#miniature tailoring

[petermorwood]

Also a splendid addition to this post here.

Let's hear it for CatCosplay! ;->

"I don't wanna talk to you no more, you empty headed cat bowl wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"

[fergus-monster]

#Lorcana 2023 Tournament Trophies are complete.

Under 12s: Minnie League

Starter: Mickey League

Construction: Tinkerbell League

[trollbreak]

I love giving characters plot irrelevant crafting hobbies it’s so important to me

[chuluoyi]

✎ the babysitters' club

- gojo satoru x reader

in which yuji, megumi and nobara are tasked with the most important mission ever by their teacher—watching over his baby son!

genre: total crack, first years are trying their best to babysit your son to save their grades, an attempt at humor, gojo is irritating as always, fluff, fluff, fluff

note: this is sooo incredibly silly :') some inspiration are taken from the baby starfish onesie, this ask, and this illustration -> if you're wondering how gojo dressed his baby, he's looks just like that :)) tagging @3zae-zae3 <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Gojo-sensei... what is that wiggling starfish!?"

On one sunny day in jujutsu school... trouble is once again brewing in the form of Gojo Satoru bringing his baby son to the class.

"Starfish? No, no," Gojo retorted with a displeased expression, directing his gaze towards Yuji and clicking his tongue as he patted his squirming baby, which was still hidden from their view. "He's my pride and joy! Don't refer to him as starfish!"

"But you've got him dressed up as one..." Nobara pointed out, her tone flat and unimpressed.

"That's his kid," Megumi provided, wearily sighing. God, he knew already today was going to be a long day.

No one from school had seen your seven-month old baby son yet, and Gojo was determined to make it an occasion to remember.

Beaming with pride, he gently removed his baby from the starfish-themed onesie, revealing him in a tiny black jujutsu outfit specially tailored for him, complete with miniature black glasses. He held him up, presenting him for everyone to see.

"Behold, everyone... my son! Isn't he just adorable?!"

. . . a momentary silence before—

"Oh my goodness, he is!" Nobara cooed, forgetting her earlier sentiment, immediately approaching the baby with shining eyes. "Sensei, how could you manage to have a baby this cute!?"

"Heh! Only the finest technique utilized to create him—"

"Complete bullshit—"

"Hush, Megumi! No cussing in front of my baby! I'll deduct your marks!"

"Seriously...?"

"Now, class, today I have a very, very important task for you..." Gojo said, his voice dripping with mischief as he sported a broad grin. "If you succeed, I'll personally draft a recommendation letter for each of you to Yaga. But if you don't..." he paused for the suspense, scanning his three students' curious faces.

"Then I'm failing you in my class!" Gojo continued with a grin, prompting immediate reactions from his students.

“What! Why?!”

“That's not fair!”

“Sigh.”

“All you have to do was to watch over him until I come back. Everything you need is here— in this bag!”

Megumi rolled his eyes. Nobara raised an eyebrow. Only Yuji who seemed to be genuinely interested.

"Isn't that easy?" Gojo tilted his head playfully, looking absolutely stupid with his blindfold. "There are three of you here. If you can't even manage to look after one baby, then you should not even think about romance and dating."

"Nonsen—"

"Quiet, Megumi!"

And so began the day's mission: looking after Baby Gojo until his father's return.

“Lalala~ look you’re flying!”

“Fwa...”

“Kugisaki, don’t hold him like that! You’re making him cry!”

“No, I’m not— Itadori! Don’t smush his face—!”

“WAAA!”

“You idiot!” Megumi hissed, plucking the poor baby from his clueless friends and immediately soothed him, pulling him close and patting his back. He even gently shushed him, “There, there...”

And Yuji and Nobara could only look at him in awe as the baby's wails turned into soft sniffles, peaceful in his embrace.

"Whoa... Fushiguro, so babies like you, huh..."

"Unfair!" Nobara clicked his tongue, before fixing a wide smile and waved at the baby in Megumi's arms. "Hi baby~ don't you want to held by big sister—"

"He doesn't like you, Kugisaki."

And so, that was how the three of them spent half the day—constantly watching over Baby Gojo, with Megumi supervising both the baby and his two friends.

"Sometimes, I wonder what she sees in him..." Megumi grumbled sullenly, resigned to his fate, his gaze fixed on the crawling baby while he sat on the floor and threw his little sunglasses.

For all the sighs he exuded, Megumi undeniably had a soft spot for the baby. Prior today, he had held him several times, and he'd never admit it, but he'd protect him to the best of his ability, if anything, because you had done so much for him.

“Gojo-sensei is cool!” Yuji remarked. “Of course Y/N-sensei is happy with him.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Only you would say that.”

"Hey, don't you think he wants his milk?" Yuji suddenly pointed out, as the baby became fussy. Megumi nodded and Yuji immediately reached for the bag Gojo left. He pulled out a bottle and handed it to his friend, but in the process, he accidentally knocked the bag over, spilling its contents onto the floor.

"Ahh, my bad," the boy sighed, collecting the diapers and washcloth, until he realized that there were some more—

"What's that? Photographs?" Nobara picked one of them up, and immediately gasped. "Oh my! Look at this!"

On the picture was the same baby, but much more smaller and swaddled in baby blue blanket and tiny blue beanie. Most likely taken when he was a newborn.

"Whoa, wait, there's something written behind the photo..."

When she flipped it over, both she and Yuji studied the messy handwriting, instantly recognizing it as their teacher's.

Yaaay! ♡ Baby is here! I'm sooo happy you made it! But mama went through a lot to bring you here... so don't ever forget that she loves you very, very much, okay?

"This is sweet." Nobara looked at the picture with a genuine smile, until she realized that there were some more scattered on the floor.

The other picture was of the blue-eyed baby on his arms and knees, wrapped in an orange and black bee onesie, complete with little wings, and behind it was written:

Aren't you just the cutest bee?! And what's more, you've started crawling! Aw, papa is so proud! In no time at all, you're going to be as strong as me!

"What are you two doing over there?" Megumi asked, still feeding the baby with the milk bottle. Nobara beckoned him over.

The third photo was of you smiling so prettily while holding your baby, still in his bee suit, and Gojo also in the frame, wrapping his arm around you, clearly the one holding the camera to take the selfie.

Two my most precious treasures ♡ Sweetheart, I love you. And baby too!

Yuji smiled, as he felt warmth spreading in his chest. "Gojo-sensei really treasures his family, huh?"

"He is," Megumi agreed, because he had seen it all throughout his life.

"Well, no wonder..." Nobara giggled. "Any woman showered with this much love would be happy."

And that day, the trio also uncovered another side of their teacher, that his deepest affection was reserved exclusively for his wife and child.

Well, the sentimental feeling didn't last long though...

"This is our chance!" Nobara said in a hushed whisper. "When else are we going to get an extra family discount!?"

Megumi was so ready to burst a blood vessel as he held the baby—given that he had forbidden his two friends to lay a finger on him. "We are meeting Gojo-sensei here, not to—!"

"Hush! Itadori, don't you agree with me?!"

Yuji nudged his cross friend, trying to appease him. "Lighten up, Fushiguro! We can have more meat!"

At the last minute, Gojo suddenly told the three of them to bring his baby and meet him at the shopping center as he didn't want to waste energy to go back to the school. And like broke students Nobara and Yuji were, they decided to use Baby Gojo to snag an extra plate in a yakiniku place.

Megumi's eyes twitched. "This is not making sense at all, they won't believe—!"

"Shut up, you! Waiter~ here! We have a baby! So we're eligible for the family package!"

The judging stare of the waiter was enough to make Megumi combust on the spot, and yet somehow he passed the four of them as family eligible for the extra plate.

It was later, after they had their lunch that Megumi suddenly had an upset stomach and left the baby momentarily in his two friends' care.

And under less-than-watchful eyes...

"Hey, Kugisaki, meat on this side is the juiciest! Try it!"

"Ooh, you're right!"

The baby only blinked at them in wonder as he stayed in his spot. Not for long though... and it didn't help that they forgot his existence after they went to the cashier and headed out.

"Oi, Itadori! Don't forget to split the bill!"

"Oh yeah! Anyway, why is Fushiguro taking so long?"

Megumi got back right afterwards, and he frowned. "You done already? I haven't even gotten my ocha refill—" and it dawned to him when he saw both Yuji and Nobara with empty hands.

"Wait... where's the baby?"

"—! Oh my god!"

And when the three of them rushed back to the yakiniku place and approached their table earlier, Nobara almost screamed at the empty chairs, "He is gone!"

"You left the baby with the kids and told them to come here?!"

You were positively fuming as you scolded your stupid husband in the bustling mall.

"Well, we haven't gotten much time to spend together, just the two of us!" Satoru retorted, his tone sulky as he pouted. "And besides, Megumi is there. I'm sure they'll do just fine~"

You let out a sigh. True enough, being parents is no joke. Aside from stay-at-home dates, the frequency of the two of you going out had dwindled exponentially since having your baby.

"Technically, you are still on the clock though." You threw him a glare. "You're being a very irresponsible teacher."

Satoru smirked. "Heh, spare me. But I'm being a very good teacher to you in our—"

"One more word and I'm locking you out—!"

Just as you were about to give him your (empty) threat, the building suddenly boomed with an announcement from the mall's broadcast speaker.

"Attention, shoppers. We've received a report from three teenagers that they've lost a baby. He is seven-month old, wears black shirt, has white hair and blue eyes. He is last seen at Yakiniku Q—"

"Satoru..." your voice trembled, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. The baby described by the speaker was unmistakably your son, and the realization of him being missing sent you spiraling into panic.

"Hey, calm down." Satoru gripped your hand tightly, his voice steady as he faced you. "We're going to find him, alright? I'm here. Don't worry."

And after taking off his glasses, in a matter of seconds, Satoru figured out where he was.

Nobara's eyes welled up with tears, frustrated. "What do I do, Gojo-sensei will fail us now..." she muttered, biting her lip.

"That's what you're worried about?" Megumi replied, turning to her with a clear glare.

"He's going to be fine! He is!" Yuji interjected, trying to reassure his two friends despite his own rising anxiety. "He’s not just any random baby—who knows, maybe he can shoot cursed energy to protect himself!"

Megumi and Nobara leveled their annoyed stares on him and Yuji immediately regretted his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I still think he can't get far from the yakiniku place." Megumi was too panicked to check with the staff earlier and just went with Yuji's suggestion to report it to be announced, but now that he thought about it— "I think we should go back."

And thank goodness the three of them returned for the second time because, this time, they finally saw the baby safely cradled in your arms, with Gojo speaking to the waitresses nearby.

"Oh?! Gojo-sensei is here!"

But as soon as the three of them came into view, Gojo immediately fixed them with his unamused gaze.

"You three..." his voice was lower and it made the three kids shudder. "What did I tell you about failing this mission, huh?"

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi were visibly spooked, immediately bowing their heads in unison as they chorused—

"Gojo-sensei, we're so sorry!"

Nobara then pointed an accusing finger at Yuji. "But it was his fault! He kept eating away and didn't even oversee the baby anymore!"

"Wha!?" Yuji glared back at her. "No! You too! You kept eating my meat too!"

"Whatever it is, I'm not a part of this—" Megumi cut in boldly. "My stomach hurt so I had to go for a bit, and they couldn't even keep an eye on him—"

You soothed your squirming son as the first years were throwing blame at each other. Gaping in confusion, you couldn't help but wonder how such a simple task had turned into this incident.

"Tsk." Gojo crossed his arms dramatically, and you knew he was just messing with them, as he suddenly turned to you with a grin.

"Nah, as both a teacher and the victim's mother— Sensei~ who do you think is responsible for this? Or should I punish all three of them?"

The three kids before you were quaking in their boots, and you really didn't have time for this right now. Honestly, if if you had to quickly pinpoint the source of this chaos...

You directed your most irked glare at your husband. "You."

“Huh?!”

“You’re the one staging this by threatening their grades, and it results in our baby being missing!”

Now you were bickering with your husband and putting him in his rightful place. Nobara and Yuji gaped, while Megumi heaved a sigh of relief.

"Does this mean... our grades are saved?"

Epilogue

"They said he fell..." You pat your baby's head worriedly as he babbled happily in his crib, your expression darkening into a frown.

You didn't really blame the first years for their lack of experience, but as his mother, the news from the restaurant staff that they had found your son falling from the chair made you extremely uneasy.

Seeing your distress, Satoru’s natural response was to comfort you until you were back to smiles again. He gently tickled his boy's tummy, prompting him to squeal in absolute joy. "Look, he's perfectly fine. You don't need to worry so much, yeah?"

"But it's strange... I'm happy he's fine, but how? Most babies will get hurt or at least be inconsolable after falling. But he was totally okay..."

Satoru shifted his gaze to his son, as now his round, crystal blue eyes that mirrored his blinked back at him with such innocence and trust that even melted his heart.

"Ah, I see." Suddenly he smiled as if he had figured something out. "This is just my guess, but you know my guesses have like... 90% of probability of being correct—"

"Hmm...?"

"He might have activated Infinity by instinct. Heh."

[baeshijima]

— within uncertainty

sunday reflects on his limited time thus far on the express, only to find himself distracted by a face he has unknowingly become fond of.

CONTAINS : 1.2k wc, gn!reader, astral express member!sunday, fluff

A/N : chat have we seen the lc and gameplay leaks…? throwing up.

When Sunday first arrived on the Astral Express, a miniature gold and crimson ticket attached to his apparel, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

A new start; that much he was sure of. But with these people who instilled a newfound hope and courage to face the future, there was no shadow of a doubt within his heart and soul that he would encounter the unexpected more times than he can keep track of.

Sure enough, the unexpected came in many ways.

For one, March 7th’s uncanny ability to look at the bright side of things appeared so natural to her, so easy and simple. In recent times, he has found himself thinking about situations in a more positive light, no doubt a side effect of having spent time with her bubbly self.

He discovered Dan Heng’s aloof demeanour barely concealed his great care and affection for the crew— the Astral Express family. Even with what seems to be passive quips and dead-eyed stares, Sunday has begun to note the differentiations in his tone and body language, and all the subtleties he only shows with them.

He discovered the Trailblazer was every bit of a jokester as they are courageous, often finding himself staring blankly at some of their… seamlessly timed quips, to put it lightly. Even so, he’s oftentimes caught himself mid-admiration when they take charge in what they believe is right, wondering if he, too, could be like them in that aspect.

He found that Welt, while still retaining the righteous and strong spirit he displayed while in penacony, had a rather unprecedented charm. Sitting down for hours on end listening to the elder ramble passionately about animating, the arts, and endless theories about this universe wasn’t something he had ever planned for, but his heart warmed all the same at the burst of energy.

He came to realise the Express’ Navigator, Himeko, was certainly a… character. Brave, wise and humble were what he would use to describe her, even more so after her warmly welcoming him into the family. However, Sunday realised he could do without that… concoction she dubs a coffee.

He also never realised such a creature existed until he met Pom-Pom, much less one being a sentient conductor. Their nags are backed with overflowing affection for the members of the Express, often displayed through the meticulous care taken in the tailored meals and rooms and experience. There is so much love of the Astral Express, and Sunday wouldn’t be surprised if he were told most of it came from the Conductor.

