsimile of the original with only surface changes, but it had paid fairly. Money seemed to disappear these days. Between clothing and food for little Eva, new dresses for Sal and keeping up with all of these idiots, he was running dry again.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” said Darcus, his tankard resting against his belly. The moon was barely up and he was already deep in his cups. “These new Lords, they ain’t to be trusted. No honour between them.”

“And I’d take it,” said Litton. “Not personally, of course. But you should take it now before Fevras gets wind. At least you might make something worth hanging.”

And so he finds himself being ushered into full halls of the home of Lord Gortash, a surprisingly unassuming and tasteful villa in the new style, all white stone and iron-wrought glass, every wall crammed to the ceiling with art and curios. There are paintings here from the old masters that must have cost a fortune, plenty of Litton’s best (including The Mermaid, he notes, last in the possession of the Jannath’s), and odd pieces of fine mechanica and automata the likes of which the Halls of Wonder would envy. He almost wishes to stop, take it in, but his patron’s pace is unrelenting as he strides through to the very end of the house. It does not seem wise to keep him waiting. 

“I hope it is sufficient light,” says Gortash, opening the door himself to a handsome chamber with full glass windows, a handsome solid desk and a nicely appointed parlour. “You are seeing into the most intimate parts of my estate. I will be present tending to some business while you work, if that is alright with you. I do so like to see a master at their craft.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Guy says as he hands his cloak to a dwarf standing in the centre of the room, who does not move to bow as she takes it. The woman looks at him with some curiosity, and looks over to her Lord with a sharp smile.

“Ah,” starts Gortash, taking the cloak from her and holding it out. An elf in fine brocade sweeps in to take it, and the woman watches with still amusement as they depart. “This, Saer Ceasebourne, is your subject.”

He feels his stomach churn as he looks at her again. She cocks her head in curiosity as she stares back at him. She does not look angry, but now he looks again she does not look amused. No, the look in her eye is something else entirely, and it makes him feel rather sick.

“My apologies, my Lord, I didn’t-”

“Oh dear fellow, do not fret. Though I keep my servants in better finery than this one wears, for future reference.”

“You forget yourself, Lord Gortash.”

The woman’s voice is dark, deep as the Chionthar, and dripping in threat as her eyes flick from him to Gortash. He takes the momentary reprieve from her gaze to cast an eye over her properly. It is hard to see her body under her plain dark red robes, but he can tell from what flesh is exposed at her neck and down her forearms that she is likely to be freckled all over her pale skin. Copper hair is heaped atop her head in a neat bun, her face marked with long lines of a tattoo that traces her strong jaw and pulls into her eyes. 

Her eyes. They are quite extraordinary. At a first glance brown, but as the light pulls into them they shine an almost pinkish hue. Like unblooded meat.

Gortash smiles at her, bowing his head ever so slightly. "I apologise for the perceived slight. You are my guest here today. And I hope we will both show proper decorum, for the occasion."

#wip tag #manva warhelm #enver gortash #durgetash

[drill-teeth-art]

Actually, here is some art advice I wish I had heard when I was starting out. Specifically for cartoonists and illustrators and character designers.

-

It’s okay if your art doesn’t look industry standard. The people working in the industry have more experience, resources, and probably even have a design team to work with too. You’re one artist. Cut yourself some slack.

It’s okay if you don’t want your work to look industry standard. It’s okay if you like it messy. It’s okay if it doesn’t have mass appeal. It’s okay to make things for a narrow audience or even just you. The world is not entitled to your work. You don’t have to be marketable.

The fine art world AND the commercial art world are both full of snobs. Self taught art is completely valid and beautiful and compelling. Some people will take so much pride in pointing out anatomy mistakes or wonky proportions or asymmetry in your work. If you didn’t ask them for that kind of critique, that’s just rude and discouraging. You’re learning. And you don’t have to want perfect anatomy, proportions or symmetry in your work anyway.

Try not to get discouraged if your art and style is reminiscent of another artist’s style. People learn from imitation. You’ll look at lots of artists and absorb lots of inspiration as you keep drawing and developing your art. Your art will change and grow with you. Also, people shouldn’t harass you for having a similar style.

The way art is taught in schools I’ve noticed is very discouraging. Especially for people who want to draw cartoons. And I’m here to tell you something. There are exercises other than painting still lives and portraits that build your observation skills. Observation skills are good to have. References are your buddies, and I recommend using them. But you don’t have to be copying your reference into perfect resemblance to work on your observation skills if you don’t want to.

I also recommend using lots of various references of people. So many “how to draw” books I’ve seen are far too narrow in what they show. Just look up images of different people. Different races, body types, ages, etc. There’s plenty of images online. And you don’t have to post all your practice stuff online either as you’re learning and getting comfortable.

And lastly, critique of your work is good to ask for from your art peers. The more narrow a question you ask, the more specific an answer someone can give. “I really want this character to look strong and imposing and here’s the design I have so far. I want to keep these aspects of the design, and do you have any ideas of what I could change to make the character read more clearly as strong?” is infinitely more useful to you and easier to answer than “How does this look?”

-

Hope this helps all you artists out there!

#otto thoughts #art advice

[iboatedhere]

Thank you for the tag @lemonlyman-dotcom and @cha-melodius

From tomorrow's prompt.

--

“All the staff is gone?”

Henry nods. 

“Even Shaan?”

“He was the first one out the door.”

“So I could, theoretically, go downstairs naked.”

Henry snorts. “If you wish.”

Alex hums. “Could be kind of freeing. Walking around butt-naked in a palace…..how many people can say that?”

“I can't begin to imagine."

“Dare me.”

Henry frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Dare me. It’s more fun on a dare.”

“You just want to shift responsibility if it goes wrong.”

“How could it go wrong if no one is here?”

“Point,” Henry concedes as he sits up. “I dare you to go get us a snack, stark naked, while I wait here and think of all the things I want to do to you when you come back.”

“Dare accepted. I’ll be back in five minutes.” He stops and looks Henry over—miles of bare, warm skin, all his. “Three minutes.”

“I can think a lot in three minutes.”

“Counting on it!” Alex calls before he’s out the door and in the hall. 

Alex has spent a good amount of time at Kensington over the last few years. A long weekend here, a week vacation there. He knows the layout of the palace as if it were the residence at the White House but completely naked and in the dark, things are a little disorienting. 

It’s only himself and Henry in the building (even David has been sent to stay with Bea for the night) Alex knows that, but for some reason he can shake the feeling of being watched. 

Maybe it’s because he has his dick out in a nationally recognized historical landmark and the paintings of Henry’s ancestors that hang on the wall seem to follow him wherever he goes. 

He stops to shake his ass in front of a faded portrait of some long-dead king then continues on to the kitchen. 

Alex knows Henry has been spending more time here lately. He seems determined to learn how to cook for himself and sends Alex photos of whatever it is he’s attempting to make at all hours of the night, the counters covered with flour or bits of diced vegetables that didn’t make it into the final dish.

Alex, always the supportive boyfriend, texts back and tells him it looks great with a dozen exclamations points before he asks what it is.

Tonight the kitchen is quiet and clean and he moves quickly, eager to get back upstairs.

He grabs two bottles of Gatorade from the fridge, wincing as the cold air hits his body, then finds a box of Jaffa Cakes in the pantry.

Arms full, he turns toward the door as a maid crosses in front of him and rounds the table.

He screams in shock and drops the bottles so he can hold the Jaffa Cake box against his crotch, trying to save what’s left of his dignity.

“Fuck, shit,” he exclaims, heart pounding. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in there I….” He trails off as the woman walks calmly out the door and into the hall without even acknowledging him. 

Slowly, he tiptoes after, the box of cookies still pressed to his junk and peeks down the hall. She’s gone, with no retreating footsteps or the sound of a door opening or closing to lend a clue as to which direction she went in.

Confused, Alex ducks back into the kitchen to retrieve the bottles, one of which had rolled beneath the dishwasher, then makes his way toward the stairs. 

