#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

[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

[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."

[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.

[aventurineswife]

Hello, I just had the cutest idea, for Jing Yuan, Blade, Sunday, and Jiaoqiu, what if the reader dressed up their toddler in a mini version of their father's outfit, ngl lie I think that would be so cute.

Little Reflections

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Blade x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Fluff, Family Bonding, Domestic Moments, Miniature Costumes, Parental Love, Tender Interactions, Slice of Life.

Jing Yuan lounged on a garden bench in the Luofu’s arboretum, a cup of tea balanced delicately in his hand. The peaceful atmosphere seemed to mirror his unhurried demeanor. Despite his reputation as the "Dozing General," his eyes missed nothing—especially not the sound of small, uneven footsteps heading his way.

He turned his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You approached, holding the hand of your toddler, who waddled toward him with as much dignity as a two-year-old could muster. Jing Yuan's sharp gaze softened when he noticed what the child was wearing: a perfectly tailored miniature version of his own uniform.

The tiny cape draped over your child’s shoulders fluttered with each step, and the golden accents on their blouse glimmered in the sunlight. Even the nian-inspired armor on their right arm had been lovingly recreated, though made of light fabric instead of metal.

“Look who’s decided to join the Cloud Knights,” Jing Yuan teased, setting down his cup. He crouched and opened his arms as the toddler tottered into his embrace.

“Say hello to General Jing Yuan,” you teased back, watching as the child babbled nonsensical sounds, clearly more interested in tugging at Jing Yuan's ponytail ribbon than any formality.

Jing Yuan chuckled, adjusting the red ribbon so it wouldn’t be pulled loose. “I must say, this little knight already looks the part. Who made this for them?”

“I had some help from the tailors,” you admitted. “But the design is all mine. Do you like it?”

Jing Yuan stood, cradling the toddler in one arm while placing a hand on your shoulder with the other. “Like it? I love it. Though I think they might upstage me at the next council meeting.”

You laughed. “Well, maybe they’ll share the workload, too.”

Jing Yuan smirked, looking down at the child now trying to gnaw on the tassel hanging from their hip. “Perhaps. But for now, I’ll enjoy having both of my little stars by my side.”

Blade was rarely one to let emotions show, but when he stepped into your living quarters and saw your toddler standing proudly in the middle of the room, even he paused.

The child was dressed in a miniature version of Blade’s attire, complete with a tiny replica of his tailcoat. The red inner lining peeked out with every wobbling step they took toward him, and the dark blue embroidery shimmered faintly in the dim light. They even had a bandaged arm and a toy sword strapped to their waist.

“Is this your idea?” Blade asked, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

You smiled from where you sat nearby, a sewing kit still on the table. “Do you like it? They wanted to look like their papa.”

The child reached Blade and tugged at his coat, their bright red eyes looking up at him expectantly. Blade knelt, his usually piercing gaze softening as he reached out to brush a hand over the child’s head.

“You’ve done well,” he murmured, though it was unclear whether he was speaking to you or the toddler.

The child giggled, gripping the toy sword and thrusting it forward with all their might. “Fight bad guys!” they announced, their high-pitched voice echoing in the room.

Blade chuckled—a rare, genuine sound that you hadn’t heard in a long time. “You’ll need a lot more training for that.”

You approached, resting a hand on Blade’s shoulder. “I thought it might make you smile. Do you like it?”

He stood, the child now perched on his arm, their small hands gripping his coat. “I do,” he admitted quietly. “It’s...perfect.”

Sunday was deep in thought when you entered his study, guiding your toddler into the room. His sharp eyes shifted from his documents to the sight before him, and he froze.

The child wore a small version of his regal Halovian outfit, complete with a tiny halo hovering above their head—a clever accessory you’d crafted using lightweight materials. The gold cross-shaped cutouts on their gloves and the navy wing-like vest were lovingly recreated, and the soft gray blazer hung slightly oversized on their small frame.

“Is this...my little successor?” Sunday’s voice was tinged with amusement, though his piercing gaze softened as he took in the sight.

You grinned. “They wanted to dress like their papa. What do you think?”

The toddler toddled toward him, their hands reaching out to grab at the papers on his desk. Sunday leaned down and scooped them up, careful not to disturb the halo balancing atop their head.

“I think they’re a vision of perfection,” he said, his tone warm. “Though I might need to keep them away from my work.”

The child giggled, their small hands patting Sunday’s face. “Papa!” they exclaimed, clearly delighted to have his attention.

Sunday chuckled, pressing a kiss to their forehead. “Perhaps this is a sign,” he mused, looking at you. “A reminder to step away from work every now and then.”

You smiled. “I thought it might bring some joy to your day.”

“It has,” he said, cradling the child in one arm. “Though I think our little angel might outshine me in this outfit.”

Jiaoqiu sat quietly on the veranda, his feather fan resting on his lap. Despite his blindness, his ears perked up at the sound of light footsteps approaching, accompanied by your soft laughter.

“Who’s there?” he asked gently, his closed eyes tilting toward the noise.

“It’s us,” you replied, guiding your toddler closer. “And we brought a surprise.”

The child toddled forward, their tiny hands gripping the edge of Jiaoqiu’s robes. They were dressed in a miniature version of his healer’s attire, complete with a feather fan of their own. The soft salmon-colored fabric matched Jiaoqiu’s hair perfectly, and their fluffy fox ears twitched with excitement.

Jiaoqiu’s lips curved into a smile as he reached out, his fingers brushing over the child’s outfit. “What’s this?” he murmured.

“They wanted to be like you,” you explained, kneeling beside him. “Do you like it?”

The child climbed onto Jiaoqiu’s lap, giggling as they waved their tiny fan. Jiaoqiu let out a soft laugh, his hands resting gently on the child’s shoulders.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice warm. “Though I think they’ll make a better healer than I ever could.”

You leaned against his shoulder, watching as he playfully ruffled the child’s hair. “I just thought it might make you smile.”

Jiaoqiu turned his face toward you, his gentle expression full of gratitude. “It did,” he said quietly. “Thank you—for reminding me that even in the darkness, there is light.”

[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

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Portraits

If you have ever seen an image of royalty or nobility, it is likely in a portrait they sat for. Be it paint or photograph, these aren't just images. These are statements, these are slogans, these are reminders of one's power, one's good traits and one's wealth. So, what do we need to know about portraits?

Why are Portraits done?

