#maid day would have been perfect but alas—

[yandere-sins]

Ivyyyyyyyy >.< you're the worsttttt(read: BEST) oh my god the thoughts im having abt dilic with a period kink rn. Gawd and he doesn't even know it's a period kink, he thinks it's absolutely normal to do nasty things with his girl while she's bleeding out and feels proud about it that HE can take her pain away

OMG continuing the diluc saga but yan dilic thinks darling's period is the perfect opportunity to finally put his hands on darling. He knows you're in pain so he promises, he's doing this for YOU not him (lies) he'll ease it in gently and make it feel good! Soon darling will forget all about those cramps bc of him him him! He doesnt need to feel as guilty bc he's helping you out.....right? OMG PLS write something abt thissss, it can be any yandere or oc but im going crazy after what u saiddd

Hehe, you're welcome! I began writing this as just a talk, but decided mid-way through to make it a scenario!

a/n: I wrote this before my hiatus and coming back to correct it, I found so many mistakes, it doesn't even feel like I wrote this smh... I did my best to polish it a bit since I can't see myself rewriting it in the future but if you find anything oddly worded just ignore it lol I wasn't myself back then :')

[Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content]

I can just see the cock cogs turning in this idiot's head as he racks his brain about how he can help you. Clearly, you're in pain, but no matter how many more times he calls a physician to have a look, they just keep waving off his concerns. It's normal, they say. You're healthy. That's what everyone has to go through.

And yet he sees you writhing and crying in pain—it's breaking his heart!

Pillow pressed to your stomach, tears in your eyes that you can't blink away fast enough before they fall. You're especially irritable, but it hurts him more when you whine and complain; Diluc wanting to help you now more than ever. He's already gone through the usual stuff, the imported water bottles from Snezhnaya and the chocolate from Fontaine. If you utter so much as a craving, he has the servants scramble to get it to you. Nothing is too expensive or too hard to get. You could have asked for the heads of your enemies, and Diluc would have brought them to you with ribbons and glitter if that had helped with your pains.

But alas, it doesn't.

It's been three days, and his nerves are raw, the bags under his eyes dark, and the burden of your health weighs heavily on Diluc. He can't see how things will ever get better. The other times you were on your period were conveniently skipped by business trips, so this is hitting him full force.

"Exercising might help," one of the maids suggests as he forces himself to consult someone more knowledgeable than him.

"Sometimes, my wife likes a little stimulation to alleviate the pain," a vintner chuckles, winking at Diluc as the word of his helplessness spreads. And suddenly, inappropriate ideas get stuck in his head, making him blush like a young lad in love.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Taking a deep breath, Diluc raised his hand to knock on your bedroom door. It was terribly late, the servants asleep and only the eery flickering of his candle guiding him through the night. Most likely, you were tugged in and fighting for your well-deserved sleep, so he hesitated, fist hanging in the air before slowly dropping it to his side.

What he was about to do was not only foolish but also filled him with the same burning in his body as using his vision did. He could feel the warmth sweep over him from his head to his toes, the latter curling in his shoes while most of the heat was throbbing between his legs, aching to connect with your warmth in a less-than-innocent way.

However, these feelings were nothing compared to the agony of the last few days.

If this was what he had to do to help you alleviate the pain, he would. If it was for you, Diluc would do anything in his power, whether to protect or help you. If he had to become a mere plaything so you'd be freed of the pain, then his concerns were a small sacrifice for all the good he was going to do.

Brushing his hair back, Diluc took a deep breath, reminding himself there was nothing wrong with wanting to help. If the method the vintner suggested worked, everyone would be happy. And if not, he'd keep searching for ways to free you of the pain. Turning the key in the door lock, he pulled it out before slowly entering your room, ensuring he could give you two the privacy needed in this situation.

To his surprise, you were still awake.

You made a half-hearted attempt at a greeting, but when you noticed it was him, you only scoffed, turning away. It hurt when you gave him the cold shoulder so callously, but Diluc knew you were the one suffering at that moment, not him. He could forgive you for being dismissive of him. Your bedside lamp was still on, and he could see you clutching a pillow to your belly, his own stomach cramping up with remorse, even though, logically, he knew it wasn't his fault. He loved you as you were, the good and bad days, your misery becoming his own much too easily these days.

Setting down the candle on your table, he walked over to you. But not before locking the door from the inside, just so he could give himself a few more seconds before his approach. Every step cost him a lot of discipline, being near you never having been this hard. Even when he looked confident around you, Diluc only ever felt weak. You made him vulnerable. Desperate. Longing for your love and affection was all he was allowed to do, so even just watching your chest rise and fall set him ablaze.

Pushing off his shoes, Diluc focused on the little space you left at the edge of the bed. It was the only space he could see that was reserved for him, as he didn't deserve to share your bed, in your opinion. Yet, when he climbed in, pulling the cover over himself and snaking his arm around your waist, he was enveloped in your scent, your hair tickling his skin as he breathed in deeply. Had he known that heaven was hiding so closely to him, he might not have waited so long to come and see you.

"What are you--" you complained, pushing yourself away from him. But Diluc's hand had already wandered beneath the pillow, feeling the hot water bottle you kept secured there, only to replace it with his palm. He was just as, if not hotter than anything the servants could procure for you; his body temperature naturally elevated from his vision. It wouldn't burn you, but with his hand hugging your lower belly, it was much more effective and fitting than any appliance might be.

And you fell for it, even if just for a split second.

For a moment, you leaned into the comfort of his palm, the pain vanishing in the blink of an eye. Diluc even caught you sighing briefly before you came to your senses, jolting and pushing away from him, only to get stuck inside the blanket and pressed up against him. Diluc couldn't help but grin, having read your actions before they even occurred to you, but of course, this was a serious matter, so he quickly composed himself.

"H-Hey!" you yelled as his hand drifted lower, his face burying into the nape of your neck. He wasn't there to dilly-dally but to be of service. To help you in your time of need. By the time Diluc pressed his lips to your skin and his fingers between your legs, you understood his intentions as well, perhaps misinterpreted, but clear as day.

He was going to fuck the pain away. 

If exercise and stimulation helped others, maybe it would do the same for you. His fingers were met with warm slick, your body flinching when he moved over your clit. Perhaps his calloused hands weren't made for caressing and soft touches but for teasing and stimulating. Judging by how puffy your lower lips were, worked up from days of rubbing your legs together and your panties aggravating them mercilessly, you were in dire need of his help.

"Don't fight it. You're not alone in this," Diluc reassured you as you squirmed in his hold, biting back the salacious sounds of pleasure you were keeping from his ears. You were so mean, keeping every little taste of appreciation from Diluc, knowing how much it meant to him. But he'd endure. Even when your ass ground back against his cock, making it incredibly hard to not focus on his needs as well, he'd put you first in all of this.

When he slipped his pointer and middle finger towards your entrance, a tremor went through your body, a gasp slipping out from between your lips. Diluc never knew how easy it was to get inside another person, greeted warmly and happily by your hole clenching around his fingers.

His kisses became more fervent against your neck, teeth snapping out as he felt like he was losing himself in your scent and warmth. The pushes of his hips against your ass became faster, your cheeks fitting so well around his shaft. You yelled at him to stop, but he barely heard you through the sounds of your sloppy, wet cunt, blood mingling with eager juices to allow him more reach inside you. It was almost as if he could hear them beg for him to go deeper, which just wasn't possible with his knuckles in the way, no matter how much he tried.

Forgotten was the pain as pleasure raked its claws through both of you, and yet, Diluc still heard you whine and sob as he scissored his fingers through your inside. It wasn't enough. He opened his eyes he didn't know he had closed, staring at your expression curiously. All he saw was anger and disgust, your teeth bared and ready to snap, while he could feel your nails digging into his arm. And yet, when he found your eyes, he saw a very different version of events. Lust, desire, longing. You wanted more, and Diluc wouldn't refuse such a request.

Slipping a leg between yours, he pried them apart, spreading you open wide. You gasped, squirming and trying to cut off his access, but Diluc only had to lean back to steal your balance, your body reliant on his while he gained more space on your bed. The hardest part was freeing his cock from the restraint of his pants, the fabric soggy with both your juices as well as his own pre-cum pearling off the tip of his engorged cock.

Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your wet cunt greeting his eager cock. No imagining of this situation could have come close to the throbbing heat, your walls convulsing around his fingers in eager expectation. Diluc placed his tip against his fingers, planning to slip them out and take the opening to sink into you, but with how wet the combination of blood and juices was, he felt himself slipping away, kissing your clit instead.

And for the first time, you moaned.

It was the sound of angels and everything nice, and he drew his hips back, trying again to fill you with his cock, missing it just an inch. All good things are three, and when he finally plunged it deep inside your pussy, you weren't the only one yowling in pleasure. No matter what he had imagined his first time with you to be, nothing would ever top the mess he caused between your legs, his cock ready to burst as it pulsated violently inside your equally as ready cunt.

He could feel the waves of pleasure going through you, the shudders in your limbs as he began to slowly press forward, kissing the last few inches of his reach. You remained stiff as a plank, but when he pulled out halfway before sinking in deep again, you were unable to keep your mouth shut, an elongated moan making its way to Diluc's ears, letting him know it was the right thing after all.

Immediately, any hesitation fell off him as he dragged his cock out and sunk it back into you. Fingers retreated to your clit, continuing to slip off and assault the little knob over and over while your walls clenched around his shaft, making you feel every one of his throbs and ridges, the heat between you two almost scorching.

Part of him couldn't believe it worked. That he actually managed to help you with this trick. But he'd have been a liar if he said it wasn't a pleasure for him, too. Diluc could never have dreamed about your proficiency in driving him wild, from your hot, puffy pussy wrapping around him to the improper sounds he had never heard coming from your lips before. The blood kept you so wet and loud down there; it was like you were synching your moans with your pussy, sloppy as they were.

It couldn't have been better, a shudder going through you from head to toe, your feet curling as you gurgled. Diluc wrapped his free arm around your throat, pulling you against him and burying his face in your shoulder as you came hard, juices leaking out, red dripping on the clean sheets with the blanket long discarded.

You were gasping for air as he plunged right back into you, waiting but a mere few seconds of yours before pursuing his own orgasm. Selfishly, but unable to stop. Diluc was already too deep in it, quite literally, your orgasm making your inside tight around him, but it posed no challenge with how drenched you both were.

A strained groan escaped Diluc as he buckled, feeling the first squirts of cum shoot out of him before he drew back, popping out of your cunt and covering it in his cum. His tip got stuck on your clit, as his jizz ejected under the pressure of his orgasm, making you mewl as you were once again stimulated. It would be a mess to clean, but it had been worth it.

You two collapsed, spent and dirty, but Diluc slipped his palm back over your lower stomach, rubbing the collection of juices over your soft skin, leaving a red trail. Kissing the side of your head, he was trying to collect his breath and thoughts, barely able to think straight as the feelings of happiness and his relief kept him in a chokehold.

"Better?" he asked, his voice a blissful rumble as he pulled you firmer against him.

But all he was met with was a cold glare and tears in your eyes. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered instinctively, immediately feeling bad. What had he done to upset you again? Your teeth were biting into your lip as if you were holding back a tirade of screaming, ready to explode.

His cock twitched between your legs, bloody and so, so wet.

"I'll make it better! I promise! I will definitely make it better," he tried to reassure you, dazed with pleasure as he was, unable to see the actual problem with all of this. Your body convulsed in shock as he pressed his tip upwards again, and you gasped loudly as he sunk his inches inside you. This time, he wouldn't fail to make you feel better. And until then, he'd keep going.

All night long, if he had to.

#diluc #yandere diluc #yandere!diluc #genshin #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere!genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere!genshin impact #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

[wintervalewritersecond]

tears to shed - simon 'ghost' riley

masterlist // masterlist call of duty

requested: no, but requests are OPEN! request: x

A/N: i have been thinking of this AU for a while now! i dont know why or how, maybe because of the skull mask he has on, or maybe just because i love both media, but alas, here it is! going to be multiple parts i think...

part one // part two // part three // part four

wordcount: 2,366 warnings: ooc simon, corpse bride au, she/her reader

An arranged marriage to unite two worlds. But no one would have expected that it would bring together the living and the dead.

"I do not want to see that pout again! We have gone over this, you are to wed mister MacTavish, whether you like it or not!"

Yes. Yes, we have gone over this. Quite frankly, it is all that you have heard about for the last few weeks. Your family finally had the chance to climb the social ladder, claiming their spot that 'is rightfully theirs'. The MacTavish family is one of the highest ranking families with a son that your parents deem perfect for you.

Perfect, as in, for them. A high rank, society looking up to you, and all that for the small price of marrying out their only daughter.

"Besides, with a face like yours, who else would marry you? Anne, tighten her corset! I can nearly hear her breathe."

Anne, your maid, looks at you as she furrows her eyebrows, slightly tightening the corset as you breathe in. God, can this already be over?

A carriage is driven in front of your doorstep, ready to bring you to the huge MacTavish mansion. Your mother seems like she could not be happier as your father only trails behind her.

"Oh, I can not wait for our daughter to be married! We will finally be where we should have been from the very start!"

"This is only a rehearsal, my dear."

"Oh, nonsense! This wedding will happen, whether you like it or not! This time tomorrow, we will be the talk of the town!"

In an attempt to ignore them, you already enter the carriage, pulling on your gloves as you lean your head on the small window. Your mother huffs, climbing into the carriage as well before your father comes in, closing the door behind him.

"Now, come on! We don't have all day. Shepherd!"

The old man grunts, pulling the reigns as the horses taking off. It takes only a few seconds before your mother taps you with her fan.

"I can see you thinking! Whatever plan of escaping you have, you better forget. Everything has to go according to plan, Y/N! This life we have lived up till now is something not fit for us. We are rich, and this marriage will only mean good for us. Oh, can't you just see it?" She looks over at your father, "We will have balls! Oh, can you just imagine? Dancing, and goodness, people will be coming over for tea!"

You wonder how it was going in the MacTavish home now. Were his parents also lecturing him on everything? Were they tying his tie so tightly so that he can barely breathe? Or maybe his parents were actually quite sweet.

Before you knew it, the carriage already comes to a stop, the huge mansion in front of you. It is even more terrifying as you remember. Sure, you knew their home would be bigger than yours, but this is nearly a castle. You breathe in deeply - well, as deep as you can with the tight corset - before exiting the carriage after your parents.

Your mother pulls you behind her and up the stairs that lead to the tall doors. How will these even be opened? They are five times as tall as you and they must be so heavy. Your mother roughly turns you around, tugging on your dress and hair to make sure it looks absolutely perfect before the door opens.

"Oh, goodness! What an impeccable taste," your mother mumbles to herself, looking around as you just trail behind, "So grand!"

In front of you stand two tall figures.

"Lord and Lady MacTavish," the butler gives your family a side-eye before stepping back.

"Ah, you must be mister John MacTavish. I have to say, you do not look a day over twenty!"

Can your mother be more idiotic? Your father tugs her arm, shaking his head before coughing.

"Well," Lady MacTavish raises one eyebrow, "We will be taking tea in the drawing room. Follow me."

The Lord and Lady already walk off, your parents trailing behind them as your mom keeps muttering random compliments. Something else catches your eye though.

A piano.

A grand piano at that. It is cleaned so well that it seems to reflect anything in its path. You wish you were allowed to play piano at home, but your mother always insisted that it was simply not fit for you. There is more important stuff to do, such as pushing yourself into the smallest corset just to appeal to others.