Halfway up, a chill shoots down his spine accompanied by the nagging feeling of being watched returns and he loses all cool and sprints the rest of the way, slamming into Henry’s closed door, fumbling with the knob before he gets inside and locks it behind him.

“We have a problem,” Alex says as Henry lifts his head off the pillow, the hand wrapped around his cock still stroking slowly.

“Indeed. You’re entirely too far away.”

“No, I’m being serious,” Alex says as he crosses the space between them and stands at the foot of the bed. “We have a I might be sued for sexual harassment kind of problem.”

Henry sits up. “You were gone for four minutes, how in the world could something like that have happened?”

#firstprince fic #firstprince #rwrb #rwrb fic #wip wednesday

[skzmix]

dahlia.

⇥ info: hyunjin + edging; explicit smut

Hyunjin looked a little too good with a blindfold on, but damn, you wished you could see his eyes.

It was his birthday and you had left him a vague and rather ominous note taped to the mirror in the bathroom of your shared apartment when you slipped out before he woke up.

Get plenty of rest today, my love. You’re going to need it tonight.

Hyunjin was so excited he couldn’t think straight. Knowing how you both loved keeping the bedroom extra spicy, he could only fantasize about what you had in store for him.

When he stepped out into the living room, Hyunjin’s jaw dropped. There was a large easel with a fresh canvas, topped off with a big red bow. He approached it, grinning from ear to ear, and ran his fingers over the brand new set of paint brushes.

Hyunjin was touched, but he was also downright furious that you weren’t there so he could crush you in a grateful hug. And cover you in many, many kisses.

He couldn’t wait to paint something new, his mind filling with ideas. The obvious winner would be a soft watercolor portrait of you, dressed in something sheer. Or maybe not dressed at all.

Hyunjin cleared his throat, shaking that thought out of his head. It was going to be a long day.

He was all smiles around his members. Despite having to do some rehearsals on his birthday, you wouldn’t know it by how joyful and energetic he was. The boys presented him with a cake and sang ‘happy birthday’ and of course, made sure to rub icing on his nose.

Not long after, a messenger arrived with a huge bouquet of assorted roses. All the members gasped and fawned over it, because they knew who the sender was.

Hyunjin’s cheeks flushed dark red. Flowers were his weak spot. He then read the attached note more than once - Happy Birthday, baby. I’m counting down the minutes until you come home to me.

It was signed with your initials and that was all it took for Hyunjin to get riled up again.

What does she have in mind? Hyunjin was thinking of all the things you could do with him - to him.

“She knows you too well,” Felix teased under his breath, giving Hyunjin’s arm a shove and knocking him out of his dirty thoughts.

Hyunjin had the bouquet in his lap, inhaling the aroma of the roses. He had the irresistible urge to kiss every inch of you, all night long, whispering I love you endlessly into your ear. He was imagining your naked body and soft skin, and his mouth was watering.

The clock moved at a snail’s pace and Hyunjin couldn’t take his eyes off of it, constantly unlocking his phone to check that clock too. As if it were any faster. Damn it, he just wanted to go home. He had every intention of throwing himself into your arms and never leaving again.

They would have to drag him away from you for the next rehearsals.

A text came and Hyunjin smirked when he saw your name.

Hang in there, birthday boy.

It was like you could read his mind. The anticipation was killing him. Hyunjin texted back, I miss you so bad, baby.

Oh?

Hyunjin bit his lip, fingers hovering over the screen, wondering how he could politely put that he wanted to rail you into next week. Before he could reply, another text came. With an image attached.

Fuck, Hyunjin thought as his mouth ran dry. There you were, standing in the bathroom of yours and his apartment, taking a picture over your shoulder of your reflection in the mirror.

You were wearing black lingerie. And holy fuck, did it leave very little to the imagination.

Hyunjin stared at the perfect curve of your ass. There was no point in that lacy thong. He couldn’t wait to just rip it in half with a single tug.

You’re cruel, he replied back.

Hyunie, I’m just getting started, was all you said.

Hyunjin swallowed the lump in his throat. Yep, it was official - you owned him.

You glanced around the apartment, making sure all was in place. You’d taken half a day at work to give yourself plenty of time to prepare. There were more roses on the dresser, because your Pisces boy loved flowers, and you picked up some chocolate covered strawberries.

Making dinner or even ordering takeout would be a waste of time. The evening and most of the night would be spent in the bedroom. The only appetite either of you had at the moment was carnal in nature.

Hyunjin texted you that he was on his way home and you quickly raced into the bathroom to give yourself one final glance over. The black lingerie set was hidden beneath your most professional looking grey suit for now.

You slipped into your favorite red bottom heels (gifted from Hyunjin obviously) and put on some lipstick before lighting the candles you had stationed throughout the room. Once they added a sultry hue with their glow, you turned off the lights.

“Babe, I’m home,” Hyunjin announced the moment he opened the front door, stepping inside and taking off his shoes. He didn’t have the patience to hang up his jacket so he just tossed it onto the nearest table along with his keys.

You peered out of the bedroom, chuckling at the way he searched the living space for you, and finally walked out, greeting, “Happy Birthday, Hyunjin.”

Your boyfriend stopped, eyes darting to you. “Thank you,” he said shyly.

You could see the obvious disappointment when he realized you weren’t still wearing the lingerie, but the grin that took over his face at just the sight of you made warmth spread from inside your chest.

Hyunjin marched right over to you, gathering you in his arms and pressing a kiss to your lips. You cradled his face in your hands, smiling against his mouth, and kissed him back deeply.

You broke away first, taking him by the hand and saying, “Follow me.”

Hyunjin would follow you anywhere at this point. He was hinged on your every move. When he stepped into the bedroom and saw your handiwork of flowers and candles, he gaped. “Whoa. You did all of this?”

“Guilty,” you replied coyly, pleased with his reaction.

Hyunjin’s pulse sped up when he saw the familiar padded handcuffs and silk blindfold on the bed. His pulse got even faster when you started stripping him out of his clothes.

“Are you ready for another present?” you asked under your breath, standing on your tiptoes to nip at his neck.

Hyunjin roamed his hands over your back and hips as you undressed him. His eyes fluttered at the way you sucked at the base of his neck. “You spoil me.”

“You spoil me too. It’s only fair.”

Hyunjin practically purred when you began kissing across his bare chest and collarbones. Your hands dipped down to his pants, shimmying off his jeans and boxers until he was standing before you naked.

That was when you steered him over to the bed and pushed him onto his back. Hyunjin stared up at you, lips parted, chest heaving a little. His cock was already hard, twitching with excitement. Just the thought of being at your mercy turned him on so bad.

You kneeled on the bed and grabbed the handcuffs, spinning them on your fingers in a taunt. Then, you pointed at the headboard and told him, “Put your arms in a way that’s comfortable. You’re gonna be cuffed for a while.”

Hyunjin settled upright on the pillows and lifted his arms, bending his elbows enough that there wouldn’t be too much strain on his shoulders. You straddled his lap, cuffing his wrists and slipping the chain between the beams. After you had, you tugged to make sure there was no chance of escape.

Then, you made a little noise. Thanks to your position on top of him, Hyunjin couldn’t resist the access to your neck and was sucking on the sensitive spot over your racing pulse.

You indulged him only for a moment, remembering this was all about him, but his lips felt so good against your skin. “Bad boy,” you chided playfully, planting a hand to his bare chest and shoving him back.

Hyunjin grunted. He loved when you were rough with him.

You smirked at the look on his face, the total daze in his eyes. The apartment could be on fire and he wouldn’t notice. You were all that existed in the world to him. Especially since you were sitting squarely on his stiff cock.

Hyunjin wiggled his arms, testing the hold just to get a reaction out of you. The chain between padded cuffs was loud as it clanked against the frame.

“Going somewhere?” you asked with an arched brow, rocking back to sit on his thick thighs.

Hyunjin shook his head. His heart was about to explode. You hadn’t even touched him yet and he was already falling apart. It was too arousing.

“I love you,” he blurted out, staring at your face like you were the most beautiful person in the world.