Portraits are painted for all sorts of reasons but mainly it is to convey a message. Whether it is to introduce to the masses to the face that leads them or to attract a future spouse or to prove to the haters that you're just as wealthy, just as pretty, cute and just as smart as Caesar, these images are made to relay something to anybody who sees it. Of course, paintings and photographs can take ages and can be very expensive, so no royal/noble is going to drop a lot of pics of themselves. Most monarchs would release a portrait sometime after their coronation as an introduction of sorts. Some prospective brides and grooms would sit for a portrait that would bring in marriage offers. Portraits might also be painted or taken as mementos: lovers might carry miniatures of their beloved, a loyal servant might be given a portrait of their monarch, a portrait might be sent aboard to an ally as a sign of favour.

Meaning

These were the propaganda posters of the time. But slapping slogans into pictures and portraits is a little on the nose so symbolism was often used to highlight certain messages. Take the infamous Rainbow Portrait of Elizabeth I above. Not only is Elizabeth standing there in her finest drip but every inch of this portrait is a message. The snake on her sleeve, a symbol of her wisdom. The eyes on her dress, she sees all. The ears on her dress, she hears everything. Her uncovered red hair, a mark of her Tudor lineage. Her pearls, she's the Virgin Queen. That pole thingy in her hand, well it used to be a rainbow which symbolised peace and prosperity. Portraits are often choked full of the finest jewels, finest clothes but these items are often paired with symbols. Animals are often used, dogs for loyalty, horses for power etc. Stances are important. You know that one portrait of Henry VIII? That big stance with the hands on his hips, massive codpiece? All that has meaning. Colours are important, as are the placement of people in the portrait if it is a family portrait. Images could reach the illiterate which is why there are so many visual easter eggs in many portraits.

Logistics

Like I said above, these are expensive and costly - even if it is only a photograph. The sitter will have to spend hours at least getting ready, sitting for the portrait, often for multiple sessions. It can be tiring, stressful and irritating, especially if the artist is a bit of a diva or has a habit of taking ages. Large scale portraits will take longer, especially if there are a lot of sitters. These portraits, painted ones, could be done in part with the artist taking sketches of each member and then adding them in. Dead relatives could be added in or deities or mythical creatures too, if you're delulu like Henry VIII. You're looking at weeks at least of waiting, longer if the portrait is being sent from one nation to the other.

Official vs Official-ish

Most portraits you've probably seen are official, approved by the sitter to pass on a certain ideal image they want to convey. For monarchs, it's usually a portrait of them sitting on a throne or in their crown and robes. However, in more modern times, it's become more acceptable for a royal to show themselves as more human - but these images are in themselves tailored. Nobody wants to be caught on candid camera and royals especially so. Modern royals often set up photocalls - especially if they're doing something they want attention for - or release their own photographs, which are like the portraits of their ancestors are edited to fit a certain profile - happy families for example. Even an unofficial image is an official image.

Truth is in the eye of the Beholder?

As you might of guessed, portraits are lies. They are Fairytales concocted to influence, to beguile, to lure. These people aren't wearing these clothes on a day to day business. Their hair isn't that perfect, they don't wear those jewels, they certainly don't go around with tiaras from dawn to dusk. The sitters probably woke up with bad breath or just yelled at their servants or aren't as tall or good looking but these portraits aren't there for reality. When one is looking at a portrait, one must remember that.

Pride of Place?

Where might you see portraits, you're asking? At palaces, yes. But you might see them at the houses of the noble and wealthy. Portraits were often gifted to loyal servants of the Crown, a sort of "thank you for being cool" sort of gift thst you have to have on display because of the honour attached. But with so many ancestors, there may be a lot of portraits so often they might be put into storage and taken out when desired. A new war minded monarch might pick out ancestors who were warriors. A weak monarch might surround themselves with images of powerful relatives. Shameful relatives will often see their portrait stashed away.

For the @the13thhourglass

[austinbutlerslovers]

His Every Desire

Label Mature 18+

Summary As Austins new secretary, you ensure he has everything he needs as a CEO before he even thinks to ask.

🔗Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin Butler CEO x Secretary • his best • his favorite • hidden feelings • mild angst • kiss it better• satisfying boss• clit play •nipple play• sex w boss on his desk • P in V • orgasms • creampie •aftercare

*written asap by popular demand/multiple scenario DMs

His Every Desire

The sun streams through the towering glass windows of Austin Butler’s corner office, casting warm, golden light over the sleek marble floors and the expansive view of the city below.

From the fifty-fifth floor, everything seems miniature—the cars, the people, the constant motion of life. But inside this office, within the walls of his empire, Austin is untouchable.

He’s a force—perfection in a tailored suit. Every inch of him is calculated, pristine, an effortless command of power and presence.

You bring his oat milk latte to his desk, careful not to let your hands tremble as you set it down beside a stack of documents that need his signature.

He barely glances up at first, his sandy blonde hair falling forward in his face before he tucks it behind his ear in a way that only adds to his effortless charm.

His attention is fixed on the glowing screen before him, fingers scrolling through a flood of emails, but then, as always, his gaze finds you.

“Perfect timing,” he says, and the way his full lips curve into the kindest smile makes your stomach flutter. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His voice is smooth and deep whenever he compliments you making your thoughts slip away like silk between your fingers.

His piercing blue eyes look over you, studying you in that way he does, as if you’re something far more intriguing than a mere secretary.

“You always know what I need before I do,” he muses, adjusting his watch, a vintage Patek Philippe that gleams against his wrist.

“Have I told you how much I appreciate you yet?” He says looking at you with a knowing grin.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks and he notices immediately—He always does.

“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” you respond, stepping back, but not before he tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement.

“Austin,” he corrects, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Call me Austin.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you force a nod, turning to leave before you can embarrass yourself further.

Each day is a delicate balancing act, a test of your willpower.

Your new boss is charming, intelligent, impossibly handsome—and married. That fact alone should be enough to douse the growing fire inside you.

But it doesn’t.

You dutifully pick up his dry cleaning, order his lunch, and arrange meetings that dictate the trajectory of his multi-million dollar deals.

And when he’s not commanding boardrooms, he’s asking you personal questions in the quiet moments—questions that make you blush, that peel away layers you hadn’t meant to expose.

“Do you ever see yourself doing more than this?” he asked once when his office was quiet and the city lights glittered outside the window.

You were leaning over his desk, quickly organizing a set of contracts he needed for an early morning meeting. Your fingers moving with practiced efficiency ensuring every signature line was visible, every figure highlighted just the way he liked.