Your fingers float over the keys as you slowly sit down. The door to the drawing room was already shut, they wouldn't hear you, right? You slowly press the different keys. Gosh, it feels good to finally play the piano again. It was a small secret between you and your father - only playing the instrument if your mother was not home.

Johnny was running late. His parents will kill him. They had warned him so many times that he should have been on time, yet here he is, still trying to tie his tie. After multiple tries, he finally gets it, rushing out of his room and down the stairs. But, before he can even get out of his hallway, he is met with the soft notes of a piano. The piano actually being played in this house?

He is met with you as you still softly play, not even noticing the man at the top of the stairs. Were you Miss Y/L/N? He walks down the steps, slowly making his way over to the piano. You are still sat on the little stool, not even noticing the figure behind you until you see a shadow towering over you. You yelp, quickly standing up before pushing the seat back in its original place.

"I am so sorry! Please, excuse me."

The man shakes his head, laughing.

"Hey, no need for that. You play beautifully. I wish I possessed that talent."

"Oh, it is nothing," you let out a deep breath, smiling at him. "My mother does not quite like my playing. Says it is improper for a lady."

"Nonsense," Johnny sits down on the little stool, gesturing for you to sit down as well. "If anything, you should never stop playing. You truly have a talent for it, miss Y/L/N."

It is quiet for a bit, just the two of you sitting together, both not knowing what to say.

"So... We are to be wed tomorrow."

"So it is, mister MacTavish."

"Oh, no, call me John. Or Johnny, both is okay. Considering the circumstances, I think it will do."

"All right, that is, if you call me Y/N."

He does not have time to respond as his mother comes rushing out of the drawing room, visibly mad.

"What is this?! How improper. You shouldn't be alone together! The rehearsal starts in one minute! Come, at once!"

Time goes as slow as it could. In front of the group stands a tall man, trying to guide everyone through the rehearsal as you fight to not fall asleep. His voice is almost as boring as his appearance, and nothing about this entire situation makes you feel happy. You are not even allowed to sit directly next to Johnny, not to mention that both of you just could not keep to the script.

"Okay... Again," the old man groans, nearly wanting to rip the book that he is holding apart, "Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine."

"With this candle," Johnny begins, but quickly gets cut off.

"Mister MacTavish, first repeat the other sentence," the old man shakes his head, dropping the book on the table. "First the cup, then the wine, then the candle. Let's try it again..."

You quickly glance back, seeing multiple disappointed faces looking back at you. The doorbell rings, Lord MacTavish quickly waving the butler away to open up the door.

"How about you, miss Y/N?"

"Yeah," you quietly mumble, taking hold of the candle. All that you have to do is make it lit up and make sure the flame stays on the entirety of the speech. "I, uh... I use this candle..."

"With this candle, miss Y/N."

"Oh, it seems that I am early."

Both you and Johnny turn around, seeing the visitor that knocked on the door earlier. A woman, one dressed in a neat and fashionable gown, stands in the middle of the aisle.

"Is she from our family?" Your mother whispers to your father, but he only shrugs in response.

"A seat for Miss Graves, please."

What an odd name.

"Oh, please. Do carry on."

"Right... Let us try this. Again."

"With this hand," Mister MacTavish takes hold of your hand, holding the candlestick in his other. "I will..."

He bumps into the table in front of him, everything on it shaking and nearly falling over as the old man starts yelling yet again.

"Three steps! Can you not count?"

You look over at Johnny before looking back at the man.

"I am sure that he can, sir."

The man mumbles something under his breath, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Did he even remember to bring the rings?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

Johnny fumbles with his pocket, trying to fish out the small bands, but while doing so, he accidentally elbows you, making you drop the candle. Oh, no.

The candle rolls away from you, much too fast for you to catch it, the dress of Lady MacTavish slowly catching fire.

"Lady MacTavish!"

You quickly hurry over, stomping on her dress in a weak attempt to get rid of the flames. It does not take long for the butler to return with a bucket of water, emptying the contents over the fire and you.

"Enough!"

The tall man stands up even straighter, towering over everyone in the room.

"This wedding can not take place until both of them are properly prepared. Both of you, learn your vows."

He nearly pushes his pointer finger in your eye as you nervously look from him, to your parents, to Johnny's parents. The young man quickly pushes open the door, hurrying out as you follow behind him. He is, however, much too fast, almost running up the stairs, but not before accidentally dropping something from his pocket.

His ring.

You quickly scoop it up, holding it close before rushing out of the house. You need to be away from this place, if even just for a moment. The ring will be safe in your possession, so hopefully Johnny will not get in any more trouble if he fully loses it. The band is much too big to fit your fingers, it has to be the one belonging to Johnny. Either that, or they were really bad at measuring your rings.

"They must think I am a fool," you groan, slowly walking up to the bridge, shaking your head. "I mean, what did I even think? I set her dress on fire!"

You twirl the ring around in your fingers, crossing the bridge, the woods in front of you.

"Not only that, but I can not even seem to remember the stupid vows. It is just a couple of sentences!"

The next fifteen minutes are spent trying to go over the same vows again and again. At one point, you weren't even sure anymore if the words you were speaking even existed. You decided to sit down on a fallen tree, leaning against it as you twirled the ring in between your fingers again.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine," you whisper, looking at one of the branches right next to you. "With this candle I will light your way into the darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

You slip the ring onto the branch, huffing as you lean back even more. Mud and sand are staining your dress now, but as you look over at the ring again to take if off of the stick, something grabs your wrist.

A yelp leaves your lips as you try and pull your arm back, but it seems like the branches have wrapped themselves around your wrists. It nearly pulls you down into the ground before you fall backwards.

"Ouch!"

You shake your head, looking up, but you still feel the grip around your arm. On it are bones, a hand, still gripping you.

"Oh my God!"

A figure rises from the sand, clawing at the dirt as it slowly stands up, dirt and leaves falling from its shoulders. On their face, a skull, though quite obviously a mask. He is missing his left arm - is that what gripped you?

"I do."

He does? What does he do? You glance down, the ring that you put onto the branch now around its bony finger. No.

No.

Another scream leaves your body as you hurry to scramble up, running as fast as you can with the dress you are wearing. The ground is uneven and it is dark, but the figure does not seem fazed. You rush, leaves and branches hitting you in the face and hooking onto your clothing. Do you dare to look back? Once you do, you see the figure catching up to you, its arm now attached to its body again.

You reach the bridge, your breathing heavy as you almost rip the corset off of your body. Why did your mother insist on tightlacing it? Well, you had not expected on having to run through the woods. Is it gone? You look back to the woods, the figure seemingly gone as you let out a relieved sigh. You take a few steps back, but immediately stop when you feel that you bump into something. Slowly turning around, you are met with someone's chest.

Its the figure.

He looks down at you, his eyes peeking out from the mask. He is wearing a clean suit, a white flower in his pocket, and the ring around his fingers.

"I have to say, that is one hell of a way to ask me to marry you, love."

#simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #call of duty imagine #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley

[grendelsmilf]

i enjoy the afterparty for its conceit of framing each episode from the perspective of a different character in an entirely different genre (or even medium, in zoe’s case), i like a lot of the actors in it (especially sam richardson and ben schwartz), and i think the comedy and character building is enjoyable and smart. but it’s also perfect example of the reactionary assumptions of its genre by its very nature, as a “whodunnit”/murder mystery.

it showcases every ideological flaw with this genre to the point that it almost seems like self-parody (but alas, it isn’t). the detective on the case is a brilliant underdog who demonstrates the necessity of the police despite the unfortunate existence of “bad cops” who act in opposition to the work of “good cops.” the murderer is figured out by this heroic cop who doesn’t play by the rules and “brought to justice,” where they will rot in prison for doing violence to a member of the elite whose murder is high profile due to his status.

as the plot unfolds, we are given more and more reasons to despise the murder victim to the point where knowing that someone will be convicted and punished for killing him makes us far sadder for the killer than the victim, and yet of course our conclusion remains as it always does: solving the case is more important than the humanity of those involved, and the brilliant detective who condemned someone to an inhumane carceral system, who will surely be further mistreated for killing a member of the elite, is viewed as a hero for being good at her job of enforcing state violence.

ironically, in the flashback episode, we see the police framed as enacting state violence against a black teenager at the behest of the future murder victim, who is shielded from the same punishment due to being the son of a wealthy capitalist. surely, the show would not give us this scene, this entire episode, if we were not meant to critique the foundational violence upon which this genre is built? and yet the season still ends with the good cop prevailing, and the killer arrested.

i watched gosford park the other day, and it is a perfect satire of the whodunnit genre, challenging every assumption that the afterparty fails to even question. the murder is not the inciting incident; in fact, in happens over halfway through the movie. once it does, nothing really changes, everyone is just now slightly hassled by the presence of police, who fail to solve the case in a shocking turn to anyone remotely familiar with the genre. we, as the audience, know who the murderer is, at least somewhat, and we do not, nor any of the characters, have any desire to see him punished for it.

like in the afterparty, the murder victim is a member of the elite who benefits from inherited wealth, although the exploitation he commits as a capitalist and a misogynist who does not value the lives of his workers, his staff, or the lives of his bastard children born from his exploited female workers, is far more direct and harmful. his son happened to have a personal motivation in wanting him dead, but any of his workers could have poisoned or stabbed him and their resentment would have been understandable. the inept detective claims that there is no need in interviewing his staff, as only those (upstairs) who actually knew him are valid suspects.

in the final scene of the movie, the old matriarch played by maggie smith says to her maid that she hopes that she doesn’t have to testify in court, because it would be awful for someone to be imprisoned over something you said. it’s perhaps the only considerate, empathetic thing she says the entire movie.

while marketed as a murder mystery and lambasted by some for not being effective in its execution of the genre, the movie only really uses the whodunnit aspect as a vehicle for its larger commentary on exploitation and violence (against women, against the colonized, and foremost against workers). while the elites who profit off the imperialist violence of the british empire and exploit their servants who wait on them hand and foot (sometimes sexually) are only vaguely affected by individual violence occurring to them (in the form of retribution for their sins), they effect mass violence and glibly discuss it over a seven course dinner.

gosford park not only subverts the genre in obvious ways such as portraying the detective as incompetent and obtuse who fails to catch the culprit, but by directly interrogating the fundamental pillars of the genre, foundations which go unquestioned as the basic scaffolding of the mystery genre, but are in fact rotten to the core.

#o #the afterparty #(please keep in mind ive only seen s1 so far) #gosford park #the more i think about this movie the more i appreciate it #also you don’t have to have seen either to read this post #please read this post actually #it’s quite steam of consciousness but also. im proud of it?

[tu-sugar-mami]

So it was all a lie? #2

You can read part 1 here

TW MENTIONS OF MANIPULATION. LOTS OF HEARTBREAK

________________

The sun was setting by the time Alcina finished her meeting with Mother Miranda. As usual, she had been left with a heavy headache that begged her to take a very well deserved five-minute break accompanied by her trusty wine bottle. 

As she stands next to the window taking small sips from her goblet filled to the brim and enjoying the last of the sunlight on her skin, her thoughts drift once again towards you. The maid that was always a bit too rough, she recalls, always harsh but determinate and efficient nonetheless. Alcina had seen the fire behind those deep eyes of yours, your willingness to keep fighting no matter the obstacle; you had proven since the moment you were brought to the castle that you would not back down, even if it costs your life. Danger means nothing to you, and Alcina to this day isn’t sure if that was because the life you had before joining her staff left terrible scars on you, or you simply were too tired to care. Either way, she saw you as a challenge the moment you set foot in her castle.

How long would it take to break that spirit, she had wondered? 

Honestly, that was probably her first misstep, an error in her calculating mind. The consequences of her actions hadn’t even registered in her brain until much later, when in a rather inconvenient way she found out that your company wasn’t all that bad. 

Then again, it was her doing that let Miranda know of that resilience of yours, and Alcina can recognize that mistake. In her defense, your “three-month-trial” had just finished, and the Lady was impressed by your work, so much in fact that she couldn’t help but to carelessly thank the goddess for the quality batch of maidens that was delivered to her.

Now she can’t help but think that she should have known better.

Many things had happened since that moment, around two years ago, when Miranda ordered her to keep an eye on you to make sure you’d be prepared for the day Eva would be back among the living. Perhaps if Alcina had known back then what would become of her at your mercy, things would have happened differently.

She was hoping to keep you safe from the crow goddess’ beak for a little longer, to have enough time for herself to toy with you before regrettably handing you to your fate, but alas, Miranda’s orders were final. 

The Lady wouldn’t admit it, but it took her more time and effort to gain your trust than with any other maid in her many years of existence, and no, Alcina knew you weren’t playing hard to get, but rather you were genuinely wary of every person that tried to approach you. It almost made her feel bad for taking advantage of that weakness you showed in front of her.

After that turbulent start, it had been so easy for Alcina to have you do her bidding with nothing but a flick of her wrist and a single smile. Even more was her delight to know that you had blindly fallen for her charms despite everyone else trying and failing to gain your favor. She was so pleased to have you go through the countless -and quite painful- procedures to become the perfect vessel without letting out so much as a peep if she ordered so. Alcina knew the power she had over you and at first, it was perfect, funny even. 

Until it wasn’t.

The landscape soon enough becomes dark when the sun fully settles, and as Alcina is pouring herself a second serving of Sanguis Virginis, a knocking on the door reaches her ears before her eldest daughter comes in through bearing a worrisome expression.

The glass of the goblet shatters against the floorboards as Alcina’s eyes fall onto the very familiar, very torn and way too bloodied jacket dangling from Bela’s hand.

---------------

It’s not unusual for maids to try to escape Castle Dimitrescu and the horrors inside it. 

You’re not sure when or how the rumor of the supposed exit started, or even how the info kept its strength until today, because to your knowledge, there hasn’t been a single person that managed to successfully escape. Daniela always makes sure to brag about how she always catches them before they can get too far.

For all you know, the daughters might as well be the ones to have spread that rumor among the maids, although if it was intended for their own amusement or if held any truth, you don’t know.

So far, you don’t think you’ve advanced much, with the complicated turns and dead-ends in the cellar-slash-dungeon only leading you to get lost, by now you wouldn’t be able to return even if you wanted to. You don’t even care anymore, as now anything is better than to keep yourself trapped in the castle with her roaming around.

Oh how you always looked forward to see her around every corner. You yearned to smell her perfume around you, to have her scent mixed with yours, to have her arms surrounding you… and now, all you feel when thinking about her is visceral betrayal, a hurting so intense that is asphyxiating. 

But above all, disappointment clutches at your heart… 

Alcina Dimitrescu, the very same woman you loved was nothing but the monster everyone said she was. 

The blood drinking, the unnecessary –sometimes unsanitary– murders, the fact that she and her daughters aren’t humans, all of that were things you could look past. But knowing, having heard from her very own lips and voice, that you were just a game to her, that all of the paradise she made you live was nothing but her way to mock you, to keep you in line… that is what hurts, and that is what you can’t forgive. 

You knew her to be cruel, you knew her to be dangerous and unpredictable, you knew since the moment you met her to keep your distance from that wretched family and yet… she had seemed so genuine, so…real. 

It’s difficult to accept that all of the effort Alcina put in her façade was only to reach her goal, but deep down (even if everything you learned about her is a lie), you know her enough to be sure that if the Lady wants something she’ll go on and beyond to achieve it. 