You bit your lip, tracing your hand over his cheek affectionately. Hyunjin caught one of your fingers with his mouth, grabbing gently with his teeth to make you snicker. “I know,” you replied silkily, running your thumb over his bottom lip.

Hyunjin shivered. Your voice had dropped to that place between seductive and dangerous.

You slipped off your suit coat and tossed it to the floor. Hyunjin watched your every move, attention fixated to your fingers. You started unfastening the buttons of your white dress shirt and once you had, Hyunjin caught a glimpse of the black lingerie underneath. His eyes flickered when he realized you had been wearing it the whole time.

“Fuck,” he whined, hips shifting underneath you for just a little bit of friction.

You darted forward, grabbing him by the jaw none too gently, and hissed, “Stop. From now on until I say otherwise, you don’t move unless I tell you to. Understand?”

Hyunjin nodded, submitting on the spot.

You smiled, reverting back to a playful tone. “Such a needy boy. Acting like I didn’t let him hit it from the back last night.”

“I know,” Hyunjin groaned, tipping his head back. He was flooded with the fresh memories of you throwing yourself back against him, taking every inch of his cock. He could still hear the skin slapping against skin that echoed through the bedroom and your moans, begging him to fuck your brains out.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours and he was already desperate for your body again.

You left a parting kiss to his sweet lips before climbing off of him. Hyunjin watched, holding his breath, gaze following as you walked to the edge of the bed and started to strip.

For Hyunjin, it was torture. No wonder you cuffed him first. You could do as you pleased without having to slap his impatient hands away.

You stripped out of the suit painfully slow, putting your back to him as you pushed down your pants. There was that goddamn thong he had wanted to rip off, but his hands were tied. Hyunjin clenched his fists because - holy hell - he had never wanted to touch you so badly.

You took the blindfold and slipped the silky material through your fingers, tantalizing. Wearing only the lingerie and heels, you crawled back onto the bed and began fitting the blindfold over Hyunjin’s eyes, tying it behind his head. “Show’s over, baby,” you cooed.

Hyunjin wanted to calm himself down, but he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried. He could see nothing and his hands were bound. Every touch that followed took him by surprise and made his cock jump.

Your fingernails scraped down his thighs. Your lips brushed over his nipples. Every now and then, you would press a chaste kiss to his lips or a soft nip to his neck, all to steady him and ground him back to you.

Then, finally, your hand wrapped around his hard cock.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin swore, squirming on the bed. He had been on the verge of begging for you to touch him, but he was happy now he held out. Geez, the night was only getting started. How in the hell was he going to survive?

You ran your thumb over the tip, before squeezing him at the base to remind your boyfriend who was in control tonight. It wasn’t often that it was you. Hyunjin liked to be dominant in the relationship. He may have been soft and subtle in the dynamic, but he was undeniably the alpha in this pairing.

And almost exclusively in the bedroom. Which you didn’t mind in the least.

But that was why these occasions were so much fun. There were times Hyunjin needed you to take the reins from him. Too often he worked himself to exhaustion and just needed to let you lead for a time until he recovered his strength. And you were all happy to oblige.

“Relax, baby,” you told him in a whisper, but there was an edge to your tone. You coated your hand with your own saliva and began to pump him in your fist, paying extra attention to the head.

Hyunjin sank his teeth into his bottom lip and his head fell back, smacking against the wall. He always got too worked up when you were in control. You could finish him in seconds with a simple fucking handjob. But Hyunjin didn’t care. This was about him. He had no worries, no stresses.

He loved letting you ruin him.

“Safe word is birthday,” you said, still working his cock in your hand. “Say it.”

“Birthday. Got it,” Hyunjin replied hurriedly. He set his jaw and grit his teeth, trying to fight back orgasm. He didn’t want to come already. He was enjoying this way too much.

“I want you to tell me when you’re about to blow,” you said offhandedly, like you were discussing something mundane like laundry. “If you finish without my permission, I will punish you.”

Hyunjin practically moaned at that. “Mm, punish me,” he retorted, licking his lips. God, he really hated the blindfold at the moment, wishing he could see the look on your face.

You immediately let go of his cock, shifting on the bed. “What was that?” you asked roughly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” But he totally did.

You grabbed Hyunjin’s jaw again before reeling your hand back and giving him a light smack to the cheek. “Someone is being a little brat already.”

Hyunjin regretted all of his life choices the second your hand left his dick and started to beg, “I’m not. I won’t. Please hit me again.”

You smirked, almost laughing. When it came to sex, Hyunjin was absolutely shameless and you enjoyed the hell out of it.

Hyunjin had no thoughts in his pretty little head except his cock and how bad it ached. And given the state of his hands, only you could help him with that. Which meant he would say or do anything you wanted.

Instead of doing as he asked and giving him another slap, you returned to his cock and started working him with both hands, moving at a merciless pace that could only mean you wanted to finish him hard and fast.

Hyunjin chanted curse words in his mother tongue, panting for air as you fucked him with your hands closer and closer to release. His eyes were pressed shut behind the blindfold and he cried out in warning, “I’m so close, baby.”

You said nothing, but gave him a few more pumps for good measure and stopped, readjusting yourself because his little whimpers and moans made your panties slick with arousal.

Hyunjin whined and tugged at the cuffs, shivering at the lack of your touch. The room was silent except for his loud inhales and exhales as you waited for him to drift back down from the edge of being denied orgasm.

Your hands roamed his body, rubbing his thighs soothingly. You traced your fingers over his chest and nipples, left kisses over his neck and jaw. “Good job, baby,” you crooned.

“Fuck you,” Hyunjin shot back, though he didn’t mean it. He just wanted to keep things spicy.

You swatted his cheek, making a smack echo through the room.

Hyunjin smirked, letting his tongue linger at the corner of his mouth, having gotten the exact reaction he wanted.

“You love this shit,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him.

Hyunjin kissed you back hungrily, hands yanking at the cuffs because he wanted nothing more than to tangle a fist in your hair and pin you to the bed, fucking you until you unraveled beneath him.

Alas, that would have wait until you freed him. For the time being, he would sit back and enjoy himself.

After what felt like hours of kissing, you willed yourself away from his perfect lips and back to his big cock.

Hyunjin missed the warmth of you against him, but shivered when he felt your breath on his length and moaned when you took him into your mouth.

And like clockwork, the moment Hyunjin warned you he was close, his voice pitching higher and higher, you drew away from him.

Hyunjin cried out at being denied yet again, though he had known that was your plan, and rasped your name.

You simply chuckled and clambered off the bed.

Hyunjin was reminded he couldn’t see anything. Which made him hyper aware of what he heard. Your high heels clicked as you walked around the bed. There was a jingle here and a shuffle there.

You were taking off the lingerie. Now, naked as he was, you sidled back onto the mattress and climbed into your boyfriend’s lap.

Hyunjin sucked in a breath when you grabbed the base of his cock, steering him into your entrance, and let out the most breathy moan when you sank down on him slowly until every inch of him was buried in your soaking wet cunt.

“You feel so good, baby,” you purred, nibbling the shell of his ear. “You fill that pussy up so tight.”

“Fuck,” Hyunjin groaned. His face tensed with pleasure, his chest heaving and thighs trembling as you rode his cock and whispered dirty little nothings against his neck. The edging had gotten to him. He was going to burst. “Please. Let me come.”

“Not yet. Tell me when you’re close,” you said calmly, fighting a moan at just how deep he was.

“If I do, you’ll stop.”

“Use your safe word then.”

Hyunjin pinched his lips together. He wouldn’t dare. He liked pleasing you too much.

You kissed the corner of his mouth in reward. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

It was too good. You were rolling your hips while he was stuffed balls deep inside you. Hyunjin wanted to let a little comment pass about how wet you were, but he held it in. He was riding a high knowing you were turned on by everything you did to him.

Both yours and Hyunjin’s moans blended together and echoed in the room. Hyunjin could feel your nipples brushing his chest as you rode him and the heat of your breath on his neck as you panted with exertion. You held onto him tightly, arms around his shoulders and bounced yourself up and down his cock.

“I’m gonna come, baby. Fuck,” Hyunjin warned, his stomach tightening.