(Though he does recall being warned by Dan Heng in particular to not anger the Conductor, an experience he is both curious about but also content in not knowing what exactly would transpire.)

And then there is you.

Sunday only caught a glimpse of you during the final moments of the conflict, much like with Himeko, so he didn’t have too much to go off of other than the fact you, just as it seemed to come with being a part of the Astral Express, were brave and fought for what you believed in.

(With you in particular, he found himself unable to forget your gaze — how it held a sparkling resolution and commanded his full attention, completely and utterly drawn in.)

Of course, that’s not to say you don’t embody those aspects now that he’s gotten to know you. Rather, you are so much more than what he could have ever imagined.

“Wow… they’re way softer than they look!”

…In more ways than one.

Sunday doesn’t really know how this situation came to be. He was merely idling around the Express in search of something to pass the time until you took note of his predicament, swooping in like the graceful saviour you are (self-proclaimed by you).

Somehow, in some way, that brought you both to his room.

It’s times like these where Sunday wholeheartedly believes the most forward member of the Astral Express isn’t that racoon-like Trailblazer, but rather you instead.

Seriously. How are you not embarrassed by this… this compromising position you’re both in?! He can practically feel the radius in which the heat from his face permeates!

“Do you, like, have a care routine for them or something?” you ask while gently thumbing individual feathers, because obviously this is only affecting him and him alone. “I refuse to believe your wings are like this naturally.”

He knows he gave you permission to touch them, but it doesn’t change the fact his wings are still sensitive. Aeon knows what you would do with that information; well, assuming you haven’t already picked up on his reactions towards your… ministrations.

“I do have a routine. I go to great lengths pruning and trimming my feathers. More than that…” he trails off, opting to ignore your mumbled comment of “Wow… you’re just like a bird then…”. He coughs, averting his eyes from your intensely gentle gaze, raising a fist to cover his lips. “Are you this forward with everyone?”

You blink. Once, twice, thrice. Somehow, the action makes Sunday fluster even further.

A hum leaves you as your lips purse and your head tilts in thought. “Well, I wouldn’t say everyone, exactly. Just those I consider to be very close to me. Oh,” you begin, as though realising something, “does it bother you? I’m so sorry!”

No— wait— why are you apologising?

“I didn’t realise I was making you uncomfortable! Oh gosh, I did it again…!”

You make a move to scramble away from him. Is it your frantic and unfocused eyes, or perhaps this uncharacteristic side of your usual confident and unabashed self which makes his heart lurch?

“I’m so, so sorry! I’ll keep my distance from now on and—!”

He acts before he can think.

“No!”

There’s a surge of panic which shoots into him. It makes itself known in the raw strain of his voice, in the shaky wide-eyed stare at the thought of you leaving, in the trembling grip he has your arm in.

Really, Sunday doesn’t know what he’s panicking about. He just knows a part of himself would never forgive him for unintentionally pushing you away like this.

A gasp escapes him after a few tense seconds which felt much more like an eternity. With haste, Sunday tears his hand away from your arm. Despite that, he remains in close proximity to you, mustering the courage to look at you once more.

“I… I mean, no, you’re not making me uncomfortable.” Sunday prays you didn’t hear the stammer in his words. And, if you did, then he hopes you don’t bring it up. “If I were feeling as such, I would have told you outright.”

The silence is absolutely suffocating. Even so, Sunday doesn’t dare look away from your stunned expression, not even when he’s almost positive his face is about to melt off from the sheer heat radiating from him.

“Oh.” You blink, expression falling into that of neutrality. A nod of understanding is your next action; understanding of what? Sunday has no clue — he’s not sure he even wants to know. “So you’re that type, huh. I see now.”

Nevermind. Maybe he does.

“…What does that mean? Wait— [Name], come back here! Explain what ‘that type’ means! Are you listening?!”

Suffice to say, Sunday never received a verbal response from you. Only your cheeky grin before you left and a plethora of butterflies fluttering amok within his stomach are all that remains.

Yeah. Sunday didn’t know what to expect when joining the Astral Express; in fact, he still doesn’t know what to expect. Despite being thrown into the unknown, he finds himself thinking this situation to not be so bad after all.

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.

Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.

My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.

Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.

And then the pandemic hit.

And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?

And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."

Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.

And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.

We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.

The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."

I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."

Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"

I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.

"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."

She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Fire In His Blood

Lucien x reader

For Day 2 of @acotar-omegaverse-week - Turning Up The Heat: You seem a little flushed, darling... is everything alright?

a/n: avert your eyes

warnings: smut obviously, knotting, pussy-eating, overstim, squirting, light nipple play, spanking, praise kink, breeding kink, kinda rough sex, biting, belly bulge

word count: 3,696

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Across the room Lucien sits patronisingly silent, both eyes focused with infuriatingly faux concentration on the book clasped in his long fingers. 

Your throat rolls, a pearly bead of sweat gliding down your spine, throat rolling as you shift once more in attempts to shy from the blazing heat of the miniature furnace. If you’d also hailed from the Autumn Court you’d be singeing the carefully trimmed ends of his thick, silky hair; burning the hem off his perfectly tailored trousers that wrap themselves greedily around the mouth-watering muscles of his thighs; turning his slippers to coal. 

Perspiration gathers between your breasts, but you refuse to yield an inch. He’s used this tactic plenty of times before, and each and every one you’ve naively fallen for it; not this time. 

In the evenings when the light fades, and the air becomes cool but dry and the two of you take up your seats in the living room, windows flung wide to allow that evening breeze to sweep through the interior should the day have been too much of a struggle, he’ll do this. Slowly raise the temperature of the room, incrementally inching higher until you discard your outer layers. Then it will continue to creep higher…and higher…and higher…until there’s a dewy shine to your skin and you’re in little more than a vest and underwear. Then one thing will lead to another. 

“Your clothes are already off.” He would reason with a self-satisfied smirk, a broad palm gliding up to pause between your shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers splayed across your skin. “Might as well help you sweat out the fever.” 

Of course, it was never a fever. Nor an oddly warm night. Always Lucien Vanserra, inching up those degrees. 

On this cooler night, however, there’s a fire lit in the spacious living room, burning and crackling and sparking. A log splits, popping cavernously and you flare your skirts under the guise of rearrangement. The temporary rush of air that sweeps up your legs is welcome, but the following stagnancy is hellish. With a subtle glance to the windows, you ache for them to be open, for the curtains to be swaying in a nighttime breeze bringing in a moon-kissed wind that would soothe the burning heat of your skin, but as it is the curtains are drawn shut, trapping you within the sweltering furnace of a room. 

Breathing becomes difficult, the dry air itching at your parched throat, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth and lips sticking shut. 

When a bead of sweat rolls down your temple, your jaw grinds, pushing abruptly from the armchair to stride over to your mate. Arms fold beneath your breasts, glaring down at the cocky alpha you’d somehow thought would be a good idea to spend the rest of your life with. 

“Lucien.” His name is a sharp hiss of vehemence from your lungs, his eyes snapping from his book at the furious tone. “Cut it out.” You grit the words through a clenched jaw, nostrils flared with indignation.  

His brow raises in denial, lips parting to produce a no-doubt snarky reply, when he pauses. His pupils dilate, chest expanding on a slow and deep inhale. A few seconds pass with you stood before him, arms crossed tightly as you glare down at your alpha while he stares silently upward. Then his book closes. He doesn’t take his eyes from you as he lays it across the chair’s arm, and the heavy novel slides from the fabric, thumping to the wooden floor. 

Lucien’s attention remains on you, making the heat increase tenfold, blood scalding as it gushes through your body. 

“I said cut it out,” you pant, fury singeing at the edges, steadily disintegrating to ash as you have to drag your sleeve below your jaw, drying the dampened skin. 

Lucien’s throat rolls, irises almost entirely swallowed by the black of his pupils. “Lovely…” he tries, but you cut him off with a low hiss that boarders on a snarl. “Right now, or I’m—” 

Hot palms caress your hips before long, deft fingers curl around the sweep of bone and your pulse fumbles, spiking higher than you thought possible. Breath catches and sweat slowly slips down your inner thigh, trickling over the scalding skin—so hot you’re surprised it’s not evaporating. 

Lucien swallows again, hot mouth parting on a short breath, a fang glinting shy from beneath his lip. “That’s not…” He’s breathing heavily now, nostrils flaring delicately and his grip closes around your ribcage, fingers splaying up your back while his thumbs graze beneath the swell of your breasts. Your inhales match his, growing laboured as he stands from his seat, slowly rising higher until your head tips back, forced to crane your neck from the proximity. 

Another droplet of sweat slides down your inner thigh, meandering down until it drips over the roundness of the interior of your knee. “Turn down the heat,” you demand breathlessly, “it’s too hot.” 

“That’s not me,” he murmurs, tongue flicking over his lips, eyes refusing to remove themselves from your face. “Lu, there’s currently sweat dripping down my thighs, don’t you dare…” You trail off in a moan when hunger darkens his eyes, pulling you tight to his body and sliding those long fingers between the roundness of your ass, pushing between your legs to graze your clothed sex. “I don’t think that’s sweat, princess.” 

He spins you around faster than you can blink, pushing you down into the deep cushioning of his armchair, spreading your thighs so they hook over the arms, skirts shoved up to your hips. Firelight shudders over the burning orange room, walls alight with the heat of flame and arousal liquefies in your lower belly, hundreds of tiny butterflies fluttering wildly in your abdomen, between your legs, so much intensity your thighs begin to shake. “What-…?”

It seems Lucien’s figured it out before you, knees hitting the hardwood floor with a painful thud, fingers wrapping around and squeezing the flesh of your thighs as he pushes them closer to your chest. A shiver breaks down your spine as his fangs graze the interior of your knee, tongue dragging hotly against your skin, flicking up over that heavy droplet of— 

The growl he releases has you sinking further into arousal, leaning deeper into the instincts that are swiftly surfacing. You push your legs wider, leveraging yourself upon the arms of the chair to incline your hips, offering and begging for him to do something. 

A russet and a golden eye both flick upward and you swear you can feel them over your pussy, skating up over your breasts, nipping and tugging at your lips. Heat, they say, You’re in heat. 

You think you shake your head but you can’t be sure, not with the haze that’s descended down on your mind like a wave of fog cresting the mountains and falling to fill the valleys. 

“Lucien,” you breathe. “Lucien…” 

His nostrils fare, scenting the arousal that’s practically rolling off your body, almost vibrating with need, slick dripping from your sopping pussy. Soaking all the way through your underwear. Dampening the fabric of the cushions beneath you. 

A moan spills from your lips, hips rolling upward desperately as he tears the underwear from your body, fangs having pierced the delicate fabric, ripping them clean from your sensitive skin. His eyes are glued to your cunt, glistening in the firelight, and pulses of pleasure flutter up through your abdomen as he drags his tongue through your centre. A thick thread of slick is attached to his chin from a single lick, and he dives back almost instantly, tongue, teeth, and mouth centring at your entrance, his nose pushing against your clit and your thighs fall apart for him.

The sound of slurping bounces off the walls, his tongue practically burning as he licks you clean, swiping against the innermost parts of your thighs, trailing around the the curve of your cunt, lapping from where your ass meets the cushion to the tip of your clit. You want more. You need more. You open your thighs wider, as wide as they can go, hips bucking and rolling, rubbing against his face. Fingers lazily, weakly, thread through the length of his silky hair, feeling as it slips between your digits, perfect to grab onto—like luxury reigns. 

Your hands bunch into fists, knuckles turning white from the grip you have on him. Powerful arms band around your thighs, muscles stretching from how far you’re being pushed apart, aching from the pleasurable strain but it feels so good. The babbling moans that are falling from your throat are probably more than enough to tell him that, though. 

The orgasm rises smoothly, swiftly, dragging you under like a stray riptide as a wave passes overhead, dragged down, down, down, as breath is locked in your lungs, drowned as the pleasure pulses through your thighs, cunt fluttering as your clit aches. 

It’s not enough. 

It’s not enough. 

“Lucien.” Hands tug on his hair but his face is still buried between your thighs, tongue and teeth working hungrily, dragging up through your centre, licking up and tasting your orgasm. “Lucien. Lu. More. Please.” Your breathing is far from even, laboured and huffing from your lips, fabric rustling as laces fly free from loops, ruffles strewn from your waist and arms, flung to the floor as you surge forward to meet the firm body of your alpha. 

His palms wrap themselves in a cage around your ribs, moans and groans spilling hotly as your lips meet, arousal gleaming thickly over his mouth as his tongue dips inside. Fuck, you can feel him against your stomach, the hard outline of his cock digging into your abdomen, and he can’t have all those clothes on. Feral fingers claw at buttons, sending them flying as linen is ripped away from hot, bare skin, your tongue instantly dragging up his sternum, teeth biting hungrily at his collar bone like you might be able to feast on him. 

“Love,” he pants, hands squeezing and exploring, tracing and retracing each line of muscle, every swell of your body as if he’s blind. “Love.” It comes out as a snarl, fresh arousal bursting through your body, every spec of skin aching with acute awareness, searching for the feeling of his rough hands to satiate the keen yearning that’s itching below your flesh. 

His hand fists in your hair, tugging you back, forcing you to stare into his molten gaze, starving hunger simmering so blatantly a whimper escapes your throat. His fangs glint in the flame light, then he’s hauling you back with him, shoving you down to the floor, the impact hardly registering as he fits himself between your legs, and you can feel him. Oh gods you can feel him. 

“Lucien,” you cry, on the verge of melting into nothing. “Inside…I need you…inside, now.” 

Thigh are pushed upwards, knees to your chest, sweat trickling down the nape of your neck, dripping onto the rug below. Your eyes lock as he slides in to the hilt, the entrance swift and effortless. Wet slurping noises sound between you as your arms and legs lock around him, panting and crying as you feel him deep inside, powerful muscle hot and firm against your soft and supple form. 

Lucien groans, muscles flexing in his arms as he pulls back to look at you. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls, jaw straining as molten iron simmers in his one russet eye. He leans closer, lips searing your own. “Perfect little omega cunt.” 

Your eyes flutter, grinding sloppily against one another, hips rolling and bucking lazily, not yet focused enough to organise your movements. His cock rubs against your walls, pushing a bulge into your stomach and your toes curl. “Lucien…I— I need—”

“I know what you need,” he growls, palms splaying across the carpet as he pushes himself up, firelight kissing sun-warmed skin. “And—fuck—I’m right here.” 

A loud moan is shoved from your chest as he pulls back and slams in, pleasure knocking the breath from your lungs, and you don’t think you’ll be able to live through this if he doesn’t let you take his knot. 

You need his knot. 

Need to feel it swelling inside of you, locking you so firmly in place as he releases into you, making sure you can’t pull off him when he unloads inside of your sweet, dripping pussy. Not until you’re dripping his cum down your thighs from being stuffed full, so full— 

Lucien hits a spot than has your nails scraping and scratching his back, clawing hungrily as your arms shake, needing to feel him inside of you, spilling into your cunt, filling you up until you can’t move without some of him dripping out. Lucien curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he feels you tighten around him, sucking him deeper into your wet heat. “Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, hips rolling roughly to your own, bucking sharply as instinct demands he give and give and give. “So fucking pretty. So fucking prefect of you.” 