Your breath caught mid-motion, and you glanced up at him, finding his blue eyes watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“More than… this?” you asked, unsure if he was talking about your job or something else entirely.

Austin’s lips curved slightly, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on his jaw, his thumb grazing his bottom lip in a way that made it hard to focus.

“Beyond being my secretary,” he clarified, his tone deceptively casual, though there was something heavier underneath, something that sent a flutter through your chest.

You bashfully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I like my place here.” You smiled, your heart racing a little too fast.

“With me?” He confirmed, his voice low and teasing, but there was something else in his eyes, something you couldn’t ignore.

You forced a small smile, trying not to think too much about the way he was looking at you.

“Yes,” you confirmed, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I like being with you.”

His eyes darkened just a fraction, and for a fleeting moment, you saw something different than his usual calm demeanor —something more.

He studied you, his blue eyes trailing over your face, taking in every unspoken detail, then he simply nodded, his gaze dropping to the papers in front of you.

You smiled again, refocusing on your task, but his words stuck in your mind long after you’d left his office.

And from that moment on everything began to change.

Austin swiftly filed for divorce — stunning almost everyone, and after the proceedings began he was no longer the same.

There had been signs of dissolution as you worked for him, subtle at first, but undeniable.

The tension in his jaw when he took calls that lasted too long behind the heavy doors of his office.

His wedding band, once a constant fixture on his hand, usually left sitting on the edge of his desk if even seen at all.

But when the news broke that he had officially filed, it felt sudden, like a storm that had been brewing just beyond the horizon, finally crashing down

The office felt different—he felt different. And it unnerved you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

He could barely look at you as you worked together on his upcoming merger, and when he did, the focus in his eyes was gone, replaced by something distant and unreadable.

He was distracted, tense, and suddenly, every little thing you did felt all wrong.

The first mistake was minor—forgetting to send an updated briefing to the legal team. You caught it in time, but the way his eyes narrowed when he noticed made your stomach twist with guilt.

Then came the missed reschedule of an important client call. His voice had been sharp when he pointed out that he couldn’t afford slip-ups right now.

“You need to be on top of this,” he had said, his tone firm but distant, his eyes scanning you with something close to disappointment. “I need you to be on top of this for me.”

You had nodded quickly, swallowing past the lump in your throat, forcing an answer that felt too tight. “Of course. It won’t happen again.” you responded.

But it did. More than once.

Misplaced memos. A forgotten lunch order. Your nerves frayed more with each passing day, and the more you tried to prove yourself, the more mistakes you seemed to make.

The pressure was suffocating, and the cold way he spoke to you now—like you were just another problem he had to manage—only made it worse.

Late in the evening after being able to correct most of your mistakes for the day, you walk into his office carrying several folders for his upcoming court hearing, your hands trembling under the weight of your nerves.

When you step inside, he doesn’t even look up from his computer screen.

“Set them there,” he says directly his tone cold.

But your fingers slip, and the documents spill onto the floor, pages scattering everywhere,the fluttering sound almost suffocating.

“Fuck,” Austin curses, the frustration in his voice sharp and unforgiving as he stands abruptly to assess the damage. “Do you even know what you’re doing anymore?” He snaps.

His words hit like a slap, and you bite your lip willing the tears back. Your hands fumble as you cower to gather the papers, but Austin is already there, crouching down beside you, and suddenly the anger in his eyes is replaced by something softer.

His hand brushes yours, and you freeze.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice a stark contrast to the harshness from moments before. “You don’t deserve this.”

You slowly nod, unable to even look at him, your eyes fixed on the mess still scattered between you, the tears making it all blur. But Austin’s fingers lightly grip your wrist, steady and warm, as he helps you to your feet.

For the first time, you’re standing so close to him that you can see the faint freckles dusting his cheeks, the vivid depth of his blue eyes, making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

“Austin, I-I should be the one apologizing—” you confess, your voice shaky.

But he doesn’t let you finish. His hand comes up, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Not to me. Not for this.”

His thumb lingers just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. “I’ve been so hard on you..—And I shouldn’t have been…” he confesses his voiced tinged with guilt. “You’ve been nothing but good to me.”

Your lips part, but no words come. The sincerity in his voice unravels you, and the intensity in his gaze holds you captive, making it impossible to speak.

Before you can say more, his lips are on yours—as if he’s been holding back for far too long.

The folders slip from your hand once again, papers scattering at your feet, but this time neither of you care.

His hands slide to your jaw, his thumbs tilting your chin up to fit your mouth perfectly against his, your lips moving effortlessly in a kiss that deepens with every passing second.

His hands slide down your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you grip his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

The city sprawls beneath you, but the only thing you can focus on is him—his breath warm against your skin as his mouth moves to your neck, whispering words that make you weak.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says between kisses, his lips tracing a path that leaves you dizzy. “I can’t stop thinking about you— I can’t—”

You feel the cool glass against your back as he presses you to the window, his hands trailing down your body with a slow, aching need.

His forehead presses to yours, his breath warm and ragged against your lips his voice filled with conflict. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his grip on your hips tightening as he betrays every word.

But you don’t. You can’t.

His lips claim yours again, and this time, it’s as if all the stress, the frustration and the longing has built to this inevitable moment.

You let yourself forget everything—the divorce, the looming merger, the crushing weight of responsibility. In this moment, none of it exists. All that matters is the way he’s holding you, as if he’s finally admitting what he’s known all along.

As his fingers thread through your hair, pulling you even closer, you know you’re falling—falling into something you can’t control, something that might even break you.

But right now, you don’t care.

The glass window cools your back, but the heat radiating from his touch is consuming, making it impossible to think of anything but him—his scent, the warmth of his breath brushing over your lips, the way his blue eyes lock onto yours, filled with an intensity that leaves you speechless.

His voice is low, his lips hovering so close that his breath fans over your skin. “Do you want this?” He asks.

Your lips part, your voice barely audible as you answer. “Yes,” the confession slipping out before you can even stop it.

His jaw clenches, and something dark flickers in his expression—something deep and unrelenting. “Say it again.” He commands.

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze stealing what little composure you have left. “I want you,” you breathe, and the sound of it sends a shudder through him.

Before you can catch your breath, his hands are on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto his desk. The polished surface feels cool beneath your skin as he guides your legs apart, his large hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher until there’s nothing but your panties between you and him.

He glances down his fingers skimming along the inside of your thigh before rubbing your clit through the fabric.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he says, his voice lower as he leans in, his lips grazing your jaw.