“A little more,” you said, picking up your pace. You knew he liked when you pushed his limits. He loved dancing on that line.

Hyunjin groaned your name and that almost made you come on the spot. Then, he told you hurriedly, “Shit. I’m right there.”

You stopped, sheathing him to the hilt inside you and combing your fingers into his hair to calm him down.

Hyunjin was shaking like a leaf underneath you and in your arms, like his whole body was fighting an orgasm he desperately wanted. “Please, don’t move,” he whispered.

“I won’t,” you said, kissing his sweaty brow affectionately. Droplets of sweat were streaming down his face by now, dripping from his hair, making his neck and chest glisten.

Hyunjin had never been this close to the edge before without finishing and it was a true testament to his willpower that he didn’t buck his hips into yours and finish himself off.

When you felt him settle down, his body no longer tremoring and his breaths settling to normal, you tugged at the blindfold until it slipped free.

Hyunjin blinked. His vision cleared and he smiled at the sight of your face. You smiled back and he didn’t hesitate to capture your lips in a searing hot kiss.

You started to move again and Hyunjin broke from your kiss to moan. “Don’t take your eyes off me,” you said firmly.

Hyunjin nodded. “I promise.”

“I’m not stopping this time,” you told him, speeding up. There was a loud clap when your ass landed back on his thighs. “Not until you get off. Not until you fill me up with cum.”

“Fuck.”

You gripped his throat, pressing down where his pulse throbbed.

Hyunjin’s mouth gaped open and his eyes rolled back. If there was one thing he liked more than being slapped, it was getting choked.

“Don’t hold back, Hyunie,” you cooed.

With your permission, Hyunjin started slapping his hips into yours as best he could, despite the strain on his bound arms. You matched his rhythm, dragging him to sweet release with your movements.

Hyunjin could barely get the words out before he began releasing inside you, throwing his head back and moaning. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and bounced on him harder, milking every last drop out of him.

Your body couldn’t take anymore. As much as you tried to focus on his pleasure, orgasm slammed into you and made you cry out in the crook of his neck. Your walls tightened on his cock as he kept pumping you full with the rest of his load.

Hyunjin groaned even more at the vice-like grip you had on him and leaned his head against yours, coaxing you through your orgasm with little words whispered in your ear.

You slumped into Hyunjin who had gone limp beneath you. The two of you were breathing hard and fast, hearts racing at a similar uncontrollable rhythm.

In edging your boyfriend, you had unknowingly edged yourself too.

When you finally sat up, Hyunjin stared at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world. You giggled, seeing the glistening moisture on his cheeks from the few tears that had escaped him in ecstasy.

You reached up and unfastened the cuffs, letting them hang from the frame. You didn’t have the energy to untangle the chain. Hyunjin’s arms dropped like dead weight at his sides, hands gravitating to settle on your thighs.

He was still buried inside you.

“You okay?” you asked a little worriedly.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin said with a nod, breathless. His voice was weak and airy.

You nuzzled his nose and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You did so well. I hope you liked your birthday presents.”

Hyunjin blew out a heavy sigh, blushing a little at your praise. “I wasn’t looking forward to getting older, but now I wish every day was my birthday.”

You laughed.

Hyunjin smiled widely. Even though you had just ridden the soul out of him, you were still the cutest damn thing. “Thank you for my flowers. I love them. And the paint set too. I think I forgot to mention that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“My brain isn’t working.”

You let out a little chuckle. That was obvious.

Hyunjin leaned in, nipping at your lips playfully. “No one has ever made me come that hard,” he said in a low growl. “Not even myself.”

You grinned, smug, having figured as much. Then, you softened, “Any ideas of what you want to paint with the new canvas?”

“A few. But mostly you.”

You blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah. Would you wanna pose for me?” he asked shyly, though Hyunjin had a feeling he already knew the answer.

You met his eyes, fire starting to gather between your bodies. “Naked?”

“Mm,” Hyunjin hummed, leaning in to kiss your neck. He cupped your breast in his broad hand and ran his thumb slowly around your nipple. He could feel himself getting hard inside you again.

You could too. Your eyes fluttered closed as he sucked on your neck and you slipped a hand into his hair, holding on tight for what you knew was coming next. “I would love to do it,” you finally said.

Hyunjin whispered darkly, “That’s my girl.”

That made heat pool between your legs. You quirked a brow. “Ready to go again?”

“Yes,” he said before you could barely finish asking. Hyunjin moved forward, gathering you in his arms and throwing your legs around his hips as he lowered you to the bed underneath him.

~ 🌹

#hyunjin #stray kids #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin imagines #skz imagines

[1autistictacticalrefrigerator]

SoapGhost ( lil goofy prompt i made, but ignore the title bc i have no clue what to put up here. 😔 )

This was bad. This was very bad. Tomorrow was Ghost’s birthday, and Soap couldn’t get him anything. After a mission gone lopsided, Soap had been bedridden. Of course he recovered well, he even got gifts from Price, Gaz, and Laswell- which was strange, but hey, he wasn’t about to complain when he was getting free art supplies. ( Soap draws very well, and enjoys doing art. ) Soap wasn’t supposed to be too active, meaning he couldn’t go on a scavenger trip to hunt down the perfect gift for the perfect man because the doctor didn’t want him messing up the stitchings. Soap had spent the whole day trying to think of a good gift to give Ghost, since “birthdays” were a sensitive topic to Ghost. Or so Soap thinks anyway. Soap gets forcefully snapped out of his thoughts when his sketchpad falls out of his pocket.

“Oh-“ Soap jumps, startled from the sound of the sketchpad meeting the floor.

Soap picks the sketchpad which had been neglected for days, flipping through it. Scenery, plants, and other things filled the pages of the sketchpad. Especially Ghost. Definitely Ghost. Suddenly, the force of the universe and gods combined hits Soap. If I can’t buy Lt anything.. I’ll make him something. Something good. If there was one thing Soap was good at other than exploding things and making them fly sky-high, it was drawing and painting. So that’s exactly what I’ll make Ghost. Soap heads to his room, and of course, the gifts Price, Gaz, and Laswell left for him was lying around. Perfect, Soap thought to himself as he seats himself and gets to work. He spends the whole day painting a portrait of Simon in detail. Not Ghost, but Simon. Soap had only seen Simon once, but Ghost’s face was etched into Soap’s mind, and made a permeant home in Soap’s heart. At night, the painting finally dries and Soap wraps it up neatly before hitting the hay, beat from a whole day of stroking brushes.

…

Today was Ghost’s birthday. Nobody really threw a party or anything of that sort because in the previous years where there was one, it was awkward and resulted in Ghost storming out of the bar, where the party was chosen to be. Everyone had acted like Ghost didn’t have a birthday ever since. Ghost didn’t seem to mind. But Soap knew better. He could see right through Ghost. Today was going to be difficult for him. He’ll get all sorts of stares, and people would most definitely avoid Ghost more than they usually do, or just end up giving Ghost a awkward moment. Soap couldn’t fathom how Ghost handles all that. Soap just wants Ghost to be happy on his Birthday, its not a everyday opportunity after all. Soap chose to give his gift to Ghost at night, when everything was quiet, and there was more privacy. When Soap approached Ghost’s room, he felt sick to his stomach, what if Ghost didn’t like the gift..? What if Soap’s gift offends Ghost? Or maybe Ghost is going to say Soap’s art skills are straight up rubbish. However before Soap could stop himself, he was already knocking on Ghost’s door. Oh well, theres no more turning back now. Soap thought, hiding the gift behind his back.

A few beats of silence occur before Ghost opens the door, “Sergeant.” Ghost greets Soap.

“Hey Lt. Mind if I come in?” Soap asks.

Ghost steps aside, letting Soap walk into his room with a confused gaze.

When Ghost finally shuts the door and turns to look at Soap, does Soap pull out the neatly wrapped gift, cheek blooming rose red. “Happy Birthday Lt.” Soap shoots his superior a sheepish grin. Soap expected to be shooed out of the room or get criticized, but what happened next was something he never expected. Ghost pulls Soap in for a tight hug.