Your eyes flutter, and you’re coming, squeezing his cock tight, hips bucking as your clit grazes his abdomen, thunder and lightening storming in your veins, fuelling the fire that’s burning between the two of you. 

Lucien releases a deep-throated groan, bordering on a growl as he feels you fluttering around him. His brows furrow, eyes shutting as he pants, basking in the aftershocks of your cunt. “Feels so good,” he mutters, hot breath fanning across your throat, fangs scratching faintly, promising more. “Gods, I could stay in you forever.” 

“More,” you urge, thighs squeezing him, hips already bucking against his despite having just orgasmed. “Lu, please. Need your knot. Need it inside of me.” 

“If that’s what you want…” 

You whimper with pleasure as he rolls onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re straddling his hips. Tears slip from your lashes as gravity pulls you down on his cock, his tip pressing against that spot that… 

Your palms splay across his chest, his hands gripping your hips tight, cock nestled deep inside your dripping cunt. “Lu…” you start, but his grip tightens on you, lifting you sharply from his hips only to slam you down, bucking up to meet you. Your spine arches with the surge of pleasure, teetering along the line of overstimulation…but that’s exactly what you need. To be shaking, trembling, sobbing. Need to hardly know up from down, and still have him pounding your pussy, filling you up. 

His hips buck, and your nails push against his skin. “There…!” You pant breathlessly, “right there…!” Lucien angles your hips, keeping you from moving away. “Here?” 

“Yes…yes, yes, yes!” 

Your breathing falters as you feel a swell at the base of his cock, noting how his chest is lined with tension…you begin bouncing, vibrating with pleasure when you feel him swell, grow larger, and larger…and… You whimper, wiggling your hips faintly, nestling down on him as you feel his knot lodge inside of you perfectly. Lucien groans, and you know he’s undeniably close. Close to spurting loads of cum into your pretty pussy, his knot keeping you locked on top of him as he finishes…you can’t wait for it. 

“Lu…” you whine softly, bringing your body to a still, fingers half-wrapping around his wrists, encouraging them higher. “Touch me…please…” 

“You want more?” The laugh he releases is strained to say the least, but his russet eye is glinting with hunger. “Greedy little omega. Isn’t that right?” Your teeth find placement in your lip, nodding eagerly as a lazy smile curves your lips. “Greedy…so greedy, Lu.”  

“Want my cock and my knot, huh?” 

“So badly.” You arch into his touch as he palms your breasts, grazing the pads of his fingers over your sensitive nipples. “So, so badly.” 

“Mhmm. So if I do…” Fingers pinch at your nipples, hips rolling up to meet yours, grinding against you so his knot rubs against those sensitive inner walls. 

Lucien chuckles as your eyes roll, hands falling away from his wrists, barely holding yourself upright on his cock. “Please…” you whisper, swirling your hips, tightening around him in encouragement. Urging him to finish inside of you. “Want to take it…” 

“You think you can?” He taunts, bucking upward sharply. 

“Mhmm. I can…”

“And you’re gonna do it…?”

“Well! …so well,” you pant. “Please…!”

A smirk curves his mouth, and you hungrily slide over him, lips pushing together as you moan into the sloppy mess of a kiss. His palm connects with you ass, squeezing appreciatively, soothing the sore skin before pulling back and spanking you again. Curses are muttered over your lips, Lucien feeling how you tighten around him with every impact, his canines nipping at your lips, his own still tasting of your arousal. 

“You’re going to be a good girl and take it? All of it?” A nod, followed by a hard spank. 

“My sweet little omega? Desperate for my cock? Not going to complain or whine when it gets too much because she doesn’t know her own limits?” Another nod, another spank. 

“Gonna take everything you can? No complaints? Not gonna brat about how it’s too much when you love it being too much?” An eager whimper, followed by a firm and final spank. 

“I won’t…I’ll take it…I’ll be perfect…!” 

“Such a good girl,” he praises, russet eye twinkling with male satisfaction, pride shining in his blown-out pupils. His fingers flex around your hips, readjusting his hold. “Have it.”

Together, you lift as far as you can go and slide down, swiftly finding motion and rhythm that works—you finding what you like, and Lucien carrying your movements with his grip, following whatever direction you choose. 

Both of you curse as he reaches his peak, feeling his knot pulse inside of you, feeling all of him inside of you, releasing, spurting hot cum, unloading himself deep into your cunt. Euphoria floods your body, heart fluttering in your chest. Your head tips back, hips swirling over him, Lucien’s hands pressing you down tight to him. Cock nestled deep, cum releasing deeper. 

Power crackles through the air, magic blazing from within his chest, the very tips of his fingertips glowing with red-hot brightness, russet burning the colour of freshly forged steel as pleasure courses through his body. 

Breath is knocked from you however, when he flips you over. 

You gasp at the sensitivity, shuddering with overstimulation, sweat surely beading down your spine. Is he—? “Lucien!” 

His hands grip your hips tight, his knees between your own on the rug, your palms flat against the soft fur and tears line your eyes as he pulls himself out, knot deflated enough for him to slip away. 

And slam back in to the hilt. 

The force knocks you forward, arms giving out beneath you as he pounds your poor pussy, slick coating your thighs—his, too—as it continues dripping, spilling from where you’re joined. One hand snakes between your legs, the pad of his middle finger effortlessly locating your clit, and you squirm as he begins circling it—mean, tight circles than make your muscles lock. 

Pleas fall from your lips, begging for more, for less, to go slower, to go harder, to fill you up, to full out, to fuck your mouth, to fuck your pussy, to come on your tongue, to spill more inside of you…to fuck you into babbling, sobbing mess of pleasure, arousal, and come.

“That’s it,” he soothes, curving over your arched back, heat pressing into your spine. “You’re taking it so well. Let me keep you full, yeah?” 

You moan your desperation, nodding your head as much as you can, feeling heat boil and bubble within your core, having trouble dealing with all of his stimulation…and with another knot forming… Gods, this. This is perfect. This is what you need. Every minute of every hour of every day for the next week. Maybe more. 

Lucien pulls himself upright so the hand that was bracing him on the rug can drop to the slick interior of your knee, gripping tight as his fingers wrap a good way around the circumference of your thigh, cocking your leg. You drool into the carpet as he fucks you deeper into the pleasure, knot swelling larger, larger than before, once again locking you tight together, except this time his fingers are rubbing against your clit and you sob as you reach your peak. 

Pleasure unlatches within you, and you feel as liquid pleasure releases onto him, gushing as he hits those spots again, and again, and again. Fucking you into an oblivion of ecstasy. 

In the back of your mind you can hear the breathless praises falling from his mouth. Telling you how perfect you are, how well you’re taking his cock, how full you’re going to be by the time he’s done with you. And sure enough you can feel him spurting into you, releasing himself deep inside your cunt. 

You’re a panting, sweating mess beneath him—both of you are, really. Skin glistening before the hearth, flame flickering its heat onto the walls. You’re far too sensitive to be moving, the aftershocks still fluttering through your overstimulated cunt, and yet part of you wants Lucien to roll you back on top of him and start slamming you down again, pounding into you until you’re orgasming again, feeling his knot swell inside, keeping you together. 

Teeth prod into your lower lip, tilting your head to one side. Together sounds good. Joined; locked; tied. 

Your throat rolls as Lucien’s tongue licks up the side of your neck, a low growl rumbling in his chest where instincts are ordering him to bite, searching for the spot he likes. And when his fangs find those marks, the rightness of your unity floods you with pleasure, weakly pushing back against him so his cock remains tight inside of you. 

Gods, a week of this…fucking heaven. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

[hwaightme]

Dawn

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, PRINCE'S ORDERS (nsfw tags under the cut)

(masterlist)

👑 pairing: exiled!prince!seonghwa x afab!reader 👑 genre: smut, fluff/angst, pwp but make it royaltycore 👑 summary: remember, remember this day, do remember, the treason and gunpowder plot. i see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot. as the preparations for a new era are complete, you find paradise and praise in the arms of the prince who had fallen, the prince who will be your king. 👑 wordcount: 6k 👑 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of 'sins', exile/royal family drama, revolution/uprising, muddled feelings, explicit mention of bombs, treason, park dynasty, royaltycore with modern elements, in love or in lust, lmk if anything else 👑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 👑 a/n: it all started with a devious hwa smirk; @nebulousbrainsoup thank you for hyping over this with me <3 always, any reblogs appreciated. much love!

👑 nsfw tags: cunnilingus, overstim, teasing, pet names (love, darling...), begging, unprotected sex (wrap. it. up), creampie, nipple play (f receiving), implied aftercare

“It has been done,” you mumbled, fiddling with the edge of the heavy cloak that adorned your frame. Despite being in a secluded chamber, you did not have the heart, at least not yet, to reveal your surprise, instead keeping discussion and action to strictly business.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened, as though he was visualising the impact of your unspeakable actions. A pang of fear struck your heart as you cast a glance at the flickering orange flame of the torch – currently, the sole source of light in the chamber that he had made his quarters and headquarters, given the timidness of the moon as it hid behind thick clouds. The ornate window stood dormant, reflecting the light and the fiery man. Prior stoicism and cool resolve evaporated, and he turned towards you. In the blink of an eye he was setting the maps of the kingdom and of the locations that served as bases of operation of the new regime down on the desk, and he could not hold back on anxious praise.

“How did you- but that was a risk- you, my angel… my sweet, precious angel you are changing the world, light of my life-” stopping you from picking at your cloak, he took one of your hands in his, lips ghosting over the knuckles. He pressed your hand against his chest, as though in a miniature embrace.

It was easy to see the relief in his features. The hints of dark circles under his eyes, the misery being replaced with a shining hope and a boyish vivacity – this was why you had abandoned your own morals in favour of his, convincing yourself that what you had done was ‘the right’, and that there was an objective evil in the world that just so happened to align with your specific target. It could be the case; it could be that because Seonghwa was your personal ‘right’ and was the path you never wanted to stray from, you could not care less for any other misdeeds. When his grip on you weakened, you moved your arm back, and placed both hands on his shoulders, pretending to smooth out the fabric of his perfectly tailored black coat.

Not much had changed in his heart for as long as you knew him. Seonghwa was always there for you, and even in the midst of the crumbling of the Park dynasty, he was the one to tell you that it was going to be alright. Despite being publicly labelled a traitor and having a witch hunt launched to find and execute him, he was here, standing before you, with a gentle smile on his face. You wondered what was unfolding and being formulated in his beautiful mind. What tears was he suppressing, what curses was he refining for the day that he would look the revolutionaries in the face and deliver the final blow to reclaim the royal title and the kingdom. Perhaps his shoulders had gotten broader, perhaps his hair had gotten longer, gaze sharper and the sword that he would wield in his hand more lethal and merciless, but he was the same Seonghwa to you. The same boy who you had played in the royal gardens with, the same young man with whom you had danced in the quietude of empty halls. You did not know anyone except him, and that was how you wanted your life to stay. So, when Seonghwa offhandedly mentioned a ‘mission’ that he was due to complete – a critical step in the leadup to the uprising by him and his loyal army, you did not just volunteer, you swore to dedicate yourself wholly to his plan and did not experience a single droplet of regret.

Perhaps he was your sin. Like some suffered from Pride, or Lust, or Sloth, you were a devotee to His Royal Highness, until your very downfall. And this is why no other act, no matter how devious, meant anything to you – it was merely a step in the direction towards securing your one certain joy in what was otherwise a bleak, barren dystopia. His eyes contained a universe, and that was more than enough for you, even if your days were numbered. This was ringing particularly true after the act you had committed, and the cause for which you stood. You were frozen in time, regarding Seonghwa with the adoration of a person parting ways with the world. As though he was your last breath of air and last ray of sun before it set for eternity. It appeared that this dismissal of your internal turmoil did not go unnoticed, and the prince was quick to reach for your arms, pulling them down so that your fingers could intertwine.

“You mustn’t look back alone. It is a chasm,” he began, studying you. A bitter smile graced your lips as you bit back the long-chronic worries you possessed due to his unwavering kindness. Your precious little prince. You squeezed his hands, mumbling:

“What use is there in focusing on the past anyways, right?” when you sensed suspicion, you elaborated, “the future is bound to be brighter? Isn’t that right, sweet star of mine?”

An overwhelming pause. The question was meant to be rhetorical, potentially comedic, and yet it left a tinge of sourness. Nothing was for certain, even though you carried everything out to a tee and disappeared from the party-occupied castle unnoticed thanks to your knowledge of secret passages that ran between rooms and underground. Seonghwa’s voice accompanied you as you planted detonators, deafening devices and something one of the prince’s followers had kindly dubbed a ‘sleeping mist’ in predetermined locations. Turn, leave, you could do it, you were strong, there was reason behind your actions. Evidence of this was behind the elegantly dressed, albeit emotionally worn-down man. The maps – a myriad of scriptures, plans, strategies; some doomed to fail, others a brave but evaluated risk.

“Mm… that’s right,” you did not want to believe that it was a lie, so you settled on indulging in his deep timbre, tone so mellifluous that you wanted for it to be the only thing you could ever hear, “just you wait, the future is made for us. A world of ripest fruits for us to reap, for us alone…”

He moved once more, letting go of you. You could guess his musings almost word for word – a little planet. Starry night sky. Having the luxury of knowing what would happen when, so he would know when he could see you again, and you did not have to turn into a creature of darkness to creep inside the shadows to his hideout for a few hours, only to risk yourself all over again afterwards. Freedom and utopia were his forbidden fruit – an eternal temptation explicit in his gorgeous irises.

He was a dreamer with very consistent and persistent fantasies, as well as an eloquent way of feeding them into your soul with such finesse that with time you almost always considered any thought to be your own in its origins. Both the little prince and the serpent, Seonghwa was your definition of the world. He had given you a lens through which to see everything. Including him. To you, he was the definition of perfect. A fallen angel more than deserving to return to the heavens. He was outcast by evil, afterall. 

Your body acted on its own accord, stepping back to give yourself at least some room to breathe, but you should have known better than to expect such a thing to happen in Seonghwa’s presence. He caught you - a long time ago. Unreadable expressions graced him as he hooked you back in with the slightest tug at the dark formless material hanging over your body. 

“Did it take you long? Were you in danger?” he asked, spotting the absence of the pouch that had carried the discreet explosive animatronics for your distribution.

“N-no. Not at all. They did not suspect anything out of the ordinary. Besides, I did not try to improvise outside of your instruction.”

“Good. More than good,” it was as if he was talking to himself, undoubtedly reviewing the preparations, now accounting for the success of a major element of the operation. “I wonder if anyone would be able to spot the butterflies prematurely. Would the alarm be rung then? Would we-”

“Are you doubting my skills to hide the tech, Your Highness?” you jest, imitating frustration.

“Hm, no. I think I am merely excited for what is to come. We’ve been preparing night…” he sneaked a glance at your neck, trying to guess what you were hiding under black wool, “...and day. I want to see it all come to life, and have you with me.”