“How many times I’ve watched you walk into my office and wondered how you’d feel on me.” he confesses as each roll of his fingers on your clit feels more torturous than the last.

His other hand finds the hem of your blouse, slipping beneath it as his palm cups your breast. “Tell me you’ve thought about it too.” he whispers.

You can’t even think—not when his mouth starts kissing against the hollow of your throat as his fingers flick heavily over your clit. “I—I have,” you blurt out, your voice barely a breath.

“I want to make it real” he says, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand slips to his belt, unfastening it with a slow, measured pull that makes your core throb.

Your chest rises and falls as he pulls your panties aside, his knuckles brushing against your wetness making you clench around nothing.

“You’re soaked for me,” he muses, his eyes dark with need as he presses his fingers firmly against your slickness.

A soft moan escapes your lips desperately wanting more and it’s all he needs to hear.

His hands slowly grip your thighs as he pulls you closer to the edge, pressing himself against you as his hardness makes your breath hitch.

You watch as he lowers his zipper, freeing his substantial cock and lightly stroking it as he presses the tip directly against your entrance.

“Austin,” you moan, struggling to breathe as he steadily guides himself into you inch by inch, the pressure so deep it has you gasping until finally you feel his pelvis press against yours.

Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat, because you’re sure he already knows—his cock is the biggest you’ve ever had.

The way he’s looking at you, the way his body is pressed into yours, the way his thumb circles your clit exactly where you need it the most—he knows.

His lips claim yours—deep, desperate—his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you closer, pressing himself against you with every thrust.

You moan into his mouth, your body taking every inch as you cling to him, fingers threading through his sandy blonde hair, wrapped up in him, lost in how deep he can claim, not caring about anything outside of the moment.

His eyes darken, filled with something raw and unrestrained with every slow roll of his hips. He pulls your legs around his waist, pressing himself deeper, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s all-consuming.

His lips move over your neck, down to your collarbone, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands glide over your thighs, slowly pushing your knees further apart as his hips thrust between them, his movements drawing you into a pleasure you’ve never known until you’re core is throbbing as you moan breathless for him.

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, pulling him back to you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s desperate. Your hands sliding in his hair, as he deepens his thrusts, his body pressing into yours firmly on his desk.

He pulls back his face just inches from yours, his breath mingling with your own as the heat between your bodies increases like a pulse you can’t escape.

“You’re such a good secretary,” he whispers, sliding his hands over your hips. “Always making sure I’m satisfied” he whispers, gripping you tightly as he thrusts with a measured strokes, holding you steady making you take every inch of his cock as he goes even faster.

You softly gasp, feeling the way his cock hits a depth never reached inside you, the way he moves with careful precision that drives you to the brink and beyond your head tilting back as the pleasure coils deep within you.

He watches you intently, his blue eyes dark with desire, his lips parting slightly as his breathing grows heavier.

“You take me so well,” he praises, his voice low and breathless as his hand slides between your bodies, circling your clit firmly.

You try to speak , but the way he moves makes it impossible—your breath catches, and all you can manage is a soft, helpless moan.

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck. “You’re so good to me,” he whispers, his other hand slipping beneath your blouse, pulling at the sensitive peak of your nipple.

Your moans becomes unending, your heart pounding as all you can focus on is him. His touch, his thrusts, the way he makes you feel like he’s breaking you in the best way possible.

He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that steals what little breath you have left.

“You’re worth everything,” he whispers, his voice low and raw. “Every risk I took… you’re worth it.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you savor the moment—the warmth of his body against yours, the way his thumb strokes softly along your clit as he kisses you.

His thrusts grow deeper, filling you completely, and your body clenches tightly around him, the pleasure rising so fast it feels impossible to hold back.

“Austin,” you gasp , your hands gripping his shoulders as you feel the the pleasure overtaking you.

His breathing becomes ragged as he feels you tightening around his cock, his thrusts growing more erratic. “You’re so perfect for me, baby—so perfect,” he whispers, his voice breaking with need.

His words send you spiraling, your release crashing over you in waves as he thrusts deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt.

You cling to him, moaning softly, your bodies trembling in sync as he fills you completely, the warmth of his come making you both shiver.

You rest against his shoulder, the office filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and the rhythmic pounding of your hearts.

Finally, you find your voice as you lay against him, rethinking his words. “What risk?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles softly, as he tilts your face up, his thumb tracing gentle circles along your jaw. “You give me everything before I even ask for it,” he says, his voice laced with affection. “I want you with me in every way.”

Your heart pounds at his words, and as you search his eyes you find only sincerity.

As a smile spreads across your lips he kisses you again, this time slower —deeper—sealing the promise between you both as you melt into him, knowing there’s no turning back.

The city lights outside blur in the reflection of the glass, but inside this office, there’s only him—the way he holds you and the way he makes you feel.

You know there will be repercussions, but right now, with his lips pressed to yours and his words echoing in your ears, you let yourself believe that this could last forever.

END 🏙️

🔗 Masterlist

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[jadeshifting]

— PLACES TO SCRIPT (HOGSMEADE)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

🪼 — THE HOGSMEADE TROLLEY glides through the village on invisible tracks, its smooth wooden exterior adorned with shimmering silver and gold filigree and glowing lanterns that cast a warm, inviting light. Enchanted to give off the sounds of lightly ringing bells, you can hear it coming from a block away, and it carries passengers from one end of town to the other without needing a driver Inside. Riders can sit in cushioned seats to enjoy their journey, or more haphazardly stand or hang off the side while holding onto the bar

🪼 — THE SORCERER’S SCONE is a charming bakery tucked away in a cobblestone corner of Hogsmeade, where the sweet scent of fresh pastries and the soft glow of fairy lights lure passersby inside. The shelves are always stocked with warm, buttery croissants, cakes that shimmer with enchantments, and delicate sugar cookies shaped like miniature broomsticks

🪼 — VELVET & LACE is Hogsmeade’s premier formal wear boutique, offering a dazzling collection of enchanted gowns, tailored robes, and wizarding suits. Each garment is crafted to ensure a perfect fit, making it the most-wanted destination before any dance or event. The shop’s opulent interior, adorned with floating mirrors and soft candlelight, makes every visit feel like a step into a royal castle

🪼 — FLOREAN’S FROSTED FLAVORS is a cozy ice cream parlor known for its enchanted scoops that sparkle, swirl, and sometimes change colors. With a constantly changing menu of magical flavors like Butterbeer Swirl and Fizzing Chocolate Chip, it’s a favorite spot for students and locals alike. The atmosphere is warm and filled with the soft hum of chatter and the occasional laughter from the enchanted toppings misbehaving