“I thought you forgot.” Ghost- no. Simon whispered softly to Soap.

“Never Lt. Not even if you wished.” Soap grins, hugging Ghost back. Soap winces as Simon hugs him even tighter. “Ow. You’re gonna mess up my stitches, Simon. Now open your gift, cmon.”

Soap was sure he could see Ghost’s hands falter a bit before unwrapping the present with so much care. Ghost froze when the wrapper was off. The silence killed Soap.

“What wrong Simon…? Do you not like it? I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-“ Soap started before Ghost cut him off.

“How..” Ghost started. “Why..” He was at a loss for words. Soap had hardly missed any details, it was almost as if he knew Simon’s body more than Ghost himself.

“Do you like it..?” Soap asked slowly.

“Too much, Johnny.” Ghost responds before dragging Soap in for another hug. This birthday wasn’t so bad after all. And Simon knew he’d frame and treasure the gift Johnny made for him forever.

Fin.

(Uh yeah and im half asleep while making this so forgive me if theres any spelling errors.. im gonna go AUGHHH MIMIMIMI now before i start flushing toilets for no reasons again bc im so unfocused.)

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap

[paracosmic-murdock]

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 2: "Oeillets, coquelicots et saphirs"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: While the other ladies have grown with the mindset of marrying and having children, you, as the daughter of a man who wanted a son, grew up being both. You learnt how to embroider, play the pianoforte, fence and manage the estate. However, there were some things that not even the Duke of Burgundy could do, so after he passed and you thought there was nothing left for you, you decided to move to London for a while and go to the Royal Academy of Art.

Nothing was going to keep you from what you wanted, and you would do whatever it takes: you would lie to everyone, you would live to death, you would pretend to be a man. You had a plan and it would be a piece of cake for you. But again, when has something that she wants and should not do easy for a woman? Especially when a man like Benedict Bridgerton gets in the way in more ways than one.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, love triangles (but not really), lgbtq+ themes, bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: The Royal Academy of Art was your dream, and you were finally there. Even though the main purpose was to get your portrait painted by the artist of your choice—whose charm drove you to that decision—, you took the opportunity to make it your first day of Art School.

Word count: 2.4K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's paracosm (main masterlist)

"Lady Y/N, are you aware of what could happen if you get caught?"

You sighed. "Antoinette, I appreciate your concerns, but nothing will happen."

"Nothing will happen until it happens, the less protection you have, the more careful you must be… And with your father gone, who is going to take care of you?"

"I can take care of myself, I don't need a man to protect me," you answered, wondering why you didn't change her as your maid before. She was the voice of consciousness in your life, was what your father had said when you considered it first. "The only thing a man is good at is being the epicenter of every problem that has ever existed. Forgive me for only wanting one of those hideous beings to be worthy of me."

Antoinette snickered. "Love… you talk about it all the time, do you not? Once you fall in love, you will change your mind and make some sense."

"I do not need a man I am in love with, perhaps loving in a non-romantic way… As long as I can trust him with all that I have, all that my cousin's life is not long enough for him to touch, I think it would be enough."

"You might as well find that man in Art School and he will not like you if you look like another man."

You laughed. "I cannot marry an artist! Lady Carrington advised me not to, and I must follow her recommendations. Also, I will be saying that I have a twin who happens to be an elegant, dazzling, funny and beautiful young lady."

"Anything you say, my Lady." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm so excited!"

She curved her lips, internally not hating it entirely. Deep down, she admired your determination and the way you always end up making the most out of every difficulty.

Astounding was the way that a situation triggered your impulsiveness. On this particular occasion, a conflict at the Château made you send a letter to your godparents, steal clothes from your cousin—who is strangely your same size—, and run away to England. Antoinette knew she could not do a thing about it and that her job was to comply with your every wish.

"Are you ready, dear?" Lord Carrington asked as he saw you reach downstairs.

"Yes!" you exclaimed. "What will we do today, Lord Carrington?"

He shook his head in amusement. "I will accompany you to a classroom full of our most promising artists and have one paint you… Then, I shall leave you to explore the Academy by yourself, I am certain that you will have the time of your life."

The widest of smiles shone on your face as you hurriedly followed him to the carriage.

Your path was full of chit chat, nothing too interesting as your mind was set on your plans for the day.

When you arrived, you could not do much but look around, mesmerized.

Since you were a child, you wished to go to school, to university, and while your father used to indulge in your ideas and wishes, there were certain things not even a duke could have done.

He did hire a different educator for each of your diverse interests: languages, art, literature, history, astronomy, music, fencing, or archery. He taught you himself how to manage the winery, your properties, your fortune, a thing or two regarding mining, and the value of every single thing in life.

There were life lessons, advice, and love every day you spent together, and you would always be thankful for that.

When you finally got to the classroom, you encountered about half a dozen gentlemen in a semicircle, painting a woman sitting naked in the center of the circle.

You looked to another spot, any, as your only way to show respect to her.

"Will they… paint me like that, too?" you asked your godfather, and he chuckled.

"Do not even consider that idea, dear. It will be a portrait of you just the way you are right now."

You snickered nervously for a moment.

"Look at their work, my Lady," he ordered. "Then, pick whomever's you like best and we will have him painting you."

You did as he told you, lying eyes on a particular man. His work was interesting, remarkable even.

You correctly guessed that he was new to the Academy as his strokes lacked perfect precision. You did not care.

You did not look at any other's work, you just decided that was the man who would paint you. There was just something about him and about the way your heart jumped when he locked eyes with you for the first time.

So you made a gesture at Lord Carrington, who dismissed the model and every other artist in the room, leaving only you, him, the artist you chose, and your maid.

"Mister," Lord Carrington called for his attention, not knowing his name he just opted for the safest option. "Here is my goddaughter, Lady Y/N. She picked you to paint her portrait."

"I… Yes, of course, Lord Carrington."

He nodded. "I'll leave you to it."

You smiled at the unknown man with those glorious ocean eyes. "I am Y/N, enchantée."

"Benedict," he stopped himself when he noticed you didn't say your surname or present yourself with any title. "Are you French, my Lady?"

"Oh, what gave it away?"

He wrinkled his nose. "I have no idea, you look like someone who loves to walk through des rues de Paris. It could also be the accent, or perhaps introducing yourself saying enchantée, that is very French."

"You also speak French in Monaco, Belgium…"

"Are you Belgian or…"

"No, but still."

Benedict laughed, putting aside the halfway painted canvas of the naked woman, and taking an empty one. "So, French?"

"Yes, French."

"The color of your dress is one of my favorites," he commented with a smile, looking at you attentively as he mixed paints to come up with the perfect shade. "And the jewels contrast perfectly with everything."

The apricot orange silks of your dress did contrast perfectly with the necklace, gold accompanied by diamonds and carrying the bluest sapphires brought directly from the Americas.

"Almost as if I had chosen it on purpose knowing I was going to be painted by a skilled artist."

"I am flattered, my Lady."

You smiled, seeing as he started painting you. "You can call me by my name when no one is around."

"You as well." he agreed with a lopsided grin.

Slightly crooked teeth formed a smile that resembled the waxing crescent moon.

"So, Benedict… How long have you studied in the Academy?"

"Just a few weeks," he replied. "Does my poor experience show?"

"I picked you, and not precisely for your charm," you answered with a flirty smile. "Okay, perhaps I did! But I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

"How could I possibly have charmed you with a single glance?" he questioned with faux confusion.

"You underestimate yourself, it seems."

"It's part of my charm, if you must know."

He was the most enchanting individual you have ever encountered, and during the hours filled with fun small conversations in which you got to know each other, you regretted everything you told Antoinette about men.

It was wonderful that he never asked you for anything private, as if he knew which questions you would answer or not in advance.

"Do you come from a big family?" Benedict asked.

You shook your head. "Not really."

"Siblings?"

"Uh… one, my twin," you rushed to answer. "You?"

"Seven."

You gasped. "Seven?!"

"My parents used to have a lot of spare time or so it seems."