To think that you believed her when she so adoringly said she loved you. That you completed her and made her feel human again… that she felt a warmth with you she thought long forgotten. You believed in the fire of her kisses, the desire in her eyes, the tenderness of her touch. Even now, your heart has trouble seeing the truth, and it hurts because you can’t bring yourself to stop loving her, not after she made you feel understood, not after you so blinded by love showed her your most vulnerable side and deepest secrets. You know that you will fall victim again to her charms if you see her, and that is why you need to escape.

Now that you think of it, you could have prepared better for the dangerous trip, maybe stopping at the armory could have helped. Then again, the last thing you wanted was to spend another second in the castle where you could easily stumble upon any of them. At least you had the prudence to pick up a knife from the kitchen before venturing downstairs…

Your heart clenches in your chest at the memories of the woman you love flooding your mind, but pinching your forearm forces yourself to keep focused.

Alcina really did a number on you…  

Somehow knowing that you were only meant to be the new body for Mother Miranda’s long dead baby isn’t surprising. It makes sense, you guess, it gives an answer as to what was the thing that made you special enough to keep around for so long instead of being murdered in cold blood for your transgressions against the Ladies of the castle.

Mentally you curse the person who designed the so poorly lit dungeon tunnels for making them so complicated. Not to mention the moroaica infestation that makes it even harder to advance further. They already welcomed warmly you as soon as you descended the stairs and somehow managed to take your jacket. 

Somewhere in your mind you vaguely remember Alcina mentioning something about them once being failed experiments, and it’s now that it clicks, the so aforementioned health appointments Alcina made you endure and the new info provided by the conversation you overheard earlier….  If any of those procedures had gone wrong, you could have ended up as another member of the undead maidens roaming in the cellar. 

The grip you hold on the stolen knife tightens. 

Everything you had, everything you were, you gave it all to Alcina. 

Your blood, body… and eventually your heart, all of it you had offered on a silver platter and all of it she took greedily. 

Something splashes behind you, but whatever it is remains unknown, for the light doesn’t reach this far deep. 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The seconds run on the gold watch on your wrist (a present from Alcina, for the anniversary of your first year together) and make you wonder how long you have left before any of the daughters comes to get you.

Several growls can be heard approaching far too quick for your liking, and the knife on your hand feels slippery thanks to the sweat on your palm. 

You were always strong, determined and stubborn, and with Alcina by your side, you felt almost invincible.

Right now though, with your heart broken and your body weak from crying and fighting, you feel too tired to keep moving, and suddenly the idea of surrendering to the moroaica’s swords doesn’t sound all that bad.

You just hope your girls don’t find your body until much, much later, when the incoming horde of undead women finish with you…

_________________________________________

Tags:

@mmmmokdok @nydeiri @fanfiction8080 @peggyc4rtershaircurler @jeongonion @justyourwritter69 @lord6-6fandom@screechcat @scarletwvtchey

Sorry if I missed any

#lady dimitrescu #re8 #alcina dimitrescu #my fic #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Just Like Love

Ransom Drysdale x reader

Masterlists Author's Note: This story explores themes of violence, dubious consent, stalking as well as other dark themes, please read the warnings and proceed at your own risk. Summary: For going on one year, Y/n has served as Ransom's maid, though, as the pair seek to discover each other's dark secrets and well maintained facades unravel, the real reasons for Y/n's continued employment comes to light

Prologue

Y/n is Ransom's longest serving maid, and the reason for that is embedded in well kept secrets......on both sides. Warnings: Sexual harassment

Working for Ransom meant following three simple rules;

Never touch the keys to the Beamer.

Never be seen out of ‘uniform’ out of working hours. 

Never, ever speak to his guests- the help should never be heard. 

Despite his rules which she absolutely abhorred- she actually didn’t care about Hugh’s precious car but the “uniform” had only ever been loosely defined as a black skirt and whatever blouse she wanted while his friends were always as insufferable as he was - Y/n had been her boss’ longest employee. Arguably, the record wasn’t very hard to beat; before she’d been hired, the last three maids hadn’t stuck around for longer than a handful of months. Y/n though, she’d been around for a year and didn’t have any plans on leaving, at least, not until she got everything that she needed. 

Besides, being a maid for Ransom, or Hugh as he preferred to be called, at least by the staff, wasn’t all bad. He was surprisingly tidy for a rich brat and it was usually easy to stay out of his way because he was hardly ever home. Y/n didn’t even know where he went all day, as far as she knew, he was unemployed and had recently evaded jail time for murder by the skin of his teeth- the irksome privilege of grossly wealthy parents. Even without his grandfather’s money, his mother had enough resources and influence to sway the outcome of his case. 

Alas, despite his and his parents muddled morals, Ransom was the perfect boss; religiously left her check on the coffee table in an envelope with her name on it on the twenty-fifth of every month, knew how a laundry hamper worked, and always put his dishes in the washer. Would it have killed him to be more polite and not undress her with his eyes when they did speak? Maybe. Could she ignore the fact that he was an A grade, womanizing jerk for the sake of some information and a paycheck? Definitely. 

That day, she’d only brought in the groceries about forty minutes earlier and was almost through with packing them away, having completed most of the task on muscle memory. It was still early, no later than ten in the morning, and when she’d left a couple hours earlier, Ransom had still been asleep, and by the time she’d returned, Y/n had assumed he’d left for his routine run before hitting his home gym. The frozens and dairy goods had been stowed in the fridge, cereals, rice and flour had been taken to their designated spaces in the walk-in pantry, cleaning supplies had been packed neatly into the cupboard under the sink and the only thing left to do included washing and putting away fresh produce.

Slipping into absent thought, Y/n rinsed everything off and was about to start de-harting and chopping brightly colored bell peppers when, through the open double doorway, dressed in a sweat soaked gray t-shirt and low riding sweatpants, Ransom sauntered into the kitchen clearly fresh off his run. Upon entry, he didn’t trouble himself with removing his earbuds- or pleasantries- before heading to the integrated refrigerator for a bottle of water. Y/n didn’t attempt to be polite either, she didn’t even stop what she was doing to get him coffee, instead she carried on with her task, sharpened knife audibly slicing through the bright yellow pepper and hitting the wooden board. 

“I’m gonna need you to work late tonight,” he began abruptly after setting the bottle down and heading over to the espresso machine. Suppressing a sigh, Y/n rolled her eyes while remaining wordless so Ransom could continue, “And you need to cook something- are you even listening?”

Locking her jaw, Y/n attempted to swallow her irritation before responding, “Yes, Hugh.”

“Fucking rude,” he muttered below breath, and in that moment, she retracted her earlier thought; Ransom was actually a pain to work for. Long hours three or four days a week, serving his chauvinistic, overgrown, frat boy friends while dressed like she was working at Hooters and acting as a sounding board for his bad manners. 

And she could feel him staring at her ass.

“Make something nice,” he carried on, “Salmon, do salmon.” Great, now she’d have to go back to the store because who the hell just buys salmon? 

“Salmon and?” Y/n suspired, sliding the rest of the bell peppers into a glass container.

“Salmon and what?” Ransom probed with a scoff, sliding his mug out from under the machine. 

Inhaling deeply, Y/n snapped the lid onto the bowl and set the knife down quietly, trying harder than she preferred to keep her cool, “That’s what I’m asking you,” she explained exasperatedly. “What would you like with your salmon?” Her faux sweetness made him scoff as he leaned against the marble counter, crossing one ankle over the other. He looked good like that, so good that it made her hate him even more; wasn’t it enough for him to be an insanely rich jerk? Did he really need to be jaw droppingly attractive too? 

He was a literal, fucking murderer- that looked like he belonged on the centerfold of a magazine while dressed in Abercrombie and Fitch. 

“I don’t fucking care about what goes with the salmon,” his face contorted into an expression that she could only describe as a mixture of disgust and disdain, as if it were absolutely outlandish that she assume that he would decide what he wanted for dinner. 

But Y/n knew him well; he’d say he didn’t care, but would probably throw a temper tantrum if she decided on whatever he’d deem as the wrong thing. “Yes, you do,” she seethed, “You just don’t know that you care.”

Ransom squinted his eyes and shook his head, “Fine,” he breathed, “Feels like I have to do everything around here,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. “Do those potatoes, with the….” He gestured in circles with his free hand, “With the…..thyme-”

“Rosemary,” Y/n corrected with an annoyed huff, “Rosemary potatoes,” collecting the bowl of bell peppers, she headed over to the fridge, slipping it onto one of the shelves. Quickly rinsing her hands off, she haphazardly dried them on a dishtowel near the sink before reaching for her handbag and cell phone on the island, “I have to go back to the store.”

He barely hummed in acknowledgement, though, before she left the kitchen, she heard the distinct sound of a spoon clattering to the tiled floor, “Y/n,” it still amazed her everyday that he got her name right, given that the complaint of the person she’d heard about the job from was that he never cared enough to get names right. Pausing, she turned slowly, anticipating his next words, “Pick that up for me,” he nodded towards the spoon, just a couple feet ahead of where he was standing- he’d either thrown it there or had kicked it after it 'fell', not that it mattered. “Please?” He flashed her a wicked smirk. 

Stewing, Y/n set her things down with purpose and stalked towards where the spoon was laying, “Well,” she scoffed, “Since you asked so nicely.” Ensuring her back was to him, Y/n bent over without stooping in the slightest, making a point of bending over slowly and thereby offering him a view of her ass and bare legs. She took her time in collecting the spoon, though even when she did, Y/n straightened up with sultry fluidity and subtly swayed her hips as she sauntered towards him, not stopping until they were within a few inches of each other. In a lonesome, pronounced movement, she tugged on the lower hem of her blouse as she leaned past him to set it on the counter, not missing the way his oceanic gaze dipped to her cleavage. 

“Is that all?” She tilted her head, secretly reveling in the effect she had on Ransom. 

It was obvious that he’d had to put in active effort to tear his gaze away from the top of her breasts; while Ransom was not shy about ogling,  he did, at times, have the decency to look at her face while they were speaking. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “Yeah….thanks.”

Y/n smirked, “Welcome,” once more, she collected her bag, and the keys to her little neat, gray Toyota before heading towards the kitchen doorway, “Be back in a while,” she offered causally, not even caring to listen out for a response. 

The only thing worse than having to work late was when working late meant cleaning up after Ransom’s dates. His snobby, rude dates. They were all the same- Ransom seemed to have a type; stunning, rich, superficial and obnoxious, much like him. That night Christa, a young model, who’d managed to remind her of the fact three times in two hours, was nothing short of a grown up Regina George, equipped with the pink mini skirt and all. Thankfully, Y/n was well versed in the ‘grin and bare it’ approach, and managed to get through their sparse interactions without accidentally ruining her outfit with red wine. 

After Ransom had taken Christa upstairs, Y/n had quickly cleared the glass table near the full length window in the dining area, and taken the dishes to the kitchen in one trip. It wasn’t hard to deduce what they were doing up there, but with lips pressed together, Y/n tried to ignore the thought; it wasn’t her business anyway. Though, it was nights like those that she’d have to work harder to convince herself that staying was worth it; it didn’t matter if he acted like she was nothing more than something put out for him to gawk at, if his guests treated her like crap or even if he had no qualms with, very loudly, debunching women while she was in the house- nothing but her goal mattered. 

Scrubbing the scraps off the dishes before packing them into the dishwasher, Y/n worked with quiet haste, easily blocking out the muffled noises that seemed to travel down the stairs. Upon fitting one of the dishwasher pods into its allotted space, she eased the door shut and got started on cleaning up the kitchen; putting away leftovers, wiping down counters and rising off the sink. She was determined to leave the kitchen as spotless as possible; by what she’d gathered, Ransom was supposed to be gone for a few hours the next morning, and desperately, Y/n wanted to keep the time free for her own…..work.  

It must have been just past ten with Christa left; heels thumping loudly on the floor, sounding as if she were in a hurry, and without seeing- or hearing anything other than her footsteps- she knew that something had gone wrong. While Ransom’s dates never spent the night, they rarely left before midnight. 

Shortly after Christa left, right as she was finishing up with emptying the dishwasher, Y/n became vaguely aware of soft steps entering the kitchen. Without saying anything, she kept her back turned, drying off any excess water from freshly washed dishes and then setting them down on the counter near the sink. She heard the fridge open, then close again, then, the soft ‘pop’ of metal cap being eased off the mouth of a glass bottle disturbed the near silence, Y/n didn’t hear him leave though. 

And she didn’t hear him come up behind her. 

A sudden grip on her waist and a broad chest against her back startled Y/n, resulting in a half dried plate clattering noisily into the sink. Surprised, but not scared, she gasped sharply and glanced at his hand, holding firm to her side, “Can I help you, Hugh?”

“I think so,” Ransom bent his head so she could feel his alcohol laced breath hot against her ear, “Why don’t you call me Ransom tonight?”

Y/n’s shoulders relaxed a little and she huffed, “I’m guessing things with Christa didn’t go well?” She licked her lips and stole a glance up at the window behind the sink, catching bits of his expression; a devilishly attractive mix of mirth and mischief.

Ransom scoffed, and he was so close that she could feel the swell of his chest, “Worst fuck of my life,” he spat with palpable distaste, “But I think I can still turn my night around,” he added, just as his hand inched forward towards the plane of her lower stomach. Quickly, he pressed a teasing, open mouthed  kiss to the side of her neck before pulling away to take an extended swing of his beer. 

Maintaining her nonchalance, Y/n pushed his hand away and spun against him so they were face to face, while still in very close proximity. “Then you think wrong,” with an emphasized shove, she set the checkered dish towel down near the small, neat stack of dry dishes, “Because if you think that you’re gonna get anything from me while your drunk and fifteen minutes clear of being four inches deep in some snobby bitch, then you are sorely mistaken.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the venom in her tone or simply her outright rejection of his advances, but Ransom seemed stunned almost to the point of soberness. So much so that he didn’t say anything as she slipped away from him, actively avoiding paying any attention to his toned, bare chest or the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips, boasting the prominent 'v' that lead lower. Deciding that she’d have to allot a few minutes in the morning to put the dishes away after all, Y/n went over to the corner of the counter where she usually left her things and collected her handbag and phone. With the bag slung on her shoulder and her phone and car keys clutched in her hands, Y/n sauntered towards the doorway. “Seven inches,” he offered, just as she’d put one foot past the threshold. 

With a smirk, Y/n bit back her snarky response, instead shaking her head as she headed out of his house, feeling all the more thrilled that she’d managed to, once again, topple his control. 

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom x reader #knives out #just like love

[dexterouslycharming]

Tell me about your interpretation of the White Queen!

The White Queen, or Cecilia Bishop, in both my rewrite and my oc au, is a gentle, kind soul. She does her best for her kingdom and Wonderland as a whole, but sometimes that means doing what she might not believe is right.

Cecilia grew up under her mother, Pearl's, thumb. Pearl was described as a cold, and harsh woman, and it was evident in her raising of Cecilia. She was raised to be the perfect White Queen, to do as she was told until the day she was the one telling people what to do. Leading with a firm hand was always Pearl's first lesson. 'You're people are there to serve you, you are not there to serve them' as she would always say when Cecilia tried to do right by her people.

Growing up, Cecilia was isolated for most of her time, tending to lessons with her mother and fulfilling her duties as princess, but there were times when she got to go out, and that's where she met Maximus Hatter, the next Mad Hatter (as well as a few of the others who would be playing parts in Alice's story.) It seemed to be love at first sight for the two of them, Cecilia being drawn to Max's clumsy and odd behavior (even for a wonderlandian he was a bit odd.) And Maximus being drawn to Cecilia for what he says are 'the amount of feathers a woodchuck might chuck to grow a daisy' (some form of ridilish I presume.)

