#opium hall

[romanceyourdemons]

the violent, hollow, beautiful bourgeois excess of 1920-30s shanghai is something that can be so special actually

[omg-hellgirl]

Jerry Hall by Helmut Newton wearing an embellished evening dress from the Opium couture collection, 1977.

[3utopia3]

[anamon-book]

阿片戦争 岩波ホール創立30周年記念第1弾 エキプ・ド・シネマ第118回ロードショー EQUIPE DE CINEMA No.125 岩波ホール 監督：謝晋

[lydiimae]

Guardian Angel

Pairing:

MDI 18+

Warnings: Opium powder use, mentions of drinking, high Benedict, Benedict being an insecure cutie pie, fluffy fluff hehe

WordCount: 2.2k

A.N: Hello my loves! I'm sorry for my lack of posting, I've been sick and I've finally started work. I am still trying to find a schedule where I can post and have time for other things. For now, have some lovely Benny fluff while we all wait for part two of Season 3 to come out. I love you! <3 P.S. Thank you for 200 followers OMG I love you all so much.

Marrying Benedict Bridgerton was the easiest decision you have ever had to make. The two of you grew up alongside each other, the rumors of a proposal coming when you debuted, and the actual proposal occurring only two months into the season. It was an easy choice, a choice you were happy you made. He made you feel alive. He filled a part of your soul you did not know was missing before you met him. Even in the hardest times of your marriage.

Benedict, like many other men, has insecurities. He keeps them hidden well behind an air of confidence, but you know better. He never was jealous of Anthony, but rather scared that he would always be looked at as the lesser son. The spare. He just did not understand what you saw in him. He saw himself as a man without purpose, a man who could not provide the life you wanted. He believed you when you said that was not true, but there was always a little voice in the back of his mind that made him doubt himself.

You knew this well. He was less talented at hiding his feelings when he was a child and had shared many of them in your many late nights on the hills of Aubrey Hall. Though now, these insecurities only rear their ugly heads when Benedict has had a few too many to drink. Or, as is the case tonight, too much of the strange tea Colin buys him.

You get out of the carriage with your maid and footman, John, after he had come to get you claiming that Benedict had had far too much tea. A result of drunken carelessness by his younger brother. You rush up the front steps and into your townhouse, taking off your cloak before bouncing up the stairs toward his studio. You sigh as you walk in to find your bohemian husband on the floor of the studio with a canvas in front of him, smearing paint on it with his fingers without a care in the world. It would be an adorable sight if you were not worried out of your mind.

You walk to him and sit down next to him, watching as his glassy eyes sweep over the floor before meeting your own. "Ah! My love!" He exclaims, his demeanor immediately brightening as he drapes his paint-stained arms around your middle, his cheek resting against your shoulder. You hum, not bothering with the wet paint that stains the dark blue fabric of your gown as you wrap your arms around him. "I have been seeing visions, darling." He mumbles into your skin as you run your fingers through his curls.

"Have you now?" You murmur as you press a kiss to his forehead, making his lips turn up into a loopy smile. The most adorable sight you have seen in a while. "Mm. Colorful visions. I had to paint them as quick as I could, had to feel the smoothness of my oils on the canvas." He says, pulling back to look at you. You grin when his eyes focus on yours, one of his paint-covered hands coming to rest on your cheeks leaving a beautiful mess of blues and purples in its wake.

He studies your face for a moment longer before crawling, quite clumsily, over to a clear canvas. "Benedict?" You call softly, moving to sit next to him as you watch a beautiful image come to life on the canvas. It wasn't anything, but at the same time, there was something so divine about how he is painting.

After about an hour he stops, looking up at you with that darling crooked smile. "Look, Y/n. It is you. How I see you." He whispers, resting his head on your shoulder. You smile and look down at the mess of colors for a moment, believing that this canvas full of swirls might truly be how your husband looks at you in this state. "It is stunning, my love." You murmur, pressing a kiss to his brow before returning your attention to the painting. "Shall I explain it to you?" He slurs, his attention solely on you.

You hum and nod, returning your attention back to him. He smiles giddily, laying back and pulling you on top of him. "It is as if... I tried to capture a dream." He slurs, pressing his lips to your nose. "A whisper of our love, tangled in colors and chaos. This mess of lines and splashes, it is you and me, dancing through the storms and the sunbeams. It is...it is us." He stumbles, weaving paint-streaked fingers through your hair. Even in his most inebriated moments, he never ceases to take your breath away.

With a wavering smile and glassy eyes, he gestures to the canvas, his voice thick with emotion, "You see, my love, it is as if you are my guardian angel. This painting...it is not just colors. It is you. You are in every swirl, every splash...." He grins, watching your eyes shimmer with tears. "You are the light in the chaos, guiding me, saving me from myself. Each stroke is like your touch, soft but powerful, keeping me safe, lifting me higher. It is a tribute to you, my protector, my guiding star. My love, my guardian angel." He mumbles, and you break.

Tears begin rolling down your cheeks and you bury your face into his neck, making him laugh, his hands smearing paint up and down the back of your gown as he tries to comfort you. "You need not be saved from yourself, Benedict." You whisper after a moment, pulling back and wiping your eyes. "My God, if only you could see yourself as beautifully as I see you." You whisper, pulling him up into a sitting position. "Y/n... I have only ever needed saving from myself." He slurs, though even through his inebriation you can sense the deep sadness that lingers somewhere deep within his soul.

"You are the most remarkable man I have ever known, and I am utterly captivated by every part of you—your brilliance, your kindness, your passion. To me, you are perfect, even in your moments of doubt and struggle." You whisper, cupping his cheeks. "You are my world, and I am here to stand by you through every storm." You vow, brushing away the tears that have spilled down his cheeks with your thumbs.

"My Y/n." He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours as he sniffles. "My Benedict." You return, sitting on his lap as his arms encircle your waist. You shift his head into the crook of your neck and allow him to cry for a moment, rocking him side to side as he does. He rarely ever shows this kind of emotion. In a way it is comforting, to know that the man you married still feels just as intensely as he did when you were first wed. You press a kiss to his head and he nuzzles your neck.

You sit with him on the floor of his studio for about an hour, and when he finally calms down you help him to the master bedroom. He falls back on the bed without even a sound of protest, moving his arms so you can help him undress. You grin and bend down, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you unbutton his shirt. Once it is off, you move onto his trousers. Then, when he is completely bare, you tuck his already sleeping form into bed.

You walk into the closet, laying his paint-stained clothes out on the chair for the maids to collect in the morning before changing into a nightgown yourself. Once you are ready for bed, you crawl in next to your husband, combing your fingers through his hair and watching as he smiles in his sleep. You wish that he will remember every word of what you said in the morning, but the logical part of you knows that he will not. Even so, you shall keep saying the things you did tonight until he believes them. You close your eyes, falling into a slumber right next to him, your fingers still curled into his hair.

He wakes far before you do at the crack of dawn, a usual occurrence when he has overindulged. He groans, rubbing a hand over his aching forehead. He cannot remember getting into bed or the events that transpired before he did, though he remembers bits and pieces. The image of the deep blue gown you came home wearing, the way your hair fell around your shoulders when he ran his hands through it, the sparkle of tears in your eyes...

He sighs, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, his eyes immediately drifting over to your sleeping figure. He grins at the image before him. You look like an angel, sleeping on your stomach with your hair sprawled against your back and your lips parted ever so slightly. His grin only widens when you let out a soft sigh in your sleep, your eyebrows furrowing. He hums as he bends down, kissing down the notches of your spine.

You wake at the tingly feeling it sends through your body, grinning at the warmth that blooms in your chest. "Good morning." He murmurs from above you, brushing your hair out of your face just as you open your eyes. "Good morning." You whisper back, your hand coming up to rest over his. He looks heavenly, the morning light from the windows behind him making him look like a God. "You are positively beautiful in the morning, Ben." You hum as you stretch out, and he laughs. "No more beautiful than you, my heart." He returns, taking you into his arms and pulling you up to a sitting position.

You smile as he sits you in his lap, your arms settling loosely around his neck. "Do you remember anything about last night?" You murmur and he shakes his head, stroking your hair. "Just bits and pieces, I suppose." He hums, yawning as you press a kiss to his forehead. "You made a beautiful painting and then made me cry with your explanation." You smile and he laughs, brushing his nose against yours. "I am happy to know that my poetic tendencies do not fade when I am intoxicated." He grins and you giggle. "If anything they only grow stronger." You return, closing your eyes as the two of you lean on each other.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you decide to bring up the second part of last night. "You also expressed some insecurities, Ben. Like you always do." You whisper as you open your eyes. His eyes meet yours and he sighs, pulling back to rest his chin upon your head. "You need not worry about me, my love" He murmurs and you shake your head, pulling back and cupping your cheeks. "I do need to worry about you, Benedict. You are my husband. The man I am so hopelessly enamored with, the man I adore even when he is mumbling gibberish on the floor of his studio." You whisper.

He averts his gaze to your lap, playing with your fingers. "I said something foolish when I was intoxicated, Y/n. It is truly not worrisome. I do it often." He mumbles. "You said you needed saving from yourself, that is incredibly worrisome." You whisper and he sighs, looking up at you. "What if I am not enough?" He asks suddenly, and your eyes widen. "Whatever do you mean?" You breathe and he shrugs. "Just that. What if I am not enough, for you? What if you wake up one day and realize that I am a man with no purpose who creates silly paintings in his studio all day?" He asks.

"Benedict. You mustn't say that." You whisper, getting teary. When he begins to speak, you shake your head bringing him closer. "When I look at you, I see a man of incredible talent, passion, and depth. Your paintings are not silly; they are a reflection of your soul, a testament to your creativity and the beauty you see in the world. Each brushstroke is a piece of your heart, and I am in awe of the masterpieces you create. Every single one." You whisper, running your thumb along his cheekbone. He gives you a wobbly smile as he tries not to cry.

"But beyond your art, it is you—your kindness, your compassion, your strength, and your gentle spirit—that I cherish most. You give my life meaning and fill my days with joy and love. Your presence is a gift, and I am eternally grateful for every moment we share. I adore you more than any star in the sky. My love, you mustn't doubt that my love for you will never ebb." You continue and he smiles through tears as you pepper his face with kisses. You stay like that for a while, his forehead resting against your shoulder as you let him cry.

"It seems I married a woman who is just as poetic as I." He whispers after a long while, making you burst out in laughter. He pulls back with a crooked grin, peppering your face with kisses now. "My love, my light...." He whispers.

"How I adore you, my guardian angel." He murmurs.

[thebunnyslibrary]

Movement

summary. You are the visiting princess of a kingdom in need. Instead, Loki will come to the aid of your needs. Having been searching for an element of sweetness for a spell, he finds himself drawn to you, especially when he senses a dark aura shielding your true self.

characters. Loki x Plus Size!Reader

word count. 7.4k

warnings. Asshole Parents, Death of a Sibling, Fatphobia, Dirty Talk, Use of Magic for Bondage

Masterlist

It was yet another frustrating day for Loki. He’d been trying for weeks to perfect a new spell, but for the life of him he couldn’t determine what the issue was.

The recipe in the tomes called for an element of sweetness. He’d tried every sweet element he could think of from every realm, but nothing worked. And now there was this visitation from an allied kingdom to deal with. Dawning his helmet, he took his step on the dais, next to his brother and behind his mother.

                “Everything alright Loki?” Frigga asked.

                “No worse than usual. Just a finicky spell.” Loki replied.

                “I noticed my supplies were disappearing faster than I was using them.”

                “My apologies, mother. I’ve been searching for an element of sweetness and cannot figure out exactly what the spell needs.”

                Frigga smiled a knowing smile and gave Loki’s hand a squeeze before resuming her royal stature. Loki glanced at Thor, who still looked fairly hungover from the previous evening’s rabblerousing revelries; despite it being long past the morning hour. Loki rolled his eyes and resumed his stoic-ness to prepare for the visitors.

                A visiting king and queen were appearing before the All-Father. He knew not why, only that they needed help with their daughter. Loki knew nothing about her. Nobody seemed to have anything to say besides 'Her eyes are nice.' He was half expecting her to just be a giant eyeball. Far stranger creatures had walked the halls of Asgard.

What he was not expecting was the goddess who entered the great hall behind her parents, looking only at the floor. Her rubenesque figure had Loki's hands clenching into fists at the thought of her thighs wrapped around his head. But Loki also sensed a dark, sad energy. This girl carried a true heartache, but why? Loki could not resist looking inside her mind.

Smile. Stand straight. Don't speak unless spoken too.  You repeated all this to yourself while trying to make yourself smaller; not an easy feat to do with your wide hips and round tummy. Your parents were the king and queen and it was your duty as a princess to represent the future of your kingdom. Especially after the reputation your older brother had set.

He'd deserted the throne, choosing instead a life of debauchery, opium, and in the end, crime. 2 years ago, news had arrived that your brother, the once crown prince, was found dead in a tavern; leaving you the only child of the throne. Now, with your parents growing older, there was talk amongst the kingdom of what would happen when their reign ended.

Your father and Odin spoke for some time, with Odin expressing condolences for your brother and your father explaining the depth of your kingdom's now precarious situation. But your father was not entirely truthful, choosing instead to weave a story of how your brother died heroically in battle.

"All-Father. We seek your council. We have always been good allies, a healthy tradeship, and now… we seek the hand of one of your sons for my daughter. To carry on our legacy." You looked between the two princes. Prince Thor, who seemed only half paying attention and had barely glanced his eyes at you before your father’s request, was now eyeing you with distaste; something you were used to.

The other prince, though, his face was set and his eyes were calculative, planning. But something about him seemed to draw you in; Almost in a warm and comforting way. You knew less about the younger prince, but you felt connected to him, if only because of his position as the second child. You wondered what his reaction to you is…

A husband?? For you??? Loki's heart raced at the thought. Surely your parents would most likely want Thor. Loki turned to the great oaf who was looking at you like a bug beneath his boot.

Loki however, couldn't help admiring you like art. He kept his face controlled and regal like a proper prince, but inside he felt something drawing him towards you. Maybe it was the sadness he felt coming from you. Your face was very neutral but he could feel an aura of sadness around you. But something was looking to escape; Loki could not determine what, only that it made him feel lighter than air.  Loki turned to Odin, awaiting his decision.

"And what does she have to say?" The All-Father asked, inviting you to speak for yourself for the first time since you’d entered the hall. His question surprised you, but your father beckoned you forward; a stern look on his face, reminding you not to say anything stupid.

"I want…what is best for my kingdom" You said, speaking the truth. There were many other things you wanted. You wanted to spend your days drawing, painting, reading, indulging in all of life's pleasures, as you believed all in the kingdom who wish to do so should be. And you weren't dumb by any means, you could easily engage in conversation for hours about literature and philosophy, even policy. But still your parents believed you were not disciplined enough to rule. Especially not with how people talked about you, particularly your figure.

Your mother and father were not exactly small people, and somehow their genetics had combined to give you broader everything, hips, waist, though not as much your chest. This all meant you often drew comments about selfishness; especially with your parents ever increasing taxes.

You truly wanted what was best for your people. And your parents decided this was it. To marry a strong king whom your parents trusted to rule the kingdom while you played the role of silent wife.

The All Father considered you a moment before nodding "Very well. I would like your daughter to stay here in Asgard for a week and allow my sons to court her. So long as everything goes well, a marriage will be arranged." Hearing this, your parents were overjoyed, holding each other closely; but not looking at you.

"Oh thank you All Father!" your father cried. Odin stood up, declaring "Tonight, we will celebrate with a banquet." You froze.

Oh no. Not a banquet. A loud noisy party with too much food. You swallowed your dread as your mother said to you.

“Come, we’ll get you dressed.”  You looked back to the younger prince before you exited the great hall, seeing what looked like a smirk playing at his lips.

As soon as the doors closed, Loki had a sudden spark of inspiration in the back of his head. Even though your parents did not see, he'd seen your eyes light up, and the darkness around you flashed…green.

“And where are you off to, my son?” Frigga asked.

“To prepare for banquet, of course.” Loki replied mischievously.

An hour or so later, you were tucked into a slightly ill-fitting purple dress, a corset making you appear somewhat thinner and pushing your chest up (though nothing hid your voluptuous behind). Your mother did her best to comfort you, but she was still in mourning of your brother. Her moods fluctuated between looking through you and criticizing you. Tonight unfortunately, she’d chosen to criticize.  

“There will be a lot of food tonight. Remember you do not need to sample anything.”

Your father also took his chance to get a few harsh words in “You may not be able to reel in Prince Thor but the younger son would work too. I’ve heard he’s smart. And strategic.”

“What is his name?” you asked.

“I don’t remember.” Typical of your father, never remembering the details. “I will advise you to be wary though. The younger prince is a master of magic, I’m not sure whether it for bad or good.”

“Stop fidgeting.” Your mother said as she smoothed out your dress, trying to hide anything she deemed ‘too fat.’

“The maids said he had a nickname…Silver Tongue? They said it’s because he is…well, charming.”

“The maids are a bunch of whores and gossips.” Your father said, rolling his eyes. “They call him Silver Tongue because he is a master manipulator. So keep your wits about you. …what little you have. Now, be down in the banquet hall in 25 minutes.”

Your mother gave you one sympathetic pat on the shoulder before they left you alone with your thoughts.

Once again you’d been fooled and your father made you feel like you were mentally incompetent. It wasn’t really your fault though, you just wanted to try to make friends and couldn’t tell when someone was deceiving you. It came from your good-natured heart.  But Loki, there was something about him that made you want to truly open up. You wondered where he was, how he was preparing for what you were sure was going to be a disaster of a night.

Loki looked around corner into the kitchen; and the only person there was the head cook, stirring away at some pot for the banquet, muttering about how Odin would throw something like this on her at the last minute. Perfect, so focused on her own issues she never saw Loki sneak up behind her and wave his hand, opening up her mind to suggestion.