"I can't imagine how difficult it must have been to give birth and raise eight children!"

"It was hard work, I am sure."

"You looked like you were trouble, were you not?" you joked.

"What is there in me that screams trouble?" Benedict inquired, pretending to be offended.

"Everything, I should know."

He hummed. "What does that even mean, Y/N?"

"Make a guess."

"I could never."

"Then live under the shadows of ignorance, Benedict."

You both laughed, but as soon as you noticed his eyes locked on you, you returned to a neutral look.

"Wait, go back to that smile!" Benedict pleaded, and after a few seconds, you managed to. "That surely is a smile worthy of my first portrait."

"Oh, am I your first?" you questioned funnily, ignoring Antoinette's knowing look she threw from afar.

He chuckled loudly. "That sounded terribly not lady-like. Never say anything as such in front of Lord Carrington."

"I will take the advice," you answered. "But does it bother a gentleman like you?"

"On the contrary, I find it quite diverting."

"That is good since I said it to you."

He was finished, it took him a few hours, but you would approve of a conversation as such to last days, even. "It's done, come here."

You ran to him, looking at the painting he did of you smiling happily, which was uncommon for a portrait in the current days.

"It is perfect." You smiled, being closer to him than you had anticipated.

He smirked, and you could not help but melt under his glance. "I am glad you liked it."

"I, uh… must go, but you know what? I will have my brother find you and befriend you. He will study here."

"Are you artists, too?" Benedict asked.

"Uh…, no, not really," you answered. A lie. "He is the talented one, an artist if you have ever seen one, though not formally educated. And I am more inclined to literature."

"I believe you and my sister would be an insufferable pair."

You laughed. "Are you calling me insufferable? How disrespectful of you!"

"My apologies," he excused himself jokingly, standing up. "I hope I see you again, Lady Y/N."

"I hope so, too." You curved your lips.

He nodded and left you alone in the classroom.

"My, my…" Antoinette shook her head. "Not even a day has passed and you will have to eat your words."

"I will not eat anything, I was just being respectful."

"Respectful? Introducing yourself with only your Christian name is not respectful in the slightest, my Lady!"

"Oh, do not make a fuss out of this… One day people will introduce themselves with only their names, so I am just… a lady ahead of her time."

Antoinette sighed at your impertinence, giving you the clothes she carried in the suitcase. "Get changed before anyone comes in."

You did so, taking off your dress firstly and undoing the small, neatly combed, bun in your hair after. The corset was still on, and you took a piece of fabric that was in the suitcase and wrapped your cleavage with it. Antoinette helped you, and even though you could not properly breathe, you were happy.

Your cousin's attire fit you well enough, and you had at your disposition a pair of shoes your size. The diamonds and sapphires in your collarbones were quickly discarded, and ended up in the deepest pockets.

You tied your hair in a slipshod low bun, looking at Antoinette with a smile.

"Hello!" you exclaimed with a more grave voice and a sharper French accent, making her snort. "I am Mr. Voclain, enchanté."

"I am not sure men introduce themselves or, in general, act that way."

You clicked your tongue. "How would I know?"

"You live with one."

"My cousin does not count."

"How does he not?"

"He just doesn't, Antoinette, stop asking me questions!"

She sighed annoyed. "Clean up your face, you look like a woman."

You wrinkled your nose and did as you were told. "Go hide somewhere until I am done, alright?"

"Wait, that is not how a man stands!"

"It's not like I want to attract a lady's attention," you murmured. "Nor a man's."

Antoinette gave you a pointed look. "What is your name, my Lord?"

"Is it not too ambitious to call myself Lord?" you asked, rehearsing the masculine voice you would have to use. Antoinette shook her head. "Alright, I am Lord…" you paused for a few seconds, not knowing what your name would be until it occurred to you. "Antoine Voclain!"

"Antoine?"

"Antoine as in my loyal maid Antoinette who always supports me without complaint," you explained sarcastically. "Aren't I a handsome gentleman?"

"Do not get too confident over there, remember the things you said about them."

"Well, I am one of them now, so count me as a hideous being, too."

Antoinette was your age, a year or two older if anything. She acted as if she had twice that experience in life, a thing she took from her mother, who was your Mama's maid. Antoinette's mother was initially against you leaving for London, but knew there was nothing she or anyone could do or say to stop you from doing whatever was the thing that you pleased.

She sighed and left the classroom on her way to the carriage, leaving you in there alone with only your suitcase next to you.

There were all sorts of things. You arranged in a vase many flowers you found: carnations and poppies. The blue of the sapphires would contrast with the red hues of the flowers, but you kept the necklace only as a guide in your hands. You took fruits as well so you could eat meanwhile, not caring for their actual purpose.

You did not realize when the classroom got full of other men who joined you in painting the flowers on each of their individual canvases.

Different techniques and colors could be seen, though yours shone brighter as it came from an unfamiliar face with no formal artistic education.

Once you were finally finished, your hands and arms and even your face were stained of paint, you looked around and noticed the many other men who had joined you. You saved the jewels in your pocket again and did not leave until the 'Bourgogne' signature was there.

No one asked questions as you left, if you got a glance or two it would be saying too much. You walked out of the classroom and paced for a couple minutes until you saw a bathroom miraculously empty.

You cleaned yourself until there was no trace of paint in your skin, then left and looked for an empty classroom for more than you are willing to admit. Once you finally did, you got changed and quickly ran through the halls to try to find your godfather.

"Lady Y/N, why the hurry?"

"Oh, Lord Carrington… I was looking for you!" you exclaimed, fixing your hair.

"Shall we return home?"

You nodded eagerly.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction

[miguel-ohara-wifey]

I’ll find you

Chapter 3: This love is mine all mine

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Rating: 18+

Prompt: You go to collect the blood your husband owes you, but now your future is in question

Word count: 4K

Your old marital home now stands as a decaying monument to a dead family, and soon. The tomb of a man whose the source of its rot.

Alongside Miguel, him and you made cover behind the line between grassy hills and the thickly crowded woods beyond your old home. A reddish pink murals the sky above, foretelling the night to come in an hour or two. Your horses hitches tied to stumps as you push your back against a tree. Miguel leans against another casing the area, he was finished reporting how many guards there are.

“I’ll ask a dumb question, you gotta plan?” Miguel inquires, looking down expressionless. You chuckle almost coyly “Of course, kill Thomas, and anyone who tries to stop us.” Miguel shrugged, “fair enough….” The shared silence between you two was sewn in by the gentle beckoning of nearby birds. And the buzzing choir of nearby grasshoppers. It’s the common song you’d hear as dusk began to paint itself along the sky. What you’d look out your window to hear as your day finished.

Now you sit far beyond that same windowsill, gun in hand with a man you barely know. Off to kill the very man you’d slept next to for over ten years. Life brought you strange places. And, without filter or thought to Miguel standing right beside you. You confessed as if just to yourself alone.

“It wasn’t always like this….”

Miguel looked down, he placed his gun on the floor. As she planted himself on the dirt beside you, eye to eye. “What do you mean?” He asked, only to let you know he was listening.

“When I first meet my husband I saw him giving candy to a kid outside a library. Where he’d work on his sketches and his art. He was sweet, full of life. He’d call me darling, make portraits of me and things I liked, fantasized all day and every day of who our child would be….there were good times…not good enough to stop me from doing what I came here to do. But enough for me to be sad about it. I wish I could just kill him and the good memories we have together. So it’ll be easier, but I know I can’t.” Miguel’s eyes trailed along the image you painted before him. Your tone and the words flew through his own memories, his own life. He had nothing but familiarity with what you were feeling.

He’s been there before many times, and, even if unconsciously. Knows he’s here because he doesn’t wish someone exactly like him to face that road alone. Even if he can’t alter where it ends, and what that path entails. He’ll still be here. He will comfort you with the words he wished he heard long ago.

“I understand, it’s not easy…what’s necessary for your heart isn’t always what’s right. But it has to be done….”

His logic alluded you, “What does that mean?” You asked, sounding more confrontational than you intended to be.