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

🪼 — THE ENCHANTED EASEL is a whimsical arts and crafts shop where paints shimmer with magical hues and quills sketch on their own. Shelves overflow with supplies from self-weaving yarn to enchanted parchment that animates drawings. It’s a hot spot for creative witches and wizards seeking the right materials for all their different hobbies

🪼 — MAGIC MIRROR is a luxurious shop nestled in Hogsmeade, offering a wide range of magical makeup, hair products, and skincare potions. With shimmering shelves stocked with enchanted creams and shimmering powders, customers can indulge in the finest products, crafted to bring out their inner radiance with a little magical help

🪼 — THE QUAFFLE CLOSET is a cozy, no-frills shop tucked away on a side street in Hogsmeade, offering an eclectic collection of secondhand robes, dresses, and accessories at remarkably low prices. The shelves are stacked with vibrant, well-loved garments from past seasons, with charms used to make them look refreshed. Though humble, it’s a favorite spot for students looking to snag a deal or find something truly unique

🪼 — PRIMWICK’S PIES is a cozy, magical pizzeria in Hogsmeade, where wood-fired pizzas are crafted with enchanted ingredients and topped with a multitude of flavors. The rustic interior is warm and inviting, with bubbling cauldrons of sauce and enchanted ovens that hum with a gentle, glowing heat

🪼 — THE BLOOMING BOUGH is a charming florist shop where blooms thrive in year round, regardless of the season. Enchanted roses change color with your mood, and whispering vines curl gently around curious hands. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers, and the skill of the florists make it a favorite stop for romantic gestures and seasonal celebrations

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

🪼 — SHEAR DELIGHT is a cozy, inviting hair salon and barbershop in Hogsmeade where both wizards and witches come for trims and new styles. The atmosphere is lively and friendly, endless amounts of gossip is spilled between stylist and client, and customers leave looking their best

🪼 — OPAL & ONYX is a charming jeweler’s shop in Hogsmeade, its windows sparkling with an array of enchanted rings, necklaces, and bracelets that catch the light in mesmerizing ways. Each piece is crafted by hand, many are imbued with protective charms. Whether seeking a gift or a personal keepsake, the shop offers something for every occasion

🪼 — MOONLIT MYSTIC is nestled between two towering oak trees at the outskirts of town, draped in rich velvet curtains and flickering candlelight. Inside, an ornate crystal ball rests on a velvet cushion, surrounded by ancient tarot decks and incense smoke that dances in the air. You can pay to have your fortune told here, though it’s still unconfirmed whether the elderly witch is a talented divinator, or a scammer

🪼 — THE SALTY TIDE is a cozy seafood restaurant in Hogsmeade, where the air is thick with the scent of freshly caught fish and magically created ocean breezes whistle through the windows. Its rustic wooden tables and softly glowing lanterns illuminate the walls, which are lined with aquariums filled with shimmering fish. The menu features a variety of magical and muggle-inspired seafood dishes

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[gothicxreylover]

Oh and can you make the yandere giant hashira plus genya and the wive x tiny reader a little bit longer if that’s not too much sorry if I mixed it up!😅

Yandere Giant Hashira’s spoiling and pampering their tiny

Hello! I finished your request and I hope you enjoy!

Giyu Tomioka

Giyu is quiet in his affection, but his actions speak volumes. He creates a custom home for you inside his mansion, crafting everything by hand to ensure your comfort. Tiny furniture, soft bedding, and even a miniature garden are prepared with great care.

His way of spoiling you includes making sure you’re well-fed with meals he painstakingly prepares, often in silence, before watching you eat to ensure you’re satisfied.

Occasionally, he’ll hold you gently in his palm, his expression unreadable as he murmurs, “You’re safest with me.” He doesn’t show much outward emotion, but his overprotective tendencies grow by the day, ensuring you never have a reason to leave his side.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi’s idea of spoiling you comes across as aggressive care. He’s always on edge, constantly checking for any dangers to you, whether it’s drafts, insects, or even his fellow Hashira.

“You’re not leaving this room until I’ve double-checked everything,” he growls, securing every possible escape route.

Sanemi crafts a secure space just for you, using his strength to make it impenetrable. While his gruff demeanor might seem intimidating, he often leaves little surprises for you, like snacks or tiny, handmade trinkets. If you thank him, he gets flustered and mutters, “Don’t get used to it.”

He might grumble about how much effort he’s putting in, but deep down, he thrives on knowing you’re entirely dependent on him.

Tengen Uzui and His Wives

Life with Tengen and his wives is nothing short of overwhelming. They shower you with lavish gifts—tiny jewels, elaborate outfits tailored to your size, and decadent food prepared just for you.

Makio is practical, ensuring your safety and comfort while teasing you playfully. “Don’t even think about wandering off. You’re too cute to lose.”

Suma is the most emotionally doting, constantly cuddling you and asking if there’s anything you need. “Are you happy? Is there anything I can do to make you happier?”

Hina keeps everything balanced, making sure you’re never overwhelmed. She reads to you in a soft, soothing voice and often sets up relaxing activities for you.

Tengen, of course, is the ultimate showman. “Only the flashiest things for you!” he proclaims, crafting a display of affection so grand that it feels impossible to escape their collective care.

Obanai Iguro

Obanai takes a meticulous approach to caring for you. He’s quiet but fiercely protective, ensuring you have everything you need within arm’s reach. Kaburamaru often keeps you company, curling around your tiny living space as a second layer of security.

Obanai’s way of spoiling you includes bringing you small treasures he finds during his travels—tiny flowers, polished stones, or anything he thinks will make you smile. He’ll never admit it, but he watches your reactions closely, craving your approval.

“You’re mine,” he says softly, his mismatched eyes boring into yours. “Don’t forget that.” His spoiling comes with an unspoken expectation of gratitude and loyalty.

Mitsuri Kanroji

Mitsuri spoils you to the point of smothering you—quite literally. She adores holding you close to her heart, her affectionate squeezes often leaving you gasping for air.

She loves cooking for you, making tiny portions of her favorite dishes and watching you eat with sparkling eyes. “Do you like it? I made it just for you!” she says, her voice brimming with excitement.

Mitsuri spends hours sewing adorable outfits for you and decorating your living space with bright, cheerful colors. Her affection is endless, and she constantly showers you with compliments.