“My prince, is there something I can do for you?” She asked him, a faint green glow in her eyes.

“Yes actually. I believe that extravagant chocolate cake of yours would be a perfect desert choice for tonight. Don’t you agree?” Loki said.

“Of course, my prince.

“Oh, and make sure this makes its way into the princess’s serving.” Loki handed her a small green bottle. A concoction of his own brewing.

“Of course, my prince”

“One last thing, forget I was ever here.”

                The cook blinked and she was alone in the kitchen, with no memory of the last few moments. All she knew was she had to get to work on chocolate cake for the banquet. And ensure wherever this potion had come from, it was in the princess’ dessert.

The banquet looked immaculate, given the last-minute plans. Banners of your kingdom had been hung alongside those of Asgard, hoping to bring good luck to a potential union. And as you’d dreaded, the food all looked so exquisite and tempting.

                Asgardian diet was very protein and fat heavy. Meats, cheeses, mead. There were more grapes in the wine being served than physically on the table. There were a few lighter options, but they were more meant as palette cleansers than actual food. You’d taken the smallest serving of meat and potatoes possible, but your stomach growled and your mouth watered at the delicious sights and smells; longing to partake in every one of them.  The food was certainly the highlight of the banquet so far.

                You’d danced with Thor before dinner, though he barely engaged you in conversation. He had asked about your kingdom, but when you’d started to talk about the kingdom’s people and the cultures, Thor rudely interrupted to know about your country’s resources, their exports, and you clammed up. Thankfully the dance ended there, saving you from having to answer.

While you knew the country’s resources, you believed more in the sharing of cultures, rather than just buying and selling of things. You couldn’t even enjoy the feeling his strong arms around you because he moved you with no care, as if loading a cart.

                After dinner was dessert and then you were supposed to dance with the other prince. He hadn’t come to ask you to dance yet, leaving you to sit and stare at what had to be the most amazing chocolate cake you could ever dream of. It was 3 beautiful layers of sponge with crème in between each layer and fresh raspberries on top. But you knew if you had a bite, you’d never hear the end of it from your parents.

 Somehow it seemed your piece was almost double the size of the ones of your parents, making them stare at you accusatory, but you hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t as if you’d asked for a larger piece.

                “Why, my lady, you haven’t touched your desert.” A smooth voice broke through your thoughts and you looked up into piercing green eyes. The prince was staring at you. He was dressed as he was earlier in the great hall, including his golden horned helmet and his flowing green cape.. You stared in awe at the way his helmet shined in the light. Until you realized you’d left him unanswered.

                “N-no, your highness. It’s alright though. I’m not hungry. And I owe you a dance.” You insisted.

                “Oh, princess. I wouldn’t dream of taking a woman from her desert. Especially a chocolate cake as delicious as this.” He said, temptingly. He came around the side of the table to sit in what was now an empty seat to your right. He took your hand and brought your knuckles to his lips, making sure to meet your eyes so you could see the fire burning in them. “Prince Loki, at your service.” You gave him yours, feeling your face heat up as he repeated it back to you, rolling off his tongue like poetry.

                He picked up one of the golden forks, and taking a generous sized bite.

                “You…you’re going to feed me?” you asked, astonished.

                “I am at your service, after all.” When you didn’t react, still hearing your mother’s voice in your head. He took a kinder smile, his eyes softening. “Entertain me one bite, princess. I simply have to the see the look on that face when you indulge in …something sweet.”

                Loki was watching your face indeed, and your aura. He knew if you took one bite of the cake, the potion he’d mixed would release your inhibitions and you would be your true self, the self that Loki was dying to meet behind your beautiful eyes and bountiful curves.

                You looked around, seeing your parents were busy talking to the All Father and Mother.

                “I suppose one bite would be alright.” And you weren’t sure you could deny Loki, the name was different to you but it seemed playful and fun, certainly as much as the man looking at you now. He hadn’t asked you a single question, hadn’t even asked for his dance but was instead urging you to…have cake? You opened your mouth and he slipped the fork between your lips.

The taste was anything far better than you’d imagined. The cake was made with rich Asgardian chocolate that legend said was the aphrodisiac used to conceive the gods. The sponge of the cake itself was pillowy soft. While the tartness of the raspberry managed to cut through all the sugar to compliment the edge of bitterness that gave way to a sweet aftertaste as the silky frosting melted in your mouth. You couldn’t stop the moan that let loose from your lips.  

                You covered your mouth in shock. “Please, forgive me your highness. That was highly inappropriate.”

                “Perish the thought darling. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I certainly did.” Loki said. You looked at him confused. Surely he was jesting? “Come, I believe I’ll have that dance now.”

The feeling of Loki’s arms was much different than that of Thor’s. While Thor handled you like a bag of flower, Loki held you with great care. Making you feel safe and secure. While not as bulky as his brother, Loki seemed to possess a different kind of strength. One meant to fight to defend, not necessarily attack.

                A sweet soft song filled the room as the musicians began to play. You’d never considered yourself a dancer, always worried what someone would say of your form. But now, with Loki, you felt like a leaf drifting in the wind. With Loki leading, you felt free to just enjoy yourself in the movement.

                “I suppose you want to talk about my kingdom’s resources? Thor certainly did.” You said.

                “Believe me I am nothing like my brother.” You could relate to that. “And you don’t seem all that interested in talking about resources, though.” He looked at you inquisitively. And though your instincts ordered you to clam up and nod, you couldn’t help yourself from saying

                “No, I believe we should use our resources to help our less fortunate. Keep some to trade as needed, but I believe we should exchange cultures, not currency, first.” You froze in disbelief; you couldn’t even imagine how stupid you sounded.

                “I agree.” Loki’s velvet voice shook you from your self-doubting. “Royalty must think of the people; otherwise they’re likely to lead a short rule with a bloody end.”

                “Something my family has had to re-learn; for example, ignoring a kingdom to focus on one royal member.” Despite your newfound willingness to keep talking, you did give pause when the conversation started to shift to your brother.

                Loki sensed your usual instinct weighing out his potion and decided to change the subject. “I completely understand. Tell me about your kingdom instead.”

                “We were once a society that valued great art.” You explained, wistfully.

                “Once? No longer?” Loki inquired.

                “No; our kingdom has unfortunately turned selfish and judgmental, choosing to value a high standard of beauty, not just passion and creation for passion and creation’s sake.” Your angers and frustrations flowed so willingly; despite the years of repression your parents had forced on you.

                “I see.” Loki pulled you closer to him. You two were quiet for a minute, letting you admire his face. You knew plenty about his eyes; sparkling like a thousand emeralds in a dragon’s hoard. But now you were close, you could see the pink plushness of his lips, the angular jaw of his chin, and you could feel his inky black hair tickling your fingers as you moved your hand up his back slightly. Not to mention the solid muscle you felt underneath his fine Asgardian leather.

“It’s such a pity that a kingdom who cannot see beauty when it’s right in front of them.” He certainly lived up to his nickname. You were sure he was just being polite, playing his part as royal prince. “Tell me, princess, do you value great art?” His question caught you off guard.

                “I-I certainly do. In fact, one reason I was excited to come to Asgard was to see the great gallery.”

                “Perhaps you will allow me to give you a tour of them?” he offered.

                “Allow? Your highness, it is my understanding that you are to be in charge.”

                “And it is my understanding; that I am far more interested in what you want, princess. And I’ll hope you want to call me by my name. It sounds so lovely coming from your luscious lips.”

                “Y-Yes Loki.”

                “Good girl.” Those two words; you’d read them plenty of times in the books you squirreled away from the royal library (grateful that the elderly librarian was your confidant). But you’d never dreamed that someone, especially someone as handsome and with a voice like Loki’s would actually say them to you. Hearing them sent a shiver down your spine that settled in your core, making you clench your thighs.

                “Are you an artist yourself, princess?” Loki asked, carrying on as if nothing happened. But he knew, Your aura was glowing a brilliant bright green. You were his element of sweetness.

                “I…I do like to paint sometimes. But I’m not very good.” You admitted, finally finding your voice again.

                “I’m sure they are lovely, princess. Even so, if you enjoy something, good or bad does not matter. Only that you have enjoyed it and put yourself into it. That is what makes ‘good’ art. I’d certainly love to see it.”

                Loki’s words were a far cry than what you’d always heard. People mocked your art, believing it childish and unprofessional.

                “What else do you enjoy?” he asked.

                “Well, I read.”

                “What exactly do you read, princess?” Loki asked with a waggle of eye brows that had you giggling like a school girl.

                “Poetry, preferably. But anything and everything I can. At least when I am able.” You caught your mother’s eye across the room and though she looked approving, she still gestured at you to keep your smile “gentle” as she called in, meaning not too big. Your smile faltered and Loki noticed, as well as the reason why. In an attempt to re-lift your spirits, he said

                “Well, I shall have to show you the library on that tour as well.” His voice sounding genuine and full of promise.

The song ended and Loki escorted you back to your seat, pressing his lips back to your hand one more time.

                Your mother took your other hand and squeezed it lovingly, seeming proud that you had somehow managed to intrigue Loki; which also left yourself in a slight state of disbelief. You weren’t quite sure how’d you’d done it, but all you knew was that you were craving more of his touch and presence.

                Loki had left you, not by choice but nature called even to royal princes. As he returned to the dining hall, he made eye contact with you instantly; and was more than delighted to see you rise, say a few words to your mother and start to come towards him. But his mood changed as Thor moved into his field of vision

“Loki I’m surprised. You cannot be genuinely interested in that princess, can you?”

“And why would that be, brother?” Loki replied, his voice tense on the last word.

“Surely you see her Loki? She’s not worthy of being a queen. A queen has to present a beautiful image to her people and she’s…not.  I suppose if you were king you could take a consort. Or perhaps a COW-nsort.” Thor said, starting to laugh boisterously at his own joke. Loki was going to brush Thor aside when he saw you standing right behind the brute, and knew that you had heard every word. Your aura, which had been shining brilliantly green when Loki had left you, returned a dim grey. Even though your face showed no reaction.

Loki however, reacted before he could stop himself, drawing his arm back and landing a solid blow to Thor’s face, knocking him back and onto the floor. All eyes were now on the scene; including your parents, who were looking at you accusingly and you wished the floor would just swallow you up.

                Instead, you felt Loki grabbing your hand.

                “Come with me, princess.” Before you could say a word, he was pulling you out of the banquet hall and through the corridors of the palace until he pulled you into corner. Now that you were alone, the last few moments finally caught up with you.

“Loki, you punched your brother.”

“Trust me, it is taking all my strength not to go back and doing it several more times. And a few other things.”

“But why? I’ve heard far worse about me.” You explained and Loki’s eyes seemed to fill with sadness hearing this before they lit up with an idea.

“Would you like to see my garden?”

“What?”

“Would you like to see my garden? It might be best if I hide for a little bit considering what I’ve done and my garden is the most secret place in the whole palace…except maybe my mother’s.” You could hear what sounded like guards coming towards you and nodded quickly. Loki took your hands and you felt a warm gust of wind blow over you.

When you opened your eyes, you were not standing at a garden but at the edge of a forest. Loki waved his hands and the trees seem to part.

“My garden has a secret entrance at the end of this pathway. I could have teleported us directly, but it is such a lovely night. I was sure the moonlight would make you look even more beautiful.” He offered you his hand and feeling as if you were in a dream, took it and allowed him to take you down the road. The full moon overhead cast everything in a dim light, along with some bioluminescent plants, bathing the scene in a romantic mood.  You couldn’t believe it; things like this didn’t happen to you.

Along the way, Loki continued to ask about your passions and interests, Even when you rambled too much about your favorite books, or at least what someone else might’ve called talking too much, Loki hung on your every word. And you in turn were intrigued by his stories of Asgard, answering every one of your questions, even if he had to pause his story to do so, but showed no annoyance.

Finally, you two came to a large clearing. In it were all varieties of flowers in a rainbow of colors; including a group of roses that grew in an actual rainbow. The flowers emitted such a strong aroma that it made your hear feel light as a feather. Several small bushes bore exotic fruits and what appeared to be an herb garden caught your eye. A small hut sat next to a river at the far end of the clearing.

 “I built a small workshop out here for when I need to get away from the palace to research magic.” You came to a beautiful wooden bench at the edge of a river, with lavendar growing along banks. The bench itself was surrounded by glowing flowers and it seemed to have formed between two trees. The backside was carved intricately with Asgardian designs and runes.

                “Come, sit.” Loki offered you a seat which you gladly took, admiring the breathtaking view. Before Loki sat, he removed his cape and wrapped it around you, leaving his arm over shoulders. He waved his hand and a beautiful golden rose grew up towards you. A small gasp in awe passed through your lips as Loki smiled.

“Tell me, darling what would you do if you were the queen?” Loki asked you.

“What does that have to do with defending me?” you asked In return.

                “Well, would you not expect your husband to defend your honor?” That last word took you aback.

                “I suppose but…”

                “So, what you do if you were queen?” And you paused for a moment, never having given a lot of thought, because you thought it would never be.

                “I don’t know. Make sure the people were happy?”

                “How would you do that?”

                “Let people do what they want, so long as they’re not hurting each other and the kingdom is not in flames.” You shrugged half-heartedly.

                “And what would you do to punish those who were hurting other people?” There you had pause. You wanted to be fair and just; wanted to take care of your citizens. But you knew there were people like your brother out there; those who would hurt just for harm’s sake, no matter how anyone tried to help.

                “I’m not sure, honestly. I suppose the obvious answer is jail, but it’s more complicated.” You sighed. “It’s always more complicated.”

                “You speak from experience?” Loki asked. The pause was pregnant. You could reveal the truth now, but would it bring shame on your house as your parents worried? 

                “My brother. The story my parents told is not entirely true. He is dead, but not from battle. From a life of debauchery. He cared for nothing but his own selfishness, no matter who it harmed. Leaving me to bear so much responsibility." Loki squeezed your hand.

                “I can understand that. You might’ve noticed Thor is not exactly the most graceful.”

                “That’s putting it mildly.” You smiled weakly. Loki cupped your cheek with his hand, gently guiding you to look into his emerald eyes which gleamed in the moonlight.

                “I know my apology does not seem much in the way of things, but I want to tell you how sorry I am. Not just for Thor’s behavior, but for how life has treated you. And that I see you; And I wish to give you everything you have ever deserved. You have a thoughtful brain, a strong but warm heart, and a passion that is simply intoxicating and admittedly contagious. I want to indulge you in every of life’s pleasures.” Loki cupped your other cheek and brought his lips to yours in an amazing kiss.

                You were stunned at first, but as what you’d been thinking about all night suddenly became real, you let yourself melt into it. His kiss reminded you of the winter snows back home, brisk but it made you enjoy the warmth of his hands on your face all the more. Finally he pulled away and you could not help the tears that sprung to your eyes. Loki’s faced was instantly concerned.

                “Are you alright, pet?”

                “I am. I just…I’m convinced this is a dream. I’ve never been, wanted like this before.”

                “Does this mean you are a maiden?”       

                “Not…exactly. There was a member of father’s guard once. But he never spoke to me again afterwards. Left the guard entirely. And told all his buddies I ‘wasn’t worth it’.” Loki’s temper flared, but he focused back on you.

                “Forget about any past experiences, pet. I cannot wait to spend hours making you moan and quiver at my touch. I want to explore every inch of you with my hands…and my tongue.” He said, his voice low and raspy and you squeezed your thighs together. “Do you like that idea pet? If we were to wed, maybe I’d have you sit on my lap during court sessions. After all you do want to let people…do what they want, don’t you? So long as they’re not hurting anyone.” You bit your lip, considering the idea. It was almost as if he could read your mind. He placed a kiss to your forehead.

                “I can pet.” He said with a smirk.

                “What? For how long” You asked, covering your face in embarrassment.

                “Since you were hiding behind your parents.” Loki cupped your cheek, bringing your face back toward his.  “And I heard all your pain and heartache. But beneath it I saw a guiding hand, needly only a strong sword to wield. Or…perhaps a dagger.” Loki smirked. “If you’d like, I could be that dagger. I know Thor is destined to be All-Father, but I could settle for being a king with a beautiful queen. What do you say?”

                What did you say? You could hardly believe what he was saying. It was all too good to be true, but as you looked in his eyes, searching for any hint of malice, and finding none, decided to throw caution to the wind and you leaned in to kiss him now, wrapping your arms around him. “I say your father was right about planning a wedding.” You and Loki both chuckled.

                “It would be more proper if I sent you to bed, but I am afraid before I become king I must throw propriety to the wind at least once.”

                “You don’t seem the type to care for propriety, kinghood be damned, Loki.”

                “You’ve caught me. But that only means I will have to show you how fun being improper truly is.”

In a flash you were back in Loki’s chambers. A beautiful bedroom with a massive wooden frame and green silk sheets. There was one door that must’ve led to a bathroom; and two double doors that probably led to the rest of his space.

                “Now, I promise I did not dig too deep into your mind, darling. But I could certainly tell what you were thinking when you look at me." Loki waggled his eyebrows, and your face warmed. "I think I know exactly what you need. And if you are uncomfortable at any point, I will stop. But I think you desire someone to take charge in the bedroom. Not to control but to take care of you. Is that right, pet?”

                “Yes, please…my king.” You said, smiling sheepishly. Without warning, Loki bent down to scoop you up and throw you over his shoulder, making you gasp. “Loki! No, you can’t…”  But your words were cut off with a yelp as Loki brought his hand down upon your ass in a sharp spank.

                “Can’t what, darling?” Loki asked, incredulously.

                “P-pick me up. I’m…I’m too heavy.” You whined as Loki spanked you again.

                “I’m sorry kitten did you say something?” Loki’s tone daring you to say something else bad about yourself.

                “No, my king.” You whimpered, the blood rushing to your head making you slightly woozy.