“It means Thomas isn’t going to leave this place alive, and not anyone else who decides to protect him. But part of you will never stop lovin him, maybe you need to kill him now. To protect who he once was along ago….” He read you like a book, and it pisses you off.

As much as you despise Thomas for the abuse, the neglect, and being a piece of shit in general. You know a part of his soul can be good, and is good. He’s capable of more he just chooses, this instead. What hurts worse is he decided you weren’t worth being good for. You don’t know when or how, but he did. That’s why you’re here, and why Mona is dead.

Miguel hit head the nail on the head, you swallowed your knee jerk insect to cry nodding, “yeah, yeah…” Miguel hopes he helped.

~~A couple hours later~~

Once Miguel had finished watching over you as you napped, he shook your shoulder tenderly. A wordless exchange happened as you both locked eyes. You make sure your gun was loaded and ready. While you two dashed down the hills under the cover of darkness.

Hiding behind a pair of overgrown bushes in the neglected garden of your former home. Miguel whispered instructively, “I can see in the darkness…and there’s a silencer in my bag. I can take out the snipers on the roof and the upper level guards. So we can storm in without upper fire.” Based on his red eyes you took his word for it he could see perfectly.

Miguel swallowed, somewhat awkwardly, describing “And I can hear from long distances, I can hear your husbands breathing. He’s in his office now…” now that startled you. How the hell can he hear another human breath from the outside of a three story room several yards away? Your blood began to shake, an instinctive fear of Miguel kicked into your muscles. Straightening your body out of tension, but that doesn’t matter now. Thomas needs to die, and you have the best ally to kill him. So you smothered those anxieties in the cradle, for now.

Planning as you go along, “Good, I know the place by heart. Once you cause a stir out here and clear the top floors. I can sneak in, get him before he can run.” Miguel hums in agreement. A half of a moment after you dig your feet in to silently dash towards a better position in the yellowed garden. Your skin tingles in response to a tender circle of fingers wrapping around your wrist. Miguel stopping you dead in your tracks.

The weak outskirts of the guards’ lights revealed Miguel’s face to you, weighted by concern and something else you don’t quite recognize “Be safe.” He whispered, you smiled, knowing he sees it “No promises.” You playfully peck at his cheek before sneaking off. A ghost of the heat on his face quietly burns on your lips, you love it.

Once you have successfully hidden yourself behind the largest tree in the yard. Miguel sees you nod in his direction. Without fail, you hear a gentle plunder of glass breaking. Not enough to stir the guards attention, however the collapse of a fully grown man did alert them. Inquiring amongst themselves “what was that?”, in the haze of confusion you don’t need a light.

Youve walked these dying gardens, snuck onto this very porch, and moved undetected in these halls for longer than any guard job they’ve had. You knew the second step from the ground to the porch was loose. Making a squeak if you pressed your foot against it, you jumped right over it. Grasping the exact angle of the door that would noisily rub it’s screws in it’s sockets. You simply opted to brush into the space of the opened door from the frame.

Being sure not to trip on the dead guards, hearing more and more men drop to the ground as you made your way up the stairs. The gas lights adorning the walls evenly in space and precise in copied design.

A face you haven’t seen in days passes by you by it’s light, it makes you stop. You look back to study what is Mona’s face. A photo Thomas told you he threw away, perhaps he did. Several crumbled lines split the image, but it’s been carefully undone to a flattened state. And framed, along with what you can now see is a disparate collage of photos of your daughter. You know for a fact these baby blue wrapped walls were empty of any such photos before you were taken.

Seeing her smiling face back at you for the first time in a week, her brown eyes and black hair adorning such a gorgeous grin. It makes your eyes heavy in tears, you took the first photo of her you saw. Frame and all, pocketing it in your bag. Then continued on your mission. It’s not stealing if it was stolen from you first.

And like a rodent in your own home you’re sure to be quick as you are quiet. Using only your toes to cautiously scamper about unnoticed. Peeking around the corner before rushing down the hallway, the commotion Miguel is causing starts to draw more and more attention. So you run faster. Up the last flight of stairs to the floor containing your husbands office.

With a few fresh corpses lining up the balcony on the left wall, you spot your husbands door. A thick mahogany door craved meticulously with images of rosebuds and waterfalls. A design done by none other than Thomas himself. Without thinking you broke down the door’s lock with a shift kick.

Your knee will be sore after bracing against such a weight, but you didn’t care. And you stared down Thomas for the first time in days. Behind his messily organized desk top. His face gets whiter than a ghost, his smoke slips him his shocked expression. Undoubtedly burning the purple rug with its light. Not to mention Mona’s blood cleaned well off his face.

“Wai-wait!” Needless to say you didn’t listen, before he could be done squealing a fake apology. You brush the trigger of your gun back as hard as you could, landing a bullet square in his left shoulder. He goes down like a ton of bricks behind his desk. Trying to latch onto his chair mid-fall, as the furniture in it’s collapse onto his legs bruises him in his failed attempt. He groans in pain, you shift to the left side of his desk. Standing over five feet above the groveling, bleeding man on the floor of his own home.

Before he could even devise a way to run, you rotate your rifle to the wooden butt. And violently crash it into his right ankle. Hearing a snap on impact, he shrieks “FUCK WHAT THE FUCK-“ you then forcefully turn him around to face you. His trademark blue with gold accented suit beamed up to you. Snatching his collar, and just as fast land a punch across his nose.

“St-stop! I’ll give you whatever you want….” You didn’t merit his pleading with a response. You just kept punching, not even bothering to aim. All that mattered was making your knuckles raw with his face. Bloodening your brown and black farm clothes, and your eyes intimate with the sight of his struggle.

This man who took your freedom, your soul, your life, and your child from you. Is reduced to what you know he is; a pathetic wretch of a man. Who saw everyone else as disposable background characters in his life. Even his own wife and child.

But that didn’t matter under the incessant crushing of your left fist. You stopped noticing how little he struggled, the volume of his heavy breath. Eventually he didn’t move at all; you don’t know how long it took.

But eventually; his caved in skull was a bowl for the mushy red soup you made of his face. Everything above his chin was fractured skull or a pool of his own facial features. You couldn’t feel your left hand anymore once you stopped punching him. Your lower body sore from crouching for so long so uncomfortably. You just throw your back to the wall behind his desk. Your legs arching over his own, the purple carpet surrounding you two was choked out by the hue of his insides.

It was over. By the punchline of this cruel joke that’s happened to you, you laugh. Laugh like you hadn’t in years. You could feel snot pouring from your nose, mixing with your husbands blood in a truly gross mess of your face. As the insides of your chest vibrate to accommodate how fucking hilarious the situation is.

For years you spent cowering in this office, squirming in your skin at his presence. And killing him was so easy. Killing everyone who screwed you over all those years with him demanded some help but. Who knew this good guy was in the woods this whole fucking time? So willing to endanger himself again and again and again just to help you. For no ulterior motive whatsoever.

It was so simple, what felt like an labyrinth was really a drive way. And not even understanding why, tears washing away the blood and flush of heat on your checks. The cold, salty water escaping from your eyes cuts through the savagery of your face. Suddenly forgetting how to breath, heaving breath in and out by loads and in short intervals.

Miguel then rushes to your side, perfectly, as his habit of when to arrive is. The hot and silken skin of his hands brush aside your tears with precision, not minding the snot and blood dotted about your face. He palms both of your checks, without a word. Looks you in the eyes and shows you how to breath again. You follow his lead, in with your nose. Count to three, and on three you release out your mouth.

After the rattling of your ribcage in anxiety ceased since Miguel had arrived. He assured “Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore…”

You sob in his arms, you never failed to notice how strong yet soft they appeared. Now you know for certain, he doesn’t care you’re using his clothes as a snot rag to boot. Miguel despite having returned from killing every other person within the property. Is indescribably gentle.

His flesh barely traces your own when he touches you, and touched you only when to clean you up or allowing you to hold onto him. His skins embrace is always soft as snow and barely noticed when it does press onto you. And like the aura of a dying fire is sustaining in its own way.