“You’re the cutest, most precious thing in the world! I’ll protect you forever!”

Shinobu Kocho

Shinobu’s care is precise and calculated. She ensures you’re in perfect health, often creating herbal remedies specifically tailored to your tiny size. While her smile is sweet, there’s always an edge to her words.

“You wouldn’t want to get sick, would you? Stay with me, and I’ll make sure you’re always safe and sound.”

She enjoys experimenting with new ways to spoil you, whether it’s creating tiny sweets, crafting miniature furniture, or reading you bedtime stories in her gentle, melodic voice.

However, her obsession shines through in her need to control your environment. “Everything here is for your own good,” she says, her soft smile belying the possessiveness in her eyes.

Kyojuro Rengoku

Rengoku’s care is as intense as his personality. He’s always enthusiastic about ensuring your happiness, often declaring, “You deserve the best, and I’ll make sure you have it!”

He creates a vibrant, colorful living space for you, complete with tiny decorations and cozy furnishings. He loves sharing his meals with you, carefully cutting pieces small enough for you to enjoy.

Rengoku frequently tells you stories about his battles, his booming voice filling the room. His way of spoiling you is through his boundless energy and attention, always making sure you feel valued and loved.

“You’re safe with me, little one. I’ll protect you with my life!”

Muichiro Tokito

Muichiro’s care is quiet and unassuming. He spends hours crafting tiny things for you—furniture, blankets, and even small puzzles to keep you entertained.

Though he often seems distracted, his attention to your needs is unparalleled. “This will keep you safe,” he says simply, placing a handmade protective dome over your living space.

He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak louder than words. He’s always nearby, watching over you with a calm yet possessive gaze.

Gyomei Himejima

Gyomei’s care is reverent, treating you like a sacred treasure. He carves intricate items for you, from tiny statues to delicate furniture, his hands working with incredible precision despite their size.

“You are a blessing,” he says softly, his voice rumbling like a distant storm. “I will protect you with all that I have.”

Gyomei’s spoiling often comes in the form of his unwavering attention and gentle presence. He frequently prays for your safety, his devotion to you growing stronger with each passing day.

Genya Shinazugawa

Genya’s care is rough around the edges but heartfelt. He builds your living space himself, using his hands to create something sturdy and secure.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing as he places a tiny blanket over your shoulders.

Genya spoils you with food, often hunting or foraging to bring you the best ingredients. “Eat up,” he says gruffly, avoiding eye contact. “You need to stay strong.”

Despite his tough demeanor, he dotes on you in his own way, ensuring you’re always comfortable and protected.

[easterbonnet]

hi love, i loove your writing!! is there any way you can write prof!remus comforting f!reader (already established relationship) after she was almost sa'ed or harassed by another student? it's okay if you don't feel comfortable writing it tho, you don't have to as i know it's a sensitive issue. thankss 💗

hiya, thank you for interacting. sorry this took so long, I wanted to get it right. hope what i've written does justice to your prompt, I recommend listening to this whilst reading for immersion

Two Buttons & A Teddy Bear

f!reader x established relationship!prof! remus lupin (both of age)

{{ after y/n experiences an uncomfortable situation, her boyfriend, professor lupin does his best to see her through it }}

CW: sa, sexual assault/harassment, kinda guilt/shame, rlly fluffy comfort tho, teacher student relationship, age gap, kinda oc for the boy who harasses her just made him up, major POA setting vibes

. . .

A smooth autumn breeze seeped through the chipped, leaded windows, attacking the classful of students packing away their books into their satchels and schoolbags as the lesson came to an end. Cold sunlight shadowed the iron-work of the glass panes onto the stone walls, casting light upon the underside of the graffitied desks and the odd piece of Drooble's gum stuck there. Waiting to be dismissed, the pupils stood behind their desks, chairs tucked in and making small talk to each other between the rustling of the browning trees outside. Professor Lupin stood at the forefront of the airy room, anticipating the miniature clock on the table to strike 2pm, to let the class out.

Y/n twiddled her thumbs patiently, checking over her bare nails and making sure the shoelaces of her black leather brogues were tied. Her ink-splattered desk was situated at the back of the classroom, Professor Lupin thought it was best as not to arouse suspicion over their relationship, she didn't mind as she didn't have many friends in his class. Her soft eyes landed upon him, scanning for any clue that he'd want her to stay behind after class like she sometimes did, as it was hard to find time to spend with each other otherwise. The lonely girl was just about to let herself be fully immersed into her daydreams, when she was rudely interrupted.

"Ehem"

Y/n pried her dreamy gaze away from the masonry arches above and turned to face the direction of the noise, a fellow student who was trying to get her attention. Seth Pendergrass, known player and troublemaker. He was surrounded by a group of his friends, all appearing pleased with themselves, their shirts untucked and ties skew-whiff. Not Y/n's usual crowd.

The independent girl sighed and fidgeted with the tailored hem of her cotton skirt, just wanting to be left alone.

"Hey Y/n, you look nice today", Pendergrass smirked, acting coy. His henchmen laughed mindlessly.

What was so funny?

"Hi... thanks", she gave an embarrassed smile and lowered her eyeline, inspecting the wooden floorboards, willing the clock to strike 2pm so she could get out of here. Her hopes were cut short by an unwelcome hand on her waist, positioned on her white school blouse. Instinctively, Y/n's muscles clenched at how heavy and foreign his touch was, letting out a near silent squeal as she did. Pendergrass tightened his grip ignoring her flinch, arising dread and pain in her as she tried to shuffle away. Her deer-in-the-headlights eyes darted around the room for help, yet the other students were chatting and watching the sudden on pour outside, drenching those in their Care of Magical Creatures lesson accompanied by Hagrid.

"You're always so quiet, makes me wonder if you'd still be quiet if I-", the boy's revolting premise was thankfully interrupted.

“Class dismissed, don’t forget to complete the homework for our next lesson together”, Lupin bellowed just in time, in his mellow and warm voice. The door swung open by the hinges at the wave of his wand and the students pushed and shoved their way out, a choir of boyish laughter followed Y/n as she legged it, blushing ferociously as she went. Cascades of black robes fluttered as she scarpered down the dim halls, dodging soggy second years on her way to the common room.

What Y/n didn't notice in her swift depart, was Professor Lupin's fist clenched painfully in his pocket, or his teeth gritting behind his stubbled jaw. Trying but failing to act casual, he peered up from the tea-stained parchment he was holding, leaving it crumbled from his firm grip. He set it down and pushed off from his desk. The last few stragglers filed out of the DADA classroom just before Remus rushed over in time to stop the boy from leaving.