The two met as often as they could, with Cecilia's maids helping her sneak out when possible, and eventually, on the day the two were to sign the Story Book of Legends, which had been delivered to Wonderland High by Milton Grimm (who stayed to witness the signings) and only comes to Wonderland every four years or so due to the difficulty to find the Well of Wonder, Maximus proposed (They were both 24 at this time with Cecilia being a few months older than Max.) Cecilia said yes, and while they couldn't readily get married at that moment, the two were still just as happy.

About five years or so after this event, and their story had been played out, Maximus said that he knew of someone who was willing to marry them, despite it not being a part of their story. Neither have named this someone in an attempt to keep their identity a secret to spare them the consequences. About three months after their ceremony, at 29 years old, Cecilia found out she was pregnant.

Her mother was furious. Her daughter was carrying a bastard child of who knows what kind of man. . . And when Cecilia's baby was born with stark red hair, a trait rarely seen by those other than the Hatter's in Wonderland, she lost it. The castle was a mess for weeks after, and Cecilia feared for her baby's life at one point in time.

Eventually Pearl calmed down, and 'accepted' the fact that Sylvester, as Cecilia had named her son, had the blood of the Hatter's. She forbid Cecilia from seeing Maximus, and refused to let him meet his son. Cecilia cried for days after this, and alas she was not left without punishment. Being confined to her chambers for how long is unknown, however, what is known is that Sylvester got to meet his father, once at least. A maid who was very close with Cecilia snuck the baby out of the castle one night, and under the cover of darkness brought him to see his father.

She recalled this event to Cecilia the next morning, and the look of relief, and a slight bit of grief for not being able to see her love, washed over her face.

Sylvester grew up mostly with Pearl. Cecilia was not allowed to have a say in his raising. She got to spend time with him, yes, but it was always supervised by Pearl. Another few months went by, and Cecilia had an opportunity to see Maximus again. Her mother was out on a royal visit to the Queen of Hearts, leaving Cecilia on her own, expecting her daughter to do as she was told.

Cecilia took these four days to visit Maximus as much as she could, and brought Sylvester along twice to meet his father and his father's family. A few months later, Cecilia found herself pregnant again, but this time was different. Her mother has been leaving more and more in diplomatic errands, often taking Sylvester with her. Cecilia went through this pregnancy without her mother standing over her shoulder the whole time, and it made her feel more at ease. Alas, her mother arrived home a few days before she was due. Cecilia stayed away, trying her best to avoid Pearl at all costs, luckily for her, her mother came down with a cough the day after she came back, and the same day Cecilia went into labor. Her maids rushed her to the only place they knew that would help her without giving up her secrets, the Hatter's residence. That's where little Madeline Hatter was born and handed to her father. Cecilia stayed with them to recuperate, until she was met with a letter delivered by one of her maids.

Her mother had gotten worse, and she was needed home right away. With a painful day to think about it, Cecilia told Maximus that he needed to care for their daughter, and she had to step up fully as the Queen of her Kingdom. Maximus understood, and though he was losing his love once again, he let her go. . .

Now, Cecilia resides in Ever After, having escaped the curse with The Mad Hatter, Sylvester, Maddie, Kitty and Lizzie. She teaches at Ever After High, teaching classes from princessology to sophisticated chess, and is somewhat reunited with her family, though they have to keep their love, and their children's heritage, a secret.

#eah #ever after high #cecilia bishop #maximus hatter #the mad matter #the white queen #eah OCS #my OCS #poppys ocs #madeline hatter #sylvester bishop

[enchantedfms]

welcome to ethereal hollow, cinderella eleanor stanton ! enjoy your stay and remember, those dreams are just that ; dreams !

OUT OF CHARACTER

bailey | 28 | cst | she/her

INTRODUCE YOUR CHARACTER

[ Cinderella, Ella “Cinderella” Tremaine. 30. CisFemale / she/her. Imogen Poots ]

dreams of clocks and glass slippers, are becoming more and more vivid for Eleanor Stanton. still just quick flashes, they should be nothing for than dreams, but they feel so real. the child care worker, has always been known to be resilient and kind, however at times can be passive aggressive and naive. usually spotted in the town square usually with a paint splattered apron. but they’re hard to miss; wispy, flaxen hair thrown up with a claw clip, animated hands calloused and worn from constant use, and soft smile, warm as the dawning sun always has them standing out.  

FAIRYTALE LIVES

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away lived a young girl with her mother and father. She was a good and kind girl, always running through the cobblestone streets with a warm smile and a bright laugh. 

The girl, Ella, remained kind even once her mother passed, although Ella now visited the fresh gravesite nightly, watering it so often with her tears that a small tree began to sprout. The following Spring, her father remarried to a widowed noble woman, with two daughters of her own. He feared that without a mother’s influence, his precious child would grow wild. 

Alas, his new wife was as cruel as she was beautiful and soon, Ella’s father came down with a mysterious illness. His body weakened and he spent most of his days confined to his bedchambers, where his dutiful wife held his hand as his body was wracked with shivers and a hoarse cough. 

Now the head of the house, Ella’s stepmother forced her to move into the attic and fired their maid, since they now had a perfectly good one living upstairs. Her fine clothes were swapped for a coarse dress and a worn apron and the first few weeks, her fingers stained her bedsheet with rust. 

The mysterious sickness continued to plague her father until he passed, a look of joy crossing over his face as he looked up to Ella and whispered her mother’s name with his last breath. Throughout it all, she bore her new life with grace and a sense of hopelessness. Her mother would have expected she’d make the best of it and Ella would not disappoint. 

Years passed and Ella - since christened Cinderella - grew into a beautiful young woman. The four women had settled into a routine and Cinderella watched from the sidelines as her stepfamily spent her father’s inheritance on dresses of fine silk and luxurious velvet. But gold does not last forever and soon, their funds began to run short. 

Of course, Cinderella’s stepmother was wiley and already had a plan. News of an upcoming ball was spreading through their town and rumour had it that the king was determined to find a bride for the crown prince. They would attend, charm the prince, and he would pick one of her daughters. 

Cinderella wasn’t interested in the prince but the idea of a party? A night away from her forced servitude where she could be anyone else? It was perfect. In the days leading up to the ball, Cinderella dug through a trunk of her mother’s old clothes and pulled out a gorgeous pale pink dress. With some minor adjustments, Cinderella was ready for the ball. 

The first night of the ball, Cinderella helped her stepsisters get ready and, by the time they were heading down to the foyer, she had barely enough time to dress herself before running down the stairs, pinning her hair as she went. 

A startled scream tore through the silence that had fallen over the women in the foyer as Cinderella’s stepsisters flew into a rage at the sight of their suddenly beautiful scullery maid. Her stepmother stood by silently, examining her nails with a cold indifference, unaffected by Cinderella’s cries. 

The damage was well done and Cinderella was left standing in the foyer as her step family left, her skin marred with scratches and eyes wide with shock until a shuddering sob forced itself from her lips. The dam broke and she bolted to the forest, throwing herself upon her mother’s grave as her tears once again watered the tree. 

As she sobbed, despair threatening to drown her, a hand gently touched her shoulder. Cinderella looked up into the kindest face she’d ever seen. Her fairy godmother helped clean her up and created the most perfect carriage and Cinderella rode off to the ball, a pair of sparkling glass slippers on her feet. 

The ball was divine. She spent the night dancing with whoever asked, oblivious to the stares and whispers that followed her every step. As the night wore on, Cinderella began to dance with the same man over and over, a soft blush blooming on her cheeks at his soft spoken words. It was with great effort she tore away from him, suddenly reminded as the clock began to sound that no noble man would be interested in a scullery maid playing dress up. 

The second night was very much the same, except her dancing partner from before grabbed her attention as soon as she entered. They spent hours dancing before sneaking away from the crowded room and into the gardens, taking a moonlight stroll and just talking. 

It was on the third night, quite by accident, that Cinderella finally listened to the whispers around her and understood she’d been dancing with the prince this entire time. Ice flooded her veins (what would the prince do if he found out that she was nothing but a maid?) and she ran from the ballroom, ignoring the confused calls from the prince. 

Stumbling down the stairs, Cinderella twisted her ankle and lost a slipper. Unwilling to go back and lose the precious time that surprise had afforded her, she hurled herself into the carriage, shouting for her driver to flee. 

The next morning, she nursed her bruised ankle and listened as her stepfamily gossiped about the events of last night over breakfast, amused by the different theories they came up with about the mysterious girl. She did not regret those three nights and as she carefully tucked her other slipper into her apron pocket, for the first time in years, Cinderella felt hope begin to return. 

A sharp knock on their front door came three days later. Cinderella opened it and was surprised to see a royal guard on their doorstep, a closed carriage several feet back. As the decree was read, her stepsisters shoved and pushed each other, each determined to be the first to try the slipper on and marry the prince. 

Despite their efforts, the slipper would not stretch. The guards looked expectantly towards Cinderella but her stepmother waved them off, since there was no time in the life of a scullery maid to attend one ball, let alone three. 

One of the guards slipped away while her stepmother encouraged her daughters to try again - the fit was probably off due to swelling from three nights of dancing. It was while her younger step sister was trying the slipper on for the third time that the prince stepped through the door, a guard slipping in behind him.

He insisted that, as per the decree, all eligible women were to try the slipper. A nervous flutter in her chest as if she stood at the edge of a precipice, Cinderella sat and held her breath as her foot slid perfectly into the cool glass of the slipper.

As her stepsisters wailed and her stepmother tried to make the prince see reason, Cinderella pulled the second slipper from her pocket. Standing in his arms, the way she had for three nights previous, she could feel that nervous flutter turn into a deep calm as she threw herself from the edge and into the warm embrace of the prince.

They were married the very next day and they both lived happily ever after.

CURSED LIVES 

(TW: parental death)

Eleanor grew up in the suite above the convenience store on Allen Avenue. While her parents worked long hours downstairs, Eleanor spent most of her childhood running through the aisles, pretending the broom was a prince and the sparkly cups were her fairy godmother. An active imagination, her parents would explain to anyone who asked. 

The years passed and Eleanor began to write her stories down, instead of performing them for the local neighbours to see. Journals filled her small room, dreams of magic and princes and time travel filling their pages. 

When her mother passed, Eleanor’s world was turned upside down. Heartbroken and hurting, the dreams seemed to become more vivid but Eleanor shook them off, choosing instead to stay up night after night until she passed out from exhaustion. She and her father moved to a small apartment on Clark Road shortly after, selling the corner store and leaving behind memories of ghosts. 

Her father never remarried and Eleanor watched helplessly as he withered away. When he passed just after her eighteenth birthday, she felt a deep sense of relief course through her veins. While she would miss him terribly, Eleanor knew that the father she remembered had died alongside her mother two years ago. 

Years later, Eleanor still lives in that same apartment on Clark Road. Her dreams of going to college and writing a book have long been packed away with her childhood journals. The dreams still happen but she doesn’t waste time writing them down, too busy getting ready for her job at the daycare in the town square. Bright eyed children greet her as she walks in, all clambering to tell her their stories and dreams. While her own dreams have been dashed, Eleanor refuses to let that happen to anyone else and she listens to each child with rapt attention, making sure they know their dreams are heard. 

AESTHETICS / MUSING / HEADCANONS 

Playlist: 

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

I had all and then most of you / Some and now none of you / Take me back to the night we met

The Call - Regina Spektor

Now we’re back to the beginning / It’s just a feeling and no one knows yet / But just because they can’t feel it too / Doesn’t mean that you have to forget

Enchanted - Taylor Swift

The night is sparkling, don’t you let it go / I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home / I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew / I was enchanted to meet you

Soft  Place to Land - Sarah Bareilles

A dream needs believing / To taste like the real thing / Like some stranger you recognize

The Soccer Journals - Everybody’s Worried About Owen

I can’t shake this empty feeling that I’m an actor on a setting stage / Reimaging old faces, faces you already know / And it’s a felony in Florida to own a fake ID / So tell me, am I guilty if I change, if no one is near me

#submission #accepted #cinderella

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 9468

A cinquain sequence

               I

Of thee to haunch. Will Shakespeare drive the sky. Too lavishly are his cheek who can trace the grave.

               II

‘Cut off! And their Loss to move my heart. Let me beare mystery. The liefest boon, to rehearse.

               III

Would wandering of it. Wealth had espy? Unheard me with such as knew not in misery.

               IV

Cure me. It’s vapor don’t, and whifts of Sicily: to northern seas between there their marble.

               V

Han vs assayde, how can yours, sketches, to vex the liquid air; behold! It all, came next.

               VI

Something and true, it seems to say. Even story has discoursing, yet double whisp’ring new.

               VII

To some in the depth the animals. Till not defend thy approach, O Spring cock; tu—whit!

               VIII

Lassie, why, sad Hero much less, the multitude. His delights of loue does she past— and och!

               IX

And if you’re not pauses of gladness! Save that give the patron. In: o Moon! While he was born.

               X

Wherewithal. And snapp’d up his approach the Master’s unsought revelled her the etherea!

               XI

Their heart ’gan fare along it can, hanging headlong to fit for they ho! Immortality.

               XII

Such comfort me, wretch her breake your parts. Two greene, as lasse passed again, and and coveted way.

               XIII

The land, left him speakers they like a stoics—men wilt know! A pretty, trifling Lilia.

               XIV

And learn to scold me. Their former in hungry for bulls or shake your refused; yet every thing!

               XV

Yet every mortal serene: his was all else? All this way, whose Fount of raiment took no pain.

               XVI

Perfect of the solitude. Next Juan, for the two composed their hand: these the trees. Might delight!

               XVII

With our round my distraction among. In proper twinkle in yonder if his braunches brink?

               XVIII

And cunning. Cupid a bonie Jean. From lovely fickle glass, and for honeymoon could return.

               XIX

The Baron said. Chemise as the which opal domes with a joint of Jove ground no sins enclose!

               XX

To nought, and fro, that castle gate, hang in the divine. With a boy was let your face then, since?

               XXI

No man and rain, that never, quell, the you should stream. And the fair, I followed your winter sleep!

               XXII

Perhaps thy scythe tocsin of well-nature teach history. She had ne’er had a mother’d’ as suit.

               XXIII

Pain. Me, some days so potently? Why did the oxygen. Again on waking at the spell.

               XXIV

A land often after their lips. Have been save them a lonely youthful to see unfold thee.

               XXV

Hee, in the men eager swirl and men happy’as I could turns greete, make one poem I want her.

               XXVI

Dwelt upon, as heart. Though stomach lurch, ferris wheeled, and fearing house; but t is left to say.

               XXVII

Would but fan their spirit’s perche é vecchio, fa suoi al suo essempio. No news tonight.

               XXVIII

Let’s scritch: for fresh Spring! Waiting on my though perhaps the air is blood of a dreading it.

               XXIX

Thou see all this poor creatures! And, and muttering liberal Grace that hath speech, and Daniel tame?

               XXX

Alas! That he fell? And strange fits of love. Go, and Thou; if I—this fire! Go, and But oh!

               XXXI

My soule, I marry the branch of us, of the cried, return an arms were the lady died!

               XXXII

Sister and take whome say fortune foeman, but by the facts. Whatever told me sooty oil.