With him - that was all you could hear. You were not one for bloodshed, however given the possibility of redemption, it was appealing. You did your part for him, and he was proud. Now, you could close your eyes. Something in the way Seonghwa approached you was akin to the way a predator follows an unsuspecting beast in a grove. Eyes that were neither hostile nor forgiving, foresight so powerful that he was confident you would never leave. The two of you had too much history, too many memories from which detangling oneself would be virtually impossible. You tried, however your attempts had been in vain. When you had first caught the rumours of exile flying around the castle, and then the extensive discussions about familial rivalry and planned ‘changes of crown’ to fit a new ideology, you tried to get away deeming the path of ignorance safer. All it took was one whisper of your name to vow that if Seonghwa were to be sent to hell, you would loyally follow him there. Should he be executed, you would weep at his side and depart with him, heart already in a million pieces. You were irrevocably, foolishly in love with Park Seonghwa, the former prince of Aurora, willing to settle for being a favourite pawn, should he want you to be one. But even that title you would never be able to fish out of him. Forever enigmatic, you were never confident in assuming you were his only star despite the sweet nothings and the adoring gazes, but even if you were part of a big universe for this ambitious, high and mighty man, you did not mind. No one could fight against power. No one could fight against the greed for supremacy. 

He was so close. An angel glowing in the torch light. The gold and red detail on his clothing turned to holy markings in his grace. You were stunned, a pliable doll in his arms, entranced by his slowed blinking as the ghost of a smirk appeared on his lips. There was always reason to reward you and your undying commitment to his cause. A token of appreciation, some could say. Seonghwa could also retain some form of humanity and call it for what it was - a long-standing obsession, but given who he wanted to become, he needed to contain himself and possess at least a sliver of civility before inevitably breaking apart for you, and only you.

“Thank you, Y/N,” music to your ears, the final straw before your internal chaos overwhelmed you and you had to hold on to Seonghwa’s voice for guidance. Your reaction was easy to detect, as the prince moved to have his fingers just barely touch your face.

”So… so beautiful, my love,” his hand traced your jawline, pausing when a shudder passed over your body. Seonghwa chuckled, admiring how responsive you were, how attuned you were to him despite remaining mostly unperturbed by the world that surrounded you.

There was something spectacular in how you carried yourself – feigned obliviousness, a façade of perfect innocence that had been the main reason for your survival under the new regime. Pretty precious little bird that knew how to keep quiet, and in turn were destined to sing the loudest when the time would come. Your eyes, widened as you devoured him, were enchanting pools that he would not hesitate to dive into and drown. Perhaps one could argue that no one liked a dead man, but Seonghwa was one of the lucky ones; your taboo rendezvous were evidence enough that you did not mind a character in your life who was as good as a ghost.

Your slightly parted lips, rosy, moistened by the darting of your delicate, delectable tongue were a sinful fruit that he desired to own. Running a thumb over your lower lip, the sparks of an uncontrollable lust burst in his chest, tainting his bloodstream like the most potent wine. He could see the edges of your dress under the black cloak that you used to move undetected in the night. To visit him, of all people. To risk your life for him and him alone. For him to be the only one who could even spot the royal crimson fabric underneath – a material tailors would fight over, material that he had gifted to you once upon a time despite barely having any network whilst in the chasm of being an outlaw, a traitor of the state. Enemy number one, who had made it a mission to dress you up. He did not regret a thing. Not when you gasped as he toyed with the clasp of the cloak. Not when he felt your hands land right above his heart, fingers toying with the leather harness and golden embroidery of his long military coat - another echo of the past that he would never be able to shed away. In addition, as the days approaching the uprising were being reduced to nil, he could not help but be drawn to the fine material as a form of mockery. He wanted those who have wronged him to see themselves in his form, to hear him have the final laugh.

Muscles tensing under your fluttering caresses, Seonghwa was giving into a domineering restlessness. Unhooking the clasp, he admired the way the black fabric pooled around you, as though the night sky was bowing before your grace. He tried to catch his breath, but it proved to be impossible as the dress occupied his vision. Nothing remained, only your impeccable handiwork, the perfection that was the fit of the garment on your body. You were supreme, the symbol of victory and glory. Clad in red, he saw the future in your form, both in spirit and in the battle cries that would accompany the painting of the lands in the colour of the wondrous silk.

You retracted your hands, and almost regretted it when you heard Seonghwa’s staggered inhale. He was looking you up and down, memorising every detail, undoubtedly thinking of anything and everything that he could do to you, or what you could do to him. Despite the urge to act, to step towards him and greedily steal away what he had left of precious oxygen, you did what you did best, and batted your eyelashes, pretending to be unaware. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, in trepidation to accept the guilt of inducing a small death. Serial murder, unforgivable, manic, addictive, reviving.

“I-“ he tried to form a sentence but it seemed as though every word he could think of wilted before escaping his throat.

Darkened irises darting back and forth, in awe of you – your favourite sight. You could not help but to reach out to him, moving to push an escaping tiny strand of inky hair from his stunning, timeless face. Fingers inadvertently ran further, carding through the slicked back locks and tempting Seonghwa to come closer. Biting his lower lip, he stepped closer to you, hands finding purchase on your hips and giving them a warning squeeze. You tugged lightly, making his previously lowered head rise to face you directly. You could see nothing in his eyes except what you yourself could reflect. The most beautiful and inextinguishable hellfire.

“You have good taste, Seonghwa,” you smiled softly, though the action was clouded over with a deeper intent.

“I am blessed to say I have a muse,” snaking over to your waist, you were suddenly being pulled into a yearning embrace. His racing heart reverberated and echoed in your body, the rising heat of his thighs and hips against yours grew ever more prominent. Seonghwa occupied your every sense, making you forget where you were, when, and what the consequences of your star-crossed union could be.

“Mm is that so?” you suppressed a giggle, brushing his wavy tresses back once more, while your other hand on the side of his face. You could feel him lean into the touch, eyes shutting for a moment before meeting yours once more.

It was in such moments that you found you knew Seonghwa best. Uninhibited and entirely himself, he bared his soul to you in every glance and longing grasp of cloth or exposed skin. Stars in his deep mahogany orbs, the exiled prince was silently asking you for permission. For what? You were about to find out; not once did you not trust him enough to let go of your inner voice and soar into pleasure – those who plotted uprisings together, were meant to be bound together, body and mind. It did not take long before Seonghwa’s lips were on yours, intoxicating, the pace of your elaborate dance so dizzyingly slow that a minute more and you would be the one clawing for more. Overwhelming, he pressed himself against you, and you could only hold on tight, thanking every deity who could unabashedly observe your physical confession for the existence of such moments in your life.

Fingers digging into his scalp, you evoked a muffled groan from your royal lover, who nipped at your lower lip and tentatively ran over it with his tongue, asking for access. Who were you to not oblige, especially when he asked so nicely? In no time, he dipped into a deeper kiss, exploring you, memorising you all over again as though you did not visit him both when he was awake and in his dreams. He was feverish, erratic, his plush reddened lips were leaving trails over your cheeks, the crook right before your shoulder and moved back to evoke a quiet moan out of you by paying special attention to the sensitive spots on your neck.

The red dress was a rose, a promise, divine dedication to him - the same material as that of his own clothes, the colour of the details on the coat which in a joint effort you and him were practically ripping away - the body harness already long gone, to reveal a flowing black shirt. Resting your arms on his strong shoulders you gave into every sensation, fingers instinctively finding their place carding through his locks, you followed his lead and stumbled backwards until an unexpected fabric hit the back of your head, making you gasp into another kiss. With a low growl and unprecedented annoyance, Seonghwa pushed the curtain that served as a divider between the office and meeting area of his chambers and the segment he used as his bedroom. Not quite the same as what his quarters used to be in the castle, but thanks to his military precision and tidiness, went above and beyond what one would expect from a rebel hellbent on chaos. 

It was dizzying - his hands travelling across your body, his hot breath against your skin as he battled the same dress he had implored you to craft and wear, his simultaneously sultry and threatening glare that immediately subdued you as soon as you tried to remove yourself from him to help. No words, only a muted command, and in a matter of moments, you felt a coldness crawl up your spine as Seonghwa expertly undid the buttons on your dress. Goosebumps involuntarily appeared on your skin, erased by your lover’s quick hand.

“Is my darling cold?” he rubbed your back, the intensity and affection forming a combination excruciating for your heart. You shook your head, not wanting for him to worry, though the decision resulted in quite the opposite, “You know it is not good to lie, right?”

“I’m sorry-”

“I suppose it is a little… these damned stone walls. Sorry, love, this is far from welcoming.”

“No, please don’t worry…”

“Mm. Then stop me from worrying. Are you cold?”

You were burning up. The contrast between your flesh and the air was stark, and you bit your lower lip in an attempt to suppress another shudder. Seonghwa stepped forward, making your knees buckle as your lower legs hit the edge of the bed. He let you sit, though himself remained hovering above you, casting a shadow. You turned and studied anything and everything in your immediate surroundings, a wave of embarrassment washing over you despite having been with him so many times before. You stopped at the coat that was lying discarded on the floor. The brooches and badges, marking his titles - or at least past titles, in the Royal Military, glistened and induced a pang of anxiety. Were you living in an illusion by hoping for the past to return? A hand under your chin returned you to the present, and your misty eyes were forced to meet Seonghwa. What was a vexed, darkened expression melted away, revealing a tinge of concern uncharacteristic of his regal image.

“Talk to me,” crouching down to your level, you felt blush rising on your cheeks.

“...A bit…”

“There, see. Easy. Now, do you trust me?”

“Wholeheartedly.”

“So, burn with me, my love,” purposefully implying, he gave space. But if he was the flame, then you were the air, quickly disintegrating as the orange and red blaze consumed the vital essence. You had no chance, or choice, your only answer was his name, repeated over and over and over again until you knew nothing else.

--

Every single one of your senses was consumed by him and the near unbearable warmth shared between two bodies connected under heavy sheets. Brain turned to cotton, much like the blanket that was currently muffling your cries of pleasure, you were being kept from writhing only by Seonghwa’s iron grip. Thighs pinned to your upper body, he had you folded in half as he licked strips up your soaked folds, toying with your abused clit before sliding his tongue deeper, relishing in how your walls clenched around him, begging for more. Pathetic whines were music to his ears, prompting him to move until his nose was almost pressed against the overstimulated bundle of nerves and he could relentlessly fuck into you.

Addicted to the scent and taste of your arousal, he was not giving you any room to breathe, nor to recover from your first orgasm, and instead launched directly into building you up for another. You were a masterpiece, giving up to salacious ecstasy for him so easily, adoring words spilling out of you even though you were barely capable of constructing a proper sentence. The sheer notion of having such impressive power, and you giving up ownership of your personal euphoria to him made him want to stay in this position together. 

“Mine-” he muttered, barely audible as he coated his tongue in your nectar and rolled it over your clit. 

You yelped and threw your head back as a sensation resembling an electric shock hurried through you. Grasping at the bedsheets until your knuckles were turning white, the last image of your lover before he immersed you in artificial darkness was haunting you - his devilish smirk when you shyly nodded in agreement, his virtually lewd scrutiny as he studied your reactions to him ridding you of the dress, to him immediately disposing of your bra, and to him playing with your thin panties, occasionally dipping into your dripping heat to tease you. And then, when he deemed you ready enough, you were in a world where nothing and no one existed except Seonghwa.

The knot that was building in your core was ready to snap at any moment. You could not breathe. You were seeing stars and you were mewling for Seonghwa despite him being right there between your legs, taking you apart. Sensing your oncoming climax, your prince braved letting go of one of your quivering thighs in favour of pressing down on both with one arm, while the other landed directly on your bud, fingers masterfully flicking it while he curled into your hole, pulsating motion inciting wanton squelching from your heat, amplified by the confined space under the duvet.

“Hwa- I-” the nickname spilled out of your mouth by accident, though it seemed that the prince did not mind. Instead he hummed and sped up once more, only to send you over the edge.

Lapping up your release, he guided you through your high and greeted you on your way down, his hands acting as a stabilising force that kept your shaking limbs, and you safe. Seonghwa nipped at your inner thighs, exhaling sharply in amusement when upon teasingly dragging a finger across your pussy you gasped, thighs instinctively trying to bring themselves together. But your lover was quicker than that, lifting himself up until he was hovering over your fragile frame with a knee pressed against your heat. The sheets slid down his form, stopping just past the middle of his back - enough to reveal the glistening orgasm on his face, his half lidded eyes and parted, gorgeous lips. He flicked his tongue - a habit occasionally turned into intentional provocation. Pupils blown, expression animalistic, ravenous, he needed more. To bear the scalding hot oasis that you shared, he had torn off his clothing. Though now, he could no longer bear the aching of his erection that was rubbing against your stomach, rapidly coating it in pearly translucent beads of precum. Hips moving on their own accord, he started to rut against you to gain at least some form of friction.

“Still hmph- cold?” he asked, unfiltered mockery clear in his voice.

“Please, Seonghwa- need you in-”

“So fucked out you can’t even - ah, answer my question?” he cut you off, keeping the teasing demeanour all the while his dick was throbbing painfully against you, “I s-said, a-are you cold? Finally catching on, you agreed with him.

“Yes, I… need more. Please,”

“How do you need more, my greedy darling? Hm?” stopping his rocking, he took to rolling one of your hard nipples between his fingers, taking in your every breath, sigh, and the rolling of the eyes as you felt a tug shoot straight to your core.

“-want you to fuck me,”

“Mhm-”

“-want your cock inside me-”

“Yes-”

“-want you to fill me up ple-”

“Say that again,” in less than a second, his nose was against yours and you were peering straight into his soul, finding an inexhaustible danger. His breathing had gotten considerably shallower, and you swore you felt his cock twitch.

“Fill me up, Hwa, I- please-”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he pushed your legs further apart before tapping you on your hip to adjust your positioning. Eagerly, you followed his request hissing at the sensation of his tip teasing your burning heat before Seonghwa bottomed out, the mixture of slick and precum offering a delicious glide. 

He leaned forwards, his bare chest against yours as he shared your state of enchantment awestruck as the torchlight gave up its final battle, only to be replaced by the beginnings of a full moon. You were a goddess in blue and silver that gleamed around the thick curtain, your glassy eyes so innocently sharing feelings he had never dared to express openly that he could not help but plant one peck after another over your cheeks, nose, eyelids, and finally, the lips. The scalding friction of skin against skin started to resemble a prolonged embrace, and when Seonghwa slowly dragged his length against your clenching walls, he mused if in another life, you could be connected like this for all of eternity. 

You offered him the true meaning of ‘unconditional’. You trusted him without a second thought, and were ready to throw away the stability you had within the castle walls in favour of a probability. Your optimism intrigued Seonghwa, and he knew he was in danger of falling in love. In fact, he had been this way since long before finding out his enemies were all beside him at the dinner table every evening, and that only in the most critical moments could he discover his real allies. If he were any more free of the burdens permanently clinging onto his shoulders, the prince would have confessed to you. For now, however, he had the freedom how you fell apart beneath him, so deliciously gullible, drunk in lust.