"Ah Pendergrass, I'd like a quick word", Remus held his hand out in front of the school boy so he couldn't leave. His hands then dived into his dark grey trouser pockets, to stop himself doing anything stupid amidst his emotionally fuelled annoyance.

As expected, Seth tried to blag his way out the door but Remus didn't let it slide, the man looked at the desk where he was stood when it all happened, tongue in cheek trying with all his might not to just punch this idiot square in his stupid face. The foggy rain outside imitated his emerging upset with the treatment of his special girl. He couldn't take it, he scoffed and shook his head, "Anything you'd like to admit?"

The boy was getting bored and shook his head, skating his view around the mundane contents of his pocket. A tissue, a handful of pepper imps and a jelly slug or two.

A sort of muffled growl vibrated in Lupin's throat, "I don't expect I need to remind high school students to keep their hands to themselves, do I?"

"Course not Sir", he feigned a docile smile, already eying up the exit.

"Then, pray tell, why do you think its okay to touch Miss y/l/n without her consent, and don't deny it I saw you", Lupin huffed, wanting nothing more than to follow y/n to wherever she was and tell her it'll all be okay, and not have to deal with this prat.

. . .

Meanwhile Y/n was up in her dormitory, alone, sat cross-legged on her four-poster bed still clutching her packed bag. Freshly washed white linens blanketed her cosy nest, she caressed them under her fingertips. They were soft and smelt like fresh flowers, she knew the house elves must've done their rounds already. Her vintage, brown teddy bear was neatly placed against her frilly pillow. Its beady, chocolate eyes stared into her own. There was comfort in its presence, always had been, she ran her fingers over its tufts of fur, gently toying with its frilly neckpiece. "They should replace all the annoying boys at Hogwarts with ones like you", she spoke to him, trying to find solace.

She didn't know how she felt. Upset? Dirty? Confused? But, what she did know is that she didn't want anyone to know, she wanted to forget it ever happened... Maybe he didn't mean it that way? Maybe he was just being friendly? Yet, she knew that wasn't the case.

Late afternoon set over Hogwarts, the dulling natural light faded as it peaked through the tower windows of the girls' bedroom. It would be a while before the other girls would come back, in fact they were in lessons right now, just like Y/n should be. Glittering droplets of water swam down the windows and trickled through the slim arrow-slits in the walls. The girl's uniform lay creased and stiff against her clean skin as she tapped her foot against the floor, tracing the smooth but chipped bed post with her hand. A gloomy, blue hue set about the room almost like a depressing stain glass window. As the rain clouds gathered, she observed the crows and owls that occasionally flew by, presumably heading for their snuggly nests. Y/n was glued to the spot for at least a half hour before there was a gentle knock on the door, pausing her internal processing.

Knock. Knock.

"Uh who- who is it?", her voice cracked as she raised her voice for the first time since it all happened. She stood up and smoothed her skirt down, facing away from the door, putting her back to who ever it was. She imagined it was probably someone coming to tell her off for skipping lessons.

The old wooden door creaked as it opened and soft steps tapped the floor. A familiar and welcome voice began, "Hello, it’s me", her favourite professor spoke, gradually getting closer.

Y/n sniffled and wiped her pink-hued eyes just in case, yet she still didn't turn to face him, "What're you doing here? Boys aren't allowed in the girls dorms", she didn't know why she said it, he was the only one she wanted at a time like this.

Lupin approached, gently placing his hand on her shoulder to test the waters, it felt different to that boy earlier, it was warm and soft, it didn't hurt and it didn't feel wrong. Y/n turned around and before Remus could examine her face, she buried it into his chest. An intense flash of thunder jolted her even further into his embrace as she finally let herself shed a tear.

"Hey now sweet girl, that's it, that's it", he softly cooed, stroking her messy hair. He was torn between immense anger for how she'd been treated, and the need to comfort her as gently as he could. The pangs of lighting outside illuminated her tangled hair and Remus' scarred hands, "You're safe now, here in my arms".

"Im sorry- he- I don't know why-" she tried to explain herself between sobs.

Professor Lupin hushed her and sat her onto his lap, perching them on the side of Y/ns cosy bed, "I saw everything, you don't need to explain. I've sorted it, all that matters now is you".

Y/n lifted her head up, making eye contact for the first time that day, "Sorted it? How?" she sniffled again, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, feeling glad for the comfort yet still slightly uneasy.

He gave a compassionate smile before gently picking up the teddy bear and placing it into her arms, "I may have... had a word with him".

She gasped instantly thinking the worst, but Lupin caught on quickly and let out a serious but soft chuckle. "I didn't touch him, even though I wanted to... I reported it to Dumbledore, we came to the firm agreement that Hogwarts doesn't tolerate such behaviour. He's been suspended and will endure after hours lessons with Professor Snape, where he'll learn some respect", Lupin gave a relishing smile, then kissed the top of her sweet smelling hair.

The news comforted her, yet it didn't erase what had happened. "You're not gonna tell me off for skipping class?", a wispy breeze wafted the front locks of her hair, smothering a light layer of goosebumps over her arms.

Remus shook his head softly, still caressing her back lovingly, "It's more than understandable why you felt the need to do as such, you take the rest of the afternoon off, okay?"

"Thank you Professor"

"It’s just us, you can call me Remus, poppet", he sighed at the formalities before lying back on her bed, encouraging her to follow suit.

The pair cuddled behind the sheer, lace curtains that surrounded the old bed, sharing a tender, slow kiss. The ivory netting delicately swept around them. The fireplace roared, ticking every now and then from the heat it gave off. Due to the downpour beginning to ease off, it was silent, aside from their light breaths and the odd creak of the antique bed frame. "We can talk about it, if that's something you'd like?", Lupin propositioned.

She took a moment to think before responding, "I never thought something like that would happen at Hogwarts... to me".

He took a deep, solemn breath, "Neither did I", his mind wandered back to his own time at Hogwarts, with James, Sirius, Peter and... Snape. "Why don't we think of a little code, something you can do to let me know you need my help"

Y/n liked this idea and propped herself up on her elbow, thinking. The scent of the damp stone walls blended with the fresh washing and polished oak to create a cocoon of respite.