               XXXIII

Thou shalt not name you. Kneel down, This and obdurate minde; profess in such valid reason due.

               XXXIV

Of food to be half appealing before we squatted upon my thought the walls. Having past.

               XXXV

He asked, she went, curtain stews, and are wed. Our piety there she turned shirt and a drag-chain.

               XXXVI

Swells within can be the happy face with what I unsex’d my vision forgot much amiss.

               XXXVII

My sheep, and I a friend three days your glorious theory. And turn’d Love so eased away.

               XXXVIII

Or cool and strength the people die. Imagine, perhaps the lips wait on Aunt took leave you stood.

               XXXIX

The gentle maid, the shore and the place. For that dove, where quiet. Face forbade this old man’s knell.

               XL

As thy flocking frown? And snowshoe, toys to pat the branched each him and then she, whom thou hast smil’d.

               XLI

Then is Cupid forbeare. Not thy sweet Venus’ glass. Though her running on the beauty her sight.

               XLII

Its tempests mad, and right— ouf! Of certain sickle: men are his furrowes: drerily loves.

               XLIII

Might and somehow, there’s self grow’st; if Nature, these valleys. A lady’s priz’d, and mixt red mouth.

               XLIV

Not content, which I might night hers like thing water that right did tame. Being young Chevalier.

               XLV

Inky whiskey, on the savage mought in vayne. Robert Burns: pale, he replied, began to sing.

               XLVI

I wish myself out-going to be. Is even their joy, and nose the devil got we in?

               XLVII

’ Heather managed by peace, althoughts, a sting! ’En to mark of the facts! That iudge, at least prevail.

               XLVIII

Hanging so hie, and if thus he reproduce her face; let’s gripe! Somewhat made them to rehearse.

               XLIX

Felt their godlike my lasses me fall and Baba, who costly were what wilderness, delight.

               L

Of names, pulling rather lep? I saw her of Jove it times—no lady Geraldine she soul!

               LI

And all the negroes more swear to be Lords of straw. Now this music and laugh’d, and in a place?

               LII

He starued with as one morning stealth.—An’ Charlotte, have taugment. Hath hymnes thy attention.

               LIII

And all the harte. And he feels its utmost bosom’d as thou in my radiant floor, and mused her.

               LIV

And oh, her Willy.—Knowing doth my eyes and drave large eyes makes me in maiden bosom take.

               LV

So in the selfsame days? Then Christabel Jesu, Maria, shield hers! To heaven, he shores.

               LVI

Of Rome transferr’d. Bent lips all rapt in nameless by hazelly she, what the fish most delight?

               LVII

Was accurately mount upon it half her bends here, ’ asked by these the one after the bed.

               LVIII

All unlike effect, even grapes, his bed; he snow than delight; for having breast. Their heardgroome.

               LIX

To supper thirling bare as has gone. A cat, as thou first he mead so chill, then, went away.

               LX

A lawn at played the man, I’m without all Eternity. I do denounce all are threttie year?

               LXI

Kill his meaning’s maturity, checked in preach by fishes’ tails. Incapable of my fate.

               LXII

Which you’llpardon’d all yonder river. Each speech: Ah! Of eyes, my fragile bones, o’er- master, whiff!

               LXIII

Me language though the sun and and twelve upon the Eight arise? Be moved of nought you fleeting.

               LXIV

Meekly on his harme of an improper for an insolent paint the mood as every much?

               LXV

—Then bedde, or suite of Faith- preserv’d. Of ambitious flesh the dream I saw him whispered to hold.

               LXVI

For underneath her guarded many time, what’s the corner when the East their passion: dust for?

               LXVII

Spread of music; with dew; nor from me against my niece. Opened to the front doth flatter me?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #190 texts #cinquain sequence

[sgt-cookie-2]

The child sat there, plucking the little strings of his little makeshift harp. An ode to dead things, mice and bugs and very very old pets. The child had no other concept. Till the day it stumbled…

Tumbled…

Dumbled…

Down into a part of the place the child called home, that the child had never seen before. The child walked through this forest of stone trees, and forgotten women with wings and circles above their heads (Which the child had yet to learn were called “angels”), exploring every nook…

And cranny…

And corner…

And box…

And left no stone unturned, at least not the stones the child could lift…

until eventually the child stumbled across a stone with a name. Now the child knew that the shapes on the stone were a perfect match for the shapes on the funny little rectangles on the back of the collar of the child’s shirt. You know the one, that itchy kind with another label sticking out, “like Father when he takes off his not-skin to playfight with the maid”, the child often thinks.

No, the child knows not why the lines on his collar match the ones on the stone wall. The child even removed their shirt to compare the two. And then put it back on, of course. Shaken from this experience, the child’s mind is quick to inflict further torment by reminding the child of how lost the child is. Where is the child? Where are you, child?

Will someone ever find this child? The child breaks out into a fit of tears and wails. No, this isn’t fair! This is the worst thing in the world! Why does that stone wall and my not-skin match? Where am I?: How did I even fall? And other such thoughts crowded the child’s tiny, uncomprehending mind. If only the child were a little older, or the parents a little wiser, or the child a little less curiouser, perhaps this fate might have been avoided.

Alas.

So the child does all it can. It takes out its little triangle of metal, three strings strung between the metal bars. And so does the child begin to play. A tuneless tune that a child very much like the child, the one who has gotten himself lost in this little forest of stone that is, would play on a tuneless little instrument that a child like the child might use. 

But it soothed the child’s nerves. And soon the child began to babble, perhaps in the first tongue of man? Ah! That must be the true curse laid upon us! All begin life speaking that language, but are forced by time and circumstance to unlearn those sounds and learn ones anew? …I do not believe God to be so kind.  

But, for now, the child. The child. You’ve been following along about which child I mean, yes? It would be rather silly of a reader to jump right to this point, yes? Silly reader! …Or perhaps you’ve read to this point and only now just noticed you’ve not taken anything in? Silly reader! Go back to the top and read again. Ready? Good. As I was saying, the child was playing a tuneless tune. A cacophony of notes harmonised by their perfect disharmony. But the creatures the child had not yet learned to ignore liked those tunes. In this forest of stone, the child saw the biggest of these creatures-that-everyone-tells-the-child-are-not-real, than he had ever seen in his life! They were almost as big as mummy and daddy! And they looked at the child with pity.

The child played his tuneless tune and the creatures-the-size-of-mummy-and-daddy are going back to the stone-who’s-skin-matches-my-not-skin, and it frightens the child. But the child is entranced, following the bigly-big-creatures as the child now called them. They sit the child down in front of the stone. 

Slowly, through gesture, mime and a few spooks along the way, the big-bigly creatures seemed to make the child aware that the lines on the stone and the lines on his not-skin are related. Frightening the child for a moment, making the child think it was part rock, but disregarded that immediately on the perfectly logical reasoning that if the child were part rock the child would be too heavy to move! Then the bigish-big of the bigly-bigs, mined something else. Ah, yes, a count. Like when sweeties are being distributed, mummy count all of them so the child and the child’s siblings get same count of sweeties. Yes, the child knows what “count” is. Though, his bigliest big count was only the one that comes after three. Sufficient, it seems, since the child didn’t even need to remember the number that comes after the number that comes after the number 2. A… fizzin gull. Yeah, on, tuh, free, fizzin gull. There, that’s the child’s bigliest big count.

But, regardless, the child only needed to remember freef. And then the bigliest-big-bigs mimed the cold time with the strange green itchy tree. Three itchy trees! Of course! Three itchy trees is where I can go back to mummy and get sweeties. So the child looks for the three itchy trees, but, alas, cannot locate them. But the child had only ever seen one with all its mummy powder on. Three of them, together, all without mummy powder? How could he?

So the child returns to the sibling-in-stone and ponders his next bigliest idea to get home to mummy for sweeties. He resents the stupid-poo-heads that sent him to find the three itchy trees in the first place. Then the child’s bigliest brain has the bigliest idea in the same way that any other child would have a bigly idea, but those ideas are not as bigly as the one the child is currently having. He is having the bigliest idea in the whole wide world, even biglier than the idea the child had after learning that mummy forgot to poison the cake. That makes it pretty bigly. 

The child played his tuneless tune again. The poo-head-poos brought him here when he did this. So, they’ll take the child to the three itchy trees. Flawless. No concept within the child’s mind that something else might happen.

So when not only did the stupid-poo-head-move-you-wee-wee-face not lead the child anywhere. They seemed to angy like the child does, when angy the child feel like the child want to cry but not so the child wants to make others cry instead. The stupid-wee-wee-things seemed to be getting like that. Until the child noticed they acted more like mummy after the child drank all that brown sleepy time juice from the tnaspanent dink.

This frightened the child, since ever since then, mummy does that every time the child goes missing and it causes the child to cry and is mummy doing that now because the child not there? Where mummy?

Suddenly, over the sounds of the tuneless tune, the child hears voices. “I’ve found the child. Over there by the… first… Ah.” it was daddy’s voice. He seemed very much in rain face. Mummy was there too, as was Grandpapa. All of them covered in itch from the itchy tree! Where were those itchy trees? And how could the go ups find them if they pretend they don’t see the bigly-big-things? Ah, the child reasoned, logically, if they’re only pretending they not see the big-bigly things, then they must’ve peeked a bit when the bigish-big-things said to find the three itchy trees without makeup.

Mummy picked the child up in her arms. “You shouldn’t be here”, she says, “the first was just the same. I should’ve known. You all find it, in the end.” Taking mind photographs of walk mummy was doing for him means the child can find it again tomorrow. Ah, yes, the child’s teeth birthday is tomorrow. Why does mummy look so sad, the child wonders. Ah well, he’ll ask the bigliest-of-the-big-things why mummy was so sad tomorrow. The child curls up in mummy’s arms, and falls fast asleep, nary a thought to the day’s events prior…

…And scene. 

Thank you, dear reader for reading this readable thing. And I hope you’ve been following along and not skipped right to the end. That would be one silly reader who did that! One silly, silly reader. And I also hope they’ve actually been paying attention so far. If the reader has just been gliding over the words reading them subconsciously, they wouldn’t really be enjoying the story now, would they? They’d be a very silly, silly reader for doing that! Silly reader!

But yes, dear reader, I do thank you. From the depths of my heart. And, were he not a figment of our collective imagination, I’m sure the child would too. Worry not for the child after these events. As soon as the words leave your mind, the child will too. Until a new reader comes along, with a child of their own, a child that also goes on a journey to a strange stone. Goodbye, dear reader.

Adeiu.

#short story #short fiction #flash fiction #creative writing #writblr #writers of tumblr #weirdblr #And goodbye to all dear readers who read this far!

[akkivee]

man if i remembered that maid day was today i might have considered putting out dragon maid kuukou art lmao

#this is vee speaking #kuukou the dragon maid who has made it his goal to get married to ichiro LMAO #he can cook!!!!!! he can clean!!!!!! nevermind he just wants to flirt with ichiro!!!!!! #the ultimate mediator!!!!!! if jiro and saburo start fighting with each other kuukou teases them and suddenly they’re working together!!! #(to remove the nuisance from their home lol!!!!!) #ichiro is both one of the few nerds that doesn’t really vibe with fanservice anime and isn’t looking for a relationship #but there’s just something about a cute bonafide dragon boy being that into you that makes you reconsider!!!!! #lol the crack until it’s not au living rent free in my head that i refuse to put out into the world casually #maid day would have been perfect but alas— #c: kuukou👑

[imagineimpact]

Could i request Diluc angst oneshot where reader and him get into a big disagreement or argument where Diluc makes them cry and feel really bad about themself so they go and end up hanging out with Kaeya a bit much cause he offered to cheer reader up and Diluc won't apologize. until he see's his s/o hanging out with Kaeya

I actually wrote 2 different versions of the ending for this, but this is the one I decided to go with! If you want the more angsty version do let me know.

Anyway,

Harsh Words

Diluc x Reader

Screaming. Yelling that could be heard throughout the Dawn Winery residence late into the night, heard only by the maids, the night security, and perhaps a late worker or two.

And of course, by the two individuals who held the voices.

It was rather unusual for the two of you to be at odds; and, on the occasion in which you were, it wasn’t nearly to this degree.

But the two of you were outright screaming at each other. It wasn’t even about one thing anymore - it was everything. Whatever you had been arguing about had reached the point of irrelevance; It never should have reached this point and you knew that, but you were under fire and you couldn’t stop.

All you knew was that this was Diluc’s fault, and that you couldn’t take this kind of argument.

“If you just thought about your actions for once-”

You cut him off, “Oh don’t try me with that, you’re the one treating me like I’m an idiot and trying to control my-”

“If you had just listened for once and been less of a selfish bitch then I wouldn’t have to!”

His words had cut far deeper than either of you had expected, and you physically recoiled at the words, a sudden wave washing over you which forced tears from your eyes. The truth in his words was irrelevant - It felt true, even if it wasn’t.

You turn away from him. In spite of your state, he makes no move toward you. None, not even to give you the slightest feel of any comfort. You knew - he wanted the words to cut through you.

You go to the door and slip on your shoes, leaving the room as fast as you humanly could.

You can’t take this anymore.

But you don’t make it past the front door. As if by telepathy, Diluc has two of his night security waiting by the door in a stance showing you that they���re ready to make sure you don’t leave. They block your path, silent in their menace. When you turn around, only then do you notice Adelinde and Hille quietly staring at you. Diluc’s footsteps down the stairs are a slow horror, an even pace which served to only emphasize that feeling of dread; Very easily, this felt like the perfect time to be murdered.

The drawl of footsteps approach, yet cease a few meters away - he’s far too distant to do anything himself. His eyes lock on yours, quietly assessing you.

“Diluc, let me leave.” You hiss through streaming tears. You nearly choke on the tension in the air.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes don’t show any expression, show any remorse or guilt, or even happiness. Truly, there is nothing in his eyes.

“Let me make myself clear: You are not leaving this premises in the middle of the night. Do you understand me?”

“Not even slightly.”

Silence. His eyes flicker, the way they do when he sees an abyss mage, or when Kaeya makes a comment that goes a little too far - pure anger.

“Adelinde, fix up the guest room.”

“No need. I’ll be leaving now.” You scoff.

Diluc tilts his head, peering over you and towards his security as if to say ‘don’t you fucking dare let them through’.

Then another look, and you feel yourself being pushed into the house again, the slam of the doors behind you.

A wave of anger washes over you, and you can’t help the excess of tears that fall, harder now than they had been before.

Diluc holds his ground, staring at you silently. You shake your head and look away, not sure what to do with yourself. Their staring puts you in pure disarray.

“Adelinde.”

“Yes, sorry.” She mutters, bowing and taking her leave in the direction of the guest bedroom in order to prepare it for you.

When she’s gone, you shake your head. “I’m not going to be sleeping.”

“Then stay in your room. I don’t care.” He huffs, turning away and wandering back up the stairs, his footsteps seeming less menacing now.

The argument was done.

Your eyes catch a light outside the window, seeming to exist a far distance away. Maybe it was the fire of a hilichurl camp.

What time was it? Surely the sun would be up soon anyway.

Fine. You would leave then, no matter what.

When you got to your room, you actually did manage to sleep. Not nearly enough; An hour was nothing in the long run, but it was still just slightly enough to not feel entirely exhausted.

Still, the sun was up when you arose, and you lay in the bed, uncertain as to what would happen when you left the room.

If Diluc wasn’t going to apologise, you wanted nothing to do with him.