With each languid thrust into your weeping cunt, he was silently singing your praises, thanking you for every day that you had shared with him, for every night that you had proved that you did not abandon him. As he picked up the rhythm, your melodic pants and whines accentuated the lewd squelching and at the same time sent his mind into overdrive. He loved the time he had with you, the time when nothing existed except instinct and what he could only call a union written in the stars. Seonghwa bit down on his lower lip as his pumping grew erratic and you tightened around him as you reached your high. He let out a whimper, vision impossibly blurry and growing darker as he could barely fight the weight of his eyelids. As he moaned your name, Seonghwa, accepted his violent addiction to your pleasure and your pain as you clambered for the remnants of your sanity in the midst of an overdriven climax. Thick ropes of cum coated your spongy walls and Seonghwa stilled his hips, unable to maintain even a frantic, stuttering pace any longer. Your arms collapsed to your sides, leaving behind marks where you had driven your nails into his perfectly tan skin. The fullness made you impossibly weak, and you fell back onto the pillows, taking Seonghwa with you. Having collapsed under the weight of ecstasy, your lover rested his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the delectable scent of sex and desire.

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a soft glow over the secluded chamber where Prince Seonghwa had found temporary solace and transformed it into the cradle of a new world to come. You, his loyal companion and confidante, or at least that was how you decisively wished to name yourself in the midst of uncertainty, nestled against him, your fingers intertwined. The weight of Seonghwa's destiny bore down on his shoulders, and the weight of you in his arms offered a fleeting respite. 

Seonghwa's eyes traced the delicate features of your face, bathed in the gentle moonlight. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice carrying a mixture of longing and determination. "I can no longer bear the burden of this false exile,” he was returning to the present, the only remnants of the beautifully turbulent night being his slightly swollen lips, gravelly voice and dishevelled sweaty hair which had just begun to curl. “The time has come to reclaim what is rightfully mine. I just… I just hope it all comes together."

Your sleepy gaze met Seonghwa's, understanding and unwavering support evident even in the semi-darkness. "I'll stand by your side, Seonghwa, no matter the peril that awaits us. Together, we'll face the storm and emerge stronger.” It was easy to hope and easy to pass the tasks to the next person in the relay, so you wondered if your words held any meaning to your lover. When it was just the two of you, it was easy to worship the art of hedonism and forget impending doom. If only you could erase his own thoughts from his mind. Be selfish. With a soft shake of the head you dismiss the impending sourness, choosing instead to focus on the heavenly fatigue, like cotton, enveloping your and Seonghwa’s bodies.

As if drawn by an invisible force, Seonghwa pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. The warmth of your connection was a stark contrast to the cold reality awaiting you outside the chamber walls. For a moment, you existed in your own sanctuary, shielded. The room echoed with the soft rustle of fabric as Seonghwa shifted to hold you even closer. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, a silent reassurance that he cherished this stolen moment of peace. In the midst of the impending uprising, Seonghwa found a panacea in your arms, a haven that anchored him and convinced him that what he was doing was a necessary evil. You nestled into Seonghwa's chest, feeling the steady cadence of his heartbeat. 

"Promise me we'll make it through this," You whispered, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on Seonghwa's chest. You knew that no matter how he would answer, it would be hollow, for only fate could be aware and decide the outcome.

Seonghwa pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "I promise, my love. We'll face the challenges together, and when the dust settles, we'll build a kingdom. How does that sound?”

“Good.”

“My queen.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Today, these are words. Tomorrow, the world can be ours,” you succumbed to his cruel hypnosis, not daring to ask for his methods, nor for his confessions. The less questions you asked Seonghwa, the happier you could pretend to be, and the grander was the castle in your sky. 

The weight of your shared destiny hung heavily in the air, yet in the quiet cocoon of your embrace, the two of you had found your own religion. As the first light of dawn approached, you remained entwined, drawing strength from each other to face the tumultuous path that awaited you - a path that would lead you to a ferocious battle, deciding centuries to come in the timespan of the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. 

“Will I ever be forgiven?”

“Who is there to forgive you?” After some deliberation, you dared to query. In one reckless sweep, you ignited every shadow of hesitation, leaving you only with unconditional, pure love that would carry you through any hardship. The one thing you had left, unfortunately unbreakable.

In the faint light of the rising sun, crawling into the room and coating it in magnificent gold, the man who you so adored and was devoted to was in every form a soul condemned to eternal hellfire; you were fully aware of that. A tarnished being marked as dead before he could even begin to spread his wings. Feathers strewn across what used to be a kingdom meant for him to rule being the only remnant of the brutal betrayal. The devilishly handsome traitor or trailblazer sharing his bed with you was not supposed to exist. And yet, it was his voice, his touch, his scent that occupied your every pore and thought, the owner’s name being carved into you over and over again until you forgot the bigger picture, focusing only on what Seonghwa could envision and how you could achieve that priceless peaceful kingdom.

“Now that is a question I would be interested in figuring out the answer to…”

“Both of us are unforgivable. Cannot repent, cannot start again,” you turned to face him, captivated by the way the sun highlighted his features, “but we can go forward. Until the hands of time stop us.”

As the two of you drifted into a dreamless slumber - a luxury serving as a calm before the storm, you comforted yourself with the fact that in some sense, nothing was going to change just like the darkness that came with your dozing. One fallen leaf, or soldier, would replace another, one snowflake would twirl in pursuit of its partner, one Park would return his crown from the other. In the grand scheme of things, it was still the neverending winter, a late dawn, and the same dynasty, the embodiment of which you prayed was in your adoring and calculating embrace.

👑 perma-taglist: @justhere4kpop @starrysvn @byuntrash101 @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

ask to be added to the taglist <3

any reblogs and comments appreciated <3

[hemmingsleclerc]

Omg 🥹

ur writing for dad max is soooo cute

Can u make one where Olivia is graduating pre-k or something from school and the whole family attending the mini graduation and being so proud of her 🥹🥹❤️❤️

yes yes yessss 💗💗 thank u sm!!!!

Preschool Graduation┃MV1

It was a beautiful morning and Max was dressed in an elegant tailored suit. He stood proudly next to his wife Y/N as they attended their little daughter Olivia's preschool graduation. The air was filled with excitement as families gathered in the hall, adorned with beautiful decorations and colorful balloons emblazoned with the phrase ''Class of 2023.''

Max's heart swelled with pride as Olivia, in her tiny cap and gown, joined her classmates on stage. The little graduates were beaming with joy, and Max couldn't help but feel nostalgic about how quickly time had passed since Olivia's first day at preschool. He still remembered when he had cried that morning with his daughter in arms trying to convince his wife to stay home that morning and not send her to school because he still couldn't believe that the day had arrived.

Y/N, with a proud smile, squeezed Max's hand as they took their seats. Both families, the Verstappens and the Y/L/N, were there to celebrate this special moment. Max's parents were sitting nearby and exchanging proud glances with Y/N's parents.

The ceremony began with the children entering, holding hands and laughing. Max tried to maintain his composure, but every time he caught a glimpse of Olivia's radiant smile, his eyes filled with tears. He dried them discreetly, hoping his wife wouldn't notice.

When Olivia's name was called, Max couldn't contain his emotions. He let out a proud cheer that echoed throughout the room. He jumped to his feet, camera in hand, and started taking pictures madly. "That's my daughter!" he yelled, not caring that it elicited some amused looks from the other parents. Although his wife was not far behind, she also stopped to record from the moment her little girl got up from her seat until she turned to see her parents and waved with a huge smile full of joy from stage. Both families burst into applause and shouts when the little girl received her diploma. And to Olivia's surprise, all of her uncles were there too. Charles, Carlos, Lando, Daniel, George, Alex and even Checo with his family were there, all applauding excitedly and some crying.

Max's eyes shone with tears of joy and he wiped them away with the back of his hand, laughing at his lack of self-control, but he didn't care in the least.

To the amusement of the other parents, he snorted and pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket, declaring, "It's very emotional, okey?"

When the ceremony concluded, Max took Olivia in his arms and spun her around as she laughed with joy. Both met with the whole family along with the other drivers.

"Congratulations, my little champion!" Max exclaimed, his eyes shining with pride. Olivia smiled at her father, a miniature version of Max's infectious smile on her face.

The day continued with a celebration at Verstappen's house. Max and Y/N had organized a small gathering with family and close friends to honor Olivia's achievement. The backyard was adorned with decorations and a special cake.

While guests enjoyed the festivities, Max found himself reflecting on his journey into fatherhood. He had always been passionate about racing, but watching Olivia grow up gave him a different kind of satisfaction.

During the celebration, Max and his wife took a moment to share a few words for her little girl, expressing admiration for her determination and enthusiasm for her life. They talked about the joy she brought to their world and how her accomplishments, no matter how small, filled them with an immense sense of pride.

Many might know Max as the beast he was when he got into his F1 car and raced on the circuits, or others as the triple champion, but despite that, he was the best father to a beautiful little recent graduate named Olivia and he best husband for his beloved.

[taijuslegalwife]

Tr boys reaction to tailor!reader literally making a little version of their gang uniform and dressing up their pet to it

(Lmao one day all my ideas are going to be inside your inbox frf)

Kitty Cat 🐈‍⬛ ྀི

Tr men x tailor!reader

Men featured: Baji, Chifuyu, Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya

this request is so cute bye, also the animal I chose is a cat!

warnings: gender-neutral reader (I think??), fluff

Baji:

ʚɞ Baji would be VERY confused when he comes home and sees his cat dressed in a miniature version of his uniform

ʚɞ The minute you tell him though that you made it for the cat, he would love it!

ʚɞ When your not looking he takes pictures of the cats in uniform and sets it as his wallpaper lol

ʚɞ Overall he is very happy that his cat looks like him now.

ʚɞ He would brag to Kazutora and Chifuyu on ‘how his amazing girlfriend made their cat a small version of his Toman uniform’.

ʚɞ He would immediately show the cat dressed up to Chifuyu whenever the blonde comes over to help Baji study.

Mitsuya: 

ʚɞ Mitsuya thinks that the cat is very cute in the uniform

ʚɞ However, he is a little confused on why you wouldn’t ask him to make the uniform for the cat, so he would probably ask you if you thought you needed to for him.

ʚɞ Once you tell him that it was just a little side project his mood lightens up wayyyy more and complements your sewing skills

ʚɞ He spends his time lounging around the house with his cat on his lap while admiring your tailoring and sewing skills.

ʚɞ Since he also is good at sewing he would try to make another outfit for the cat secretly, but he got found out when you snuck up behind him to hug him 🥲

Mikey:

ʚɞ We all know Mikey is childish, so when he comes home and sees the family cat dressed up just like one of his many gang members he doesn't waste any time running up to you asking if you made the uniform yourself.

ʚɞ He absolutely would secretly pretend that the cat in uniform are one of his soldiers; commanding the cat to bow down to him and everything.

ʚɞ He would shower you in cuddles and appreciation for the making of the cat uniform.

Chifuyu:

ʚɞ Chifuyu would 100% shower both you and the dressed cat in constant love.

ʚɞ He would cuddle up with the cat while trying to snuggle up with you at the same time as a special ‘thank you’ for making the cat uniform.

ʚɞ Knowing Chifuyu, he would put on his Toman uniform while dressing the cat and taking matching pictures of him with the cat all dressed up.

Draken:

ʚɞ Draken would be extremely flattered if you made the cat’s uniform matching his uniform

ʚɞ He's not horribly overbearing about caring for the mini uniform, but he will make sure no harm comes to it when the cat isn’t wearing it.

ʚɞ He secretly is playful with the cat when it’s wearing his uniform, calling the cat his new sworn brother jokingly.

ʚɞ Knowing how gentlemanly Draken is, he would commend you for doing such a good job tailoring the uniform while hugging you from behind.

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

╰┈➤ taglist: @fullmoonblood6 @petuniasmd @tr-mha-fan @dolledupformanjiro @eatingcak33s @reiners-milkbiddies

[gtinthepot]

MASTER LIST OF GIANT/TINY CONTENT

Disclaimer, I have not looked up everything on this list and most of it was suggested from others. I cannot promise the accuracy of the content. Suggestions for the list are more than welcome, leave a comment on the post for people to browse through after checking to see if its on the list already :)

I’ll be editing and adding to it here and there, so some reblogs of the post might be outdated. I suggest clicking on the source /main post to get the newest version. The old list can be found here.

7 deadly sins

A bug's life

Aaahh!!! Real Monsters (some episodes)

Adventure time

Alice in Wonderland

Alvin and the chipmunks

Amour de poshe (the girl in his pocket)

Animorphs: #24

Ant bully

Ant man (1 and 2)

Antz

Archies weird mysteries (one ep)

Army of darkness

Art Attack

Arthur and the Invisibles

Athena complex (webcomic)

Attack of the 50 foot cheerleader.

Attack of the 50 Foot Woman

Attack of the puppet people

Barbie and the nut cracker

barbie movies (look up specifics)

Barbie Thumbelina

Beastars

Beatle juice

Berserk

Big man japan

Bottle Fairy

Bramble the mountain king. (video game)

Brave little tailor (mickey mouse)

Bugs life?

Captain America: Civil War

Card captor sakura (one ep and some scenes)

Christmas Stories: The Tin Soldier is a good one.

Clifford the big red dog

Cuphead: Don’t deal with the Devil (mostly with certain bosses)

Darby o’gill and the little people

David the Gnome

Disenchantment

Dollman

Downsizing

Dr cyclops

Dr who (one ep: into the dalek)

Dragon ball

Dungeon meshi (a few chapters)

Ella Enchanted

Elusive people.(video game)

Epic

Ernest and Celestine (more of a mini-giant/doll-sized tiny size dynamic)

Fairytale: a true story (1997)

Fantastic Planet

Fantastic voyage

Ferngully

Final space episode 5

Frame arms girl.

Futurama (some episodes)

Gelias and the giant

Gen V

George shrinks

Gods of Egypt

Godzilla

Grandpa in my pocket

Gravity falls (one episode)

Grounded (video game)

Guardians of the Galaxy (vol. 2 more so than the first one)

Gulliver's Children (webtoon)

Gullivers travels (1939, 1977, 2010) as a well as a mini-tv series

Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child: Aladdin

Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child: Season 2, Episode 2 thumbelina

Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child: The shoemaker and the elves

Helmecrons

Help I shrunk my friends

Help I shrunk my parents

Help I shrunk my teacher

Here come the littles

Hilda

Honey I blew up the kid

Honey I shrunk the audience ride at Disneyland

Honey I shrunk the kids

Hornby sets

How to Keep a Mummy ( Miira no Kaikata)

Inch high private eye

Innerspace

Invincible (Some episodes)

It takes two (game)

Jack and the Beanstalk

Jack and the Beanstalk: The Real Story

Jack the giant slayer

Jackie Chan Adventures (one episode)

Jaimes and the giant peach

Jitsu wa watashi wa (mostly the 4th episode)

Journey 2 The Mysterious Island

King kong

Kubo and the two strings

Land of the giants

Legoland

Lilo and Stitch the series (two episodes)

Little (Grrl) 

little nightmares 1 and 2 (game)

Littles

Lord of the rings

Macross sequel shows (-anime-)

Mars attacks!