Your sniffing and sobbing was stifled by Miguel’s clothes, he moved your hair out from where it began to stick on your face. Taking a bandana and wiping off the blood and fluids from under your eyes. Your gazes lock, quieting your own cries for a solid moment. As he wraps his fingers around yours. Guiding you to find the strength back into your step, to pull you up on your feet instructing.

“Come on, let’s go.”

~~back at the homestead~~

Miguel had just finished taking your bloodied clothes to the washing bin. He’s not soft when it comes to human parts by any means. But he couldn’t stop a shiver from entering and exiting spine. When he accidentally touched a piece of your ex husbands brain on the fabric.

You were finishing up washing your face, your eyes dropped down to the bowl of water. Now dirtied by dirt, snot, blood, and your own numb knuckles submerged in it. You bent your head down before mirror that stood above you. As if praying to the very deed you committed hours ago. Yet you could still feel the brush of his office carpet, the scent of his cologne in the air. Your body was in Miguel’s guest room, but your mind was still in his office.

You feel guilty for not having visited your daughters room. It hadn’t even crossed your mind. In fact, only when your husband died has Mona entered your thoughts since when you took that shot from the attic. A precise yet mobile ache swims in your head, your hands are sore, callouses dress your palms, and your very bones by how much you’ve worked your body have been whittled down to twigs.

Its been hours since you resolved to kill Thomas, but your bodies withering tells you it’s been centuries. When you’re done cleaning yourself up, you just sit down on the bed. Everything inside your ribcage is heavy, your gut painfully swirls in on itself above your hips. All you can hear is your daughters laugh, your mothers goodbye, your entire life flash before you.

This is what it’s all lead to; battered and dirtied in a strangers guest room with no where else in the world to go to. All that keeps you going is the seemingly infinite kindness of a handsome stranger Miguel.

But, like a glimmer of a spark against metal; a burn erupts in your chest. It’s heat is send to your brain, and the following revelation is born.

Your whole life you’ve lived off of guilt. You married Thomas out of shame of what you’d done to his father for the life and luxuries you were afforded. You stayed out of regret for the father you gave Mona and had to stay by her side to endure it with her. And every day for over ten years you’ve not walked a step without the weight of it all almost breaking your shoulders.

Even now as Thomas’s blood pollutes the water bowl before you. His death isn’t what you truly desired either; just the release of anger the killing would bring you. What, who you truly want. Is washing dishes now downstairs; you hair the water flush into the tub as he scraps away anxiously at what’s left on the plates. You’re going to take a shot in the dark; for once in your life you will just be who you want to be.

You break your feet into the steps leading down into the kitchen with utmost care. Not concealing your presence but absentmindedly seeking to not make a racket. As you stroll into the scene of Miguel’s towering frame over the kitchen counter.

You can’t deny your attraction to him, not just physically. He’s gentle, kind, full of wisdom and a humorless awkwardness to him you can’t help but find endearing. He reminded you of Thomas in a lot of ways, and that’s what scares you now.

The trembling in your chest is pattern recognition kicking in, was a dashing and kind man comes into your life. Gives you everything you want and need for seemingly no ulterior motive. But now you’re here because Thomas changed, or maybe he wasn’t who you thought he was from the beginning. Little evidence suggests this will be any different. But you’re tired of living in the past. You will start again as many times as it takes to leave it.

By now you’ve crossed the entirety of the room, you stand right beside this six foot finely sculpted man. Lost in his own thoughts it takes him a moment to realize how close you are. He isn’t startled and just looks down at you, now washed up from before. This is the most socially receptive he’s witnessed from you from the past few hours. Understandably so of course, his gaze softens as he peers down asking.

“Getting hungry-“ he washes off his hands with a cloth and goes on “I can hunt us some fowl quickly and…” before he allows himself to finish his own sentence. Your fingers softly blanket themselves over his own; he dwarfs you even when it comes to hands. He’s puzzled and waits for what you’ll do next.

“I want you.” A heartbeat of Miguel’s passes so he could be certain what he heard was right. He’s startled, and tries to ask a question he already knows the answer to “….what are you talking about?” He’s lack of pulling away or resisting your touch. Lends you to lean in closer, to push your body over his own.

You’re so much shorter than him your chest makes it just at the half way point of his own chest. You can feel his heart racing against your skins. Meanwhile your fingers sew tighter together as you explain. “I’ve wanted you since the moment we’ve meet, and every hour after. I’m tired of mourning what was, I want something more…if you’d have me-“before anxiety of the leap you took pulls you away from him.

His hand arcs against your face, to ensure you look at him right. “You don’t have to want this, you can say no. I won’t throw you out onto the street, I didn’t do all of this so you’d sleep with me.” He’s such a gentleman. You decide to ease his anxieties and breath out inches from his face, as you stand on your toes.

“And that’s the kind of man I want….please take me Miguel-“ one subdued gasp from him later and his mouth was all over yours. His large fingers creep from below your shirt grasping at your trapped skin. He instinctively picks you off your feet. By his large muscles you’re not surprised he did such so effortlessly.

You two left a trial of discarded clothes from the kitchen to the quest bedroom.

#spiderverse #18+ #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #I’ll find you #cowboy Miguel #cowboy!Miguel #AU #au #spiderverse au

[yuurei20]

Rook Info Compilation part 3: Rook and Leona

Rook seems to have a fascinating relationship with Leona, which may exist entirely in his own head.

To quote,

“If those sharp fangs of his pierced my windpipe, why, I’d be done for in an instant. The very notion makes my heart quiver.”

“I could watch Leona all day and never tire of it.”

“You have ample athletic ability and your physique would add extra flair to your dancing. Not to mention your wonderful, resounding voice.”

“Is the Roi du Poison perhaps jealous? You’re the fairest in the school, of course. You don’t need to feel threatened.”

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get my hunter’s blood boiling every time I look at him.”

“I so ache to corner that calm, collected quarry just enough to make him bare his fangs. Oh, to find myself in the position to make him squirm!”

In a vignette, Rook corners Ruggie and blackmails him into revealing one of Leona’s weaknesses.

Rook catches Ruggie physically by the tail and refuses to let him go “until you divulge that which I wish to know”. When Ruggie will not, Rook threatens to seek out Ruggie’s weaknesses instead on the basis that a hyaena’s weak points must not be so different from those of a lion.

Rook is satisfied with Leona's "weakness" of disliking vegetables, saying he is uninterested in more damaging information, as, “I prefer something more…exhilarating. Like when one slides a pawn across the entire chessboard. Or like when one leads a beauty in their first dance.”

Rook and Leona share a homeroom class (which may or may not have something to do with why Leona's attendance is so poor), and Rook describes him as “a classmate and a friend, as well as a rival who puts my skills to the test. At least, he is for now.”

For Leona’s birthday Rook gifts Leona with a portrait of Leona himself. Leona says the portrait is “pretty decent” but “the thought of him watching me all this time creeps me out”, insinuating that it was Rook who painted it.

He asks Ruggie if he thinks his own fur would be better suited to a scarf, carpet or coat.

Rook catches both in the cafeteria and reveals the information he forced from Ruggie. He invites Leona out to dinner, saying, “the stronger the prey, the more I am driven to ensnare it.” (also: "It's rather cute the way his tail thrashed about when he's irate.")

(On NA Rook once refers to Leona as an “idiote”, but this was added to the English translation to the game. Rook has never name-called anyone in any of his original dialogue. Also, it seems that is the feminine form of the word? But Rook's French is described as "native level" during Glorious Masquerade.)

Vil threatens to remove Rook from his vice-housewarden position to rein in his harassment of Leona. To quote,

Vil: “While Leona is little more than a good-looking layabout, he is quite troublesome when angered. Do not let your provocations get out of hand.”

Rook: “Is that an order?”

Vil: “You’re welcome to take it that way…My vice house warden deserves a front-row seat to bear witness to my life’s work. I urge you to exercise discretion and ensure that you do not lose that seat. Because I would replace you immediately if you got our dorm into trouble.”

#twstrook #twstfacts #rookfacts #Rook Hunt #twisted wonderland