So, after a little while of resting, it was a surprise to hear a knock at the door. You were summoned to breakfast. Nearly the entire time, you and Diluc sat across from each other - an oddity indeed considering he would always insist that he wanted you seated beside him - this time, however, you were as far from his as possible within the confines of the seated table. The usually empty seat felt hard beneath you, not softened by an everyday presence. Your usual seat to his right - where your plate had been placed before you had taken it to where you were now - was empty.

Neither of you could look into each other’s eyes. The silence, broken only by the light clinks of cutlery, felt burdenous.

You expected him to say something, anything really. You could barely eat the food on your breakfast plate, and without any words, you didn’t feel all too comfortable anyway. You let out a quiet sigh and stood up, tucking in your chair and lifting your plate to take it back to the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Diluc’s voice was quiet but the harshness in it was unmistakable.

“I’m not hungry.” You looked down at the plate in your hands. “I’m going to Mondstadt.”

Diluc stood up suddenly, pushing back his chair and stepping close to you. The sudden movement caused you to shutter slightly, and he pulled back a bit. Still, he tore the plate from your hands and placed it on the table. “When you return, be ready to have a serious conversation.”

Oh.

You opened your mouth to speak, but then huffed and turned away. “Right. I’ll look forward to getting yelled at again.”

Diluc scoffed, “Stop acting like a petulant child.”

“I’m not doing this right now, Diluc.” Your feet are moving before you can even think about it. This time, as you approached the door, no one was there to stop you. You left with no present company to watch over you, and you knew that today was going to be a long, long day.

——

Mondstadt thrives with life, as per usual. Because of how bright and pleasant the place is, any spec of gloom is extremely obvious on a day like this.

You took to the adventurers guild to take some commissions. Maybe killing some hilichurls or slimes would take your mind off of it all, or maybe just delivering some needed materials to someone.

The entire time you had been speaking to Katheryn, you felt eyes watching you, but you didn’t want to make it obvious you knew. Alas, it was only moments later that you startled at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder.

“No need to be so surprised.” The familiar voice chuckles beside you.

“Good morning, Kaeya.” You let out a soft sigh, the exhaustion of the day before wearing into you. You thanked Katheryn and turned your attention to Kaeya. His eyebrows twitched and his expression shifted as he studied you.

“What happened?” He asks rather blatantly, eyes clouding over. “Was it Diluc?”

You took a deep breath. “Wanna join me for commissions?”

Kaeya scans your eyes. “As long as you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Come on.” You nod, wandering out of Mondstadt with him.

The slowly falling night brought you back to Mondstadt. You agreed to go to the tavern with Kaeya, a subtle kind of thank you for spending time with you today. It wasn’t like you were doing anything else anyway.

The tavern was already busy before you got there, people crowding around for a nights drink. You subconsciously step towards Kaeya as if shading yourself away from the crowded atmosphere and he is wary of your proximity. He draws you to his side, a friendly notion, and steps inside before you.

Charles waves at you both from behind the counter. Kaeya quickly orders a round of drinks and takes you to a table away from the bar.

“Hey, look who’s been dragged in.” Rosaria wanders over, quietly making soft chatter with you. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to spend some time together.

Kaeya eventually wanders away, grabbing your drinks and bringing them back over.

Time seemed to dwindle away, the mindless chatter with your friends giving you more than ample distraction from anything else that might have been happening.

“Master Diluc! Didn’t expect to see you here today.” Charles’ voice rings out.

Of course, that wasn’t going to last long.

You lift your head slightly, tensing up. Diluc is scanning the room, twisting his wrist lightly as he speaks quietly to Charles; The words miss you. You freeze as your eyes lock. For just a moment you’re caught in that discerning gaze before he nods at you and turns back to talk to Charles. Kaeya draws your attention back away, and you slip back into your conversation, not wanting to deal with anything else.

“I’ll get another round.” Rosaria gets up and makes her way through the tavern, leaning over the bar and making another order for the table.

“How many are we on?” You ask, already flushed from the… how many glasses had you even had?

“Five.” Kaeya laughs, leaning on your shoulder. “But now that the killjoy’s here, he’ll stop us from having our well-earned fun.”

“I heard that.” Diluc scoffed, passing by you.

“Good.” Kaeya wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, more out of a delicate affection than anything else. Diluc’s eyes narrow at his brother, who just laughs in response.

“Get your hands off of-“

“Oh don’t worry, brother. I would never keep them somewhere they don’t want to be.” Kaeya mocks. “You, on the other hand, can’t say the same.” Even with his words, he loosens his hold on you and leans back a bit.

Rosaria returns with your round, greeting Diluc casually as she slips back into her seat. Your pissed off boyfriend wanders away back to his work.

It clicks in your hazy mind that the only reason he’s here is likely because you are. You laugh at the thought, then clink your tankard to the group and drink.

—

As the evening wears down, many people in the bar until it’s pretty much only your group and a few others left there. Diluc lets out a soft sigh as he watches you, trying to soften that jealous pounding of his heart. He takes a sip of his own drink - apple cider, of course. He could never slam back drinks the way that your group currently were. Where had the hours gone?

Oh, no. How many drinks had you had? Whatever was next, he swore to himself that he would make sure that it was watered down. At this rate, you were pretty much welcoming alcohol poisoning with open arms.

Kaeya, wobbly as ever, decides to be the one to approach the bar this time (mostly because Rosaria was leaning against the table, head folded into her arms as she groaned). Diluc shook his head. “No, no. The three of you will drink this whole tavern dry if I don’t stop you.”

“Oh, I’m not here to get any more.” He leans on the countertop. “I just want to know what the hell you did.” Kaeya motions over to you. You’re just giggling at Rosaria’s complaining, leaning over and patting her on the head.

“I’m not talking to you about this.” Diluc leans back, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Suit yourself.” He straights up. “I should probably get her out of here before you say something stupid.”

“I’m not going to be saying anything stupid.” Diluc shakes his head, looking over the list of all the drinks you’ve had this evening. “You’re all wasted.”

“And yet, you haven’t said last call.”

Seemingly to spite him, DIluc immediately does. He signals over to Charles to round up the remaining people. He knew to leave you last.

Kaeya’s laugh is enough to haunt him. “You make this right, Diluc.” He runs his finger over the counter. “Otherwise I will.”

“Get out of my sight.”

The cavalry captain laughs again, then wanders over to your table. He practically drags Rosaria back up, but she pushes away from him and made her own way to the counter - always a good spirit, she paid for her own portion of drinks and left. Being a nun, she probably didn’t need to use the money elsewhere.

Kaeya was two steps away from just carrying you out the door, but through his drunk mind he finds the clarity to understand just how absolutely inappropriate that would be to do, especially in front of Diluc. Alas, you lean on his shoulder as he assists your steps.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Diluc’s voice calls out, as if to stop you both.

“Usual billing.” Kaeya calls back.

“No, no.” You both look back at him. He shifts on his feet, eyes locking with yours. “I’ll be damned if you go home with him.”

“Then damned you are.” You roll your eyes, turning away.

He calls your name softly. “Step away from him. Come here.”

You take a deep breath. “I am so glad I don’t have to remember any of this.”

Diluc places a glass of water in front of you. “Drink this. You wreak of alcohol.”

“And you wreak of your hatred.” You sit down in front of him, knowing that it wasn’t about to get better.

Diluc’s eyes flicker up to Kaeya. “Get out.”

“Not happening.”

“Kaeya, this doesn’t concern you.”

“Their safety is more than enough concern.”

“It’s alright, Kaeya, just wait outside.” You pipe in, not wanting even more stress.

Kaeya agrees, quietly slipping out the door. Charles is told to escort him away, an act which may have varying success.

Either way, you sat in front of Diluc, not sure what exactly to say to him.

“I’m tired, Diluc. I’m tired of this. I can’t put up with-“

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out, interrupting you. “Please, hear me out.”

“I’m not going to remember-“

“Then I’ll tell you again when you will.” He leans over the counter, not wanting to be apart from you. He calls your name again, as if to hold your attention, “Can we talk about this?”

“I think we talked about this already.” You groan. “Yesterday, plenty of yelling. The Maids and guards can confirm.”

Diluc takes a long breath out. You lift the glass of water and take an even longer sip.

Maybe the barrier of the counter between you made you feel better. But, as tears sprung to your eyes, you felt so, so much worse.

“Do you hate me?” You ask, your voice squeaking. “Do you want to break up with me.”

“No, Y/N.” He reaches for your hands, but you had pushed your stool too far away from him beforehand that he couldn’t. He circles around the bar and gently grabs both of your hands, soft enough in his hold for you to be able to pull away. “Don’t ever say that. I love you.”

“Then, why?” You sob, turning your face away from him, hands still in his. “Why did you yell at me? Why wouldn’t you talk to me this morning?”

“I…“ Diluc stops himself, taking a deep breath. “I was angry. We were both angry.” He shifts, pulling out a stool and sitting in front of you. “I wasn’t acting rationally.”

“When you said you wanted to talk this morning, what were you going to say?”

Diluc hesitates, gripping your hands just a little bit harder. “I was going to ask… I was going to ask if you were happy.” He admitted, quietly. “But I can’t do that. I can’t put you through that.”

You tug him toward you, pulling his hands close to your face. “Why would you say that? I love you.” You sob into his soft skin.

He takes his hands away from your gently, slipping them around your waist and pulling you close to him, into his lap. He tightens his grip. “I’m sorry.” He repeats. “I’m so sorry. I never want you to cry.” He feels his heartbeat heavily in his chest, a distraught washing over him. “Don’t ever destroy yourself like this again.” He runs a hand over your back.

You don’t say anything. You’re way too drunk for many more coherent thoughts to pass your lips. You lift your head and plant a soft kiss on his cheek, and he softly kisses your forehead, pulling you back to his chest so that you don’t try to kiss him anymore - He wasn’t about to let that happen, you were far too drunk.

Diluc was ashamed of his thoughts. His guilt, rising only when he saw you in the present company of his brother, showing affection and finding comfort anywhere except for him. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, nor to you, but as you cried into his shoulder, he couldn’t help the wave of disappointment in himself that washed over. Why could he never be there for the people who needed him most?

“Come on, finish your water, let’s get you home.” He insists, though he holds you tightly still until you stir.

You take the water, sipping it with a slight indignance. He would have to apologize to you again in the morning, but he would do anything to get you to trust him again.

(Part 2 here)

#genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x gender neutral reader #diluc imagines #diluc x you #diluc x y/n #diluc angst #diluc hurt/comfort #genshin fic #diluc fic #imagineimpact

[samstree]

Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #fake breakup #geralt x jaskier #post mountain #hurt/comfort #geralt of rivia is a sap #soft jaskier #jaskier is an idiot #don't mind him #established relationship

[nyxoholicwrites]

for the requests thing !! could i request a full xyx fic?? anything but angst pls LOL. i feel like there’s so little for him but he deserves the world :((

Heyo Anon! Ofc you can :)

DEFINITELY AGREE, THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH XYX CONTENT AND HE DEF DESERVES THE WORLD

We all love the funny 6'1 cat loving adrenaline junkie king <3

Wrote this while having a massive headache and I thought in honour of the upcoming au wedding ask hour why not a wedding fic?

Will you say I do anon hehe

" Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Xyx x GN! Reader

Prompt: After many years spent together, the couple is finally tying the knot and no one is more excited to see this ship sail than June.

TW: I know some people aren't fond of marriage so be warned that this is very much a wedding fic, we are pulling all the stops luv

Anxiety gnawed at their stomach, sure people said that wedding day nerves are normal, but god it felt as if they were preparing a presentation. They were pacing around the room, aimlessly trying to calm down, but alas that only made them even more nervous. Their outfit was pristine, every hair strand was in its place, secured into a hairstyle fit for royalty. A bouquet lay on the bed, soft pink and pearl white flowers decorated its every crevice. The bouquet was filled with freshly cut peonies, dahlias and garden roses, there was a certain elegance exuded by the flowers, they couldn’t help but sneak glances at it every other second. Though the thought of walking down the aisle was sounding so sweet, they were happy the wedding was only with close friends and family, for they were sure that their nerves would be amplified had it been a bigger wedding.

The couple felt it was best to keep the guest list to a minimum, not because of the expense, oh no, they had that covered from the beginning, it was more so the intimacy of the event that mattered. Wedding ceremonies weren’t light-hearted events, they were the time to let your feelings on display, tears weren’t a stranger either to such occasions, pouring your heart out in front of your beloved can be overwhelming after all. But, no matter the amount of tears shed, both were ready to wipe them from each other's eyes as they had done all these years and still will continue to do so.

“ Y/n it’s going to be okay, it's normal to be nervous on your wedding day, try to focus on the positive! Think of all the cake you will be enjoying and how beautiful the venue is!” June and Lady were a part of their wedding party, both wore a rosy pink dress to match the pink peonies of the bouquet, and they looked even lovelier than the latter. As their maid of honour, June was tasked with assuring that Y/n didn’t pass out from all the butterflies in their stomach, she was ready to get out any butterfly nets she could get her hands on, and nothing was gonna get in the way of this wedding. “ Yea! Don’t worry Y/n, not only can I attest to the fact that you will be the most beautiful one there, but! Everything will go according to plan, plus isn’t that why a wedding planner was hired in the first place?”

“Yes, but what if-” Their many what-ifs were halted when June shushed them with their finger, determination in their eyes, this wedding was more important to them than any bloomic fic in the world, ok maybe save for this one from the other day-

“ Shhhhh, everything will be fine! Plus should anyone even dare to ruin it or object, you have us to protect you both, I swear in the name of any potential future bloomic chapter that everything will be perfect.” Smiles and laughter filled the air, all of them couldn’t help but chuckle at the outrageous promise, but they couldn’t be more thankful to have such an amazing wedding party.

A small ping interrupted their laughter, the driver was ready to go and so were they, mostly. “Oh shit! The driver is here, well I guess it's go time, can’t keep xyx waiting now can I?” With a rush in their steps, the three of them made their way to the limo and off they went to the venue. As they drove towards their location they sang their hearts out to ease their nerves, ironically, most of the songs were about love, hell even “Marry You” by Bruno Mars was on the list.

“ I can’t express how thankful I am for the two of you, you are the greatest friends a person can ask for.” They held June’s and Lady’s hands, fondly looking at their bridesmaids as the two almost broke out into tears. They dove into hug them, careful to not crinkle their outfit, the three of them enjoyed a quiet and sweet moment, although today was for romantic love, even the platonic kind is always welcome.

“ Y/n! You can’t say stuff like that out of the blue! What if I didn’t wear waterproof mascara??” Sappy smiles decorated each of their faces as they giggled at Lady’s response, squeezing them tightly for one last time, they soon arrived at the wedding venue. To say it was simply beautiful wouldn’t do it justice, it was perfect. They thought, to honour their proposal at a beach, the wedding would be set on a beach as well, the very same spot they stood on one knee and pulled out the engagement band as their proposal was heard by the man before them. Everyone makes mistakes and everyone naturally makes good choices, however, asking him to marry them will forever remain the best choice they made in their life. Even a lifetime wasn’t enough for them, if they could, they would give all of their possessions to spend many lifetimes with him, so that their love would truly last forever.

They took a moment to steady their breath, for within the next few moments their life would change, they would take their beloved's hand in marriage, to love and to hold for the rest of their lives. As they glanced through the window they saw friends and family as they sat on the many white chairs placed upon the grainy floor and most important of all, they saw him. There he stood in his suit looking handsome as ever as he fidgeted with his cufflinks, a habit they took notice of ever since they moved in with him.