Mickey and the bean stalk

Micro Machines

Micro Ventures

Militsioner (Video game)

Minami-Kun no Koibito (2015)

Minish cap (video game)

Moana

Modest Heroes Kanini and Kanino (Short film)

Monster (video game)

Monsters Vs Aliens

My hero Academia (some episodes)

My Little Lover

My Miniature Manual (webtoon)

My Monster Secret (specifically one character)

natsume yuujinchou

Nau-lmg

Night at the Museum

Nils holgersson

Ok Ko! lets be Heroes season 3 episode 9 Planet Vacation

One Punch Man (some episodes)

Onward (a few scenes)

Osmosis Jones

Ozzy and Drix

Pans labyrinth

Paper mario sticker star (Video game, two levels)

Peter pan

Pikmin 1, 2, and 3 (game)

Pinocchio

Pokemon sun/moon anime second season (one ep)

Ponyo

Rainbow Magic

Ratatouille

Rick n morty (one episode)

Robotech (-comic series; new ones-)

Robotech (season one/The Macross Saga) (-anime-)

Robotech Remix (-comic series-)

Super Danganronpa 2 (video game, final boss)

Shadow of the colossus (video game)

Small blessings (webcomic)

Small Lands Survive The Wilds (Video game)

Small soldiers (1998)

Smallfoot

Smurfs

Smurfs lost village

Snorks

Spirit of wonder: The shrinking of miss China

SpongeBob SquarePants (the wumbo episode)

Steven universe

Stormlight Archive (-book series; has tiny fae people-)

Strange days at blake holesy high (one episode)

Strange magic

Stuart Little

Sugar apple fairy tale.

Super giant robot brothers.

Tales to Astonish (comics)

Ted Hughes

Tentacular. (video game)

The 3 worlds of gulliver

The 7th voyage of sinbad

The amazing colossal man

The bee movie

The BFG

The bfg 1989

The borrowers (1973, 1993 1997, 2011)

The Borrowers (Arrietty)

The Borrowers exhibition at the Hancock Museum

The Boys (some episodes)

The dwarf and the giant 1901

The Fantastic Planet

The hobbit

The hulk

The incredible shrinking man

The incredible shrinking woman

The Indian in the cupboard

The iron giant

The iron man

The Journey.

The Last Guardian (video game)

The Last of the Huggermuggers by Christopher Pearse Cranch

The Little Bits

The littles

The magic school bus

The nut cracker

The owl house (one episode)

The phantom planet

The Rescuers

The return of the Borrowers 1992 and 1993 tv series

The Secret of Nimh

The secret world of Arrietty

The Selfish Giant by Oscar Wilde

The simsons (one episode)

The storyteller (one ep)

The Suspicion and #42

The Sword in the Stone

The tale of the princess kaguya

The ultimate avengers (1 & 2)

Thumbelina

Time loader. (video game)

Tinkerbell and The Great Fairy Rescue

Tinkerbell and The Pirate Fairy

Tinkerbell movies

Tinykin. (video game)

Tom and Jerry

Tomb thumb

Townsmen VR. (video game)

Toy story

Transformers

Transformers (old series)

Troll hunter

Troll in central park...??

Trolls

Trolls band together

Ultraman cosmos

Underdogs

Unravel. Porcelain tales. (video game)

Valkyrie Drive Mermaid (one episode.)

Village of the giants

Violet Goes to The Beach (webtoon)

VR Giants. (video game)

We’re Back! A dinosaur story

When the Dolls Woke (book)

Wild Kratts

Wild, wild planet

Wiplala

Wrath of the Titans (one scene)

Wreck it ralph

Yarn (video game)

Zootopia

[fergus-monster]

🐭 THANK YOU EVERYONE 🐭

I've got a nice backlog of orders for the Mickey Mouse Brave Little Tailor Lore Counter. Invoicing will go out tomorrow so keep an eye out.

I'll keep taking photos along the way but in the meantime here is a starting pile of bits.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

✶ Cellophane ✶

✶ Pairing: model!hyunjin x model!chubby!fem!reader, model!minho x model!chubby!fem!reader

✶ Genre: fluff, angst, suggestive

✶ Summary: After discovering that your lover's attending one of the most important events of your career with another woman, a friendly face appears to save the day and steal your heart in the process.

✶ Word Count: 3.1k-ish

✶ Warnings: Discussion of the reader's struggle as a chubby babe in the industry/her everyday life. Sex is referenced but no smut scenes. Drinking, a lil sprinkle of strong language, & I think that's all.

✶ A/N: I started this out with two parts in mind 🖤 part two here 🖤 but now it'll likely end up being three so, like, ya know thanks for coming along for the ride.

This should be one of the happiest days of your life. Only a handful of models your size have ever gotten the chance to walk the red carpet during Paris Fashion Week. It’s not that you haven’t earned it. You've worked your ass off for every contract you signed. Poured blood, sweat, and tears into this even when people said a girl like you could never make it.

Every bit of struggle you've endured has led to this moment. You should be popping bottles and screaming, “Fuck you!” to anyone who doubted you. Instead, you’re sitting in the back of a black SUV in your designer gown choking back tears behind tinted windows. 

The lights of a hundred cameras flash. Miniature supernovas bursting against the night sky. A bodyguard exits on the passenger’s side, a muscular man dressed in a nicely tailored black suit, and rounds the car to open your door. With shaky hands and weakened knees you try the breathing exercises your stylist taught you.

Place one hand on your belly. Inhale for 7 seconds. Exhale for 8. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. To let that breath out would be to set free everything you’ve been keeping inside. You can’t do it anymore. It’s too much to pretend that this doesn’t hurt.

Silently cursing Hyujin’s name you exhale for 1…2…3 and you’re right back to the morning when everything fell apart. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper, afraid to wake the sun up any more than it already has. Hyunjin wraps an arm around you, holding you close to him beneath the blankets of a bed he’s made love to you in countless times this weekend. He leans into your neck, committing your scent to memory, his fingers caressing the softness of your love handles. “Like what?” 

No one’s ever looked at you the way he does. Hyunjin’s obsessed with your beauty, fascinated by the elegance of your features. He strokes your cheek, his gaze laced with desire, and plants a trail of kisses up your throat. You inhale sharply at the little nibbles he sneaks in between, the air that fills your lungs somehow fresher when he’s around.

His hands trace the rise and fall of your hips, taking sensual handfuls of your plush. Your lips part and his mouth is at yours, sipping your dulcet moans like wine. He shifts his weight, preparing to turn you over when—

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Your phone vibrates on the bedside table, sending tremors through the porcelain tea cup beside it.

“Ssh, no. Ignore it,” Hyunjin begs, climbing on top of you. A curtain of dark hair falls around you tickling your cheeks. He’s all you can see. All you can feel. Your phone quiets for a brief moment before it sounds once more, the buzzing seemingly more aggressive this time. “Ugh, what do you want?” you groan, snatching it from the table.

Seeing your manager's name, you click to open the thread of texts and immediately wish that you hadn't. Being with Hyunjin has been like a dream but with every word you read, you're beginning to wake up. You’re being dragged back to the real world kicking and screaming. It can’t be true.

“Hyunjin, who—um,” you say, your voice already trembling, “Who is this?” Handing him your phone, you slip out of bed and throw on your robe. Hyunjin sits up, that ethereal glow draining from his face when he’s confronted by what’s on the screen. An article announcing his date to Paris Fashion Week, a doe-eyed blonde rocking a certified 00 couture dress who most certainly isn’t you.

You wait for him to say something—anything—to stop your heart from breaking. He rakes his fingers through his hair, nervously chewing at the inside of his cheek. “I was going to tell you—” “Oh, you were?” you snap, snatching your phone back, “When? The week of? The night of?” “I was going to tell you once I figured things out! This isn’t as easy as you think it is! My agency, they have this idea of who they want me to be with and—”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. You already know what he’s about to say. Some variation of what you’ve heard every day in this industry. “And it’s just not me, right? Good enough to be the fat girl you fuck in secret but god forbid anyone sees you with me.” You laugh to keep from crying but tears rush down your cheeks anyway. Hyunjin jumps to his feet, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and rushing to your side.

Hearing you say those things. Seeing you cry. Knowing it’s because of him. It kills him. “Don’t talk like that. I don’t think that way about you. You know that.” He grabs you by the wrist, attempting to bring you into his arms but you push him away. “Do I?” you ask, storming off to the bathroom uninterested in his answer. 

Locking the door behind you, you slump to the floor and cry into your soft cotton sleeves. The dream is over, Hyunjin’s pleas for you to open up drowned out to nothing. You’re fully awake now. And it fucking sucks. 

Your mind springs back to the present where the bodyguard patiently holds the car door open for you. Minho reaches over to take your hand, “Are you sure you wanna do this?” He’s been such a sweetheart. Not minding your shyness when he picked you up from your hotel or the silence on the ride here. Having you in his presence does more for him than words ever could.

Long before Hyunjin entered the picture, you and Minho would hang out at the occasional after-party or industry event. You'd even developed a bit of a crush on him that you let go of after convincing yourself it was one-sided. The other models would always fawn over how attractive he was but they were much too scared to approach him. “I heard he’s mean” they’d say but they couldn't have been more wrong about him.

Over time you came to find that Minho was a sweet, charming man who was unhinged in the best way once he had a few drinks in his system. That’s how he asked you to be his date. Sipping one too many cocktails at a party neither of you wanted to be at, he’d mentioned that he didn’t have a date. Maybe since you didn’t either the two of you could go together.

“As friends, of course” he emphasized.

Of course.  

Minho gently turns your head to look at him, careful not to ruin your makeup. “We really don’t have to do this. We can go get pizza or something.” “Go get pizza?” you laugh, sniffling a bit, “You wanna skip the most exclusive event of the year to get pizza?” Minho stares blankly at you, not understanding why that’s such a wild idea. “I mean, if it’s with you, why not?”

There’s a fluttering in your chest that you can’t control. The rekindling of something that can’t happen. “Ma’am,” the bodyguard says, gesturing for you to step outside. Minho leans forward shooting him a cutthroat glare that demands a few more seconds with you. “If you get nervous just look at me. I won’t leave your side. I’ve got you” he promises and, without question, you believe him. 

You’ve walked a thousand runways in 6 inch heels but those first few steps outside of the car make you feel like a baby deer, your heels teetering between gravel. Minho takes your hand again, keeping you glued to his side as you maneuver through the crowd. The atmosphere is electric. Photographers battle each other for the perfect photo.

A sea of assistants and styling teams buzz around their clients, terrified of losing them in the crowd. In front of you, Minho's manager goes back and forth with yours. A low, passive aggressive exchange that no one else notices besides the two of you. 

“I should’ve never let him pick her up. You’re late.”

“We were there on time. She was late coming out. This is on you.”

“On me? Bullshit!”

“I think they’re into each other. What do you think?” Minho whispers into your ear, making you crack your first smile of the night. You place a hand on his forearm, mulling it over. “Enemies to lovers vibes for sure.” A casually dressed woman approaches your managers, rattling information off to them for a second before you’re being herded towards the red carpet.

There’s no time to pace yourself. No time to breathe in for 7 and out for 8. You’re thrown in front of the cameras, effortlessly switching into model mode. You know how to sell a garment, striking poses that prove you were born to rock this dress. Minho’s no slouch, looking absolutely regal. His bone structure, a sight to behold from every angle, is particularly striking from where you stand.

He brings an arm around your waist, resting his hand on your side, “I’m really happy you came.” You feel a slight squeeze at your hip as your eyes meet and that fluttering in your chest sneaks back up on you. “Me too.”

 

Being invited to Paris Fashion Week is an honor in its own right. But being invited to an afterparty? That’s when you know you’ve made it. You’re in the inner circle now. One of the chosen few. A god in comparison to the mere ants who’ll scurry to worship you at the next event. At least that’s the way everyone acts and Hyunjin finds it nauseating.

He’s not one of them but he has to pretend to be. He has to smile and nod while people drone on about the most shallow, egocentric bullshit he’s ever heard. At least that’s what he usually does. Tonight he doesn’t have the energy to mask his irritation. How can he when you’re cozying up at the bar with Minho like he’s not even here?

Hyunjin’s gone out of his way to get you to see him, desperate for you to notice that he’d come alone, but you've been glued to Minho. You're in your element, radiating light, and it’s not fair that another man gets to bask in it. In you.

Is this why you’ve been ignoring his texts? Why every call has gone straight to voicemail? Blinded by rage, infinite possibilities racing through his mind, he’s charging across the room before he can think better of what he’s about to do. Spotting Hyunjin before he can reach you, Minho sneaks away from the bar to cut him off halfway.

“Hyunjin,” Minho grins, picking an invisible piece of lint from the younger man’s shoulder, “You weren’t about to do something stupid, were you?” Hyunjin slaps his hand away, in no mood for pleasantries. “If by 'stupid' you mean punching you then yes, I was.” Minho closes the distance between them, his face turning cold. “You wanna hit me? Do it.”

Hyunjin’s right hand tightens into a fist, the temptation to crack him in the jaw intensifying. Minho leans in, the tips of their noses nearly brushing. “Do it” he challenges, “Fight for her for once.” A group of designers walk by, one in particular has her eye on Hyunjin. Sensing that he’s being watched, he loosens his fist and takes a step back.

“Yeah,” Minho sighs, “Just like I thought. Your little threat was cute though.”

“Why are you doing this?” Hyunjin asks, packing all of the anguish of a scream into a whisper.

That question is an insult to Minho’s intelligence. As if he doesn’t know what he did. Hyunjin never would’ve known you existed if he hadn’t caught Minho scrolling your Instagram one night. Minho was lovestruck, falling for you more and more with each post he saw. Hyunjin’s hatred for him at this moment is nothing compared to what Minho felt when he found out the two of you were together. 

“Why am I doing this?” he snaps, “Because I love her and you…you only love that she loves you.” 

“Minho!” you sing, puncturing the steeled tension between them. You’d only turned away for a minute to chat up a friend. He couldn’t have gone too far. You scan the crowd, standing on the tips of your toes to find him. He reappears just as quietly as he vanished, making his way back to you. “Sorry, I had to…talk to someone.” There’s worry painted all over him. It’s in the crinkle of his brow and the clenching of his jaw. Something happened.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, stroking his jawline with your thumbs. He closes his eyes, your touch soothing enough to make him forget where he is. “It’s nothing. I’m just—you wanna get out of here?” Opening his eyes, he’s met with nothing but pure excitement. “Totally. You owe me pizza anyway!” 

“Which one is this again?” you ask, leaning in to get a better look at Minho’s phone. “Doongie,” he answers, swiping to the next picture of an equally adorable cat, “And this is Soonie and Dori.” You take a bite of what might be the best slice of pizza you’ve ever had in your life, your lips forming a pout. “Ugh, they're so cute. I must cuddle them.” “You can if you want to meet them one day. Maybe. I don’t know.” Minho shoves his hands in his pockets, turning his attention to the crescent moon that watches over you, "Moon's pretty, isn't it?"