                “Good, because if I thought you were doubting my abilities to take care of you, by say, suggesting I am not strong enough to support and love every inch of you, I might have to punish you.” You got the message from his tone and tampered down any further injections.

                “Yes, my king.”

                “Good girl.” Loki carried you over to his bed, and you certainly appreciated not just the feeling of being carried, as you’d read about in so many books but only imagined for yourself, but the great view of Loki’s backside. Since he’d shed his cloak you could see how the fine Asgardian leather clung to his back. He was not nearly as bulky as Thor was, and you were glad of it. Loki’s strength wasn’t for show, but he still made you feel safe and secure.

                You landed on his bed with a soft oof but could barely relish how soft the sheets were before your arms were tugged above your head and your ankles spread wide. But Loki wasn’t even touching you. He waggled his eyebrows playfully.

                “Did you know your king was a master of magic, pet?”

                “I had heard you had some powers…and I’d heard your nickname…Silver Tongue.” You said the last words in a hushed voice, scared of finding out people had been messing with you again.

                “Oh you have heard correctly.” And I’ve been thinking about showing you why since I first laid eyes on you” Loki crawled on the bed, making the top half of his armor disappear, leaving him only in his trousers. He was kneeling between your legs. “First, I need to see what is hidden beneath this beautiful dress. I can’t wait to see you bathed in my colors.” He waved his hand and your dress suddenly vanished. Leaving you only in your corset and silken panties.

“Fuck, you’re better than any yuletide gift.” Speaking to his metaphor from earlier, Loki summoned a dagger into his hand and slowly ran the blade up your chest, slicing off each individual button to release your flesh. The sight of the blade in his strong hand as he held it so carefully, combined with the freedom as the corset fell away you sucked in a deep breath made you try to clench your thighs. But Loki’s magic bonds held strong. 

“I promise my pet, from now own, corsets will be your choice to wear; not so you have to hide this luscious body from me.” Loki’s hands grabbed your hips, and you were half hoping he’d leave bruises, then ran over your stomach, tickling you slightly, before moving to your breasts.

                Your nipples had perked up at exposure to the air and Loki’s hands were now cold as he tweaked them into even harder peaks. “Loki…my goodness…your hands are like ice…”

                “Sorry pet, I couldn’t resist playing with you just a little bit. You’re so adorable. And there is one more thing I must confess to you. You are familiar with the frost giants of Jotunheim?”

                “Just in name only.” Loki let out a small sigh in what seemed like relief. Before your eyes, Loki’s glimmer faded for a moment, revealing blue skin with rigid marks all along his face and chest. “I too know what means to be judged by appearances.” Loki paused, scared of your silence. But his fears washed away when you spoke.

                “I only wish I were untied so I could trace every one of those markings on your chest, my king.” Your kind heart, the innocent way you looked at him, without a hint of fear or disgust. Loki could feel his magic flare and he felt something feral within him snap. He returned his Asgardian glimmer.

                “Fuck darling I have to make you mine, now.” Loki growled, pressing his face between your legs. He tongue was indeed cold as silver, but it only made you moan louder as he seemed intent his promise and explore every inch, starting with your pussy. “Your little cunt is absolutely dripping for me, pet. And you called me improper.” He resumed his ministrations, moving his tongue to circle your clit and pushing two fingers into you and curling them up, causing your hips to buck into his face

                “Someday soon, I will have to make you show me how you touch yourself, my pet. So I know how to better please my queen.”

                “Y-yes my king.” You panted out as Loki added a third finger; the utterly sinful noises coming from between your legs were only driving your arousal further. Not only did Loki seem determined to make you cum, but to make an art out of it.

                “Good girl, pet. You will have two thrones. One in public,” He grinned wolfishly at you, green eyes flashing with power. “and one in our chambers.”

                “Uhm-I don’t…I don’t think…” Loki’s other hand smacked your clit hard, making you cry out.

                “If you can still think about denying me, or worse, INSULTING what is mine…I clearly haven’t done my job right.” Loki growled as he withdrew his fingers from you, making you clench around nothing. He brought his fingers his lips and made a show of lewdly slurping your juices off them. “Oh yes, far sweeter than anything I have tasted in my lifetime.”

Loki leaned down to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You were amazed at how powerful and confident his kiss made you feel. It was almost like you could feel his magic flowing through you. And it was driving you crazy with want. Especially with the way Loki was rolling his hips against yours.  He moaned into the kiss. “You can feel my energy can’t you, my powers? That’s you, My sweet little pet.”

“Wha- what do you mean?” your head was swimming in pleasure you’d never experienced before and here was Loki speaking in riddles.

“You’re the final piece to my latest spell, my element of sweetness.”

“What spell?”

“To make my siedr stronger; allowing me do things like keep you pinned to this bed and much more. There’s a spark inside of you that I’ve been able to draw out.”

“I have…magic?” you asked

                “Not exactly, pet. But you make a wonderful conductor. And I know what’ll the sparks really fly.” His lips found yours in a kiss that made you understand true passion. Your toes were curling and you were pressing your body against his as much as you could against his magic bonds.

                “Whatever your heart desires, it is yours pet. I shall pluck every star from the heavens, raze any planet to ash, I am your dagger, my queen. Wield me at your command.” Loki promised, his voice heavy and lustful.

                “Loki, please…fuck me.” You whimpered out, his words, the feeling of his cock grinding against your cunt, it was all so overwhelming and you were beginning to feel like you needed him like you needed oxygen.

                “Since you begged so sweetly.” With a wave of his hand, his trousers were gone. You gasped when you saw his cock. It was twice the size the guard’s had been, and far thicker. Dribbles of pre-cum ran down the side. You found yourself licking your lips, having never been a fan of the act before, now you were imagining Loki using your throat to warm his cock while sitting upon a throne.

                “Another time, pet.” Loki chuckled. “Right now, I must claim you as mine.” He leaned in to kiss you again as he pushed his cock inside you. He moved slowly at first, gently rolling his hips and allowing you to adjust to him. When he pulled his lips away, your heavy breaths turned to moans as you relished in the feeling of him. It was far better than your fingers had ever been able to reach and when he finally bottomed out, Loki used his thumb to rub small circles around your clit, making your pussy clench around him.

                “Oh my pet, you feel so warm and perfect around my cock. Like you were made for me. Made to be my beautiful queen, and my slutty fucktoy.” Suddenly he grinned and his eyes flashed with an idea… “In fact…” He snapped his fingers and your shoulders felt instant relief as you were able to move your arms; but only for a moment as Loki leaned down to grab your wrists in each hand. Before you could question him, you found yourself being turned over so you were looking down at loki now. “Now, my sweet little toy. Bounce for me.”  

Your wrists were tugged behind your back again by his magic, leaving Loki’s hands free to fondle your curves. When you didn’t move, he gave your waist a playful pinch. “I said, bounce, little rabbit.”

                “But won’t I…hurt you? I mean, I’ve never had a partner want me in their lap cause I know I’m…” your words were cut off by Loki squeezing your cheeks. He brought his face so close to yours you could smell your cunt on his breath when he spoke.

 “My gorgeous, beautiful, queen; If I hear another word from these perfectly plump lips that is detrimental to your shapely figure; I shall be forced to keep you bound to my bed until you can’t remember a single thing but your own pleasure. Is that understood?”

                “Y-yes, my king.” You said, not sure whether you were more scared of his threat, or how pleasurable the idea sounded.

                “Now, I believe I gave you a command, little bunny.” Loki reminded you, pressing a surprising chaste kiss to your cheek before resuming his hands’ ministrations.

                You slowly started rocking your hips to move up and down. The position wasn’t easy on your knees, but when your clit brushed against the hard chisel of Loki’s body, nothing else mattered. Loki kept one hand on your hip to help guide you while the other rolled your nipples between his fingers pulling every now and then and making you grind down on him hard.

                “That’s it, my pet. I shall show you how to walk the edge between pain and pleasure.” His hips were rising to meet yours as he chased his own pleasure. “Your quim is perfectly fit for my cock; and you are a true call to motion. I will have to have you painted like this.” His words were poetry that only drove you towards your climax faster.

                “Loki…my king…I need to…”

                “Yes, yes my pet! Cum for me and feel me filling you up. The first of many times to…come.” He said before his own orgasm grabbed hold of him; contorting his angelic face in pleasure while crying out your name and pushing his hips up, somehow forcing his cock even deeper within you.

                You swore you were seeing genuine stars behind your eyes as your climax crashed down over you. You could feel Loki’s cum inside you and running down your thighs as he rutted into you a few times, riding out his own orgasm. When you both were stilled, your arms came free and you were able to let yourself fall onto his chest.

                Loki’s arms engulfed you and he held you close to his chest. Your mind raced as your finger absently minded drew shapes on his chest.

                “Pet, I promised I wouldn’t read your mind, but I still can hear the thoughts twisting around.” He placed a kiss on your forehead before using his index finger lifted your chin to meet his eyes. “What troubles you?”

                “I just…I have never been the chosen favorite, the one actively pursued, But the way you look at me… I suppose I still worry that the rug will be pulled from beneath me.”

                “Oh my pet, When you move, I could never define all that you are to me. You are the rite of movement. When you move, I move. And your movements drive me to do impossible things, all for you.” Loki promised with another passionate kiss.

                “Rest now, darling. When we wake; we will have a wedding to planned.” He drew you in and you considered his words. When you move, I move. You smiled, allowing the truth of Loki’s devotion to you to wash over like the ocean and you resolved to be as devoted to him.

                “Yes, my king.”

[1eoness]

CHANGE.

cw: re4remake leon... just a lil more rude than usual. covers very sensitive topics: theft and surrogate prostitution (not mentioned), SUPERRR NOT CANON.

nsfw cw: DUBCON i think? (always practice safe and consensual sex) (slight-enemy smut idfk) dom!re4remake leon kennedy x sub! fem/afab-reader. size kink, creampie?? spit kink?? squirting?? mild degradation, pet names, feminine terms... straight up porn tbh i dont even know BRUHH WTFI DONT EVEN KNOW THE THINGS I WRITE

[to clarify, i am a minor (17). anyone <17 and anyone >17 uncomfortable with interacting pls dni]

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

synopsis :

your job is simple. as long as you exploit and delude the men at the top of the social pyramid, ada sponsored you with her safety and training. though, your naivete made it easy for ada to convince you that you weren't just some dirty pawn stationed in a particular estate—which happens to be leon's next mission area.

when he encounters you to perform your arrest, leon prays to any god up there that he has the patience not to mess you over for turning into the person you've become today.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

"— just listen to me, damn it!" leon scolded as he tugged onto the metal that strung your cuffed wrists together, cutting your retorts off with your abrupt grit of pain. your insistence of denying his chances without hearing him out made you more irritable than you already were. "you have no idea what you're carrying. you're gonna start a fucking epidemic if you take that anywhere near ada, you understand?"

it was understandable. you were carrying a formula. some unethical, potent 'opium' derived from a variant of the t-virus. freshly baked by some ex-umbrella geeks, it was marketed to be an effective drug, planned to be distributed to some sort of paramilitary in spain to modify their strength to inexplicable heights (which was proved to be false, yet some arrogant virologists insisted it had potential, so unethical 'scientists' wanted to get their hands on improving it). that's all you know about it, anyway.

leon's true nature behind his words rooted from the fact that he was fucking worried for you and it's not only because of the position that ada put you in right now. that enigmatic woman, treating you like some guinea pig and you couldn't even see it. it surprised leon that you were even alive.

leon knew you way before ada discovered you in that dark junction, before you dropped out of police academy without a word and went back to your old ways of 'getting through life'.

leon was your role model. he was the first one to make friends with you while you stood 'incompetent' in that academy.

but people dug their eyes in you because of your history. all it takes is a few facebook searches and some names for the other fellow cadets to define you using your past. and when the awareness rose to leon, he was the first one to defend you.

the eidetic memory of you; you were sat on a hall bench with his jacket hung loosely over your dropping shoulders, gripping an unopened water bottle that turned lukewarm. your fingers felt numb from the tremors of anxiety, and the broodingly saddened look in your eyes.

he was knelt in front of his dear friend, trying to reassure you that people can change, and you were already making those efforts. his thumbs held your palms when with a serious tone, encouraged you into promising him that you will never change; because you are a sweet girl and you never deserved to be shamed for something you thought was your survival. within this promise, he also promised you that as long as you kept your self-faith you will never go back to what you hated being. you should've seen how genuine his smile look when you chuckled sheepishly, the flush on your cheeks earning a double reasoning.

and now, it pained him more to realize that he regrets not making another promise, one he held back from saying that night. don't leave him.

a very selfish, unwarranted yet passionate part of him believes that you'd been so cruel to him, abandoning him like that. and now you want to leave again?

now you're being reprimanded by the cop who you looked at like he was a hero.

where was the bright cadet in those eyes, the one that looked up to him?

and it was just great of you to articulate further on how much he underestimated your stubbornness."i'm slowing you down. if it's not me (who will escort the sample), it's gonna be ada. you thought she was a one-man job? that you can somehow negotiate with her because you guys fucked once? my god, have you ever changed?-" out of being so naive? but the words don't follow because he knows you were going to say it.

leon's hand slid from your back to grip harshly at the back collar of your shirt, lifting your chest up from the table abruptly. he locked eyes with you, hidden tension bubbling the air like odorless toxins. he scoffs, and his low voice turned deliberate as he tried to spell the irony out for you. "ada. doesn't. work with people. she uses them, and you're not some 'special exception'."

and it's true, he knows it all too well..

"she uses... people like you." you were quick to correct him indignantly with a struggling breath. leon knew nothing about you and ada. ada was like a big sister to you. she taught you what you couldn't learn at police academy. she understood where you came from, and she knows the lowest moments in your life. but leon knew all of that too, didn't he?

"you know why?"

he scoffs. "enlighten me." and there was a subtle increase of tightness in his grip, eyes narrowing down at your bent-over body in anticipation.

"'cause you're a fuck up, kennedy."

upon hearing your quips, he thought maybe he should add a small noise of pain to it, because he flushed you further against the surface with a force that hinted irritation. he had enough of this pointless hissing. "listen, y'little bitch..." he gruffed with the mere frustration surging his voice. he's probably never addressed a woman like that, but oh, how people can shift within the span of their emotion. "you have the sample, now tell me where it is. and if you have it, then you know what to do."

leon wasn't confident that you had the item on you, knowing ada was most likely using you as a decoy. he didn't want to hurt you. even if you've looked like you've changed; to him, you haven't..

of course you were holding the "formula", leon was just dumb enough to think you actually had it on you. your eyes fluttered before you laughed emptily in heavy breaths, peeking over your shoulder whilst he did not let up on you. your torso was starting to fucking hurt. but so was your pride. "then come get it, rookie." you baited.

you ignited an internal burn he didn't even know he had. one that reached the peak of its abrasion.

"..fuck you." he growled inaudibly before you yelped, feet off the ground. and fuck ada, too.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

if you were gonna keep acting like a brat, he was going to fuck you like one.

his hand came behind your head, locking your hair in a tight grip while you felt his tongue glide against yours in a messy kiss. an overwhelming amount of affectionate frustration surged as he propped you up firmer on that desk. he ate your whines as he tired your damp mouth out, the rising feeling of grudge-rooted sexual frustration pining somewhere inside him hotly.

"why do you hate me so much, mmm?" he gasped quietly for a breath, his hand letting go of your hair and holding both sides of your hips, hastily pulling your pants up mid-thigh. he needed to be inside you, he just needed it so bad..

"cause you're .. hhah.. y-you've become too cocky f'your own good, kennedy-" leon scoffs at the sight of you drooled up with the trails of mixed saliva. you're sure that's not you? you could've fooled him, you were fucking sopping—trails of your essence sticking to your underwear. it made him moan low in desperation. he wanted to lick it all up. "is that right.." he muttered with utter lack of amusement as his cold thumb glided over your fluids absentmindedly, spreading one fold apart slightly to get a better look. his eyes soften, breath hitching knowing it's gonna feel so good inside you.

"d-definitely too cocky!-" you insisted with a contrast whine that emitted from your sweet voice, expecting him to start off with letting you adjust to his tip first. but you're hopeless for thinking leon would ever go soft on you just because you only remember the "naive" version of him years ago. people change, right?

you were suddenly squirming when you felt him fill and thrust into you thickly, humbling your little cunny as it pulsated. dumb little bunny, leon thinks to himself, watching you start to fluster and retort weakly beneath him with your ankles on his shoulders.

his hand comes up to your head, smacking your cheek swiftly. "shut up. shut the fuck up." he growls, eyes narrowing mildly, holding your cheeks with one hand as he pried your little mouth open. his thoughts were so guiltily dirty, wondering how cute your throat would look filled with his cock. he'll have to try another time, though, wouldn't he? for now his ring and middle finger deliberately slide into your tongue, savoring the minor 'hhnnn' that lolled out of your sticky tongue as your eyes peered up at him glassily.

the words 'fuck me' were written all over your eyes when his gaze locks down to yours. and could he resist such a pretty baby?- why were you so pretty?

it's a shame that you made so much effort to treat him indifferently, calling him by his last name and all...

your vision felt cloudy given that you were full of leon. but you catch glimpse of the way he smirks at himself before he leans down much closer to your face, folding your legs over and not giving a fuck if it hurts. the simple shift in angle had you crying out as his tip grazed over the right spots.

he spits a string of saliva down into your forced-open mouth, hoping it would furtherly aid in getting you to shut up over something so trivial. "so fucking dirty..." his fingers gently traced your bottom lip while he whispers with mock-disgust, yet it's laced with affection- a twisted pair of feelings that has him needing you at incalculable rates.

his hands come down to the exposed flesh of your hips, fingers dipping into your skin as he holds you still on his girth. it felt even better when you could feel his bulging size rub up inside you hastily— the way he was fucking you fervently and not letting you get away. you're never fucking leaving his sight, or his mind.