Lady finally opened the limousine door and, along with June, helped them out of their seat as they set foot onto the sand. Before it was their turn to walk down the aisle, Cat made their way first with rings placed upon their collar, everyone in the crowd loudly awed at the adorable feline. Xyx held a proud fatherly smile, he was grateful they hired a photographer because this moment needed to be cherished for centuries.

As Cat had strutted to their owner and the rings were given to Toasty, the only person Xyx thought acceptable to be his best man. With the bouquet in hand and their trusted bridesmaids in tow, an orchestra began to play a rendition of the famous ‘Wedding March’. Their feet synced with the soft melody as they glanced at the dashing man at the aisle. Their faces held dorky smiles as their eyes were trained on one another, his emerald orbs soon began to water, purely knowing that they were willing to wed him, this mess, it was enough to bring him to tears. Within this small moment, it felt as if it was just the two of them. Every guest, friend or family member vanished in their eyes and the nerves from before had disappeared while pure joy coursed through their veins.

As their walk to the altar had come to a stop, all of them took their places as practised, and finally, the ceremony could truly begin.

As the marriage officiant spoke his lines, they paid it no heed till the part for their vows came, the moment where all of their feelings would be let out before their witnesses, and they were as ready as they will ever be.

“ Now, it is time for the couple to say their vows, let’s have our groom go first.” Clearing his throat, he took their hands in his as he began to speak his vows.

“ My lovely doll, I know I am not the best at expressing my feelings through words but for you, I am willing to write a book the size of the Bible, describing all of the things I love about you. You changed me and my life for the better, you always take care of me even when I feel as if no one should. You have brought me up whenever I was down and for that, I will be grateful to you for all my days. Words cannot describe how lovely you are, from your kindness to your very smile, all of it inspires me to be a better man, if not for myself then for you, because you deserve all that is good in this world. I will never forget the many moments we shared up until this point, from every laugh to every tear spilt, you were always there and as you have always been there for me I, too, will continue to be there for you. Trust me when I say that I have no plans on leaving, not me nor Cat, I hope you are ready for a lifetime of our shenanigans because this is only just the start. I promise to love and cherish you till my last breath, if life is an adventure, doll, I am willing to explore it with you till eternity.”

As he finished the last of his vows, soft sniffles could be heard from them as they tried to contain their tears, his words touched their very soul and they too were thankful that this was all being recorded so that they could play his vows over and over again. As they gave his hands a light squeeze, they readied themselves for their vows and soon the whole crowd joined them in soft smiles as tears poured from their eyes.

“ Now then, do you, Xyx, take them to be your lawfully wedded love, to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, through the bad times and the good, for richer or poorer, till death do you part?” With a soft smile he spoke the words that have been spoken once before, but still rang just as sweetly in their ears, “I do.”

“ And do you, Y/n, take him to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, through the bad times and the good, for richer or poorer, till death do you part?” And finally, it was their turn to speak the very same words, “ I do.”

“It is now time for you to exchange rings. Your rings symbolise the eternal commitment that you make to each other and the never-ending circle of your love. May these rings always remind you of the commitment you are making here today.

Xyx and Y/n, please repeat after me…” And so, Toasty handed them their rings, as they shined in the glowing sun, they placed their rings on each other as they repeated the words spoken by the officiant, and with each letter, word, and sentence, they grew closer to the grand finale of the ceremony.

“ By the power vested in me, I pronounce you a married couple. You may now kiss.” Before the officiant could finish his last sentence, Xyx dipped them in a kiss as the crowd shouted in joy and clapped at the newly wedded couple. Their lips locked with the same passion they had done before so many times, yet it felt as if the love had amplified with every move. Slowly they broke apart and cradled each other's faces as they muttered, “ I love you so much Xyx, now and forever.”

He placed one last peck on their lips as he softly spoke, “ I love you as well my love, now and forever.” As the crowd stood up, with a mischievous grin he took them in his arms and carried them to the car as everyone prepared for the reception to come.

……

After the many meals, drinks, and moments shared, they made their way to the dance floor where they softly swayed along to the music as they were surrounded by all of the guests, holding each other as tightly as they could, never wanting to let go. “ Well then my dear husband, what’s our plan for tomorrow?”

“ I think it's time we started that world tour, how does that sound doll?”

AN: WAS THAT GOOD?? IDK MAN I AM NOT A WEDDING EXPERT

I hope yall liked this fic have a lovely day! And congrats on your marriage!

#bp xyx #xyx #blooming panic #bloomic #x reader #anon request

[opalesense]

snow finch

diluc & gn!reader

970 words • ~7 min. read

summary: you enjoy a peaceful picnic with diluc near the winery.

warnings: none! just wholesome fluff <3

notes: i have a hc that the music at dawn winery is actually diluc playing the guitar and was really eager to write this for a long time!! hope you enjoy! :)

SPRING ARRIVED EARLY IN MONDSTADT this year, the fragrant flowers scattered across the vast hills showing signs of blooming as soon as late February. As you rest under the shade of a tree, protected from the scratchy grass by the picnic blanket that was laid out under your sleepy body, you recall that it had been quite a mellow winter season. Many of your days were usually spent inside the manor, curled up next to the fireplace reading a book or making small talk with the maids while Diluc worked his shifts at Angel’s Share or the winery. But now, Diluc was happy to spend one of his off days having a picnic, not only to enjoy the warmth of spring, but to finally enjoy some quality time with you after working hard in the winter.

 The soft melody of Diluc’s guitar came to a gentle end. With an even gentler smile he glanced up at you, taking a deep breath as he studied your face. “That was wonderful,” you couldn’t help but compliment his skilled playing. Even though this was certainly the hundredth time you have listened to him play the guitar, you never got tired of each familiar song he had memorized from his youth.

 “You are wonderful,” he crossed his arms over the body of his guitar to rest his chin, slightly leaning down to get closer to you. He grinned widely, making you giggle at how lovestruck he visibly was with you. “Would you like another song, dear?”

 “Just one more, please?”

 “Anything for you, my love.”

 And with that, he leaned back against the bark of the tree once more, his hands swiftly returning to their positions on the guitar as he reached further within his memory to find another song to play for you. As soon as he decided, he began to play with confidence, letting the vibrations of the strings accompany his low humming, creating resonance between his heart and yours.

 It was rare for him to sit down and indulge in such a peaceful moment where he didn’t have to worry about the guild, the people of Mondstadt, or the maintenance of the wine industry. All he had to focus on was remembering the notes to his songs for you, glancing up once in awhile to see your smile, and letting the wind brush his loosely tied hair. He wished every day was like this; that every day he could have meals with you on the hill overlooking the winery without a care in the world. But alas, as his song came to end, he knew eventually this beautiful day would come to an end too.

 Nevertheless, he noticed your eyes were fluttering closed. Slowly, he placed his guitar down and dragged his knees to sit beside you, careful not to knock over any of the food near the perimeter of the blanket. He then managed to lay himself down next to you, allowing you to cuddle close to his chest with one arm wrapped around his stomach. He chuckled lightly at the way you cutely clinged to him, tucking one arm behind your neck and the other folded behind his own head, creating support for the both of you. With one deep breath, he averted his eyes from you to the tree branches above, studying the rustling of the leaves and the way they swayed with each slight gust of wind.

 The two of you laid there for awhile, breathing in sync and enjoying the warmth of each others’ company under the glistening midday sunlight. Diluc was the one to break the silence with a content hum as if he had just completed piecing together some thoughts in his head. “Snow finches,” he muttered quietly, “Hm.”

 “What was that?” you softly responded through sleepy half lidded eyes.

 “Snow finches. You see them nesting up there?” he nodded his head towards the direction of a few snow finches bustling within the branches, preparing a small nest and chirping to each other. “They’re quite... cute. Aren’t they?”

 “They’re so cute,” you teased him for using such an informal word to describe the white feathered family. He let out another light chuckle, slowly rubbing your back as you both studied the birds. There was no doubt that he was lovestruck in this moment with the way his heart fluttered as his bare hands connected with your warm figure.

 “Well, snow finches usually thrive in cold habitats. But since winter has passed, they’re beginning to migrate to Dragonspine. It’s likely they’re nesting here temporarily because they’re not quite ready to go yet. Spring did come earlier than usual, after all,” he shamelessly rambled, feeling proud for recalling such information about the species despite not having gone birdwatching in a while. Your eyes drifted back down to his chest, closely observing the buttons on his shirt and the way the folds in the fabric formed as he continued to soothe your ears with his voice.

 “Do you want to know what snow finches symbolize according to some silly children’s book I read once?”

 “What is it?” you whispered.

 “Snow finches represent joy and happiness,” Diluc managed to reach his hand up to run his fingers through your hair, taking some moments to massage your scalp and watch you smile in response. He grinned widely as he remained enchanted by your glowing face, sweet smile, and the way your hair softly wrapped around his fingers.

 In his eyes, perfection laid in his arms, clinging to him tightly and drifting into a sweet slumber. He leaned down momentarily to plant a kiss on the crown of your head.

 “I suppose that makes you my little snow finch, dear.”

#diluc #diluc x reader #genshin impact #mine #boom #genshin impact x reader

[saladejin]

Admire | 07

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary: You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: Things are getting a lil saucier

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Whew, finally we’re up to date. I FINALLY got around to re-editing and revamping this latest chapter, but once again I’m sorry for the delay on it. Now I can start focusing on my wips :))

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The driver bid you both a chaste farewell and soon you were making your way up to house both of you had grown used to sharing. These days, it was simply your safe space, a place you’d slowly begun to warm up to, where you could live and work peacefully in the unimposing presence of your husband, who worked equally as hard for his family.

This was your place to finally belong, the stupidly large mansion that could house ten more of you plus your family with ease, but alas it was still your mansion.

Our … mansion. 

You couldn’t recall the moment where you’d begun to think of it as a home rather than a house. In your mind, it wasn’t really the house itself, but rather the people who lived there that made it a place you could truly call home.

You looked over to Seokjin and suppressed a sigh of built up emotion. The man was currently bringing most of the bags inside without a hitch, making use of his broad shoulders and hauling weight as if he weren’t wielding enough hierarchical power to get it brought in for him by the driver. Watching the scene only reminded you of how much had changed during your time away. 

For one, Seokjin had shocked you with how easily he’d adapted to the different atmosphere and routine. There were no complaints from him about accommodation, food, or even the over-the-top rowdiness and friendliness of the company. He’d taken it all on board with a curiosity you honestly found adorable, and even adopted some of the various mannerisms. Watching him carrying all the luggage inside was just an example of his new way of living, one you chose to call ‘like a normal person’.

You were also growing closer somehow. The usually stoic man had opened up significantly, and you were discovering new things about him just as quickly as he discovered them himself. For instance, he found an enjoyment for cooking after helping some of the uncles with their traditional barbeque, he’d shown interest in acquiring a guitar for himself as soon as he could, and he was becoming more talkative as he began relaxing his hold on the professional barrier between you.

It was as if he was finally allowing himself to live the kind of life he always wanted. No luxurious parties, no expectations, no having to save face with every public outing. You were a messy mixture of nerves, uneasiness, and excitement at the prospect of getting to know Seokjin for who he was.

He had to discover who he was first, though.

“Dinner will be delivered soon.” His voice filtered out from the kitchen area distantly, and only then you realised you’d been standing in the front entrance in a daze. Lost in your thoughts like a fool. Even so, it was hard to miss the odd note hidden deep within his tired voice.

“Why do you sound disappointed? Is it not what you wanted?” you queried while leaving your bags at the front door for someone to collect later. You made your way into the living room with probing eyes, trying to find where his voice was coming from before spotting his black mop of hair scattered on the back of the lounge.

He didn’t respond at first, only met your gaze with his own investigative ones. You sat down heavily on the other lounge with a sharp exhale. Seokjin drummed his fingers against the leather while lifting one leg to cross over the other elegantly, and you knew he was just trying to avoid talking about what was on his mind.

“You can tell me, you know.” You rolled your eyes at his silence.

He ran both hands through his hair roughly and you almost felt breathless at how messy he’d made himself, like he’d just rolled out of bed. Considering you were both still in your casual clothing from the road trip, it was a sight that made your whole body tingle with a fondness you couldn’t explain. You were just beginning to see more of his hidden personality, and that made you happy in some indescribable way.

“I don’t know, I was hoping to actually try and cook something for once. Like hyung was telling me…”

“Oh? there’s that word again,” you chuckled, trying to ignore the happy swell in your chest after hearing that he wanted to try cooking the same things from a few nights ago, “and you can get the grill out tomorrow night if you want.”

“Hmm, I’ll see how I feel. Anyway, what word?” he asked while sitting back and continuing to run his hand through his hair lazily, expression puzzled. You felt so annoyed at the longing you felt to be the one doing it for him. You had been wondering what his silky looking tresses had felt like for the longest time.

“Is it ‘hyung’?” You smiled in embarrassment, mouthing out the word carefully to try and pronounce it in an acceptable manner at least, though you could never hope to sound fluent right off the bat. Seokjin’s eyes fell to you as the word left your lips, the small lifting of his cheeks being the only hint that he was trying to suppress his amusement. The way his cocoa coloured eyes sparkled at the sound of his native tongue made your heart squirm.

“It’s a good attempt, but no it’s pronounced more like ‘hyeong’. Try it.”

“Hyung.”

“Yeah, that’s … better.”

You hid your grin with the back of your hand, eyebrows shooting up at his unsure sounding feedback. He even managed to crack a tiny smirk of his own, his full lips making him look even more model-like under the soft lighting of your living room.

“Hey, how am I meant to get it perfect straight away? Besides, I forgot what it means already,” you huffed, and brought your legs to tuck comfortably underneath you.

“It’s just a term we use to refer to older males,” he explained, letting his head fall back against the seat slowly. Seeing his eyes fluttering to a close made you wonder how tired he must’ve been feeling. After spending so much time interacting with strangers, and driving, and pretending to be your husband, you supposed.

The jarring noise of the doorbell brought you to your feet, and you went to collect your dinner from the front door as Seokjin gave a quiet nod.

Now that he’s brought it up, I think I’d prefer a home cooked meal too.

“So, am I meant to call you ‘hyung’?” You laughed inwardly while making your way back to him. You were excited to learn more about him now that he was opening up and unfurling in front of your eyes.

He had to purse his lips slightly to avoid smiling again. “No, and please don’t. It would feel way too odd to hear that from you.”

“Oh.” Your heart cracked a little, thinking of course he wouldn’t want his foreign partner to try and so poorly imitate something such as his native language, something he considered close to his heart and home. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t think-”

“It’s okay, it’s just that Korean women don’t use ‘hyung’. If you are female and want to refer to an older male, or partner…” He seemed to hesitate, as if rethinking his decision to elaborate on the subject at all. “Then you can call m- you can use ‘oppa’.”

You swallowed a mouthful of steak before attempting to copy him. “Oppa?”

Seokjin blinked before giving you a tiny nod. Not a single second passed before he was focusing back on his food, the conversation apparently hitting a weird place for him.

“I don’t have to go around calling you that. It’s not like I’m trying to adopt another culture,” you clarified for him, noting how his shoulders seemed to relax at your gentle tone. “I only want to understand you better, Seokjin.”