Seeing through this transparent attempt at avoiding his feelings immediately tunes you into those you’ve tried to suppress since the night he asked you out. This time last week you weren’t even sure you could survive the red carpet, too afraid of seeing Hyunjin to even consider coming. But now, standing here on this bridge in the picturesque Parc Monceau with a man so kind, so considerate, you can’t imagine being anywhere else.

Minho put everything into making sure this night was perfect for you. He stuck by you the entire time like he promised, doing whatever he could to keep you happy. You’ve never felt more special and it’s not because of some exclusive party invite or some absurdly expensive outfit. It’s because of him. 

“I’d really like that…to hang out with them. And you.” 

“You want to see me again?”

“Duh, of course, I do.”

Minho visibly deflates, bracing himself to be let down, “Just as friends?” You know you shouldn’t say what you’re about to but your heart has beat your brain into submission and there’s nothing you can do about it. “Friendship? Is that all you want from me?” “No, I want…” he pauses to catch his breath, choosing these next few words carefully.

You’re the cutest thing, standing here with your heels in one hand and pizza crust in the other. And you’re the only thing he wants. “Fuck it” he mumbles, kissing you with every drop of passion he’s held back since you met. It’s the type of kiss so steeped in longing that you taste it each time the warmth of his tongue tangles with yours.

He brings his arms around you, locking them in place to keep you close. You drop everything, your body going limp as the kiss deepens. “I want you,” he confesses, “Always wanted you.” That crush you had on him never quite went away. It's been here all along and is back with a vengeance. You can’t lie to yourself. There’s no use pretending. Not with the way he has your body aching for him, every part of you crying out for his attention.

You want him too. 

Morning breaks and the birds are already perched at the open window, singing a song that stirs you from your sleep. You sit up in bed, taking in your surroundings. In the rays of dawn, Minho’s hotel room reminds you of something ripped from the pages of a fairytale. Everything has an iridescent sheen to it, almost as if someone’s cast a spell on it. Even Minho, still half asleep beside you, seems to be made of magic.

If you reach out to touch him would he disappear? And with him, everything you shared last night? Minho grabs your arm, drawing you back under the covers. You go without resistance, eager to be held by him. You lay your head on his chest, your fingers drawing figure eights on his skin. Minho presses his lips to your forehead, caressing your arm with the same care he’d so diligently treated the rest of your body to.

Your body is, of course, immaculate. A gift from some goddess he must’ve mistakenly appeased. To have made love to it time and time again, hearing his name spill from your lips in the hush of the night, is to have realized a fantasy he never thought would happen. But it’s this moment—your smile like honey as you poke your head up to glimpse at him—and every moment like it that he’ll hold closest to his heart when you’ve parted ways.

In Minho’s gaze, you find adoration but there’s much more to it than that. There’s infinite acceptance and with it a longing to know you inside and out so that no part of you feels unloved. Minho turns onto his side, easing down in to kiss you when—

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Your phone vibrates at the foot of the bed and your stomach sinks.

You swear you can feel your intestines twisting themselves into knots. Not again. “I’ll get it,” Minho insists, reaching up to grab your phone. “Uh…thanks” you stutter, taking it with shaky hands. Clicking the button on the side, you see a string of texts from your manager.

It’s happening again. You’re tempted not to read them. This has only just started. You can’t lose it already. But you have to know. Opening the thread, you’re confronted with your worst fear. 

Only, you aren’t…

The texts are business as usual. Flight cancellations, fittings for your next event, complaints about Minho’s “cute but annoying” manager. “Is everything okay?” Minho asks, yawning as he curls up next to you. You toss your phone aside, going back in for a kiss, “The best they’ve ever been.”

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bad Idea, Right? - Part 8

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

If things go according to plan, Eris and Y/N’s first official date could end in hot, steamy sex. Or, it could end in complete and utter chaos - because when do things ever go according to plan? Azriel almost has a good time, until he doesn’t. We also FINALLY meet Tamlin’s daughter.

Part 7 Part 7.5 Headcanon

Warnings: Alcohol, language, smutty content, assault with non-consensual kissing, breeding kink (kind of)

An evening breeze blew through Velaris sending a slight chill through the champagne golden silk dress I’d chosen for the evening. A caress of warmth rose up from the fingers I’d threaded through Eris’, heat continuing up my arm and throughout my body, counteracting the mild chill.

When he’d shown up to my door right on time, dressed in a deep forest green tailored suit with the top unbuttoned and a turtleneck that was - For one, so perfectly molded to his torso that I practically salivated as fantasies of licking his abs flashed through my mind. And two, conveniently matched my dress perfectly - I almost said “Fuck the date.” and jumped on him then and there.

He’d arrived carrying three things. A bouquet of hydrangeas for my mother, symbolizing gratitude for her grace with the current situation. Freesia bulbs for my little sister to add to her Sprite garden if she wished, a symbol of friendship. I realized the double meaning of it, to draw in sprites with wishes for friendship but also to symbolize their new budding friendship. My mother smiled softly as she realized it too.

For me, he’d brought a “Fire Poppy”, apparently native to his court. His hesitance to express the meaning of the flowers, told me enough. Fire. Passion. But the incredibly faint dust of pink on his freckled cheeks left me wondering if perhaps there was something more.

Father only appeared at the last moment to kiss my forehead and likely give a seething look toward Eris while doing so that warned, Just because I haven’t killed you yet doesn’t mean I won’t. Eris paid no mind.

And now here we were, walking through the streets of Velaris hand in hand. Eris’ focus remained intently upon me as I pointed out various shops that I would frequent. I pointed out one that I loved as a child and Azalea still adored. The window was decorated with paint splatters of primary colors that blended together into a rainbow mirroring the Sidra and inside floated hundreds of miniature fae lights imitating the skies of Night Court.

Eris paused as we stood before the shop. “Can we take a look inside?”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely perplexed by his interest in this shop of all the ones we’d wandered past.

“It’s a surprise.” He stated.

Because why would anything with Eris be anything but secretive?

Eris read my responding roll of the eyes for exactly what it was. “Surely you realize there is a difference between a surprise and a secret?”

I couldn’t help myself. “Many of your secrets have left me feeling quite surprised, Eris. Certainly you would realize that?”

He huffed a silent laugh leaving me on the street to go into the store. Set in my stubborn ways, I refused to let him win and stood outside waiting.

Eris was back by my side eight minutes later with a small canvas bag. I raised an eyebrow. “What’d you get?”

“Ah, if you wanted to know, you could have come in with me. Guess it’s my secret to keep.”

“Mother spare me. You are insufferable.” I muttered stepping ahead of him down the street. His long strides caught up with mine within a few steps.

He once again wound his fingers through mine. “You love it.”

And I hated that it was true.

“You’re not going to tell me what you got?”

“Just a gift for a friend.”

———————-

Eris had reserved a table at Sevenda’s where Sevenda herself eagerly greeted us. She ushered us to a private section of the restaurant, lit with candles and within earshot of a performing pianist. She’d kissed me on the cheek and given Eris a respectful bow of the head before bringing out a mouthwatering appetizer of some delectable cheese sauce she’d recently added to her menu.

The secluded setting of our table, incandescent glow flickering off the candles, and soft melody floating in from the piano, all flowed together into a very intimate setting. Strange that I had bared myself to this male so many times, and performed every sexual act imaginable with him, yet I’d never felt so exposed to him as I did in this very moment.

Eris checked his blazer, and gods… I only ever wanted to see him in fitted turtle necks or absolutely fucking nothing again. The male was delicious and his gaze…. He was greedily drinking me in as if he’d splay me out on the table itself and feast. There was no way he couldn’t smell the arousal pouring off of me. I sure as hell could smell his, and it was far more mouthwatering than any of the glorious spices wafting through the restaurant.

Before I could give in to my instincts, Eris’ low tone interrupted. “If you keep looking at me like that, Y/N, I’m not going to make it through this dinner.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to.”

He audibly groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Just as our mutual eye fucking grew so intense that I genuinely wondered if Eris really was about take me then and there, our waiter approached with a bottle of the Inner Circle’s favorite wine. “Compliments of the High Lord.” Making eye contact with Eris, the male suddenly seemed to remember who he was in the presence of as he uncomfortably cleared his throat, “of the Night Court.”

Eris paid no mind and thanked the waiter. Surprise crossed the males face as Eris took the bottle from him and poured our glasses himself.

When the waiter took our orders and returned to the kitchen, Eris’ gaze returned to me. His eyes again roving over my body but lingering on my face. He smirked when he realized I was flushing under his intense eyes. “Are you nervous, little Shadowsinger?” He asked. His tone predatory.

I took the opportunity to send a shadow to caress the shell of his ear, effectively shutting him up.

“Now that we’re alone,” I ran my foot up the length of his leg, stopping the journey just short of where I so desperately wanted to feel him. “How long have you had an an apartment here and why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Ahh yes, excellent talk for a first date.” Eris mused, raising the wine glass to his plush lips and taking a long, slow sip before continuing. “Perhaps, I wanted a place to see you without you having to travel through multiple courts to find me.”

“Do you not wish for me to come to the Autumn Keep any longer?”

Eris’ change in tone took me by surprise as it became stern, the voice of a High Lord and not the bedroom voice of my lover. “Don’t you dare think that for a second. There’s nothing mo-“

He stopped himself mid-sentence shifting uncomfortably. “I enjoy your presence in my keep, in my bed, Y/N. But I also like to have the opportunity to visit you in your home court.”

My heartbeat quickened at the power flowing off of him, the desire in his amber eyes.

“So, Rhys was totally fine with you having a place here, just to hook up with his niece?”

“Diplomacy, darling. It is far easier to have a place here for times that negotiations and other meetings run over. It also benefits him to be able to have eyes on a fellow High Lord, no? It was not a difficult matter to convince him.

And I was going to tell you, you just happened to pick up the hobby of drunkenly wandering the streets before I had the opportunity.”

“I was fine.”

I was not fine. He knew it. I knew it. I was borderline feral that night.

“It wasn’t you I was concerned about. It was the poor citizens running the other way, screaming of a rabid, shadow-creature roaming Velaris in search of its next meal.”

I smiled. “For the second time this evening, Eris Vanserra, you are insufferable.”

“And again, little one, you love it.”

I rolled my eyes and took a swig of wine.

————————

Eris

She was fucking captivating. Eris drunk in every detail of Y/N like she was the wine flowing from her glass.

She had to know she looked like a goddess. Had he told her? She could read him like a well-adored book at this point. She read every look he gave her without him needing to speak a word. I want you. You’re perfect. I need you. You’re more perfect than I ever dared dream. I would kiss the earth you walked on if you only asked.

Shit, could she read that all on his face? Should he tell her how damned gorgeous she was or would she give him that all-too-enticing look of “Spare me the compliments, High Lord, you can strip and ravish me once we’re alone.”

And gods, he was going to. He had plans for his little Shadowsinger tonight, plans involving carefully undressing her and pressing kisses to her silken skin, replacing each bit of fabric slipping off of her body with a press of his lips. Instead of burning that lovely little number that was hugging her mouth-watering curves, he would proudly display it in the Autumn Court’s archives. He was a romantic, after all.

Of course, before putting it behind glass for safe keeping, he’d be binding those pretty little wrists behind her back with said dress. He was also a deviant.

As for his plans after that? They were far too filthy to fantasize about at the table.

“Your aroma is rather fragrant.” Her teasing voice broke him from his thoughts.

“And you’re rather intoxicating. We make quite the pair, love.”

And there it was - the little blush she always tried so hard to hide from him.

If just the term “love” brought that to her face, what lovely shades of pink would her cheeks light up with if he laid it all out right now? If he told her how she’d fucking ruined him for anyone else? That to taste her was to taste the nectar of the gods? That he was so hopelessly in love with her that there was no crawling out of this pit of desire, and he’d sooner drown in his need for her than ever swim up for air.

The urge to do just that frightened him. Why did he think this date was a good idea? As far as his self control went, it was a terrible idea. And as far as he cared at this point, it was the best idea. He was here, in front of her, and nothing else mattered.

————————————

Eris had always thought himself better than the primitive beasts fae turned into when it came to their mates. But he truly realized how wrong he was when after dinner, Y/N had requested to walk very slowly along the river until her stomach wasn’t, as she so elegantly stated it, “bursting at the seams.”

Given that after the wonderful meal they’d devoured, he too was struggling, he obliged her, draping his suit’s jacket as well as his arm over her shoulders. She pressed a hand to her very, very, slightly bloated abdomen, in an effort of easing the discomfort. Such a simple gesture that should have meant absolutely nothing but….

An inferno blazed within him at the thought of her glowing with a round belly, the mating bond’s most primal instinct roaring at him to winnow her away immediately and fill her so utterly full of him that there would be no questioning of whose she was. His.

He prayed to the mother or whomever would listen that the breeze would blow the sickeningly strong scent of his arousal far away.

————————

Y/N

The gallery was packed. Unsurprisingly, anyone and everyone wanted to come out to brush elbows with the Inner Circle and who could blame them? Unlike the other courts of Prythian, Uncle Rhys and Aunt Feyre actually interacted with their people. Well, the people of Velaris at least. Feyre was respected as High Lady but she was revered as an artist. Proceeds from her own work went directly back into the arts district.

“Beautiful.” Eris mused approaching a work of art toward the back wall but keeping his eyes on me. I sipped the champagne an attendant handed me upon arrival, needing it to get through the rest of this evening.

Especially needing it to get through the work of art he was approaching.

“This.” Eris motioned toward the piece, “is stunning.”

“It’s not for sale. Just a work from one of Feyre’s students.”

The art, featuring darkness floating upward from the bottom and a blaze falling from the top, intertwining with licks and whirls of flame and shadow in the middle.

“Cost is of no concern to me, little one. I need it.”

A sing-song voice came from behind us. “It’s magnificent isn’t it?” Feyre asked.

“What can I do to acquire such a fine piece of art?”

“You’ll have to ask the artist.” She nodded toward me.

“Aww, come on my lovely niece. Think of all the supplies it could fund.”

“You’re a busybody.”

She only gave an airy laugh before disconnecting the mental bond and returning to the attendees.

“Wouldn’t it look lovely displayed for all of my court to see?”

My gut lurched and I wasn’t sure if it was from imposter syndrome or excitement.

“Fine.” I’ll make a deal with you, Eris Vanserra. He raised an eyebrow. “This art is very personal to me. And despite the fact that it is hanging in the gallery, I want it to be for your eyes only. Do you agree to hang it in your chambers?”

Eris gave a faux pout. “And not show my lovely lady’s art for all the world to admire?”

My heart raced as I quipped too quickly, not allowing the time to change my mind. “Perhaps I only want to be yours to admire.”

Eris visibly gaped at the statement and my heart sank. Had I read all of his adoration wrong? Was I going to humiliate myself just as I had two years ago when he’d left me on the dance floor and I swore I’d never let him have that power over me again?

He swallowed a lump in his throat. His voice breaking slightly. “And your payment terms?”

“Oh you’ll be paying out the ass for it.”

He grinned. “As one does for the finest things in life. I’ll take it.”

A beat of silence.

“And I’ll take you too, if you’ll have me.”

And with that he leaned in to kiss me, soft and hard, fervently and slowly, wanting more yet only needing this.