"h-how's this for.. uhh-..nngh.. being cocky? huh?" he groaned roughly after stammering with the embers of his frustration. leon's frustrated that he can't speak without stammering, so he takes it out on you with punishing thrusts that have you sobbing louder, mending his ego by ruining yours. he's stripping your pride away with each push into your sweet spots.

you gave in, vulnerable as you started to blabber from the way you were getting your breath knocked up. "hnggghh.... ahh!-.. l-leon!~ n-not there!-"

"there it is.." he mutters to himself sweetly mid-fucking-you-full. you're finally talking to him properly, how cute.. "more, baby?" he taunts with a struggling moan but he doesn't let you react; the only reaction he wants is you reducing beneath him, proving it by his fingers bruising your skin as he rammed into you in a desperate pace. "ngghh uhh.. fuck-" he whines loudly, your hole squelching uncontrollably as he fucks the juices out of you with every sweet drag of his sensitive shaft.

you turn him so soft he hates you for it.. he has such a soft spot for you, doesn't he?

"fuuck, this pussy's.. so good.." his eyes were half-lidded, moaning adorably before whining about the fact that he's about to spill a load inside you. "f-fuck, 'so good, please- mnnnnghh- aahh!~" his voice wavered, still driving his cock into you as he breaks through his limits and makes himself whimper gently, tears softening his eyes.

oh but his poor baby, creaming around his shaft so quickly and relentlessly, only to continue being rutted into like a little toy ♡. he coats your sweet little hole with his cum, flooding and painting it all over as his tip poured deep inside of you with a thick, milky warmth that pooled on the varnished wood.

you weren't even speaking anymore, your words melting on your tongue. he doesn't understand a damn thing you're saying but he doesn't need you to speak, he just needs you to feel good.

"fuck... uhhhnn!~.. fuck me, please, baby.." he blathers before he found himself whining at the way your cunt pulsates, eyes teasing at you subtly while he holds your cheeks together in his domineering hand. he doesn't even pull out much, just shoving and grinding his girth into your creamed-up cunny and making you endure the crushing pleasure. his hands scramble to push against the back of your thighs, folding them to let him fully fill up into your already deflowered, milky vulva.

"n-no, g'nna- leon!" your mind goes into total shudder as your back arched, having him hold your hips in place as you started to gush all over his stuffy girth.

"ohh, mhmm.. that's it, sweet girl.." leon knows you feel good, seeing you cry flusteredly while he still thrusted in you to lengthen the feeling of you cumming. he tore at your pride, pulling out the vulnerable version of yourself he hasn't seen in a long time. especially when you reach up for him like you wanted a hug. that did it for him.

he leans down to pick you up, your legs dangle tiredly around his waist. he's sorry to whoever's bed it was that he laid you down on. he whimpered softly into the fabric of your shoulder while trying to regain his stability. you could faintly feel him pepper tame, short kisses on it mindlessly.

he nuzzles into your skin. "you wanna be a good girl f'me?" he murmurs into your neck breathily.

"mhmm.."

"then get on your knees." leon lets go from holding you—letting you scramble onto all fours.

he stuffs himself back inside your sensitive hole like he's aching for it, making you wail with struggle. with your legs aimlessly sprawled on either side of him, he makes sure you don't stray from him by holding your hips again. the flesh spilling between his fingers as he pulls you closer like he's scared you'll run away. his hips move irrationally, wanting to make sure he's hitting it good, all the right spots again, just for his baby. he's so sensitive it starts to throb, masochistic urges as he overstimulates himself ceaselessly.

"hhhngh... you can't just.. come around- and then leave- like it's nothing!-" leon babbled whiningly between his forceful thrusts, his pace increasing with incessant speed. you could feel his fingers nimbly moving through your scalp, leon's hand holding the back of your head down onto the fluff surface where your cute little cries of pleasure went in vain.

you couldn't take it but leon made you, his constant rutting inside you even after cumming doesn't pause. he's suffocating this way but he doesn't even care. he's so loud behind you, fucking into your messy cunt like it hurts real good.

his attention is divulged slightly when he sees a little glow on the pocket of your shirt. how didn't he spot that? his hand snakes over your breast, fingertips swiftly snagging the high-tech vial and shoving it somewhere in his remaining clothing.

you yelped. ada was going to kill you. "h-hey!-" he notices you trying to look behind you but his hand is quicker, turning your head forwards with a gentle grip of his hand. he muffled your face into the sheets with the force of his hand holding your head, and he snaps his hips faster just to have you all adorable and crying for him again. "y'c-can't take tha-" oh, but what were you going to do about it?

he starts deliberately making up mistranslations of what you wanted to say. "mm, what's that, sweet girl? you want more?... oh, i know, baby, oh shh.. i got'chu, you're so good, huh? uhhuh.." he encouraged amidst fucking you back into a state of distraction, a hazy smile to himself while he considers his mission accomplished.

[bucknastysbabe]

Forget me not or I’ll forget myself - Aegon II x Reader

And I pray that all the poppies they.

They will just fade away.

But fields of poppies they remain.

That's how they found me last time, dead

Rozz Williams - Flowers

Rating: Mature/Explicit

A/N: I just wanted a glimpse into how dreary the keep was before all things went to real Hell

Tags: Angst galore, burned Aeg after rook’s rest, younger sister reader, one sided love, heartbreak, handies, Poor Aeg, TW: opium usage, extreme pain, burns and blood, Helaena’s mental state, self harm, dub-con, mistaken identity, Alicent tries, sad ending

Alicent would let you finally enter Aegon’s quarters, where he laid asleep. She wouldn’t let you see him when the maesters were tending to the burns, the cries of your dear brother’s agony filling the halls.

Then silence. The silence frightened you more than anything. Helaena couldn’t comfort you, you could barely comfort her in her massive grief. Alicent and Aemond had to tend to the war. Ser Criston had joined them.

So it was just you and your two handmaidens, who had been shrugged off recently as you had become agitated. You couldn’t leave the keep and you worried for your dear dragon. Instead you wept and waited and wept, listening for his voice.

You had a betrothal but the recent upheaval had rendered it moot. You were glad because all you ever wanted was Aegon, flawed and irresponsible as he was. A Maester shuffled by and you hopped up, hands nervously tearing at your dress.

“Yes princess? He is stable, just bringing some sustenance and more milk of the poppy after I change his bandages.”

“The Dowager Queen said I may sit with the King, sir.”

The man held out an arm for you to grab, murmuring gently, “This will not be a pretty sight m’lady. Our king is holding strong but, ahem, dragonflame has done its damage,” the elder Maester paused, “Mayhaps you can hold his undamaged hand while I change the linens?” You nodded vigorously, heart beating faster and faster.

A Kingsguard silently opened the door to the dimly lit room. It looked much different than when Viserys was there. The replication of Valyria your father worked on was moved to underneath the keep at the behest of Aegon.

You could see Aegon’s form on the wide bed, covered in oozing bandages, his arm tightly wrapped. The Maester shushed you, “Quiet now my princess, he is in a delicate state.” Holding a trembling hand over your mouth you followed the short Maester, who directed for you to sit on the other side of the bed.

Aegon shifted and mumbled, half of his gorgeous face covered in linen. You hoped it wasn’t as bad as Viserys had become. The gaping holes, gnashing teeth.

“Sire, it’s Maester Merand, I’ve come to change your linens for Orwyle. Your younger sister is here.”

A bloodshot purple eye hazily regarded you. He rasped, lungs and throat still charred from fire, “Dear sister, you don’t need to see this. Please.” You shook your head and grabbed his scabbed but not severely burnt hand, squeezing. Your breath came out a warble as you tried not to cry, “You need family big brother, let me stay please?”

He regarded the Maester, then back to you, “Hold me tight songbird.” Hot tears streamed down your face as he opened his mouth for a bite to be put in, hand gripped roughly around your smaller one. Another Maester, younger, shuffled in to assist with a wooden table of sorts.

Merand hummed and dosed Aegon with the milk of the poppy through the bite-piece, your brother’s body immediately going lax with a soft moan. The elder Maester said, “Be still and hold him, that is all your King needs.” You nodded, more tears staining your ashen cheeks. They unpeeled the yellowish bandaging, Aegon’s body stiffened as he began to howl— purple eyes wide with pain.

His hand shook and trembled you putting your other hand on top and shushing, “Shhh, it’ll feel better after, gods bless you.” He screamed louder as Merand rubbed a balm on the burnt flesh of his cheek, ear and neck. The scarring ran twisted hot and angry down his torso.

“Just fucking kill me you beast!,” Aegon hissed through his bite. His hand hurt yours but you bared it for dear Aegon.

Your brows furrowed as they patched up his body and head. Aegon writhed in pain when they unwrapped the arm, the worst from what you had heard. Metal fused to flesh. You held back a retch at the sight, eyes blown wide, unable to stop staring at the blackened twisted flesh.

“Gods please! No more! Strike me down for my sins, anything other than this,” he raged.

Still you held on. The younger Maester had to come and hold him down as Aegon jerked around so much. Your brother hissed, cursed, and wept by the end of the process. Merand gently lifted him up into a sitting position, you moving to follow along. They had to get his back and shoulder now.

Then it was over. Merand dosed him with some healing herbal concoctions and a hearty amount of milk of the poppy. Aegon sobbed softly, tears staining his new bandages. You stroked away a tear on his new cheek as the man began to fade into those dreamless poppy slumbers.

“May I stay Maester Merand?,” you asked.

He fiddled with a chainlink before humming, “I don’t think you would be causing any issues. My assistant will be back for supper. Just let him rest and be there for your king.”

The table, sounds of metals clinking, and shuffling stopped. Only the burning of the wooden wicks and Aegon’s ragged breathing filled the room. His hand was still intertwined with your own, but loosened from sleep. You pet his silver hair, singing the songs he used to demand from you over and over again, drunkenly smiling like you meant the world to him.

“Sing songbird sing,” he’d cheer, cheeks rosy and full lips split into a grin.

Your lips trembled as you cried over him, eventually falling asleep when you grew numb from it all. They awoke you and him for supper, letting you spoon feed Aegon the soup. He said in a slurred murmur, “You’re too kind songbird. Didn’t you..have..have a betrothal?”

“War broke out remember? No time for a wedding and I have a dragon.”

He frowned slightly. Aegon slurped softly and swallowed. “Right..I’ll find you a husband when I feel better. It’s much less…the word..uh…lonely when you’re here. So that will wait.”

Your heart hurt. You didn’t want to be married, but the chance of having him was impossible. You’d just spend the time you could while he healed, pretending to be the dutiful wife. You stroked his soft hair and hummed, “Would you like me to sing you a tune to sleep? I have your poppy milk.”

He sighed, “Please.”

Off he slumbered, to the tune of The Dornishman’s wife. His favorite bawdy song. You wept again. You wondered if that’s all you were capable of now. For now you’d go and change, bathe, actually see your handmaidens before returning. Hopefully your mother will be absent so she couldn’t see your wrecked state.

Feeling more refreshed, you stared at your lilac eyes in the mirror. Much lighter than Aegon’s, but your hair was the same, soft waves of white. Cyrella wove your locks into pretty braids. You’d decided to go see Helaena today, since your other lady Jaina had informed you the Dowager Queen was in Aegon’s quarters for the changing of his linens.

Climbing to her chambers you could already hear maddened weeping. You knew Maelor and Jaehaera were largely taken care of by a Septa and wetnurse. Coming into her room you gasped. It was a mess, shredded and priceless items broken. Helaena, her once gorgeous hair— a rats nest. It smelled of unwashed linens and sickness. Sickness of the mind.

“Hel? It’s me, your sister.”

She peered at you with wide purple eyes, red rimmed and shot out. She murmured, “Sister.” Then returned to rocking by the window. You drew closer to her, slowly, eventually kneeling by her side. Helaena only wore a stained shift, dirtied and bloody. You noticed the claw marks on her wrists and sucked in a breath.

“Hel?”

Your elder sister stared forward, mumbling incoherence about blood and cheese cheese and blood blood blood! She shouted the last part at you, making you topple backward some. You grabbed her arm and held tight from her thrashing and wailing, pinning her grief stricken figure to the ground until she stilled.

Helaena howled with agony, “I didn’t know, I’m so sorry, it should’ve been me! Jaehaerys forgive me!” She cried in hoarse agony, shaking underneath. You let her cry until she softly moaned her dead child’s name. Petting her skinny side you murmured, “Let me draw you a bath, okay? Just one. Then I will leave you be.”

She nodded, “Okay.”

You scrubbed her scabbed body, taking care to clean and remove any dirt or budding infection. Helaena stated, “I can’t get clean. It’s under the skin. All of us. Foul blood.” Ignoring her statement you worked on Hel’s scraggly hair while a handmaiden clipped sharpened nails to the nub. It would at the least stop the severity of the wounds.

Helaena’s hair was falling out in thick chunks, you holding back tears as you got her blonde waves back into order. Your elder sister asked, “Will the gods forgive me?” You patted her back and hummed, “The Mother knows your pain, she will take mercy on you. That I know Helaena dear. Let’s get you to bed.”

The room was cleaned and bed changed while you took care of the queen. She stated in that glassy way of hers before you left, “Thank you. The walls will bleed black and scorching sister.”

An uneasy feeling settled in your gut. Hands clenched in your dress you walked through Maegor’s Holdfast, going to see Aegon for the night.

The regal frame of your mother exited as you approached the chamber. She eyed you strangely, but pulled you into a hug with a deep sigh. “It’s horrid around here mummy,” you whimpered. Unbidden tears fell down your cheeks as your mother held you tighter, letting you cry it out.

“All I can do is cry. I feel so alone and half of my family is here mum.”

Her brows furrowed in distress, slim hands on your arms. Alicent said, “You’re doing the best you can dearest. I’m very proud of you. Tending to Aegon, he mentioned you singing to him.”

You smiled gently, but grew teary again.

“I visited Helaena. Washed her and got the room changed. I fear she may…do something drastic mummy. Sh-she’s clawing at her skin, saying she can’t get clean.” Alicent kissed your forehead, hands clasping slim shoulders. “You and Daeron. My sweetest babes. I’ll have to install someone for Helaena. The gods smile upon you and I will pray for your pain. I love you, so, so much. Go be there for him.”

You nodded shakily, hugging your mother again for what felt like forever. It was a temporary balm for your aching soul. She left, presumably to your sister’s quarters. You entered to Aegon who was hazy and trembly after what seemed like a fresh change of linens.

You clambered onto the huge bed, checking Aegon’s face for discomfort. He was barely awake, nodding off in short bursts. His lash’s fluttered over his face. The king murmured, “Oh, it’s been so long. I’m glad you’re here.”

“So long since what my King?”

“I’ve been held, touched, caressed,” he listlessly rambled.

His good hand, already intertwined with yours, drug it toward the bulge between his legs. Aegon cheerily slurred, “S’at red bitch didn’t burn it.” You inhaled sharply, eyes widening. He wanted you to pleasure him? You were a maiden. Aegon’s eyes remained closed but he shot you a dopey grin, “C’mon jus’ a hand will you? Know it’ll be good.”

Your nethers twitched and you looked around like a spy may arrive any second. Oh how you wanted this for life. Aegon wanting you, you only. The guilt for Hel ate at your spine, but lust won out.

“Yes my king, I’ll take care of you.”

“Good girl,” he rasped, head swaying. They must’ve messed up the dosage, Aegon was strangely semi-coherent. You knew there was slick involved in this carnal action. Turning around you found something labeled “aloe” and poured it onto your left hand. Your cheeks began to grow darker at the task at hand.

“Quit bein’ a maiden, M’ready sweets,” he cooed.

You batted his good hand away and unlaced his breeches, pulling out his flushed cock. You whimpered under your breath. It was ruddy and leaking, for you, for you! Hastily you covered the stiff member with your thickly slathered aloe and squeezed tentatively, unsure what to do.

Aegon arched a bit and huffed, “Y’know what to do, playin coy, squeeze and pull, twis’ on the head. I’m burned nuh’ impotent!”

You did as he asked, your hand squelching luridly as Aegon panted and moaned softly. You felt as if you were burning up, an inquisitive hand coming down to cup his heavy sac, his voice growing deeper and more needy.

“There we go, good baby, yesss, yes.”

He was biting his plump lip when your twisting hand focused on the top, liking the way he’d subtly whimper when you’d slide a thumb across the pretty crown. He gasped, “Fuck yes, ah, who brought you up here? Gonna cum!”

Brought you up here? He was delirious, whatever.

“Please my king, come for me,” you begged, so eager to receive his affections. His right hand curled into your waves, pulling you close to his mouth, sharing light kisses, gentle as not to irritate. He panted into your mouth as his cock twitched and spurt onto your hand and his belly.

“Oh, fuck, Selys, Selys baby, thank you. Whoever brought you to me deserves some dragons. Tell the kingsguard to sneak you out, my little sister will be coming, sadly too soon.”

You sat back with a strangled noise, mortification flooding your system. You wiped your disgusting hands all over the covers, soft sobs starting to bubble up. In a rush you pulled back from Aegon’s embrace, belly twisted and chest aching.

“Selys?”

You whimpered, “M’not fucking Selys, why would they bring a whore that could poison you?”

Aegon’s poppy induced state cleared somewhat from shock, him leaning up with a choked noise. He echoed your name, eyes flicking down to his cock and your flushed face, pretty waves, and broken posture. You held yourself tightly and apologized, “I should have known, you were under the poppy, I should’ve just left.”

Aegon struggled further but the pain laid him back down. He sounded desperate, “No, songbird, I-I- I didn’t know, that was sick. Don’t leave me please? You’re all that’s good here.”

“Sadly soon,” you sobbed.