His hands faltered in their movements to cut the tender steak on his plate. You didn’t catch any change in his expression, as expected, but his eyes gleamed with something you could only describe as appreciation. A few months ago, neither of you probably thought you’d end up sharing your ethnic differences with one another over dinner like this.

The house had always been so silent with just the two of you, and your mind kept thinking back to your old home where there were always maids, cooks and butlers milling about. It struck you as a little peculiar, so you decided to ask.

“Sorry to change the subject, but why is it that your mother requested there to be no live-in staff here?”

Seokjin continued to eat slowly but looked up with a thoughtful gleam in his eye. “I was confused too, but she always brushed it off. Something about family traditions requiring minimal interferences? I didn’t really get it since I’d never heard of said ‘tradition’, but I never really understood her methods anyway.”

Oh…

Your face burned as you understood what he was saying. It was almost laughable, how oblivious he was to his mother’s implications. The thought probably never crossed his mind that she could be referring to the two of you having sexual relations in some way. Well, why should the thought cross his mind?

This was never meant to be anything more than a fake relationship, an array of masks worn only to fool them into believing it was true. It was easy to understand why his mother would think accordingly. You had been trying to trick her, but perhaps you’d been just a little too convincing.

“Yeah, weird huh?” You cleared your throat, offering to take up his dish as you both finished off the meals. The case of the understaffing was forgotten as you moved back to where your husband was half sprawled on the couch, but now the quiet hum of the television accompanied the room and you were thankful to have something filling the silence. Even if it was something was simple as slightly muffled voices from the people on the big screen.

You plonked back down on the leather and felt relaxation crawl up your spine in the best way. You were slowly beginning to believe that there was almost nothing better than this. Spending a night at home with someone you cared about, watching a movie or TV show, nice and warm and comfortable.

You briefly registered that in your current position, Seokjin’s arm that’d been outstretched along the back of the seat now rested just behind your neck. You thought nothing of it, knowing he sure as hell wouldn’t, but let your imagination take the reins at all the possibilities presenting themselves.

Imagining a smile tugging at his lips as he brought his arm down to drape across your shoulders. His warm hand as it cupped your jaw, a gentle thumb drawing tiny circles into the flushing skin along your cheekbone. You imagined the feeling of your smaller hand travelling up the hardened expanse of his clothed chest, feeling the lean muscle and taut ridges underneath the flimsy barrier separating skin from skin.

You felt your face flush further in surprise when your daydream was snapped away into thin air, the cushion underneath you squeaking as he suddenly moved from his slumped position.

“I’m about ready to call it a night. The driving must’ve taken more out of me than I thought,” he said while sporting a grunt of effort, his face wincing at the pop of his joints once he stretched his long legs out. As he brought his arm inwards to follow suit, you felt the slightest brush of his fingers graze your neck. The small shudder that racked your body from the sensation was instantaneous, and you knew that your shameless imagination from earlier had made the cravings for his touch worse.

Unintentionally, your body shifted to try and follow his hand before you managed to will yourself into a stiff, unmoving statue.

Shit, what was that?

You closed your eyes and blew out your cheeks in annoyance, directed at nobody but yourself. Was it really all becoming too much for you the handle at this point? When had you become so … pathetic and needy? This wasn’t like you at all.

It was only then you realised Seokjin hadn’t moved since your loss of inhibitions. You wrenched your eyes open and glanced over to him, knowing full well that his observant gaze had seen the entire display from beginning to end. Oh God no!

“(Y/n), I’ve been thinking,” came Seokjin’s voice through the robotic sounding laughs emitting from the speakers of the television. He was holding his arm awkwardly in the air just above his own lap, as if it had been electrocuted and was no longer capable of moving.

“About what? Oh, when is our next event? I forgot to ask you earlier,” you uttered faintly, trying to cover up your reddening face with one hand. There was no way he was going to let what happened slide, you knew just by seeing the pointed look in his curious dark eyes. He lowered his arm and kept his eyes fixated on your jittery form.

“Not for ages, but anyway that’s not what I was thinking about,” he said with a lazy mumble to his voice that was honestly just a little too low, teetering on seductive but obviously unintentional.

You mentally implored him to forget your stupid reactions. It was getting out of hand and you were already trying your best to rein yourself in.

“Oh?” You raised a brow, waiting for the inevitable questioning that was surely coming your way.

In all honesty, you just wanted to go shower and sleep for the next week. During the trip you’d had so many restless nights, being too caught up on the whole sharing a bed situation. It got better as time went on, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t meant to be there in between the sheets with him. Every time, you held yourself back from the urge to touch him and shuffle closer to his side.

Rein it in. Rein-

Seokjin finally parted his lips in to respond, “It’s just that I can’t help noticing how you get lost in your thoughts lately, along with all the other odd reactions. You keep getting this look on your face, like you’re longing for something, and I can’t help but think back to what you were saying at Taehyung’s party.”

Okay, well this was a bit more than you expected. You felt shivers of humiliation travelling up your skin at the thought of him noticing your fantasizing, of all things. Were you really becoming that obvious even in a state of subconscious? Damn, things were really worse than you thought.

“What? At Tae’s party?” you murmured, trying to awkwardly laugh it off in the process. How did he manage to call you out like that with the straightest of faces? It was almost unfair that he could be so serious and not become affected by these things.

“Yeah,” Seokjin continued. “How you said you craved human touch all the time because the way you grew up left you wanting. I realised during the trip, how content you looked when you were receiving affection from your family members … and me.”

You snapped your eyes up to him, looking to see if his expression would give anything away about what he was thinking even though you knew it was futile. To your shock, his face actually wasn’t the same blank slate you were used to seeing when he pondered. For the first time, you saw him show slight apprehension as he nibbled on his plush bottom lip.

‘And me’ he’d said. You were suddenly thrown back to that one night in the motorhome, which honestly seemed like a mere fever dream, where he’d run his hands along your body and held you close for the first time. That first night you had shared the same bed, and all the dams had broken within you.

It was the night I opened up to him, and maybe that was when he decided to do the same.

“So, I want-”

He cut himself off and sat forward, looking so bewildered and lost that you were beginning to grow concerned. At the recollection of all these memories, you were already feeling vulnerable and ashamed. His vagueness was not helping you keep your shit together.

“I want you to show me what you mean. What are you asking for when you say those things?” He finished by clasping his hands together and looking up at you as hopefully as he could, which was minimal for him. You couldn’t really believe your ears at this point.

“Show you?” you repeated in disbelief. “H-how?”

“Show me what you need,” he rephrased, straightening his back slightly and fiddling with his fingers.

It was a cute little habit you’d never seen before, but your brain could barely register that when you were already reeling from what he was saying. He was close enough that you could catch the scent of his faint cologne, and it was making your head spin faster and faster. The quiet sound of the television faded out as you focused on his beautiful eyes right in front of you.

“You want me to touch you?” You tilted your head, feeling like you were having an out-of-body experience when he nodded to confirm your suspicions.

“If that’s what you want.”

It was strange, not knowing whether to feel happy or whether to feel humiliated, or relieved, or even saddened; all because of your neediness that he’d seen way too many times.

“Okay.”

Your shoulders sagged in a strange sense of defeat. This whole impasse had been your weakness from the start, and now it was finally coming to light. You were ready to help him understand things from your point of view, and maybe he would start to see why you’d been acting this way.

He’d grown up in a similar environment, even despite some stark differences. Why couldn’t there be just a small chance that he might relate somehow?

“What do you feel when you get close to another person?” you asked softly, untangling your feet from under each other and resting them squarely on the ground in front of you. It was intimidating to look up at his looming figure this boldly, yet being so close to his body heat only seemed to put you more at ease.

You wanted to fall into him and have him cradle you in his arms, but you knew that if you were going to show him the right way, you needed to take it slow.  

“I don’t feel so different. It doesn’t happen often, actually,” he mused while keeping his eyes focused on you. “When I see my mother at galas or balls, I suppose it just feels like I want to get away.”

You stifled a chuckle at the thought of his mother’s smothering putting him off. It was like that for so many kids out there, but you couldn’t share that feeling when it was lucky for you to even see your mother once in a while. Seokjin’s tensed frame seem to falter slightly when you knowingly smiled up at him. Gone was the shyness, the tiptoeing, the never-ending feeling of restraint.

This was your husband in front of you, and now he was asking you to touch him.

“That’s understandable Seokjin, but I mean in other instances where it’s perhaps more welcomed, or even instigated mainly by you. Say, you see your brother after a long time, so you hug him. Yes?”

The man’s black hair bounced slightly as he nodded. You hadn’t made any moves to be closer to him yet, and you could sense his confusion, but truly it was best to go gradual for him to understand. Rather than you just throwing yourself at him in a barrage of limbs.

“How does that make you feel, compared to how you feel normally?” you tried again, your eyes wide with a curiosity that probably burned even brighter than his. A month or so ago, you never would’ve thought you’d be having such a close and intimate conversation about his relationships.

Clearly, the road trip had not only changed you both in multiple ways, but it had also changed the very dynamic tying you together. The foundations of your relationship, and what it meant to each of you. The man sitting before you now was nothing but a far cry from the man you’d once faced at the altar. As foolish as it was, you could not be prouder of him.

“I suppose I was taught to just do it in certain situations. I never thought about how it made me feel,” he offered in a low voice, brows furrowing as he tried thinking about how he could be more helpful. The slight pout to his pinkish lips had your heart beating erratically.

“Seokjin, do you care about me?” you asked, and time drew to a stop.

This was the kind of question you told yourself you would never ask him. It was almost impossible to answer considering your circumstances, and the owlish look in his eyes told you that you were right in thinking so.

“Yes.”

Your world resumed spinning, but the silence continued. Honestly, you didn’t think you would have kept it together if he’d answered no. You loved him, that much you were sure of, but before the holiday you had been confused about whether you cared for the man so strongly out of your pure desire for close friendship and companionship. You weren’t dense though. These feelings were far more than that, and you were an idiot for entertaining them.

You stared into each other’s eyes, trying to read foreign minds and figure out what it all meant. He cared about you, and you cared about him. That much was a given, but the true depth of that fact remained a constant unknown. He exhaled sharply, almost as if he couldn’t really believe he’d answered so sincerely. So quickly.

“I didn’t think I would, but since the beginning you’ve turned out to be quite different than who I thought I’d be married to. My life … changed, but it was seamless and easy compared to the complicated mess I thought I was going to have to deal with,” he explained with sad eyes. His gaze had been trained on the floor since he’d given you ‘yes’ as an answer.

You shifted closer and brought one hand up to lift his lowered jaw, angling it to face you so you could see his inquisitive eyes once more. His large hands remained clenched in his lap, unsure of what to do at this point.

“Seokjin I care about you too, so you don’t have to feel like you’re on your own here.” You laughed quietly, noticing his shoulders relax as you moved your hand up to rest on the side of his face. Your fingertips buried themselves into the shorter strands of his hair.

If only he knew the true extent of my feelings.

You cleared your throat, trying to push away the intrusive thoughts before they took over, and switched your teacher mode on quickly. “This is a … type of contact that you can kind of do anytime, and you can even play with the person’s hair, or just kind of massaging gently.”

You demonstrated by slowly bringing your hands up to run through his marvelous black locks, lips parting in amazement at the feeling of his soft hair you’d always imagined combing back with your fingers. Your other hand shaped itself to his face as you tried your best to stop yourself from leaning any further forward.

You couldn’t kiss him like this just yet. Not when it would actually mean something to him, for the first time.

“Why do you say ‘the person’s’? You know I wouldn’t have the nerve to try this with anyone else, right?” He murmured unexpectedly; his eyes somewhat nervous at what you were implying. You were quick to push your surprise away and nodded, because it was the only response you could think of.

He took a small but deep breath to regain himself, letting his stoic persona continue to melt underneath your touch. “May I?” he asked in a soft voice, and once again all you could do was nod your head.

He brought one of his hands up hesitantly and you couldn’t help a small fond smile at the way he was concentrating so intently on the movement. As soon as his hand made contact with the skin of your cheek, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into it. He watched in wonder as your eyes fluttered shut, his other hand now carding itself through your slightly messy hair.

If you’d been a cat, you were certain a distinct sound of purring would emanate from your throat.

He smoothed all your hair back until it was no longer ruffled, and then brought both hands back to cradle your face once more. You didn’t realise you’d been leaning forward and running your hands up his chest until the moment you reached his shirt collar, and your eyes zeroed in on the expanse of his neck just long enough to see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in a hard swallow.

“Um, now you can touch a bit lower if you want. Or just hold my hands if you’re more comfortable with that,” you breathed, trying to bring your thoughts to a focal point while removing your hands from him sharply. He looked so picturesque up this close. You just wanted to stay in this position for hours upon hours.

“Like this?” He voiced hoarsely. You tried to keep your breathing normal as one of his hands fell down to encompass yours, but the other traced the line of your jaw before gliding downwards and brushing against the tender skin of your neck. Just has he had in the beginning before all of this had started.

“Yeah.”

You almost whimpered at the tingling sensation, but kept it in for the sake of the exercise. This man was absolutely dangerous for your wellbeing. It wasn’t even his actions at this point, just his undivided attention and careful eyes tracing over the curve of your figure that had your insides turning to jelly.

“That’s probably enough for now. I can hear your brain working,” you spoke and let out an airy laugh when his fingers hesitated in their descent. It was as if he was trying to compute too much information at once, and somehow, the way he was trying his best was oddly charming.

He grunted. “I’m just- I’m trying to understand you.”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” you responded with a genuine smile, noticing how his words mirrored your own from earlier back when you’d butchered his native tongue. “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m so exhausted I could pass out.”

“Yeah, now I’m really calling it a night.” He cleared his throat with a sigh, mind clearly burning out from the overload of new experiences.

He stood from the couch so suddenly, a stiffness taking hold of his movements. Just what was going through his head at a time like this? You missed his close proximity almost immediately.

Like a robot programmed to move, you also heaved your body up from where it was beginning to sink into the cushions. This whole turn of events seemed unreal, and you could feel your heart still throbbing in your chest at the feeling of Seokjin underneath your fingertips. He had been so warm and had looked so beautiful.

You ran your fingers through your hair as the silence permeated the air, the only sounds being your husband's gentle footsteps as he packed away a few things around the house. You gathered your own bags from the front door and sluggishly traipsed towards your bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway.

I don't want to be on my own.

The invasive thought made you take a few shaky steps back. You were ready to put everything at risk and confess to him how lonely and in love you were, yet to your surprise the sound of his voice softly calling your name made you falter in your tracks.

You stood in the doorway looking outwards as he loitered in front of his own bedroom door at the opposite end, one large hand resting on the doorknob as if he'd been hesitating to open it.

"Did you hear me?"

You relaxed your stance, a sudden embarrassment beginning to settle in at how eager your movements were. "Yeah? What is it?"

Please let me stay with you. Please let me-

"Isn't it - doesn't it seem strange?" He seemed to inwardly backpedal all of a sudden, his pretty eyes falling to the floor and his slightly down-turned nose twitched in regret. "I mean, sorry if this is weird, but after sharing a bed for the entire road trip, doesn't it feel strange to suddenly go back to our own rooms?"

“Ah.” You somehow managed to suppress a hefty sigh of relief, pure ecstasy shooting through your body like some special brand of heroin. You tried to bump up his courage with a reassuring smile. "Jin yes, I still want to spend the night with you."

His eyes rose from the floor as the burden lifted from his mind, shoulders seeming to shake free the stiffness that had taken hold of them ever since the couch fiasco.

"I'm glad. Come over here then."

Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

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