A throat cleared behind us as father interrupted. He looked to me and to the art behind me.

“I never realized….” He spoke softly as he took in the work.

I flushed, the work now feeling far too intimate under his gaze.

My father turned to Eris. “You’re purchasing this?”

Eris nodded. “A worthy investment, yes?”

My father remained tense but something in his eyes softened. “A very worthy investment.”

Father leaned in to kiss my forehead. “Enjoy your night sweetheart.”

It was at that moment Adish appeared, his Day Court friends Hem and Apollo in tow along with Nyx and a female I’d never seen before. Nyx looked in my direction with a wink as he saw the piece Eris and I stood before, before heading with the group for glasses of champagne.

Eris spoke, “I’m going to speak with Feyre regarding reservation of the piece before anyone else tries to snag it out from under me.”

“It’s not for sale, Eris. Nobody else would be able to purchase it.”

He pressed his warm lips into mine. “I won’t risk a good thing.”

I blushed, dismissing him.

Nursing my champagne, I perused the various pieces decorating the gallery walls when a female voice came from behind me. “If you wanted your father’s attention, there are better ways than whoring yourself to Autumn Court trash.”

I turned around to see the female Nyx had entered with. Her dark hair and blue eyes fooling nobody. Clever little shapeshifter.

“And I didn’t realize your father was in the habit of allowing females to leave his manor.”

She grinned. “Oh come on, he locked her in ONE time...or at least that’s what he tells me. He really can be an overbearing asshole sometimes.”

I laughed. “I missed you so much, you bitch. Nyx needs to stop hoarding you.”

“Please” she scoffed. “I don’t need Tamlin and Rhys’ melodrama to complicate things.”

“Ha, I’m sure Nyx filled you in on all of the drama in my world recently.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yes, I’ve been living vicariously through your escapades.”

She leaned in to hug me. “So” I took in the brown hair she’d chosen for the evening. “Does the carpet match the drapes?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“Mmm, as enticing as that would be. I prefer your blonde hair and green eyes. It does something for me.”

“It does something for Nyx too.”

I pretended to vomit before Nyx stepped in. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to spend time with my lady before she decides to leave with you instead and I get stuck with the fireling.”

“He’s quite fun, Nyx. I’m sure you’d enjoy the ride.”

Nyx choked on his drink and whisked Layla away with him, leaving me to take in the art in peace.

A few more minutes passed and my shadows grew restless as if contemplating the same thing as me: Eris should be back by now.

Feyre had returned to the gallery with no Eris in sight. I searched, passing Adish and Apollo, my parents and Azalea, Rhys and Feyre, Cassian and Nesta, even Amren, but no Eris.

Had he left? Did I scare him away?

No, his response was sincere. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t, right?

I walked down a quiet hallway, stepping away from the crowd. “Eris?” I whispered into the quiet of the hall.

Two shadows returned with no information but another returned frantic. “Bad.” “Go.”

I hurried in the direction my shadows shot out, winding further and further down the hall.

My heart stopped. In front of me was the radiant, gorgeous Hemera, pressed up against my man. Lips crashing into his.

“Bad.” My shadow repeated. Whirling to show me something.

Eris saw me and his eyes blew wide, shaking his head.

Hemera turned, wicked grin contorting her gorgeous features into something cruel.

“Sorry, hon. He’s just so needy and so pretty. Can you blame me?”

Did this bitch really think I’d simper and turn away? Oh no. My shadows continued their whispers.

“Blade.”

“Bad.”

“Blade.”

“Bad.”

A sliver of silver caught the dim lights shining down upon them, a blade held to Eris’ neck.

Eris stared at me wide eyed as my shadows erupted into a frenzy around me in effort to distract the Day Court female.

She jolted and her blade knicked his neck and I felt a sudden spike of fear in my gut but the fear, it didn’t come from me. It was coming from…. Eris.

Holy shit.

Willing all of my power to the surface, my tone turned cold, dangerous. “I suggest you step away from my mate.”

The High Lord of the Autumn Court. Eris fucking Vanserra. My mate.

I gave a tug in return to his emotions. A gentle reminder that I had this under control and he instantly tugged back.

He knew. Holy shit, he had known.

I could be angry later, now I needed to save his ass.

A commotion came from behind me. Adish and Apollo rushing in. “What the-“ Adish started. “Sorry, friend.” Apollo spoke before the fucker cast a sedation spell on him.

Apollo towered over me. “You weren’t supposed to find them. For what it’s worth, you would have been a great friend.”

He moved, but I moved faster. Sending a blast of power knocking the male on his ass. My shadows binding him.

“You talk too much.” I spat.

Turning back to Hem and Eris she held him in front of her. “Don’t make me kill him.” She spoke. Now using him as a shield. With his front exposed, I could see the shackles around his wrists. “This could go much more easily if you let me leave here with him. Why do you want a cheating male? You deserve better than that.”

I needed time to assess. My shadows busy with Apollo. Fuck. This was bad.

I laughed. “I hardly call you forcing yourself upon him ‘cheating’, in fact most would call that ‘assault’. And I have no patience for those who force themselves upon others.”

Just then a flurry of shadows shot into the room, ripping Hem’s wrist and dagger from Eris’ throat. My father winnowed into the room. No, this wasn’t my father. This was the feared Shadowsinger, the infamous Spymaster of the Night Court. His tone promised death as he commanded Hem to step away from Eris. She fought his demand, shaking with fear as she remained in place. “Please, you don’t understand. My father is wrongfully imprisoned in HIS court.”

“And this is how you feel it best to approach?” Father stepped closer, a thick, violent air emanating from him. “I will ask you one final time to step away from the High Lord.”

Hemera knew she was no match as she dropped the knife stepping back away from Eris.

Eris ran to me, in an attempt to shield me from any fallout but there was no more danger as father’s shadows apprehended the female.

Rhys and Feyre raced into the room, Nesta and Cassian on their tail.

Rhys whispered to Feyre. “Let Elain know it’s handled.”

Feyre’s gaze went distant as she communicated to my mother.

Rhys commanded Apollo to remove the sedation spell from Adish as Cassian jerked the apprehended male off the ground.

Nesta’s eyes flared with silver as she stared down Hemera before apprehending her as well. My mother and sister rushed in as we followed Rhys down to the gallery basement toward an empty office where the two would be held until Helion arrived. Since they were denizens of his court, it was only right to determine the next steps with him.

As the group strode toward the office, Azalea began tugging at my sleeve. “Sissy.”

“Not now, Azzie.”

She gasped, her little legs trying to keep up. “Sissy, please.”

“Just a minute, Azzie”

I felt guilty for ignoring her but my mind was coming out of the adrenaline state it had been in and my heart racing with rage and shock as I processed the revelation that Eris was my mate. That he knew and didn’t tell me.

Ironic considering that I always found Aunt Feyre and Aunt Nesta to be overly dramatic for their reactions to finding out about their own mates.

They were good, loving males who had enough money to live in lavish comfort for all of their days, and were highly regarded among the people of Velaris. How terrible.

Yet here I was. Fuming. Humiliated. That this male, a gorgeous High Lord and a damn good one at that, with a far softer heart than he’d ever let the world see, courted me because I was his mate.

I thought he wanted me for me.

“Sissy-“ Azalea drew me from my thoughts once again. “What?” I finally asked, raising my voice. But it was too late as the door to the empty office was opened, only to unveil a half naked Nyx, trousers unlaced, his body pinning a no longer shifted Layla with the bottom of her dress hiked up, and breasts fully exposed.

Nyx gaped. Eyes wide and frantic. I sent my shadows out to shield them, my father’s following suit, my hand instantly covering Azalea’s eyes.

Layla only pulled her dress up over her tits as she let out a laugh. “Whoops, we thought this room was unused.”

“I tried to tell you.” Azalea’s little voice whispered.

Darkness erupted through the room as Rhys clenched his fists. “What the fuck?” He growled out to Nyx.

My father only grinned, not caring who saw the smug satisfaction on his face. Fully conveying the look of that’s how it feels, you pompous asshole. Get it now? How’s it feel to be humiliated in front of an audience by the unconventional partner your child has chosen to fuck.

Feyre only covered her mouth, stifling a giggle at the situation. Nesta and mother quietly giggling with her.

I used the distraction to remove the enchanted shackles that were still stifling Eris’ power and apparently his ability to speak.

Fury blazed within me, my restraint failing as I spat out my next words much louder than intended.

“How long, Eris?”

Guilt flooded his features, his head hanging low.

“How. Long? How long have you known that I’m your mate?”

My father choked. The shit-eating grin instantly fading from his face, jaw and fists clenching.

A pitiful sound escaped Eris. “Since the first night… in the alley.”

“Wow.” was all I could manage as the walls began closing in around me.

I stepped away but Eris grabbed my wrist. “Please, Y/N. Just hear me out.” his broken voice pleaded. I couldn’t think. I needed space. Needed to breathe.

“Mom.” I looked to my mother. “Can we go home?”

She gave an empathetic look to Eris. “Come on, Azalea.” She reached out a hand. “Sissy needs us.”

Azalea looked to Eris, letting out a “hmph” as she scrunched her nose and crossed her arms. “That was bad.” She scolded, little wings ruffling with each word.

His face crumpled further as his little friend glared at him with disdain, words failing as she stuck her tongue out and winnowed away with mother.

“I love you.” was the last thing I heard as I spirited away.

———————————————-

A/N: I have had so much fun writing this series! Part 9 will be the final chapter but I may eventually give our main character a name and add a few spin off chapters as well. If that would be of interested to you, let me know!

Tags:

ACOTAR list: @lilah-asteria

Eris list: @angiedsv

Series list: @b0xerdancer-writes @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams @yourmumsdumptruck @nebarious @glitterypirateduck @mybestfriendmademe

[astro-pioneer]

Could I request Gepard and Jing Yuan with an s/o who loves making plushies of them in different outfits?

woah, mini me? mini me!

Who needs the actual person when you have a doll to design outfits for? 『gepard, jing yuan』

gepard!

he's just...so confused

where'd you get it?? why's it so small?? why is it HIM??

watched you prance around belobog with it clutched in your arms

wishes it was him hanging out with you ):

didn't mind it until he found more smaller versions of his outfits

the armour??? woah ok dramatic

he knew you went to serval to get it almost exact

the outfit he wore on your first date together? man was terrified

both on how you remembered AND how you made it custom tailored for a doll

wouldn't tell you to get rid of it but would definitely try to be around a lot more so you don't need the doll

he's tired of all the teasing from the guards too

jing yuan!

bold assumption here but he DEFINITELY keeps something plush-like that relates to you near him too

heard rumours that you were seen walking around with a plush that looks like the general and was like !!!!

yanqing even somehow took a picture with you and the doll and had the AUDACITY to discretely rub it in his face

(not actually, he's just dramatic. the barrage of texts he sent you right after are enough proof)

when he finally had the opportunity to confront his miniature doppelganger he was so shocked

it changed clothes! to his casual wear! woah!

caught you in the middle of recreating his evening clothes as well and felt a little bad

set a reminder to sneak away from work more often to go home to you

instead of pointing out the new set of clothes, he replaces the doll with himself and makes sure the plush is acceptable enough to pass as him

"but it's not as handsome as me" "it's a doll, yuan" "so?"

ignored all the texts from his phone in favour of enjoying his time with you

[chopinski-official]

Chopin’s Wardrobe — What I Wore

Today I would like to share with you all the manner in which I dressed. It is interesting to see how fashions have changed over the course of 200 years. Some might say style has slipped… Anyway! Here are some details on my wardrobe:

My Suit

I liked to wear sober colours: black, mauve, blue… and especially grey. For instance, I once asked Julian Fontana to have made for me a pair of dark grey winter trousers, without a belt, which were smooth and stretchy.

Grey trousers, 1840.

At a concert in Glasgow, a pupil recalled that I had worn a pale grey suit. Which included a frock-coat of identical tint and texture.

(Left) Frock coat, 1840. (Right) Frock coat and trousers, 1852.

Under my suit, I would wear a modest waistcoat in a fabric such as a black velvet with a tiny inconspicuous pattern, something very quiet and elegant.

(Left) Provençal waistcoat with mauve silk seedlings, 1860. (Centre) Waistcoat with floral pattern, 1838. (Right) Striped waistcoat, 1850-70.

My preferred shirts were ones made of cambric or batiste fabric. They had small mother-of-pearl buttons, two breast-pockets, and could be bought for 14 francs.

For my cravat, I would wear muted colours during the day. Usually, I would tie it in a bow. However, when performing in a formal setting, I would wear a broad, white silk cravat.

Winter Clothes

To keep warm in the winter months, I wore a thick redingote or over-frock coat, as can be seen in this daguerreotype of myself from 1849.

(Left) Wool coat, 1840. (Centre) Winter costume. Paul Gavarni, 1846. (Right) Frock coat. Wool, trimmed with silk velvet. 1820-1830.

At one point, my sickness rendered me so sensitive to the cold that I wore three flannels under my trousers.

Underpants, mid-nineteenth century.

Accessories

Because I had small feet, I often found shoes uncomfortable. I mourned the day, Moos, my shoemaker died. No one made my shoes like him.

1840s men’s shoes.

On my head, I would always have my hair curled, and, when outdoors, I would wear a top hat. I bought my hats from Dupont’s because he made them lightweight. They were originally made of beaver felt but, by my later life, they were made of silk plush.

(Left) Top hat made of beaver felt, 1830s. (Right) Top hat made of silk plush, 1850.

My outfit was only complete with white gloves. Without them one would not be in good taste. Kid gloves were common, but I also liked wearing Swedish (suede) gloves. Always in white.

Evening gloves. 1848.

A pocket handkerchief was also a necessity.

Finally, I had a miniature pocket watch. According to one concert-goer, it was “In shape no bigger than an agate stone, on the forefinger of an alderman.”

Where did I shop?

I bought my top hats from Dupont’s at No 8, rue de Montblanc (the previous name for rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin). I lived on this street myself, both at No 5 (1833-36) and No 38 (1836-38).

(Left) 9, rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, the fabric shop across the street from the milliners, 1840s. (Right) Rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, 1858-1878.

My shirts came from No 37 in the Palais Royal galleries, on the theatre side.

(Left) View of the Galerie d'Orléans in the Palais-Royal, 1838. (Right) Jardin du Palais Royal, 1840s.

The white suede gloves could be acquired from À la Corbeille de Fleurs, Houbigant’s shop at No 19, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

(Left) The corner of rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, 1820-1840. (Right) Faubourg Saint-Honoré, 1814-1885.

There were also many shops along the Grands Boulevards. This is where I got my trousers made by my tailor, Dautremont.

(Left) Boulevard de la Madeleine, 1799. (Right) Boulevard des Capucines, 1830.

Boulevard des Italiens, 1840s (left), 1835 (right).

So…

As you can see, in spite my reputation for being picky and perhaps… prissy, with regard to fashion and furniture, I was far from what was called a dandy. My dress was never over-the-top and nor did I put on the airs that were so pertinent to dandyism. My desire, if anything, was to be refined and respectable. Although, perhaps my efforts to do so were occasionally cause for frenzy or distraction.