His face crumped in guilt, rage, frustration. You steeled yourself some, compacting that soft gaping maw of love and tenderness for him in a dark place. Maybe to be opened later. Aegon reached for you, pathetically pleading, “Don’t leave me, they always do, don’t.”

“I’ll see if I can seek Selys for you. I thought you wanted me, Aeg. For once.”

He faltered for words, eyes glassy and saddened.

“Good night my King. I’ll send a Maester for more medicine. You strained yourself.”

You ignored the desperate pleas for your name. He really didn’t know any better, you shouldn’t be so cruel. But when your heart was cracked and bleeding on the floor it was hard not to be cold.

Ser Criston was in the hall, making his way for Aegon’s quarters. He did a double take, stopping to peer at your swollen face and mussed hair. You flatly stated, “They didn’t get his dosage right, he’s in pain.” The hand frowned and asked, “What is wrong?”

“I do not wish to speak of it. Where is Prince Regent Aemond?”

Criston stared at you with a look of worry, lips moving in thought. He sighed, “In the library my princess.”

Off your went, holding back sobs of rage and utter sadness.

“Duskmere is ready for battle. Send me to Daeron, the north, wherever. I am tired of sitting around here. I thirst for black blood, brother of mine.”

Aemond stared at you long and hard before his thin lips turned into a calculated smile. The one-eye hummed, “Splendid sister. Was waiting for you to stop mooning over the invalid and our mad sister. We plan later this evening.”

[flowerwrites06]

portrait of a prince — kth

PORTRAIT OF A PRINCE | Kim Taehyung | Requested by anon.

Plot: Taehyung is not the beloved prince that his parents want him to be. Alcohol seeps through his veins, opium suffuses the air around him and a new face enters his bed chambers every night. What will he do when his old love enters the palace as his royal painter?  Pairing: Crown Prince!Taehyung x Royal Painter!OC (Name: Angel) Genre: Royalty | Artist Type: One-shot Rating: 18+ Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: drug use (opium smoking), alcohol consumption (intoxication, makgeolli), explicit sexual content (fingering, rough sex, orgasm denial, creampie), angst (taehyung is a bit of an ass and plays around). Author’s Note: aahh i really liked writing this one, thank you to anon for requesting this again and I hope you all enjoy it. Let me know your thoughts!

Being invited as a painter for the crown prince was an honour beyond imagining. Angel was used to painting for small nobles, merchants and courtesans. Now she stood in the jade halls of the white tiger palace, deep late afternoon light seeped through the curtains of the red wood windows.

Angel held onto her papers and supplies tightly as she moved closer to the double doors, showing the insignia of the white tiger in polished ivory and emeralds for eyes.

She had never been to the palace. In their late teenage years, Taehyung used to visit the lower parts of the kingdom where her home was. He would learn literature and art alongside her with Angel’s father. Taehyung would always joke, remember certain dialogues and play them out to her just to make her laugh. His smile stuck to his face like there was nothing else he could do with it.

Angel spent five years trying to forget those things, but now they came rushing back like honey on her tongue. She wanted to see him again, see his smile again. Ask him how he had been. Whether he still thought about her. Perhaps.

The stoic guards opened the doors slowly, letting Angel walk through the slight gap of the doors. Doors only opened wide for important guests, not some humble painter who got lucky.

Angel sighed in frustration, keeping her supplies pressed to her chest. The room was luxurious with paper walls, peach blossoms painted across the crème background with beautiful mats and the sweetness of incense in the air.

In the center, Prince Taehyung sat on a chair, his knees spread apart and a stranger knelt between them.

Their hair was long and brown, head bobbing up and down as the noise of slurping suffused the air. Taehyung’s head was thrown back slightly, both in pleasure and even a hint of boredom.

Half-lidded eyes flickered to see Angel at the room. His reaction was late, moving at a snail like pace to pat the head of the stranger. “It seems we have a guest. Take a break,” he said to the stranger.

Angel tried with all her might to push down the discomfort in her chest. Of course, Taehyung wasn’t going to refrain from his own pleasures through the five years they were apart. They had no commitment to one another. Taehyung himself had no commitment to anything but his lineage and people. She shouldn’t have expected him to wait for her, be happy to see her or even remember her.

Taehyung was the one who stopped sending letters after a year. Angel should’ve understood it from then that there were no more connections here.

Embarrassment burned under her skin. The purple cotton dress she wore, Taehyung’s favourite dress and the jade bracelet, the one Taehyung made himself, grew heavy on her wrist. Angel wanted to run away and change, forget this ever happened but she forced to press her feet on the floor. This was her job. She would do it with confidence and maturity.

The stranger stood to their feet, barely giving her a glance before walking out of the bedroom as she wiped the corner of her mouth.

As the door closed behind Angel, she kept her gaze away as Taehyung covered himself back up with the same aloofness of never needing to rush.

“Why have you interrupted my pleasantries?” Taehyung asked, voice more rasped than Angel ever remembered. The joy in his voice was lost, faded.

“I’ve been assigned to paint your portrait, sire.” Angel always called him by his first name but Taehyung didn’t seem to recognize her at all. It had only been a few years. Was she truly that unmemorable in his mind?

He was a prince. Of course, she was unmemorable. He had consorts, lovers in every corner of the palace. Why would he remember one humble painter from five years ago?

Angel knew this well but it still made her heart feel like the devil himself was twisting it like lemon in his tea.

Taehyung hummed and waved his long fingers to the side. “Please, begin when you’re ready.”

Angel bowed, moving to do as he ordered without thinking about how much he changed. Except she had to. The moment the papers were up and the brush was ready, she had to look at him clearly. Taehyung’s jawline turned sharp, cheeks sunken. Dark shadows under the skin of his eyes, his lips shaped for an uninterested prince, not the laughter-loving boy she knew. Angel did portraits of him before.

Taehyung could never stop smiling. He would pretend to snore and then rush over to see her progress only to see a plain sketch.

But here he was unmoving like a statue. A true figure of a perfect prince.

Angel sketched what she saw and what she didn’t see. The queen ordered for the prince to look his best, his most put together. Not the man who just had a mistress sucking his cock in the late afternoon when he clearly had an appointment. Frustration seeped through her. She should have no expectations of him. He was a crown prince, a future king, he could never stay the same loveable boy that she fell in love with.

In her concentration and trance, Taehyung then shifted and stood. He walked closer to her, his gold silk robes brushing across the floor before he sat right next to her.

Years ago, Angel would’ve felt warmth at having him close. But this Taehyung smelled thick of opium and makgeolli instead of sweet mangoes. It made her uncomfortable to be around him, a feeling that hurt her most.

“Are you a dancer as well?” Taehyung slurred. “You look like a dancer.”

Angel took a deep breath to calm herself and kept sketching. “I’m just a painter, sire.”

Taehyung smiled, humming. “Don’t be flustered. Portraits often take weeks or months, we should try to get to know each other.” He reached out and gently brushed the edge of her sleeve, revealing her bracelet. It was then he paused.

It was a pretty bracelet, made from jade with ivory to form flower petals and rubies in the center. In between those flowers were their initials together. Angel’s cheeks burned harsher now that he had seen it. But it changed something in Taehyung.

His expression twisted from bored to shocked. Finger caressed the engraved initial. “Where’d you get this?”

“It was a gift,” she said as soft as a whisper.

Taehyung pulled his hand away, eyes darted to another corner in the room, unable to look at her. His eyes turned sad and confused as if the alcohol faded off him just by the sight of a simple bracelet. “We’ll continue this tomorrow,” he spoke kindly this time before standing up and rushing out of the room.

***

Yesterday’s appointment wasn’t quite anything like what Angel expected their reunion to be. Today, Taehyung asked for her to come in the morning just after the sunrises and the air was still wet to the touch. Angel wore her own yellow cotton dress with thick robe to shield the cold. She left the bracelet in her guest bed chamber, not wishing to continue any further conversation on the matter. They were not the same people anymore and that was it.

Taehyung wanted the portrait to be painted outside near the ponds and red blossom trees. Angel admired the fishes glimmering in orange and grey scales as the stone and wood finery glistened from morning dew. A table was prepared for her supplies already, with a tea set made from porcelain, steaming the scent of jasmine. Her favourite tea.

Two servants already stood at the edge of the ponds, keeping a watchful eye on her.

Angel tried to ignore them and prepared her papers. The rough sketches from yesterday caressed the painful memory back to the forefront of her mind. A troubling thought entered her mind. Maybe he was always like this. Angel had never been to the palace, she only saw as the prince who came to visit the lower towns. This may have always been him all along. He must’ve been lying with other women while gifting her bracelets he probably never made.

It was so possible. And so stupid not to realize earlier.

***

Taehyung should’ve known that his mother would choose Angel as the new royal painter. He should’ve expected it. The moment he saw that bracelet, perched so lovingly around her wrist, he felt the opium breath exude as he spoke. Shame bloomed in him, burning his cheeks. Never in his life did he feel ashamed of his activities but looking at those soft eyes again, seeing him at his worst, he felt pathetic.

As he walked to the ponds, Taehyung kept his chest high, pushing his confidence beyond his own threshold. He saw her sitting at the table he prepared for her. She looked like a dripping of honey, her cheeks glowing from the wet air and her pen across the paper was just as delicate as ever.

“Good morning,” Taehyung said, trying to sound as kind as possible. The back of his neck burned remembering what Angel had seen yesterday.

Angel’s expression was neutral and professional which only made him feel worse. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” She stood up and bowed.

“Please, sit.” Taehyung gestured for her to perch back down.

And she did without looking back at him.

Taehyung sat on the other end, facing Angel in a small distance. “Have you eaten yet?” he asked. “Did you want something?”

Angel stared at him, as if she was peeling each layer of him until she could see the man he was yesterday. The shameful one who didn’t care. “I’m alright, Your Majesty.” She began to dip the brush into the paint, continuing on with her work.

“How have you been?” Taehyung asked. “Are your parents doing well?”

“Why are you hiding yourself?” Angel’s question lingered thick in the air, bringing the fiery feeling in his chest.

“I’m—I’m not hiding myself.”

Angel pushed her sleeve back and started to paint across the paper. “Royals always want to show false ideas in their portraits. What you did yesterday was exactly the person you are. A spoiled prince who has everyone on their knees for him and he fills himself with every indulgence purely because he has nothing else to do.” Bitterness laced her tone and venom seeped through her gaze.

Taehyung’s heart clenched. He could’ve easily asked her to leave. Leave and let him forget any interaction they had, just like how he stopped sending letters. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her but his life had nothing to talk about. What would he even have said to her? I drank today and passed out in the hallway. I slept with a maid and pretended I didn’t know her the day after. He couldn’t anymore because his life was nothing to brag about. Angel had sent four letters since he decided to stop. Four letters he had read and never replied. Four chances to redeem himself in her eyes. When the fifth letter never came, his heart clenched then too.

He should ask her to leave. So he wouldn’t have this incessant feeling in his stomach of guilt and shame. Those soft, glossed eyes staring at him like he wasn’t good enough for her anymore. Taehyung swallowed the lump in his throat, itching the top of his thigh, desperate for some opium to calm himself down.

Further and further Angel peeled every layer of him, making him feel raw and bruised but he sat there. He sat because he wanted to keep looking at her. The woman he had loved. The one he still loved deeply yet pushed so far away.

***

Angel spent the rest of the night painting the scenery of the ponds. She needed a moment away from looking at Taehyung, remembering his face and the expressions he gave her. As a prince, he had every right to kick her out of the palace for what she said. Even now the words lingered in weight on her own tongue but he didn’t say anything. Not a word. That sense of patience that a younger Taehyung would’ve had for her hard heart.

She shook her head, her hand hovered over the painting, small droplets of red staining the paper amongst the wild blossom trees. Angel sighed in frustration and put the brush back onto its wooden rest.

Getting up from her chair, Angel opted to take a walk out into the hallways since sleep was whisking away from her at every minute. Her fingers immediately went to her wrist, empty of the jade that had wrapped around it for years. The urge to put it back on again just to return to normalcy.

“Sire, please,” a worried servant spoke meekly. “You need to get back to your chambers.”

“I can sit wherever I want,” Taehyung’s voice grumbled.

Angel turned the corner of the hallway to see a scrawny servant hunched over Taehyung, the prince who sat right against the wall with a porcelain cup dropped next to him on the floor.

“Sire, if someone sees you this way,” he whispered.

“Let them see it!” Taehyung growled, throwing the porcelain cup and throwing it against the wall, smashing and forcing the servant to cower back.

Angel rushed down the hallway, both pity and anger rushing through her.

The servant stammered, glancing to the side as he trembled.

“It’s alright,” Angel said with as kind of a tone as she could get. Turning to Taehyung, she frowned. “Don’t be cruel to your servants.”

Taehyung’s dark brows furrowed as he stared up at her. Brown curls hovered over his eyes, shirt half-open with his chest heaving and gold necklace gleaming. His lips were plump and red, the dark shadows under his eyes thickened but there was a vulnerability behind him. Like he was still that loveable, playful Taehyung trapped inside a broken prince that stopped appreciating the world around him. “So you’re telling me what to do now?”

“Who else is going to?” Angel asked, crouching down and taking his arm over her shoulder. “Help me carry him to his room.” The thick smell of makgeolli nearly made her eyes water but they managed to drag him back into his bed chambers.

Angel tenderly peeled off his clothes, helping the frightened servant wrap fresh nightwear atop his overheated skin. She poured water into a bronze cup and helped him take a few sips.

“Why’re you being nice to me now?” Taehyung asked as Angel guided him back to his bed. “You looked like you hated me before. What I’ve turned into.” He groaned as he slumped onto the soft surface.

Angel stayed silent, glancing back at the servant as she placed the blanket over his body. “I don’t like what you’ve turned into,” she said honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I hate you.” It felt a part of her peeled open speaking those words. The worst part was that Taehyung may easily forget them. Perhaps that was a comfort in some way.

Taehyung watched her through the light, wisped curtain of his hair.

Angel swallowed the small lump forming in her throat. Habit overcame as she reached out and brushed away his hair, caressing the top of his forehead for a brief moment. Then sense overcame with burning of her cheeks as she pulled away.

Taehyung grabbed onto her hand, placing it onto his chest. His gaze pierced deep into her until she could feel every memory of their togetherness, every touch, every kiss and every sweet whisper in the morning. It was so sweet to taste it all again. But so painful. “I missed you,” he muttered. “I never wanted to leave.”

Tears burned in her eyes before gently pulling her hand away. “Get some sleep,” she said and rushed out of the room. The moment she closed the doors behind her, all she could do was sob.

***

Silence consumed their next painting session. It was inside today as rain pattered and the sky filled thick with grey clouds. The censor wafted comforting warm air on the side of Angel while her back shivered slightly from the wispy cool breeze. She wore a deep green dress with a transparent green robe over top, her hair was loosely tied back right down to the curve of her waist.

Taehyung sat on his chair, both with a rigidity but a level of exhaustion that softened his posture. He wore the same black robe and silver overcoat, his hair open and waved, amethyst earrings glimmering against even the faint light.

Angel tried her best not to stare at the beautiful pursed lips and that soft expression. The way he stared at her like caresses on the cheek and neck. Warmth spread in her belly but she kept her focus. Focus. She painted the details lovingly, the tenderness of his eyes contrasted with the sharp edge of his jawline. How his skin felt so soft under her palm. How he held her hand like it was precious to him.

“Thank you,” Taehyung said, breaking her out of a trance. “For helping me.”

Angel shook her head. “Anyone would’ve done it.”

“But you didn’t need to.”

“I needed to.” Because it would kill her knowing Taehyung slept alone on the floor. Knowing that he was alone and no one was able to help when she could. When she wanted to.

Taehyung stared at her for a while and Angel paused this time, staring back at him as her chest began to rise and fall. Her heart raced as her mind finally made herself feel. Feel just how much sweetness seeped through her when she truly admitted how much she missed him. How much she loved him and wished him close.

Taehyung stood from the chair, padding closer until he reached his hand out.

Angel placed her brush down and accepted his hand, allowing him to pull her up to her feet. Her chest pressed against his until a harsh breath left her.

Taehyung nudged his nose against her hair, the gentle smell of jasmines floating through him and making him melt. It was so familiar and close to his heart. He grabbed onto her waist and pressed her closer, trailing his lips down her neck until he found the soft spot he knew well. He relished in her gasp as he began to suckle on that spot. He cupped the edge of her jawline, travelling to sneak underneath her robe.

“I missed you,” Angel said what she had wanted to say as her fingers buried in his hair. “I missed you.”

Taehyung felt his entire body hinge on those words like they were his own scripture. He latched off her neck and kissed her. Deeply, his tongue explored her warm mouth until it maddened him. He kept their lips locked until his lungs screamed for air.

When Angel broke the kiss, she forced in the deepest of breaths before letting out a chuckle as Taehyung leaned in for another peck. Taehyung untied Angel's dress, tracing his fingers against her bare skin wherever he could catch it. She shrugged off her robe and dress, allowing them to drop on the floor, leaving her only in her thin white underdress.

Angel peeled off his clothes, revealing the gleaming necklace around his neck and his heaving chest. She traced her fingertips, teasing the edges of his nipples until Taehyung grabbed onto her head and pulled her back into a kiss, her hair bunched up under his palms.

Taehyung groaned, grabbing Angel and placing her on the chair. He pulled down the sleeves of her underdress, and bunched the cloth at her waist. He pressed warm wet kisses on the curve of her breasts, pushing her legs apart and letting them hang over the arms. He saw her beautiful cunt on display, deep peach and glistening with lust.

The prince knelt for her, leaning in and taking a small kiss making her gasp. Then his lips wrapped around her clit, sucking on the sensitive spot before licking down to her slit. Angel let out a breathy moan, gripping the roots of his hair and pressing him hard against her clit.

Taehyung lapped his tongue against the hardened clit, the taste of her delighting him. He pressed kisses on the soft skin of her labia before suckling on her clit again, with ferocity.