Remus rummaged around in his pocket, sticking his tongue out in focus, then emerged with two small buttons. “Perfect”, he muttered an incantation under his breath as y/n watched the tiny inscription of the button manufacturer turn to the word ‘safe’. He handed one of the buttons to y/n, placing it into her palm. “Squeeze it” he nodded to the item in her hand.

Completely baffled she did as she was told, for a second nothing happened. Then she watched the other button that Lupin held start to pulse a faint red and the words turned from safe to ‘help’.

“Protean charm. Good isn’t it? Whenever you’re in danger, just hold that button really tightly and mine will start to get hot and the wording will change letting me know you need help” he explained ingeniously.

"But how will you know where I am?", she questioned, appearing puzzled and running her fingers over his days-old stubble, still inspecting his button, it was indeed warm.

Her teacher insisted, "Oh I'll know, don't worry, special professor magic. All top secret", he joked knowing he couldn't let out the real reason, the map he had hidden in his office he made in his own years at school.

“Hmmm, okay then”, she accepted his reasoning, trusting her professor more than anyone. Y/n tucked the button safely into her pocket and nestled her head into Remus' chest, snuggling up to him, feeling the knit of his cardigan against her fleshy cheeks.

“Mr teddy wants a kiss”, the girl giggled.

Playfully, she brought the teddies face up her boyfriends, and gave him a peck on the lips with it. His chest bounced as he chuckled at her antics, amused to see her a bit happier now. Without hesitation, he planted wet kisses all over her youthful face, making her squeal in delight and squirm around the mattress. “Are you sure it’s the bear that wants a kiss?” Lupin waggled his brows teasingly. He knew not to push her too far after earlier today, yet he craved the sight of her smile.

After a few pondering moments, the mousy haired man confessed, "I won't let anyone else touch you okay? You're mine to protect and I'll do exactly that from now on, I promise". The words scared him, not wanting to fail her again, though he didn't mean them any less. His thin lips brushed her temple and he inhaled her dainty scent, watching her sparse lashes flutter closed.

"Rest now, angel, I'll keep watch over you"

[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.

[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.

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[kiame-sama]

Grim is definitely Star material! He looks so cute in the little clothes for each dorm!

Did some of the monster men help make him head accessories?

The headphones, Peacock hairpin(?) and little Diasomnia hat is adorable!

Sorry I’m currently very weak to cuteness at the moment 😭

Yes, actually! All of the Housewardens wants so badly for the Human to join their dorm, they decided to give Grim his own official uniform for their dorms to show- to both Grim and The Human- that they are welcome in the dorms at any given time.

In the Diasomnia uniform, Grim's sleeves are just a bit too long for his little paws, so they are covered up a lot like how Lilia has his hands covered by his uniform jacket. It took them a little bit to figure out how Grim's hat was supposed to sit on his head, so they decided he should have a little headband to keep it on him. He does get frustrated with the many belts, so more often than not, the Human has to dress up Grim in his outfit or else the kit will just wear the hat, maybe the pants, and call it good. Lilia was cooing over Grim the second he saw the kit dressed up in the uniform, even Sebek had to admit it is adorable. The entirety of Diasomnia adores Grim and will coddle him the moment they see him dressed up in the uniform.

Papa Hades was the one to make the miniature Ignihyde outfit, because he thinks Grim would look adorable in it- and he is right- wanting Grim to have a certain bond with Idia and Ortho through the outfit. The sleeves are also too long for his little paws, but he looks all the cuter for it. Idia is the one who added the headphones- that absolutely do not fit properly, given they go past his ears- but the Kit cried about not having headphones to the point Idia folded and made them purely for aesthetic reasons. Grim LOVES them. He can easily put this one on himself as it is just the pants, jacket, and headphones. Idia actually giggled when he first saw Grim in the uniform and is devoted to befriending the kit to get close to the Human and because he is obsessed with the idea of having a personal Hellcat due to the bond Shinigami often form with Hellcats.

Vil and Rook hand stitched the outfit and Vil even used one of his tailfeathers to make the headpiece, cutting it into a heart for the Kit and using Epel's blooms as inspiration for the more floral design of the cloth flower on the headpiece. The big bow on his back is purely decorative and is sewn into the outer clothes so it can't be messed up or untied. It is a good thing Grim's right eye doesn't work very well or else he would be extremely distracted by the dangling shiny stones on the headpiece. Those are actual gems on his headpiece, Rubies and Sapphires and there are even a few on the headband piece that holds the ensemble in place. Amethysts were used for his little shirt buttons. This is another uniform the Human has to help Grim put on given his paws are a little less coordinated with the buttons.

Kalim suggested it, Jamil made it. The golden bands and snakes are actually gold, and golden thread was used to make his clothes, so they shine like gold due to being actual gold. The little golden coins on his tummy wrap are also high quality gold. The eyes of the snakes are small rubies that were gathered in the Scalding Sands and carefully placed into the uniform. This one is a lot easier for Grim to put on himself. He likes the pants a lot on this uniform due to how loose they are around his legs and don't ruffle his fur.

Azul INSISTED that Grim get this uniform for himself, ensuring that every small detail- including Grim's ears- were accounted for. Despite how well fitting and tailored this one is, Grim dislikes it due to the numerous layers and buttons he needs to fiddle with just to get the clothes on. This is another uniform the Human has to help Grim adorn due to the buttons. The bowtie has to be tied around Grim's tracker so it holds itself in place and looks more natural on him.

Leona 'persuaded' his dorm members to make the uniform for Grim, from the leather jacket, to the distressed jeans, he wanted to make it clear that Grim was a member of the Pride. Where almost all Savanaclaw members have a similar necklace, Leona took it a step further and had Fallena actually commission the necklace to be made out of genuine gold and gemstones for the little kit. Grim adores how rugged it makes him look despite the pants being a little too fitted for his liking. When he wants to hype himself up, he puts on the Savanaclaw uniform to feel braver. This is an outfit that Grim can put on himself because it doesn't require a bunch of buttons or fine motor skills to adorn.

Riddle insisted that Trey and Cater help him craft the Uniform for Grim, giving Grim the Jack of Hearts as his card. Each part was carefully measured and adjusted so it would fit the Kit well. Grim likes the design of the uniform, but he hates those buttons and often needs the Human's help to put the uniform on as a result. He loves chasing the yellow and black ribbon tied around his waist and will even 'meow' at it when the Human tries to tie it around him. Much to Riddle's chagrin, Grim likes to suddenly spout off random rules- that are not actually Queen's rules- whenever he is dressed in the Heartslabyul uniform. Cater thinks it is hilarious.

[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.