Angel's breath quickened as Taehyung chased her to an orgasm, pushing her to the edge on purpose. As her back began to arch at the welcome of her burst, Taehyung pulled away. Angel whined in response, bucking her hips which made Taehyung smirk.

He leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss on her lips, making her taste her own arousal, warm and desperate. Taehyung trailed his long fingers down her belly back to her cunt, touching only the tip of her clit just to make her buck her hips again.

“Stop teasing,” Angel whispered.

Taehyung hummed, giving her a softer kiss this time, slow and loving. “I enjoy playing with you.” He kissed her temple. “Like my precious doll.”

Angel smiled, feeling her cheeks burn as Taehyung moved and pushed his finger inside her. Tight from all the years but ready and waiting. Yearning for that familiar fill. He added another finger, stretching her out and curling deep inside until she felt that sweet spot be brushed. Taehyung pressed his forehead against hers, breathing low and humming as her cunt began to squelch.

Taehyung moved his fingers in and out, keeping a steady pattern as thick layers of arousal make his skin glisten. Angel cupped his cheek, her body submitting under the gentle pleasure thrumming through her. She let out a breathy moan as he added another finger, making her full. She felt her release roll to the edge once again, a thick coil ready to explode onto his digits. “Taehyung,” she whispered.

Taehyung pulled his fingers away, making her whimper. A string of her arousal connected to his finger. “Look at you. So beautiful.” He used her arousal to rub her sensitive clit again, quickly pushing her to the edge before pulling away.

Angel let out a small desperate cry. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Taehyung asked, his own breath turned shaky as his rock-hard length poked at the inside of her thigh.

“Fuck me.” Angel nudged her nose against his.

Taehyung hummed in pleasure and carried her off the chair. He pinned her onto the floor bed, her dark hair splayed out on the sheets. He held onto his length which felt nearly painful and reddened at the tip from desire. Positioning his cock at her entrance, he pushed in without warning but Angel took in a pleased gasp, a smile curling at her lips.

Taehyung growled with pleasure as he finally got to feel her warm walls, after so long. If it were a better situation, he could’ve taken her the moment she entered the room. Taehyung hooked one leg over his shoulder, pushing in until there was nothing left. He leaned in as Angel cupped his neck, the jade bracelet a little warm from her body heat.

Taehyung breathed out, pleased and needy as he turned and kissed the inside of her palm. He thrust into her as the heat rose, burning between them. God, he should’ve never stopped doing this with her. Never again. “Stay here with me,” he muttered as his thrusts grew deeper, deep into her until he shaped her. “In the palace. Don’t leave.”

Angel trembled, dark brows furrowed as she relished in every thrust and still focused on his words. “I’ll stay,” she whispered before gasping as his tip brushed her soft spot. “I’ll stay.”

Taehyung smiled, kissing her deeply before slamming into her harshly. Her choked scream against his lips shook him to the core, reeling him to the edge. “I’m close.”

Angel nodded frantically, reaching down to rub her clit. Tears dripped at the corners of her eyes, already so prepared to burst.

Taehyung felt a jolt of pleasure as his orgasm spilled out of him, filling Angel. His head buried in the crook of her neck, pressing Angel's knee to her chest.

Feeling the warmth inside her, the long-denied coil inside her lower belly sprung like fireworks. Thick waves of pleasure soared through her until she could only see white. Angel cried in delight as Taehyung continued to grind into her, pushing her to the most sensitive limit.

Taehyung let out a shaky moan as he finally reached a level of ache, catching his breath as they both tried to come back down from their bliss. Then he lifted his head.

Angel smiled at him brightly before he kissed her, gentle and affectionate.

After all these years and the tense few days, her love had returned to her.

***

Angel woke up to the sound of rushing rain and an empty space on the other side of the floor bed. She fluttered her eyes open. The censor was reheated with ambers. At the open window where the rain splattered cold pearlets, Taehyung stood smoking his opium, masking the sweet scent of the weather with something thick and earthy that wasn’t so pleasant.

“Put that away, come to bed,” Angel said, maintaining a playful tone even though her heart dropped at how he couldn’t even sleep in bed for a longer period of time without starting to smoke something. Perhaps it was selfish to think that their time together would’ve at least distracted him but the other things always prevailed.

It only ached more when Taehyung laughed, walking away from her and hovering a hand over the censor to gain warmth. “It helps me calm down.” He walked over to her then and pecked her on the forehead. “I have a banquet today. I’ll get you a dress to wear.”

Before Angel could continue the conversation, Taehyung was already shrugging on his robe. “Won’t you stay for a while?” She asked.

“Do you want more?” Taehyung smirked as he knelt back down and caresed the edges of her jawline.

“I meant to talk.” Angel had hoped that they would discuss the implications. Was their reunion something of a permanence or would it end after she was finished with her job? He asked her to stay in the palace but as what? “About this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Taehyung shrugged. “I asked you to stay in the palace. You can stay.”

“But in what way?” Angel shifted forward, placing her palm against her chest. “A royal painter that comes to your chambers in secret?” It may have been a lovely situation for someone else but Angel didn’t want to be a secret or a guilty pleasure. She had wanted a good life with honesty and happiness.

Yet Taehyung’s turned cold as he sighed. An unsettling rendition of his prince persona returned to his expression as he got to his feet. “We’ll talk later.” Without another word, he walked away, leaving Angel to curl up into the bed and wonder whether it was the right decision to open up to him.

***

The banquet was beautiful as the night fell. Moonlight painted the black and silver furnishings like polished jewels, the smell of wine and floral notes wafted the air and conversation fluttered in excitement.

Angel wore the dress Taehyung gifted to her; it was a beautiful cream dress with strap of gold cloth across her chest, a gold silk shawl and fresh pearls sewn at the edges of her robe. She wore her hair up for the occasion, pearl pins and earrings to match the robes and her lips tinted red.

Amongst the nobility and officials, Angel did feel like an outsider but she found herself enjoying observing the details. The musicians playing sweet notes on the gayageum, servants swishing through the high class like water through rock to get them drinks and food. And the people dancing in the center, laughing to their own movements and cheeks flushed from intoxication.

Her eyes tried to find Taehyung but these were mostly young nobles, hardly a formalized occasion. Taehyung must’ve organized these things many times before. Her gaze had actually stopped on the servant who helped her aide Taehyung when he was drunk.

The boy turned to her and softened in recognition, bowing in acknowledgement. “Welcome, my lady.”

Angel smiled. “Does he do this often?”

The boy hesitated for a moment but nodded shyly. “Quite a lot, yes. Every few days or so when he doesn’t have things to do.”

Angel’s brows raised but she supposed Taehyung would like these parties. He always loved talking and entertaining no matter the event. “Do you know where he is?” she asked.

The servant stayed quiet, clearing his throat.

Angel stared at him in confusion at the sudden concern in his expression. “What’s wrong?”

He gave an apologetic look, pitiful and sad. “I’m sorry, my lady but I think he went off with someone over there.” The servant would’ve heard Taehyung speak sweet words to her.

Maybe he didn’t say anything because he knew he probably heard it before, a thousand times to other women. Maybe Taehyung had been visiting many homes in the lower towns, joking around with other girls who thought the world of him.

Angel’s body burned with embarrassment and anger. Searing anger that took over like choking magma. “Point me to his direction.”

The servant stammered, guiding her to the quiet place on the other end of the banquet room where it led to the private hallways.

Angel walked through the door and saw them.

Taehyung held onto a girl wearing a pretty pink gown, possibly a noble, giggling as he kissed down her neck and growled against her skin. His hands gripped onto her dress and lifted it to her thighs before Angel turned away.

At first, she wanted so badly to scream and cry until there were no tears left. But it was her anger that prevailed most. Drying her tears from its steam and hardening her body to protect itself from crying for someone who only wanted a taste of something they’d lost. Of course Taehyung didn’t want anything more. Why would he? He had every other woman ready for him. So why should she cry for him?

“I’m sorry, my lady.” The servant repeated. “Should I—”

“—no. Let him be.” Angel waved her hand, feeling the weight of the bracelet on her wrist. “Could you bring me something to smash this with?” She asked with a soft tone.

The servant nodded and did as she asked.

Angel walked back to her room which still smelled of opium, fueling her anger even further. The servant brought her a steel hammer, heavy enough to break the jade. She placed the bracelet atop of Taehyung’s portrait on the surface of a polished stone surface. The fake portrait of a man he wasn’t, the man he tried to be but ended up being nothing more than a coward. She raised the hammer and cracked through the jade, breaking it into pieces until the initials were indecipherable, the ivory petals scattered.

The paper of the portrait ripped through his head as she heaved, fingers trembling as she placed the hammer back down on the floor.

“What about the portrait, my lady?” The servant asked, keeping a brief distance from her.

“Burn it.” Angel turned to her worktable as she began to take deep breaths. “I’m making a better one.”

***

Morning came harshly as Taehyung heard chatter reverberating through his windows as if the banquet were still going on. When he opened his eyes, he saw his mother standing near the window with a disappointed frown on her face. Taehyung lifted his head and his skull forced him to lay back down. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice grated.

“I would’ve expected that seeing Angel again would’ve. . .changed something in you,” the queen said. “But even she couldn’t do so.”

Taehyung’s brows furrowed, forcing himself to sit up and take a deep breath, gather his surroundings. “What’re you talking about? We got along fine.”

“Oh?” the queen asked, walking to his table and holding up a paper with a thickened grimace. “Then what is this?” She slammed the paper against Taehyung’s chest.

With an irritated groan, Taehyung blinked slowly to get his focus back onto the picture. It was a portrait of him but. . .twisted. His expression was a mix of a pig disguised with whiskers and tiger stripes, there was a makgeolli cup on one hand and opium clouded him, his cock was splayed out and legs spread with the devil wrapping his forked tongue around the base. “Angel did this?” he asked in a whisper.

“Not just one.” The queen shook her head. “A portrait for each noble household. Spares for the lower towns to see as well.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “All the rumors connected to you tied into one single portrait just to confirm it.”

Taehyung scoffed as fury burned through his body. “It’s just a fucking picture.”

“It was an order portrait of you by a royal painter!” The queen yelled. “You were supposed to be on your best behaviour and not even the girl you liked so much could see the good in you. What does that say, Taehyung?”

Taehyung narrowed his gaze at his mother, pressing his lips together. What did that say about him? He should’ve been happy and elated to be close to Angel again, feeling her skin and being in her presence. But then the banquet. Did they even speak at the banquet?

No. He hadn’t even seen her. Then again, he wasn’t in the main hall, was he? Memories dropped onto him like bricks thrown against his skull. He had been with someone else that night in his intoxication. It would be stupid to think that Angel didn’t realise or even. . .see in plain sight what he did.

Taehyung was used to pushing many limits throughout his life. Pushing, pushing, pushing but the world always gave him more room. Until he rounded back to his past, to the first thing that made him happy and she built the final limit with a wall and a devil guarding the way. Most people in the palace had given up on Taehyung by now but it was just Angel who still had faith in him.

Had faith in him.

Now even she saw him as this cursed thing who drunk power like it was his daily tea. “Where is she now?” He asked, hands shaking as he gripped onto the paper portrait. The display of what he was on the inside.

“She’s been arrested but the damage done is going to be difficult to wipe away.” The queen spoke in a voice devoid of all hope for the future of Taehyung’s reign.

***

Angel dressed for her prison sentence, wearing a comfortable cream yellow dress with green embroidered into vines. Her hair completely open and slightly frayed from the humid air. There was a small window in her dungeon that showed the day outside, which was still a deep gray and clouds were plump with coming rain.

Yet the atmosphere was clear. People speaking to each other in worry and concern about their future king, what kind of reign were they going to suffer through if this was the man on the chair.

It was a song of satisfaction but it also curdled her blood, knowing that man was someone she loved dearly. Parts of herself peeled into vulnerability as the thoughts began rushing back. He touched her, tasted her skin and told her to stay like she was important. Yet it was all a ruse. Nothing mattered to him. So she would force herself not to care about him in return, even if it killed her.

The dungeon cells creaked open from old steel and stone. Angel didn’t turn to see who had come but Taehyung grabbed onto her arm, pads of his fingers digging into her skin as he yanked her around, her hair whipping over her shoulder. His face only a few breaths away from hers. She kept her expression neutral, unchanging.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Taehyung seethed. “The whole kingdom thinks I’m some debauched fraud because of you!” He yelled at her, loud voiced echoed against the walls but Angel stayed unmoved.

“I told them the truth,” Angel spoke calmly. “Instead of that lie of a picture your mother wanted me to make. I showed them what you are and it’s exactly as you say yourself.”

Taehyung’s eyes twitched, letting go of her arm, making it pulse from pain by the tightness of his grip. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He shook his head. “What I did was wrong.”

“You didn’t mean to because you didn’t care,” Angel said. “Why should you? The world is always at your fingertips. You can fool around with as many virgins, drink as much as you want, smoke as much as you want and destroy everyone that holds you dear and nothing would ever happen to you. While I draw a picture to express my distaste and I’m in jail, ready for execution.” She spoke of her death to force a strength into her. People needed to know what kind of king they had.

“You would die for this stupidity?” Taehyung asked, gesturing.

“It’s only stupidity to you,” Angel pursed her lips together. “If you had any love for me, you’d understand my anger and frustration but you don’t. It’s lost beneath this thing you’ve become. And I will not sacrifice every little piece of my sanity trying to dig through all of that gunk when all you do is add to it.”

Taehyung’s throat bobbed up and down, eyes glossed and his lips twisted into a grimace. “I never said I didn’t love you. That wasn’t some fucking lie.”

“It’s not enough.” Angel straightened her back, forcing herself to a build a wall, brick by brick. Never letting him again. “Kill me or punish me but I will never go back to your bed again. And if you take me by force, I’ll commit the execution myself.”

Taehyung’s face changed to one of hurt but Angel kept the wall high. “Angel—” he took a step forward, his voice as soft as feathers.

But Angel took a step back and Taehyung stopped, fingers curled at his sides. Angel would keep this distance, with all the strength that was left in her.

“Exile,” Taehyung said, the words shaking from his tongue. “I’ll give you exile.”

Angel raised her chin. “Very well.”

Taehyung turned on his heel and stepped out of the cell, which did not close, allowing for her departure.

Angel let herself loose for a moment, trembling and shaking at her feet as tears trailed down her cheeks. Out of grief and even a slight hint of relief that her life wouldn’t be taken away for the sake of a man who took a piece of it with him. She would pick herself up and find a new start without the ghosts of her past.

He was a first love now forever lost. 

masterlist

[wormconsumer]

Based off a post I saw with the idea that Robert Smirke had fourteen friends, each falling too/representing a different entity, with Smirke himself being the Extinction.

To get the obvious ones out of the way: Jonah Magnus as the Eye, Mordechai Lukas as the Lonely, Maxwell Rayner as the Dark, and George Gilbert Scott as the Buried; these ones are all canon. Not directly canon but a pretty reasonable assumption is Simon Fairchild as the Vast; we know Simon had Maxwell Rayner help him with his Awful Deep ritual in 1853, which was only a few years before Smirke died, and Smirke hung out with Rayner a ton, so it makes sense for Simon to be part of the group (though by a different name; he only started going by “Simon Fairchild” in the 1930s). Another fairly reasonable assumption, in my opinion, is John Franklin for the Hunt. Franklin is canonically a Hunt avatar in The Magnus Archives, his real-life timeline overlaps with Smirke and the rest, and Rayner was canonically interested in his expedition, which was probably because he wanted to use Franklin’s knowledge of arctic exploration for his ritual, but could also imply they knew each other, and therefore, Smirke’s gang.

For the Corruption, my first thought was John Amherst, but he only became an avatar during the Second Boer War, which was about half a century after Smirke’s time. Instead, John Snow is a better fit. He was an English physician who lived during the same time as Smirke, and he had something going on; his descendant Neil Thompson has a syringe that belonged to Snow that had Corruption properties, so Snow fits. For the Slaughter, we could go with Charles Fleming. We know he was in China from at least the beginning of the First Opium War in 1839, and Smirke and Jonah and the rest were up and active on their supernatural studies since at least the 1810s, so it’s theoretical Fleming could have hung out with them, even though he didn’t become touched by the Slaughter until he went to China. Maybe he came back later, though he was in China at least until 1862. Alternatively, William Hall, the actual captain of the Nemesis, could be an option, his lifetime overlaps pretty well with Smirke’s, though there is no evidence he interacted with the Slaughter besides his interactions with Fleming and the Nemesis. Still, he was probably a bit more high-society that Fleming, so I kind of prefer him. Finally, for the more reasonable ones, we have Joey Grimaldi for the Stranger. Grimaldi’s timeline overlaps with Smirke’s, and we know he was affected by the Stranger even before he was turned into Nikola Orsinov. The reason I’m choosing Grimaldi instead of Gregor Orsinov or Nikolai Denikin is that we know for sure he was in England while Smirke was, unlike the other two.

Now for the more out-there guesses. For the Flesh, there are a few options. One is Eustace Wick, the Lutheran priest-turned-cannibal, who did live at the same time as Smirke, but he became an avatar in 1832, died in 1845, and has no evidence that he’d even been to England, considering he’s American. The other options would be Benjamin Carlisle, Benjamin’s unnamed wife, or possibly some other relative or descendant of theirs. I find this one the more likely choice, because Jonathan Sims specifically wonders how Benjamin Carlisle’s wife was able to give her statement to the Magnus Institute, considering she starved to death in a cave on the Oregon Trail in 1845, as well as the fact that an apparent descendant of her, Toby Carlisle, is living in England by the 21st Century and has enough of a connection with the Flesh to be pretty severely affected by the failure of the Last Feast ritual. The unnamed Mrs. Carlisle being the Flesh representative does mean she presumably gave in and cannibalized her husband, and the timeline only gives her about a decade to have hung out with the rest before Smirke’s death, but I think that fits, considering what Smirke said about just coming up with theories about the Flesh in his statement.

The Spiral has similarly not a lot to go on. I would just say the Distortion, seeing as it’s an immortal manifestation of the Spiral itself. We know that Ivo Lenshik’s father was tormented by the Distortion in a human form, and apparently Lenshik’s great-uncle did too, implying that the Distortion did assume a humanoid form sometimes, before it was forced to by the failure of the Great Twisting ritual. Plus, Jonah Magnus clearly knows who the Distortion is, which yes, he could have learned at literally any point from the past two hundred years, but seeing as we’ve got nothing else, I’ll choose to believe. For the Web, the only older avatars of the Web we’re aware of would be the historical owners of the house at Hill Top Road. We don’t know who owned it during Smirke’s time; the closest we have are the unnamed blackmailer who died during the English Civil War in the mid-1600s, and Walter Fielding, who died in 1923. Walter’s son and grandson both owned the house for about thirty years before dying, so with the same amount of time applied, Walter couldn’t be our Web avatar. Honestly, the answer might just have to be “whichever Web avatar was owning the house at Hill Top Road during the first half of the 19th Century.”

For the Desolation, we have even less. Diego Molina founded the Cult of the Lightless Flame at some point prior to World War II, but we have no idea when, and it couldn’t have been that long, considering what Eugene Vanderstock says about the immortality of Desolation avatars having some kind of limit. The same is true of the End. The only known End avatar who was alive during Smirke’s time was Nathaniel Thorp, who was a Death at the time, and didn’t become human again until 1970. It’s unlikely that Deaths got breaks to socialize.

So, in summary, we know for sure about:

* Jonah Magnus — The Eye

* Mordechai Lukas — The Lonely

* Maxwell Rayner — The Dark

* George Gilbert Scott — The Buried

We can make some reasonable assumptions about:

* Simon Fairchild — The Vast

* John Franklin — The Hunt

We can make educated guesses about:

* John Snow — The Corruption

* William Hall — The Slaughter

* Joey Grimaldi — The Stranger

We can make complete guesses about:

* Mrs. Carlisle — The Flesh

* The Distortion — The Spiral

* Owner of the house at Hill Top Road — The Web

And we have nothing for:

* The Desolation

* The End

If anyone has ideas or things I missed, let me know.

[marchsfreakshow]

Opium And Monique Gibeau {James Patrick March x Reader}

It's 1938. You've been having to do sex work in the dark, until one client takes you to The Hotel Cortez.

Suggestive, so -18 proceed with caution.

Warnings: implied smut, general death warnings of blood, knives and such.

Inspired by "Noel's Lament" from Ride The Cyclone. Also 2.6k words this time, v proud of myself<3

Your perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

I was holding a small, brown bag in one hand, walking down a street with a cigarette in another hand. The streets were dusty and damp, and a homeless person in every other building. Street lamps dimly lit the Los Angeles roads, cars passing by to and fro. They were full colours of blue, black and white. Greys filled the car's shadows.

The tall buildings all looked the same. Meters tall, symmetrical windows, the darkness looming over them. Coughing, muttering, tiny breaths and sneezing went past me as I ventured into Los Angeles. They distracted me as I thought about the request the stranger gave to me. Throwing my cigarette on the floor, I opened my bag and took hold of the letter.

It read;

"Come meet in The Hotel Cortez. 10 pm, on October 30th. You will have to find the room.

Explore the Hotel all night if you must. I know it will cost extra, but I will be willing to pay more for the mystery of finding me.

-??"

Every read-over made me so intrigued that I did not notice where I was walking. I bumped into a man and almost fell. Luckily, he grabbed my arms and pulled me up, our eyes meeting immediately. There was no light there like a murder had just been committed. It was almost attractive, but the client needed me. "Excuse me! I am so sorry." He just nodded.

"Where are you going, sweetheart?" He smiled and held out my letter. I raised an eyebrow and stuffed the letter in my bag, in turn grabbing my lipstick and applying it as I walked in front of him. "You seem in a rush." He mentioned.

"The Hotel Cortez." Immediately, he took my hand and rushed me for about 5 minutes. Everything in my peripheral vision became blurry as I ran. God, I hate heels. Soon enough, he stopped and I held onto my head, as the rush stopped, and a headache formed everywhere.

The doors became gold as my vision cleared, but the mysterious man had gone. People were back to rushing to and fro, not even muttering 'excuse mes' to each other. It disgusted me. Sure I was a whore, but at least I had manners. However, I took a deep breath and opened one of the doors, a lavish hotel appeared before me.

It was breathtaking. Still, I wondered who wanted to meet me here. Everything almost overwhelmed me. Straightening my posture, I walked up to the reception and rang the bell. I rang, rang and waited for what felt like hours. No one appeared. 'How disappointing' I thought, staring up at the two stairs.

Slowly, I made my way up the staircase, seeing a bar before me. Lots of whiskey it seems. It took up a lot of the second level and added nothing but mystery to the hotel I was called to. October 30th. A day before All Hallows Eve. Not even a decoration, which was quite boring. The glum aura of the hotel only got deeper as I roamed the long, windy halls.

The walls all looked the same and never changed. Elevators on one of the walls. The doors also looked the same. Numbers kept going up. My heels were feeling like hell, so I stopped by a door, and took my heels off, immediately feeling relief. Thankfully, that wasn't the door I was looking for. At least I hoped. So I carried on walking around the halls. I felt crazy, wandering and roaming the empty halls, small sounds coming out of every single dark red door. Before an open door came into my eyes. I stopped next to it and peeked my head through.

What stood there was a lush, velvet room. Dark green filled the floor and carpets. Small tables held alcohol, snacks, cigarettes and more. The bed was bigger than I had ever imagined. It almost looked royal, and I had a suspicion, this was the room.

But what took my attention was a man. He stood around 6 feet. The suit was navy and looked freshly pressed. The shoes were a sharp black, but shiny. As I looked him up, I saw his face. Handsome, with a small moustache, and slicked-back hair. But his eyes made me realise something. This was James Patrick March. But, he was dead. He died 8 years ago. It shocked me, and by accident, I dropped my heels, which made him snap his head around. "Ah! You're here." He just smiled. His smile was attractive, but I stood there in shock.

Very quickly, I brought myself back, and put my heels on. "Are you the writer of this letter?" I asked, holding it up out of my bag. He walked towards me, and grabbed it, immediately reading it.

"Yes, indeed I did."

"But sir, with respect, you are James Patrick March. You should be dead. Did you fake the suicide?" I asked, crossing my arms. He seemed to admire my shape. He looked at me like he was about to make me a new person.

"You are correct in the fact that I should be dead my dear Y/N. However, I am indeed dead." He smiled at me, offering his hand to me. I took his hand in mine, and he led me in, closing the door behind us. We made eye contact, and it never broke. Questions I wanted to ask, ran past my thoughts. But our silence was kept as James sat me down. The bed was just as soft as I hoped, and he went to the table, picking up a drink. "Absinthe. Have some."

"Absinthe?"

"Well yes." He held it out to me, so I took it, not wanting to make him upset. Keeping, almost, harsh eye contact with him, would kill him to soften his gaze as I stopped the gross liquid down my throat. It burned like the Opium someone had me take.

It seemed I started to sell my love for that drug. It kept me sane as I dressed in black which only hit my lower thigh, the fishnets ripped in places I didn't know. And I always wear dark heels always. Kitten heels, but tonight I decided to make them taller. Makeup was quiet on my face, but it was there. James took it all in, and I stood up, my bag now on the bed. "James. If you are a ghost, why can I touch you?" I asked, confidently placing a hand on his shoulder, attempting to make this whole experience quicker.

"Ghosts can interact with the living in this hotel, and this hotel only." He responded, taking the drink from my hand and simply placing a finger under my chin.

"Does it feel different? To do it with a living human?"

"I have not yet experienced that. That's why you are here yes?" Without thinking, I nodded. Something drew me to him. But I couldn't tell what it was. He was a serial killer, a madman. So I took his arms, brought him to the bed, and then slowly undid the buttons on his blazer. "Take your time dear, don't rush it." He smiled, starting to kiss me, the taste of absinthe finding my throat once again.

--

The morning came, and I awoke slowly, barely any light came through the window. The room was still glum, and velvety. A man came in holding some food and smiled at me. "Y/N. You are awake." Clearly, I wasn't looking great, since I saw mascara smeared on my fingers. But I smiled either way. "I had someone make you breakfast before you left."

"Well, that isn't what you asked unless you're willing to add more to my pay." A smirked curled my lips. I took the breakfast anyway and snarfed down every bite. James was, a rough customer. Nothing like I hadn't seen before.

"I can and will pay you every single penny I own if you're happy with being here." A slight sarcastic twinge began the sentence, but he smiled at me, watching me eat the food like it was my last meal.

I took the napkin and cleaned my face with it before pushing the tray away. James was just watching me as I got up and dressed myself again, It felt good, people would always watch me. I was like Monique Gibeau to people, a classic whore in France who 'helped' soldiers. "James?" I asked, walking up to him. He looked enamoured with me, rookie mistake.

"Yes, my dear?"

"120 dollars. Including breakfast."

He raised an eyebrow at me. The time disappeared. It suddenly meant nothing anymore. Eyes staring at each other. I fell to my knees and heard the fishnets graze against the lush floor. Why couldn't I look around? James, like the bitch he was, started to leave. "James! James please." I croaked out.

"Whores die as whores." I felt crazy, and the sweet, dark black washed over me, I couldn't think anymore, and James had left me to burn out.

Soon enough, though, I brought myself up. Confused, I looked around until my eyes went to the floor. A knife. It was a shiny knife. When I picked it up, a drop of deep red blood fell from it and I stared, holding it. Who's blood was this?! But I dropped it as someone came in. She was dressed as a maid and had scruffy hair. "Has James not yet cleaned the knife? Oh dear. Well, the sheets are clean, that's all that matters." She smiled at me, and I elicited a small chuckle as a response.

"Um, would you mind telling me what happened here? It feels like I woke up from a horrible dream.."

"He killed you. That should be obvious enough."

Could my hands shake now I was dead? Apparently, so, I felt shaky, and I sat myself on the wall by a window. Everything felt off now. Not like I had any next of kin that would feel bad for me, but, I still felt like I was hurting someone. The woman left though, not even a sorry leaving her lips. I felt like I was going to explode. I'm dead? Why? I couldn't remember anything at all.

I heard nothing in my ears, and my heart wasn't beating, but it seemed like I was breathing. Still confused and scared, I roamed my own hands over my body, no scars. No stab wounds. What the fuck was happening?! I was still wearing the short, black dress with everything else. Suddenly I felt humbled. I felt humbled by the fact that I wasted my life being a prostitute in 1938. It wasn't right but it wasn't wrong either. Wasted it, with the drugs, and the various people. Men, women, freaks. Who fucking cared.

Sobbing, I stayed in that room for hours. James soon came back in and looked down at me. Literally and figuratively. "Did you fucking call me in just to kill me?"

He hummed and that was it. "Maybe it was because I wanted you forever hm? And so I can make you a better person. You are too beautiful to be working like that."

"I'm flattered," I said flatly, taking off my heels and not making eye contact with him. "Fine, if I'm stuck here where is a spare room."

"You will stay here with me."

"Like hell, I will."

He sneered at me. "You have a roof over your head, you have food at your disposal, alcohol, cigarettes! You have everything now at your fingertips, how can you not be satisfied with that!?"

"Because you fucking killed me!!" I stood up and prodded his chest with my finger, beginning to walk out, grabbing my purse in the meantime.

I felt his eyes on me as I walked out of the room.

Time passed quicker in this hotel once you were dead it seemed. I was always roaming the halls, soliciting people for fun. I never had a thirst for blood like the others. I walked past James one evening, a tension created around us as we made eye contact. A sexual tension that I didn't feel with anyone else who thought they were high and mighty. "Y/N. Let me make everything up to you. Dinner. Tonight in my room."

I raised an eyebrow at him as I leaned against a wall. He just smiled at me confidently, Well he was cute I will give him that. "Do I have to wear my heels?"

His smile just widened. "You can wear as much or as little as you like. Steal from a guest if you want." James then quickly kissed my cheek and walked off in the opposite direction of me. I didn't mind watching him walk away, but I shook that out of my mind and made my way to another door, knocking swiftly on it.

A pretty woman opened the door and I smiled at her. "Good morning! I was wondering if I could come in and have a talk? I'm a bit lonely here.." I put on my quiet shy persona, and she just smiled warmly.

"Of course my little mouse." She truly was beautiful as she smiled, her blonde hair was in a top bun, and she was wearing a white, low-cut dress to the floor.

--

"James?"

"You look so beautiful my dear." I smiled and he held my hand as he walked me in. "The dress looks so familiar to me."

"I met with a lovely woman called Elizabeth, She has long blonde hair, and she told me she's married to you, but it's an open marriage." I just giggled and sat on a chair opposite James. He grinned and nodded.

"Of course, it was my darling Countess. She is truly wonderous. She must have smelt me on you and took you in."

"Like, your cologne?"

He nodded as the maid walked in with some plates and placed them on the table I was sitting in front of. Everything looked fit for royalty, and I couldn't see myself eating any of this. "My dear please eat this. Miss Evers made it all for you to enjoy. You deserve nothing but the best food."

The candles entranced me, and I was staring at the flames, moving and burning. Everything in this hotel made me feel like I didn't belong here. The small roast was in front of me, and it didn't feel right to take a slice. "Hummingbird why don't you take some food and eat up. You haven't eaten anything since I gave you Breakfast."

"This... James. It's so much. I haven't had this much food in front of me. Let alone a whole roast! It's... overwhelming."

James got up and kneeled next to me. His eyes were soft. He never had that look on his face before. "Oh my darling, how about I give you a small forkful, and we can go from there?" He asked, putting some food on my own plate. It felt like I was a child, but it worked. No one dared enter now, otherwise, I had to die another time. Smells flooded me. Slowly, James took a fork and put some of the food on it, reaching for me. "Come on my dear, let me help you eat." As embarrassing as it felt, he helped me eat. Eating this much wasn't normal, and I avoided James' worried gaze.

We finished our food after about 20 minutes and I smiled to myself, happy that I had eaten something. "Do you feel better now my dear?"

"Yes, I do. Thank you James." He held my hands and pulled me up gently. "I feel so tired now.." The silent tension was replaced with just a comfortable silence as he held me.

"Let's get you to your bed then hm?" I nodded in response, and he kissed me, which felt odd, but nice. A genuine kiss, not a kiss that my clients had nothing behind it.

"That sounds nice James. Thank you."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: October 4/24

Happy Friday everyone! Here are some fics to get you through the weekend! Enjoy!

RECENT MFLs

When Harry Met Mary by Calais_Reno (T, 2,025+ w., 3/? Ch. || S3/S4 Fix It, POV Harry, Friendship, Complicated Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending) – What if Harry Watson had met Mary Morstan? What would they have thought of each other? A retelling of the events of Series 3 and 4, through the eyes of Harry Watson.

Heaven and Hellfire by SweetSorcery (M, 11,839 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Holmes || Victorian, Romance, Opium, Threesome, First Time, Drugs, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Seduction) – After the events of The Priory School, Holmes and Watson are invited to stay on at Holdernesse Hall for a time, where they get to know a different side of their host, and of each other.

GOOD OMENS MFLs

Home Improvement by CopperBeech (T, 1,426 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, South Downs Cottage, Surprise Gift, Home Renovations, Crowley's Love Language, Bastille) – A conversation in the South Downs with a chatty skilled tradesman, about a very customized piece of home improvement.

RECENT LOKIUS BOOKMARKS

personal space by a_cry_in_the_wilderness (M, 4,816 w., 1 Ch. || LOKI SERIES || Series 1, Mutual Pining, Touch-Starved Mobius, Alcohol, Sexual Tension, Virgin Mobius, Biting, Grinding, Attempted Sex, Flirting, Intimacy Exploration, Developing Relationship, Jealousy, Falling in Love, Angst, Humour) – “Asgardians are known for handling their liquor,” Mobius says, taking a wobbling step forward as he barely handles his. When he trips over his feet, Loki is there, holding tight onto his arm. “I’m not even Asgardian,” Loki says, his voice soft. “What’s your excuse, Mobius?” “It doesn’t take much for me.” Mobius admits.

Signs and Wonders by Sariele (G, 11,074 w., 6 Ch. || LOKI SERIES || Post-S2 / S2 Fix-It, Pre-Slash, Developing Relationship, Five and One, Solitary Mobius, Mobius on the Timeline, Wandering Mobius, Angst, Pining) – Five times Mobius had a "visitor", and one time Loki did.

[fancyfeathers]

Okay this doesn’t go with my Games We Play of Dust and Ash series but I had a thought while watching Moriarty the Patriot last night

What if William’s darling was almost as smart as him? Just hear me out on this one, maybe if it after one of the murders in the show and she may not even be a detective, she just lives near where the death took place and decided to look into it, especially if it’s that episode where the woman jumps into the river and her lover who is a noble at a college goes missing (The Dancer on the Bridge), maybe his darling is a student at the college as well, a prodigy (which would be especially impressive since most women at the time weren’t allowed to go to college).

She managed to find out all the details that could potentially relate to the mystery, but she struggles to connect them for the longest time. For a few weeks she grows distracted in her classes, trying to connect the dots. The administration grows concerned so they send her home for a few days to rest, thinking it is some illness of the mind. Then at dinner with her mother and father she hears them mention that the deceased assistant administrator, Dudley Bale, ran opium dens under the guise of hospitals, a recent scandal, then it all click. She knows how the dots are connected but she does not know who killed Mr. Bale.

She returns to school and begins an investigation as secretly as possible, watching the movements of the students and staff closely as she goes about her day to day life, but she does not manage to hide her suspicious glances from everyone. It is after Professor William James Moriarty’s mathematics class that she is asked to stay after and he asks her a simple question…

“Can I see your notebook, please?”

Then at that moment everything clicks, why he would notice her little glances watching her peers and professors in the halls and classrooms, the days before the murder how she recalls William talking to people who did not work or attend the school. At that moment she does not even think about anything else, she bolts.

She runs out of his classroom and sprints through campus, she needs to get out of there. She runs to her dorm room, grabbing only a few things that she needs, she bribes one of her male classmates to lend her some of their clothes, and she quickly changes, leaving the campus disguised.

She goes to the train station, buying a ticket back home and everything goes well until a hand comes to rest on her shoulder as she is waiting at the station. She looks up and her heart sinks. The professor sits down beside her and asks for her notebook again, telling her that she will be protected if she does so and with no other choice she does. The two return to the college with no other choice.

She spends most of her time outside of her classes in her room, but when she goes out she starts to notice people watching her, people she assumes works with William, probably to keep her from interfering with anything and she would be right with that assumption but what she does not know is her every move is reported to William, except what they can’t see when she is in her room but it doesn’t take long for her to figure this out. She begins to use her time in her room to plan her escape from the watch that has been placed on her…

First she would have to figure out a way to leave without no one watching, the dead of night but she can’t bring along any light so she would have to preplan her route.

She can’t go back home, that’s where he would expect her to go, so off to London it is.

Then she would need an accomplice to smuggle her off of campus, she would need someone who didn’t work closely with William, so her literature professor is the best choice. She asks him for his help with fear in her eyes but she can’t explain everything to him just that she needs to leave so he agrees to help her.

She hides pillows under her blankets so people think she is sleeping, before she meets with her literature professor and he arranges for his carriage to take her to the next town over to the train station for her to go to London. She says goodbye to her professor before boarding the late night train and going off to London. She sits down in her compartment only to be joined by two strangers, Sebastian and Fred. They’re heading back to the city after a job, they were definitely not following her because William managed to figure out her plan just minutes before the train left the station.

They say their goodbyes in London and she wastes no time in looking for somewhere or someone safe who may be able to help her…

The police are out of the question and the government would never believe her so that leaves one person who she had only heard about…

It’s early morning when their is a knock at n the door at 221B Baker Street. The detective is barely awake as he goes to answer to the door only to see a rather disheveled young woman standing there.

“Mr. Holmes? Correct?”

She just has a simple request for the detective, she wants to be his assistant and for some crazy reason he agrees.

The two make an amazing team and for her help she stays at Baker Street with him. Then one day he comes back home with tickets to the Noahtic for the two of them.

The trip is enjoyable for the most part, she laughs and rolls her eyes as the woman on the cruise have the detective guess people’s occupations and it’s all fun and games until…

“Ah what a surprise seeing you here.”

That voice…

“Professor Moriarty…”

She turns around to see that all too familiar face staining near the stairwell. She must have gone pale at the sight of him because she feels a hand on her shoulder and she looks over to see the detective standing there…

“Are you alright?”

“Y-yes, I am perfectly fine.”

It’s later that night and she is going to the bar on the ship to grab a drink to clear her mind. She downs a few drinks, but then she starts not to feel so well, her head feels heavy and her mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. She tries to get up but almost falls if it wasn’t for a arm catching her before she hit the ground and the last thing she sees before she is out cold are those scarlet red eyes…

It would be such a shame if the detective lost his new partner so soon, best to keep her close Mr. Holmes if you don’t want her to disappear.

[partywithponies]

I'm gonna say it, okay? I miss Hetty Feather. I know I always used to complain that there were too many books in the Hetty Feather Literary Universe™️ and that Jacqueline Wilson needed to stop or slow down, but now it's been over 2 years since the last installment in the series with still no word on a new one and I miss my traumatised victorian children so much. I miss reading about children and teenagers dying of tuberculosis and becoming addicted to opium and having homoerotic adventures in the music hall. I need a new book about them so bad. I need it now. Why is Jacky releasing a sequel to Sleepovers and not the eleventh book in the Hetty Feather extended universe. When will Hetty & Diamond/Rose & Clover/Kitty & Lucy return from war.

[veryace-ficrecs]

Tintin fic recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

The Crab with the Mechanical Claws by WinryWeiss - Rated M

"The Adventures of Tintin" steampunk reimagining. When a famous engineer goes missing, a former navy captain stumbles upon a can full of opium and a young freelance journalist receives a mysterious parcel, an adventure like no other starts to unwind.

Tintin and the Secret of Mermaid Island by Caro_Dee - Rated G

Tintin and Captain Haddock are after the rest of Red Rackham's treasure. It doesn’t quite go as they expected.

fireside haikus by requin_renard - Rated G

Holiday plans go awry. Tintin finds himself on watch duty and turns to literary pursuits to pass the time.

just a little oneshot outlining their friendship and haddock is in roasting dad mode.

boy's best friend is worth the rubble by kivancalcite - Rated T

Written for a month's anniversary of being on this site and being the 7th fic I've published on the 7th day of January. Tintin gets too wrapped up in a mystery in a broken down house, and has to be dragged out before it completely collapses. That's of course if Snowy hadn't been trapped, and Tintin makes the decision to run in after him at his own expense. Rather him than his beloved dog, after all.

A Place Like This by AngieOwlie - Rated G

When Mrs Finch the local orphanage caretaker delivers a pleasant tuft-haired little boy to Marlinspike Hall (“Just until the orphanage is safe again and the suspect who ransacked the place is caught!”), the master of the house reluctantly agrees to look after him. But between keeping the boy out of trouble and out of his beard, he slowly realizes that perhaps the most difficult task of all is really in keeping the tuft of ginger out of his heart. In other words - Captain Haddock gets into all sorts of bumbling mishaps while looking after child!Tintin.

aroace, not your place by kivancalcite - Rated G

Little bit of a self-projection piece, I headcanon Tintin as someone on the ace and aro spectrum, and someone who'd deal with the usual questions as a result. References certain events of the film and demonstrates the ginger reporter coming to more of an understanding over his lack of interest, attraction and desire in the areas of certain affection from others, especially when he eventually bumps into the captain at a life-changing point on the ship known as the Karaboudjan.

growing pains by requin_renard - Not Rated

In which Tintin somewhat loses himself and Haddock gains a son. "He spent nearly three days crouching in that plastic chair, watching the other’s small chest moving up and down. Willing it to keep rising and falling like the world depends on it. Haddock realises that in fact, his world did depend on it."

Wound by kay_cricketed - Rated T

As he recovers from his kidnapping at the hands of a no-name jewelry thief, Tintin realizes that not every story is one he will walk away from unscathed. The harder lesson yet: there is now someone he can lean on when walking isn't an option.

Under the Roof of Marlinspike Hall by twilighteve - Rated G

“He supposed he had always known, but amidst the adventures they had, it slipped his mind. Now, though, the fact that Tintin was so very young rammed into him viciously. How old was he, exactly? He couldn’t be older than twenty.” In which Haddock somehow became Tintin’s caretaker before he even realized it.

what's fiery red, pale white, dark blue and purple? by PUNK_MENACE - Rated T

It's nothing they're not used to. Bruises and cuts are just a hazard of the job. Some days are harder than others but with Nestor's breakfast, everything seems a little better.

Small Blessings by SolarMorrigan - Rated G

After all these years, Tintin still manages to surprise Haddock- even when he's not trying

[filmtv2022]

In the Bleak Midwinter: Chapter 3

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Series Masterlist

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Grief and addiction push Y/N further away from reality. Relying on a nasty mix of alcohol and opium, Y/N leans into a dangerous way to cope with the hurt while clinging to the past. Seeing her slip, Tommy finds himself pushed to get closer than he'd like in an attempt to protect her from herself.

Warning: drug & alcohol abuse + mentions of suicide + language

Timeframe & Canon Info: This story is taking place in what would be part of season five of Peaky Blinders. With that being said, we are not fully sticking to canon here. For the purpose of this story, Lizzie is not married to Tommy and does not play a significant role in his life. He has not remarried since Grace's death. Additionally, the only child Thomas has is Charlie.

A/N: Okay, so it was really fun exploring the softer side of Tommy Shelby in this chapter. I look forward to doing more of that throughout this story. I hope you all are enjoying this story so far, and I'm beyond grateful to those who are reading. As always, please forgive me for any and all mistakes.

** If you would like to be tagged in future updates, please comment and let me know.

The sun sat low in the sky as Tommy made his way to 725 Watery Lane. This had become his norm over the past few days. Each evening, he’d make his way to you, relieving the men he’d posted outside your door to keep his own watch through the night. Every attempt made by himself and others to see you, to speak with you, had gone unanswered. But he was undeterred, this drive to keep you safe went far beyond some wartime promise he’d made to William Butler. It stirred something deep in his soul, and that terrified him.

But there, despite that fear, he would sit, perched on a rickety wooden chair, clinging to every small sound of life that spilled out into the hall. Only in the dead of night, as exhaustion consumed him would the need for rest pull him under. This night was no different from the rest. Having replaced Johnny Dogs for the midnight shift, he settled in for the long haul.

…

The constant presence of the Peaky Boys went almost entirely unnoticed as the days blurred one into the next. The movement of time was marked only by the changing of light outside the window. Occasional voices could be heard in the hall, but they were garbled in your mind as you coped with the pain in the one way you knew how. Delirium dragged you away leaving the world blurry and out of focus.

With a weak hand, you blindly reached for whatever you could find perched on the nightstand. The whiskey and Laudanum you’d brought was always there in its place when you needed it, but that was about to change. Pulling the cork, you touched the rim to your lips and tipped it back, but nothing came. It was empty. Panic began to rise creating a flush of heat over your skin. Swinging your legs off the side of the bed, you rested in that position for a moment before trying to stand, but there was no strength left in your limbs. Taking a couple of staggering steps, your body crumpled into a heap on the floor. The thump of your frame hitting the wooden boards shook your bones, knocking the wind from your lungs. Rolling onto your back, you stared blankly up at the ceiling. Silent tears flooded down your cheeks as you welcomed the blackness that clouded your vision.

…

Woken suddenly from a dead sleep, Tommy struggled to bring his surroundings into focus. An eerie quiet had settled in the air and it was that hollow void that sent anxiety ripping down his spine. Pushing up from the chair, he swiftly pulled the key from his pocket. The low snick of the lock coming unlatched was drowned out by the heavy pull of his breaths.

Throwing it open, his eyes immediately fell on your slumped figure. Obscenities laced with your names, flowed in rapid succession as quick strides brought him to your side, where he dropped to his knees. His fingers reached for your neck to feel for a pulse. The clock seemed to stop as he waited for any sign of life beneath your tender flesh. After what felt like an eternity, a featherlight thrum beat against his fingertips marking that he hadn’t failed to keep you here, to keep you safe.

Letting go of the air in his lungs, Tommy adjusted his position so that he was leaning on the side of the bed with you in between his strong thighs, your back to his chest. Sweat collected in the delicate cotton of your pajamas, the collar stained dark from the perspiration. With one arm wrapped around your waist, he used the other to brush away the hair stuck to your neck, he watched the rise and fall of your chest. The rhythm was slow giving him something to focus on as he calmed himself. The smell of stale whiskey and sweat mixed with the faint remnants of your sweet perfume.

Resting his head back on the mattress, Tommy’s eyes drifted shut leaving him to concentrate on the feeling of you. Your muscles twitched in small jerks as the dreams returned. Mumbled whispers tumbled from your lips calling out to people who no longer walked this earth. One name, in particular, came to the surface over and over.

“William…” Even in your sleep, fresh tears spilled as the image of your husband alive and well remained to haunt you.

…

The early hours of the morning gave way to a new day. The gray hues of first light forced Tommy to move. Arthur would be by soon to relieve him of his watch, and the last thing he needed was for his brother to see you like this, exposed and broken on the floor.

Using his strength, Thomas scooped you into his arm. You stirred only slightly as he placed you on the bed, and covered you with a rough woolen blanket. Tracing over your features, he watched you for a moment before sweeping his fingertips along the rise of your cheek. An ache, deep and genuine, gripped his heart as he looked at you.

Heavy boot steps echoing down the hall broke the trance. Grabbing the bottle and flask from your nightstand, he forced himself to leave your side, but he didn’t get far. Arthur pressed into the room before his brother had a chance to make his exit.

“Oi, everythin’ all right?” the gravel in Arthur’s voice was heavier than usual, its severity matched the swath of blue under his eyes. Something that Tommy didn’t fail to notice.

“When she wakes up she going to be fuckin’ irate that I’ve taken her whiskey and her drugs. But under no circumstances are you to find her any, and if she tries to leave you stop her, understand?”

“But you’ve been giving-”

“I know, I was, but it's gone too far. I’ll be by later to collect her.”

“Collect? As in-”

“As in she’ll be comin’ to stay with me at Arrow House.”

“Right, so, I know you’re the boss here, Tommy, but is this really a good idea? With everythin’ goin’ on with Michael and Billy Boys?”

“I don’t care if it’s a fuckin’ good idea or not. I said she’s comin’ so she is, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear brother.”

…

Gruff voices at the end of your bed became clearer as the fog of unconsciousness lifted. The pounding of your head left you feeling off-kilter, your stomach rolled viciously forcing you to swallow the bile that rose in the back of your throat. Gingerly, you tried to sit up, but even this small amount of physical exertion drained you of everything you’d recouped during your rest. On instinct, you reached for the nightstand but found nothing. A weak groan fell from your lips, the sound pitiful and desperate. The figures standing nearby dropped their conversation as they saw your movement in their periphery. Arthur stood for a moment like a statue, his eyes focused on Tommy as he came to sit next to you, and gently dabbed away the sweat from your forehead. Mumbling something under his breath about giving the two of you a minute, the eldest Shelby left the room, shutting the door behind himself.

“Where is it? What the fuck did you do with it?” frustration bit at the words as you grappled with the dizziness that impeded your ability to focus.

“It’s gone.”

“Gone, what do you… what… no. No.” reaching for his wrist, you dug your fingernails into his skin as the anxiety came barreling in, “You can’t… I-I need-”

“You don’t fuckin’ need it, Y/N.”

“But I do. I need it to… I need to see…” closing your eyes, you turned your face away, your cheek pressed into the pillow. The back of your throat tightened with the strain of emotion.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Tommy’s broad palm cupped your face, turning it gently to face him, “Open your eyes, and look at me.” He waited, thumb brushing over your skin.

“You see him, right? When you take it?” he paused just long enough to see the look of recognition, “I know you do, but he isn’t here.”

“He is, he has to be. I can feel him, his hands on me. I can hear them laughing too, in the other room.”

“Y/N, it isn’t real. I know it feels like is, but I promise you it isn’t. The truth is that no matter how much you take nothin’ is bringing them back. It’s dangerous to keep going like this.”

“I don’t care, I have to see them.”

“It’ll kill you, Y/N.”

“Would that be so bad? I’m tired Thomas, so fuckin’ tired.”

“You deserve a life, to be happy again. If not for yourself, for them, for their memory. Let me help you. You delivered the letter as he asked, now let me keep the promise I made… just like you kept yours.”

It was unfathomable that his man who you’d only met a few days ago would be willing to go to this length from someone as unworthy as yourself, but it was the desperation in his eyes that moved your soul.

“Okay. I’ll try… for them.”

With a sharp nod, Tommy removed his hands from your body, and an emptiness settled in your heart at the loss of his touch.

“I need you to get dressed, and pack your things.”

“Why? Where am I going?”

“Home, with me.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine right here, I promise. Besides, I’m sure your wife won’t want a random woman flitting around the house.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve already made up my mind. Now,” standing from the bed he lit himself a cigarette, “get yourself together. I’ll be downstairs with the car. My brother Arthur’s out in the hall. He’ll take your bag when you’re ready.”

…

Collecting your things and getting dressed took longer than usual. The past few days of overconsumption proved to have taken quite a toll on your body, but eventually, you were ready.

With suitcase in hand, you took a deep breath before turning the handle. The metal was cool in your palm as you yanked it open. Hearing the noise, Arthur turned around to face you.

“All set, Mrs. Butler?”

“I am, and you must be Arthur.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s nice to meet you, and please call me Y/N.”

“All right, Y/N. Let’s get goin’ then." He reached for your bag, which you willingly gave.

A clear sky hung above the tops of the buildings with only the smoke from the factories to taint the clarity. Arthur threw your bag in the back of a stunning motorcar parked out front before ushering you inside. Hopping into the passenger seat himself, Tommy was already behind the wheel. No more conversation was to be had as the three of you pulled away from Watery Lane.

Eventually, the bustle of the city gave way to rolling countryside. The air was infinitely cleaner and more palatable than what you’d been used to inhaling both in Birmingham and London. In the distance, a massive mansion came into view. Its scale and grandeur were apparent even from a mile off. The beauty only grew the closer you got.

Parking as near to the front stoop as he could, Tommy was out of the car and to your door before you even had the chance to think. Holding it open for you, he offered you a steadying hand while the other fell to the small of your back for extra support. A wave of warmth flooded across your body at his touch. Satisfied that you were not going to fall, he collected your suitcase and returned to your side, calling to his brother as he ushered you indoors.

“Dinner’s at 7:00, Arthur.”

“Got it, Tommy.” Shifting to the driver’s side, he started the engine and took off back down the drive leaving the two of you alone.

Meeting Thomas’ eyes, a wistful smile turned up the corner of your lips as you scanned over his features, “This doesn’t make any sense, I don’t even know you. Why are you doing this?”

Halting his steps, Tommy turned to face you, his strong hand still resting on the small of your back, the hypnotic blue of his eyes locked with your unyielding gaze “Because…” clearing his throat, “No one deserves to go through this alone.” He continued to speak as he led you into the massive home, “Now, let’s get you settled.”

...

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